Disclaimer: I don't own ASoIaF/GoT.

In response to the reviews about Aegon's deal: yeah, he really fucked up there, but, as I said to one reviewer, who says anybody is gonna find out? Besides, as you will see in this chapter, Aegon is not so foolish as that deal makes it seem. He's also not as honourable as canon!Jon.

Read, enjoy, and review!

Chapter Fifteen

Howland I

Volantene Mansion: 21st May, 298 AC

Howland Reed, Lord-in-Exile of Greywater Watch and both personal Greenseer and Master of Whispers to His Grace King Aegon, Sixth of His Name, King of the Rhoynar, the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Defender of the Faith and Protector of the Realm, was deeply disturbed as he listened to the king's admission as to what he had offered Volantis in exchange for their support in the Targaryens' campaign against the Usurper and the lions who pulled his strings.

The treaty had been finalized at last, the last draft written up and signed by the Triarchy and King that very morning. Despite requests, the young king had stayed mum up until the council session before at last revealing to them the details of the agreement between the Triarchy and he himself. Howland desperately wished that the lad had spoken up earlier. They could have dissuaded him. Almost everything was acceptable, if not fantastic. Almost everything, save for that single, vital and tiny detail.

"Your Grace," Howland spoke up, seeing the uneasy looks exchanged by his fellow advisors. "May I speak freely?"

The young king, who was so very like his late mother in colouring but was otherwise very much a Targaryen if you looked past the grey eyes (tinted purple) and dark hair, nodded and waved him on.

"Of course, Lord Reed," King Aegon granted permission. "You are my most trusted councillors, all of you, and I greatly value and treasure your advice."

"Your Grace," Reed exhaled heavily. "You have grown up in the Free Cities, particularly here in Volantis, where slavery is rampant and considered to be the norm, the natural way of life even. As such, Your Grace, you cannot quite comprehend just how scorned and reviled slavery is in the Seven Kingdoms. It is one of the few things that both the Faith of the Seven and the Old Gods are in agreement in regards to, and in the Winterlands it is particularly hated. You could lose a great amount of support, should knowledge of your decision in regards to the Lannisters be discovered. The Winterlands are loyal to your maternal House, yes. But we are loyal to the Gods first, and I cannot foresee any of my old packmates considering such a blatant move against Their wills as acceptable. You could find yourself being turned against even by them, my king."

"Lord Reed speaks truly, Your Grace," Ser Willem stated, grimacing and dusting off his whitecloak uncomfortably.

Aegon briefly looked down, drumming his fingers on his armrest. "I do not wish for this knowledge to go out of this room," he instructed them. "Not even to my lady wife, the queen. Is that understood, councillors?" He waited for their promises of silence before continuing. "I have no intention of holding to that part of the bargain," he confessed, earning several raised eyebrows.

"I was very careful when phrasing the deal. I deliberately ensured that the document only agreed to give the surviving Lannister adult males of the main line to Volantis as slaves, nobody else. I had the treaty specifically say that nobody else would be allowed to be taken as slaves, or it would be an act of war against Westeros.

That means that, due to the wording, Tywin, Jaime and Tyrion Lannister are the only ones. I will be issuing secret orders to ensure that, by the end of the war, the three of them are all either dead, or too badly injured to be worth it for Volantis."

"Some might consider it dishonourable, Your Grace," Dowager Queen Rhaella, the Hand of the King and the first woman to hold the title, stated. "Should the fact that you deliberately negotiated a deal to ensure that you would not have to keep your side of the bargain, it may cast doubts on your character and honour."

Many of the (Crownlander or sellsword, the Winterlands knew better than to judge a person by what was or was not between their legs) men had muttered when Aegon declared that his grandmother would be his Hand.

But Howland had approved of the idea from the start. Although she had put up a façade of being a weak, broken woman whilst she was still the reigning Queen Consort for her husband, that was exactly what it was: a façade. Queen Rhaella had been at the centre of the court of three (very) different kings, and had learned to rule alongside her brother-husband, at their late grandfather, Aegon V's knee. And in spite of his foolishness at the end of his life, Aegon V had been an excellent king, who cared for all his people, not just the ones who gave him power.

Unlike her parents and brother, the queen had absorbed his care for the smallfolk. She was politically shrewd and caring, an excellent advisor for her grandson. And it was not as if she had to do more than advise him. Unlike many kings, Aegon was determined to rule himself, not simply follow in the footsteps of the Usurper by having his Hand rule in his name as he lost himself in his leisure activities.

King Aegon had most definitely inherited the dutiful natures of both the Prince Rhaegar and the Magnara-Princess Lyanna.

"I am aware, my lady grandmother," the king replied. "Which is why I wish for this to be kept secret. Just as secret as the knowledge of the details of the agreement. The Triarchy also agreed to keep mum on the matter, swearing by the gods they follow. Nobody will ever learn of this, I trust."

"Not from any of us, my king," Princess Daenerys, the Mistress of Laws, vowed. Though Howland could tell from her tight expression that she was less than pleased with her brother's admission of his deal. The young princess had a strict moral code, the reason she had been appointed to her position, and he knew that none of this would sit well with her.

"Good," the king nodded briskly. He looked around. "Very well, are there any other issues to discuss now that we have dealt with the matter of the agreement with Volantis and the other issues that we have spoken of today?"

"Your Grace, I have news from King's Landing," Howland piped up. The king waved him on.

"It appears that your lady aunt is aiding her husband in discovering the truth of Lord Arryn's death," Howland informed his sovereign.

Of course, Howland had long since discovered the truth of the heritage of the three children of the so-called Queen Cersei. They planned to use it to prove that Aegon had more right to the Iron Throne than any other. The Usurper had no trueborn issue. He did, however, have two brothers and several nieces and nephews. Of course, none of them could be harmed, that would be immoral. But they would have to be dealt with somehow. The boys taken as hostages by loyal lords and the girls wed to trusted men or sent to become septas.

Howland had also realized that the Lannisters had likely killed the Hand once he became suspicious. He was concerned now, that the lions might kill Lord Martell and Magnara Aly. Howland was less concerned about Oberyn Martell (though he had seen enough of the man in his greendreams to decide that he was a good enough man). But Howland was quite worried about Magnara Aly. She would be a target as well.

"Aunt Aly is helping the Snake find out the truth of the Falcon Hand's death?" Aegon blinked in surprise, then wrinkled his expression. "Why would she-?"

"That is what draws my curiosity, my king," Howland informed him.

In truth, Howland had been curious about Aly's marriage since news had arrived of her second child's birth. He had known the Starks of his generation well, had, like all Winterlander children of the nobility, been sent to foster at Winterfell alongside the five of them. He knew that she would never consent to submit meekly to an abusive husband. Rather, she would scratch his eyes out for the audacity of it. But, guilty as he felt at what seemed a bit like abandoning his dear friend, Aly had not been a priority. His checks had assured him that she was not being harmed, and she was a fierce lady, able to care for herself. His focus had been on ensuring the safety of his King and Princess, the children that Princess Lyanna had entrusted him with when she swapped out the babes after learning of the death of her husband.

But knowing Aly, Howland would not be surprised if she managed to turn her husband from an enemy into an ally. His suspicions that the ruler of Dorne might not be so bad as the (justifiably) furious Targaryens believed had been increased by his visions. A man did not look at a woman he did not care for the way Oberyn Martell looked at his wife in Howland's dreams.

"In addition, my greendreams have frequently shown me glimpses of Oberyn Martell recently, along with another Dornish girl, though I know not whom she is," Howland continued. "I believe that they both have significance in the war that is to come."

The others exchanged heavy glances with one another. After so many years, even the staunchest follower of the Seven knew better than to question the word of the greenseer.

"With your permission, Your Grace," Howland went on. "I will investigate more into the matter of the Martells. If there is a possibility that we could turn the Dornish from another opponent to allies, it could only benefit us and our cause."

The young man hesitated, glancing briefly at both his grandmother and sister before responding. "You have permission, Lord Reed," he stated. "I will not pretend that I enjoy the thought of working with the Usurper's Snake, but I do not wish to be a cruel king who is remembered in the history books for refusing to let go of old grudges. If the Snake would agree to acknowledge me as the true King of Westeros, than I would rather have them become my friends then fight against them if such can occur."

"Thank you, my king," Howland bowed his head. Aegon nodded and stood, prompting all of them to rise with him.

"This session of the small council is now dismissed," he announced, allowing them all to disperse. Howland expected that the young ruler himself was eager to return to the company of his lovely young bride. There had been no confirmations yet, but given the amount of time the young couple was spending with one another, the Master of Whispers was expecting them to announce the impending arrival of the next heir to the Iron Throne soon enough.

Howland made his way straight to the godswood they had planted after settling in Volantis, kneeling before the weirwood tree and bowing his head. As he knelt, he used a knife, carved with carefully selected Old Tongue runes, to slice open his palm, re-opening a half-healed scar. Solemnly, he placed his bleeding hand against the bark and began to pray.

"Oh, Gods of the Forest, Rivers and Stone,"he spoke in the Old Tongue, the language of the Old Gods and the Children of the Forest. "I beg You to show me the truth of Oberyn Martell. What is his role in what is to come? Please, reveal to me the truth of the girl You keep showing me. I beseech You, show me what I need to know in order to properly fulfil Your will."

He looked up, into the carved, stern eyes of the heart tree. He knew that the Seven worshippers all still stubbornly believed one of the Winterlanders must have carved the face, but they were wrong. He did not know if the Children had done it, but it had been no mortal who formed the frowning features of the face.

The eyes seemed to glow red, and suddenly Howland was tumbling down a whirlwind tunnel of memories, the flashes passing by too quickly for him to comprehend.

He landed in the Neck. He knew it was the Neck, in spite of it being two decades since he had gone south as the then-Magnara Lyanna's personal greenseer. The place was as familiar as his left hand, even after all of this time. He stood outside the abandoned 'Tower of Joy', which had once been the keep of the treacherous House Towers, who had risen up against King Jorah Stark and been eradicated for their treason. Most of the keep had crumbled away, leaving only a single wing left.

Three men in whitecloaks were outside, one of them glancing up towards the top of the tower with a deep frown. Howland assumed he was worried about the screaming woman within. He recognized the men as Arthur Dayne, the Sword of Morning, Gerold "The White Bull" Hightower, the Lord Commander of Aerys' Kingsguard, and Ser Oswell Whent.

"I would send a Kingsguard with you," Princess Lyanna had said bitterly when she'd given him her children to take them to safety. "But my brother and Ser Jonothor are dead, Ser Barristan has bent the knee to the Usurper and the king will not allow Ser Jaime to leave his side. As for the rest, my husband apparently considered it more important to have the royal family's personal guard protecting his concubine than his wife and children."

Howland felt a spark of fury towards the late Prince. How dare he hide his pregnant whore, the tramp that he had betrayed Princess Lyanna with, in the magnara's own kingdom? It was an insult on top of an already-great injury.

The sight of a group galloping up to the tower, however, distracted him, and he focused on the scene, knowing that the Gods had shown it to him for a reason.

He was unsurprised when Lord Oberyn Martell was revealed to be the lead rider as he dismounted from his horse even before the animal had fully stopped moving. With him had come six others, who were quick to join him. Howland knew them not, though he recognized the symbols on their tunics. The lot of them were clearly prepared for a fight, though they were equally obviously unaccustomed to the climate of the Neck.

Howland watched quietly, clasping his hands behind his back as anticipation twisted in his stomach. The answers he sought were about to be revealed, though his mind was already beginning to put the pieces together. The vision would tell him whether or not he was right, however.

Ser Arthur Dayne wore a pained expression as he looked at his countrymen. The hilt of the legendary greatsword Dawn poked up over his right shoulder. Ser Oswell Whent was on one knee, sharpening his blade with a whetstone. Across his white-enamelled helm, the black bat of his House spread its wings. Between them stood the fierce old Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

"So this is where the remainder of Aerys' Kingsguard have been hiding," the young Lord of Dorne remarked coldly.

"We were not hiding," Ser Oswell denied, putting aside the whetstone and rising. His eyes flashed angrily at the slight, though he kept his composure, too experienced to be set off-guard by such a trick.

"Really?" the Viper scoffed. "Because I looked for you on the Trident where Robert and I killed your prince," Martell stated coolly, as he readied his spear. "The Wild Wolf and Darry both died there, and Selmy swore his sword to Robert after being wounded. But there was no sign of any of you."

"We were not there," Ser Gerold answered. "Had we been there, things would have turned out very different for both sides."

"The Usurper would be dead and buried if we were there," added Ser Oswell. "As would you! And our traitor brother would rot for his betrayal of his vows."

The Red Viper smiled sharply, all fang and venom like the snake that was his namesake. "When King's Landing fell, Aerys impaled himself on his own throne, Princess Lyanna and her children were killed, and I wondered where you were. Why were the Kingsguard not guarding their king?"

"Far away," Ser Gerold replied to his words, expression cold and stony. "Or Aerys would yet sit on the Iron Throne, and his gooddaughter and grandchildren would be alive, their killers burning in the seven hells."

"Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and with the young Prince Viserys," Martell commented. "I thought that you might have sailed with him."

"Ser Willem is a good man and true," Dayne acknowledged.

"But not of the Kingsguard," Hightower pointed out. "The Kingsguard does not flee."

"Then or now," agreed Ser Arthur. He donned his helm.

"We swore a vow," explained old Ser Gerold.

"You also swore vows as knights to protect women and children," Martell snarled. "Yet you hold my sister, an innocent lady, captive on the orders of a rapist!"

"We hold no one captive," the Sword of Morning responded. "Rhaegar was no rapist. And you are one to talk of knightly vows, after what happened to Princess Lyanna and her children." He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands, the greatsword being as big as Howland himself. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light. A gift from the gods themselves.

The attacking Dornishmen readied themselves. One of the men, who was wearing a navy tunic bearing the black falling star of the Daynes of High Hermitage, glowered at Ser Arthur, who met his gaze evenly.

"And now it begins," the Sword of the Morning declared.

"No," the Viper corrected him coldly. "Now it ends."

The fight was short and vicious, and by the end only Martell still stood. Hightower had fallen to the men wearing the symbols of Houses Dayne and Dalt, taking the pair with him. Whent had died at the hands of the two Wells men after he slayed the man in Blackmont colours. Finally, Martell, the Wells knights (both injured from their fight against Whent) and the Qorgyle man had all stood and fought against Dayne.

To the Kingsguard's credit, he had held up well against his four countrymen, quickly defeating the injured brothers and badly wounding Qorgyle enough to take him out of the fight so that only Martell remained to stand against him.

Howland had known that Martell would survive and Ser Arthur would not, but he was puzzled as to how the Snake would win the fight, for he was far out-classed by the other man. But then it turned out that Qorgyle was not as defeated as they had all believed. With the last remnants of his strength, the wounded man had thrown his knife at the Sword of Morning. It had not been a fatal hit, but it was good enough that the man stumbled at the blade slicing into his leg, allowing Martell to step forward and shove his spear right through the man's neck.

Howland gave the Snake credit for dashing right to Qorgyle to try and aid him. But by the time the Lord of Sunspear fell to his knees beside his bannerman, the man was gurgling out his last breaths, and Martell was helpless to aid him in any way.

He swore violently as Qorgyle's eyes glazed over into the stare of death, and then hit the ground with his fist, cursing again.

Then a woman screamed again. Howland had heard her cries earlier, but he had been too distracted by the battle to really notice it.

"Elia!" Martell cried, head snapping back to look up at the tower. He scrambled onto his feet and raced into the keep, taking the steps two at a time, following his sister's screams. Howland followed as quickly as he could.

Martell flung himself into the room, spear still in hand, and then froze in shock at the sight that met his eyes. Howland too was shocked, despite having already realized what had happened when he heard Lady Elia's cries at the beginning of the vision. He had known, but it was one thing to know in one's mind, and another thing entirely to see it with his own eyes.

He had never once considered the possibility that Elia Martell had been with child until that day, though he, like all of the Dragonstone household, had known of Rhaegar's borderline-obsession with growing the Targaryen line, his fears of his House dying out and his desire to have many children to cancel out that possibility. But Howland still found it hard to believe his eyes. How could Rhaegar have done such a grave insult to his loving and dutiful wife?

Yet it could not be denied: there she was, struggling to support a small bundle that was crying in the unhappy tones of a newborn child. Elia Martell's face was flushed with fever and her breathing so ragged he could detect it even from the doorway. There was a woman, no doubt a maid, trying to help, but it was clear that she was no midwife, and lost as to how to help the lady.

"Elia," Martell croaked. He both looked and sounded devastated, and Howland felt a brief surge of sympathy for the man. She turned her head in his direction weakly, her eyes glassy and her movements weak.

"Oberyn?" she murmured. "Brother? Is that you? Are you here?"

"I am," he confirmed, hurrying to her side and collapsing to his knees beside her. "I am here," he continued, stroking her cheek to comfort her. "I am here to take you home."

"Home," she mumbled. Her eyes filled with tears. "I want to go home." Then she looked stricken, reaching for him weakly. He grasped her hand and held it tightly in one of his own, while the other stroked some hair from her face.

He turned to snap at the maid. "Is there no maester?" he barked. "A midwife?"

The maid shook her head helplessly. "No, milord," she replied despairingly. "The babe came early, we had no time."

Martell growled in angry helplessness, looking back to his sister, who was weakly attempting to regain his attention. She relaxed slightly when he turned back to her. "I am so sorry!" she gasped. "I never meant-neither of us thought all of this would happen. I am so sorry Oberyn. Doran and the others-Mellario and Arianne-"

"It is not your fault," he assured her. "It was Rhaegar's fault, Rhaegar and Aerys. But they paid for it, Sister. I promise you, our brother and his family are avenged."

Fear crossed her face then, much to her brother's clear dismay. It was obvious that he had sought to soothe her, yet instead he had distressed her more.

"So is it true?" she gasped. "Did Robert really have Rhaegar's children killed?"

"Tywin Lannister ordered the children's deaths," Martell replied, avoiding her gaze. Howland scowled at that. And the Usurper had spat on the bodies, he added bitterly.

Oh, they had not been the real royal children. The girl had been the daughter of a Celtigar couple, several generations removed from the male line, whilst the boy had been the son of a Greystark guard and his Karstark wife. Neither child had been expected to live out their infancy due to both having illnesses. But they had been innocent babes all the same, and no matter their identities, it had been pure cruelty and spite what the Usurper and the lions had done.

Lady Elia still looked frightened. Her strength rejuvenated somewhat by her fear for her daughter, she clutched the squalling babe closer to her breast with one arm, her other hand reaching out to grab her brother's tunic.

"Oberyn, you must promise me you'll protect her!" she gasped out, voice desperate and eyes wild. "Promise me that you will protect Rhaenys, that you will keep her safe from him for me! Do not Robert or the Lannisters kill her, as they killed her siblings! Promise me! Promise me Brother!"

"Nobody will ever harm a hair on her head," he vowed, not hesitating for even a second. Lady Elia smiled in relief at that. She lost her grip on his tunic, as her chest ceased to move and her hold on the infant Rhaenys slackened.

The maid lunged, grabbing the child before she could fall, whilst Martell stared at his sister, apparently trying to comprehend her death. Howland felt another surge of pity for the young man. He had fought a war to try and save his sister and avenge their brother, yet he had arrived only moments before her death.

Fury and grief took over the man then, and he spent the next moments destroying furniture and shaking her body, as if he could somehow force her spirit back into her body.

It appeared that it was Rhaenys' wails that brought him back to himself. He turned towards the sound, finding the maid cowering in the corner with his niece held tightly to her chest, staring fearfully at him as if she thought he might lunge at her and the child next.

He held out his hands, his jaw tight. "Give me my niece," he barked. She was clearly reluctant to hand over the child, but she hesitantly placed the babe into his arms, hovering near as if she thought to rip the babe away from him if he appeared about to harm the babe.

Howland watched as the Snake studied the child he held for several moments before looking at the maid.

"Who are you?" he demanded, eyeing the nurse tensely.

She swallowed and answered. "Wylla, milord," she muttered nervously. "I serve House Dayne. They employed me to tend Princess Elia, when it became obvious that, that a wetnurse would be needed. My boy was gone by then, but I still have my milk."

"Princess Elia?" he repeated, looking confused. "She was a lady, not a princess."

Wylla shook her head. "No, my lord," she corrected him anxiously, smoothing out her bloody apron. "She and Prince Rhaegar wed. They had a dispensation from the High Septon, granting the Prince leave to take a second wife."

Howland clenched his hands into fists at that, indignant at the insult to Princess Lyanna.

"My lord," Wylla spoke hesitantly. "What will you do with Princess Rhaenys?"

Martell looked down at the babe again. She had stopped crying, and had fallen asleep. "There is no Princess Rhaenys," he declared after a second, looking back at her with a steely expression. "There has been none since the Queen Who Never Was. Nor was my sister married to anybody. She was kidnapped and died of a fever. This is my bastard daughter, Nymeria Sand, born to a Riverlands woman. I suggest you send a letter to your masters, because you will be joining my household now."

Of course, nobody with a lick of sense would let the only other person who knew they were committing treason out of their sight. It was logical that Martell had decided to bring the woman with him, and that he claimed the child was born in the Riverlands. He would have been there at the right time for her conception, after all, and he already had two bastard daughters from two women by then. His lie was a delicate one, but not one that most people would care to look into.

Howland hissed in surprise as his vision suddenly zeroed in on the face of the child, and he watched as she grew, first into a toddler, then a child, and then at last into the young lady he had been seeing alongside Lord Oberyn in his recent dreams.

Her eyes, which he had originally thought to be a dark brown, were tinted with a hint of purple.

His eyes snapped open and he gasped, his mind suddenly returned to his body in the Volantene godswood again.

Thought were running wildly through his mind. The Usurper's Snake, whom they had believed to be one of his most loyal supporters, was not only wed to Princess Lyanna's twin sister, but had willing been committing treason for the past fifteen, almost sixteen, years.

It was obvious that, in a choice between his friend and his blood, Martell would choose his blood. Could they use his niece/adopted daughter to bring Dorne to their side? After all, Aegon would (after some brooding over the insult to his mother) embrace his younger half-sister (though Howland doubted she would be acknowledged as a princess. That would be asking too much, when all they had in regards to the supposed dispensation and marriage was the word of a maid). The Baratheons and Lannisters, however, had proved exactly what they would do to anyone who threatened their grasp on the Iron Throne.

He rose to his feet and began to give a rushed thanks to the Old Gods for their help. He needed to find Queen Rhaella immediately. She, more than anybody, would know what to do about this revelation, how to use it.