XVI

Ali hated King's Landing. Hated the smell of shit and filth and smelly bodies, hated the clambering and the shouting, the savagery of it all. He much preferred Starfall, and even Sunspear, though the seat of House Martell was not nearly as favored in his heart as his own home.

He rode in a carriage with Maegor, now, as they traveled down the Street of Steel, headed to Aegon's Hill and then the Red Keep. His great-nephew had been dressed carefully today, though he would likely not meet his royal father as soon as he arrived. Much as Ali would like to, he was not fool enough to dress the boy in Dayne colors. Nor had he put him in the reds and blacks of House Targaryen. Such a thing could be perceived as presumptuous, even for the Dornish, and even worse, a threat. House Blackfyre's colors were, after all, the same. Instead, he'd been dressed in neutral grey and white. Drab, to be sure, but it was better than bringing more ire down upon him than what he would already receive.

Not for the first time, Ali despaired over Anarra and her bullheadedness. Of all the names, why Maegor? He knew the answer, of course. While she gave the boy his name out of a misguided attempt to give him a leg up in life – what was it she'd said? If they couldn't love him, they'd at least fear him? – she also did it out of spite for the king.

At least, he thought dryly, she'd had enough sense to not name him Daemon. Though something told him that if she'd thought she could get away with it, she might have.

The heir to Starfall sighed deeply and leaned into his seat. There were knots in his back – from stress, no doubt – and he was not as young as he once was. He was an aged man, now, pushing fifty, with a wife and children. He loved Maegor and could not bring himself to resent him, but this trek had been a burdening one. A tiring one.

"Are we nearly there, nuncle?" the boy asked.

Ali nodded warily. "Soon we'll be at Aegon's Hill, Maeg. Then we just need to get through the Red Keep. We'll have rooms there, already prepared. We can rest then." The last sentence was said more for himself than for his niece's son, but the boy looked relieved.

"I'm tired," Maegor admitted. Ali ruffled his hair. He had not done well on the trip here, poor boy, riddled by sea sickness and fear. And while he seemed too drained to be upset at the moment, the heir to Starfall knew Anarra's absence troubled him.

"All will be well," Ali said, pouring conviction into the words. Maegor glanced at him, something akin to doubt flickering across his face, and his heart clenched. "Trust me. I will make it so."

He regretted making that promise as soon as he said it, but it was too late; it was already in the world.

"Mama said to not trust anybody but you," his niece's son replied. Ali thought grimly that that was good advice.

.

.

They passed through the Red Keep quietly, without any fuss. Perhaps the king wanted to avoid presenting his bastard son to the court out of shame, perhaps he was being sympathetic to the queen. Ali grimaced internally at the thought of her and at the doubtless reason Maegor had been summoned. Prince Rhaegar was seven years old now. He was his father's only surviving trueborn son, his only surviving trueborn child in general, and, crucially, the only one Queen Rhaella had carried to full term. Word had spread quickly of her most recent misscarriage – her fourth one in seven years – right before Aerys had taken a sudden interest in the Dornish son he didn't want. No doubt the king wanted to see how his other son fared, his spare in the case of the worst situation, which would be, of course, the death of Prince Rhaegar and no legitimate child to replace him.

Ali also thought that it had something to do with his pride. He had met the king only once, when he was still just a prince, but first impressions were strong ones, as the saying went. Aerys had been proud then, with an unearned arrogance to him that had irked the heir to Starfall. Mayhaps he had grown out of it, mayhaps he had not. Four children lost in their mother's womb was not just a grievous blow to succession, but a threat to his manhood. Perhaps – and this was guesswork, but Ali thought it likely enough – he had brought Maegor here as a subtle reminder, to both himself and the realm, that he was capable of fathering healthy children. Healthy sons.

If this was the case, Ali thought it cruel. Poor Queen Rhaella mourned the children who had been a part of her whilst her husband sought to remind everyone that the problem was certainly not him – privately, the heir to Starfall pinned their lost babes down to the royal couple's incestous union, which had surely earned them the wrath of the Seven – and she had no choice but to endure it. Ali also suspected that if their trek was for this reason, their trip would be a short one. A chance for the king to meet his bastard son and lick his wounds and reassure himself before shipping him off to Dorne again. Ali would much prefer it if this was the case.

Besides the fact that Maegor was his flesh, his blood, Anarra would be destroyed if her son were to be ripped from her more than he already was. This entire ordeal had served as a reminder of how delicate their situation was. In the safety of Dorne, Ali thought, they had forgotten the truth. They had called Maegor a son of House Dayne, which he was, and the power of his father and his father's family had, somehow, slipped from their minds. They had been lulled into a false sense of security, an illusion which had been utterly shattered.

Ali would take care to not forget again. There was little he could do if Aerys demanded Maegor – he was the king, and the boy was just as much his son as he was Anarra's, even if he did not seem overeager to play the part of a father – but he would do better to prepare them for separation. He would not let his niece nor her son nor his own children feel such loss again. Nor himself. He would make sure of it.

XVII

Their chambers were adjoining, separated by a single door and a sitting room. Ali's was larger, though the difference in size was not what it should have been. The heir to Starfall wondered if Aerys was intending to snub him, or if he was simply going about half-heartedly reaching out to Maegor, as he had done with the dagger he'd gifted him.

Ali's room had a bed and a desk, along with a table at the center. A feathered chair sat in the corner along with a stool. A large window overlooked the city, the panels glinting against the sunlight. The view, he thought sourly, was not a pleasant one. Perhaps it was simply his own bias of King's Landing.

They would rest here for the rest of the day, he decided. If Maegor wished to see the city there was always time tomorrow. Now his old bones needed rest and his tired mind sleep. Aerys would summon them when he was ready. Ali did not put it past him to have them wait a day or two, based on how much contempt he held for the Dornish, and how Anarra had made a fool of him. He hoped the king would have the good sense to not take her – admittedly clever – provocation from four years ago out on Maegor, but he did not know whether or not that would be the case.

The sun was beginning to draw further to the west. It would set in a few hours' time.

"Go wash," Ali advised his great-nephew. "After a long trip we surely stink. By the time we're clean it should be supper."

.

.

Ali had a bath drawn for himself quickly. He ordered a maid to watch Maegor – he did not want to risk the boy drowning, as little of a risk as that seemed to be at four years of age – and the knowledge that the boy was safe and cared for allowed him to sink into the bliss of the warm water a servant had drawn for him.

It lapped at his skin, reaching to the upper part of his ribcage, and he rubbed soap along his body. The heir to Starfall winced as he moved. It had not not even been ten years since The War of the Ninepenny Kings, which he had fought in valiantly. It stung his pride that he was not as strong as he had once been. Every ache and creak of his bones served as a reminder, as did the gray of his hair. At least it had not thinned overly much, he thought wryly.

After bathing he dressed in a purple tunic and white pants. He had asked for a white-and-purple-slashed sash as well, though that seemed ostentatious in private. Ali's fingers skimmed the cloth. Making up his mind, he held it in one hand and ordered Maegor to be brought to him. His great-nephew was dressed in neutral colors. The heir to Starfall commanded for their supper to be brought. After it was, and the servants left once more, he gestured for Maegor to draw closer.

"Lift up your arm," he said, not unkindly. It was an attempt, however weak, to be his usual jovial self. It failed, but he comforted himself with the knowledge that he'd tried. He slipped the sash over Maegor's head, beneath his arm, and smiled. His great-nephew's eyes lit up at the Dayne colors.

Ali pressed a kiss to the boy's forehead. It was a simple gesture of affection, something he was used to, but Maegor grinned and wrapped his arms around his waist and he thought it helped.

Good.

"Let us eat," Ali said.

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.

Supper was a simple affair. They dined on watered down wine and roasted duck, with bowls of gravy to dip it in. They had bread as well, burned crisp on the outside but soft within, and some salt cod. It was not the most delicious meal Ali had ever had, but it filled his belly and that was all he needed in this moment.

They stayed up for a bit afterwards, Ali sitting in the chair at the corner of his room while Maegor curled into his side, telling the boy, in soft murmurs, of Ser Davos Dayne, the Sword of the Morning who had wed Nymeria. He kept the story short and brief, and made sure his voice was low. He did not know if it mattered much to tell Maegor stories of Dorne, but he would not risk it. Once Maegor looked drowsy, he lifted him up – out of his prime as he was, he could still manage that – and felt his great-nephew's hands curl and bunch up the fabric of his tunic. He looked down, surprised.

"Let me stay," Maegor murmured , already half-asleep. "Please."

Ali hesitated for a moment, indecisive. But then he looked down into the face of his niece's son, and was reminded not just of the boy before him but of his own children, and sighed, smiled indulgently. Carrying him to his bed, which was large enough to make room, he set Maegor down and pulled the sheets over him.

"Rest now," the heir to Starfall said softly. "You could have a big day ahead of you tomorrow."

Settling onto his own side of the bed, he rested his head against the pillow. The darkness and quiet of the room was a welcome relief from the hustle and bustle of earlier, he thought. Already, sleep was taking him.

That night, Ali dreamt of Starfall. He dreamt of his father and his brother long gone and Anarra and his wife and his children. He dreamt of home.

XVIII

Ali woke with sore limbs and creaking joints the next morning. He turned to Maegor. He looked peaceful, now; more relaxed than he had been since Aerys had summoned him. Perhaps it was because of Ali's presence, perhaps it was simply because they were no longer on water. Ali loathed to wake him, but they ought to break their fasts.

"Up," he said, shaking his shoulder.

His niece's son blinked blearily, rubbed at his eyes. He looked around the room, gaze flat, unrecognizing, before awareness dawned on him. Immediately his ease dissipated.

They ate eggs and ham for the breaking of their fasts, along with figs and oranges. Maegor took an orange, held it in his hand, stared at it, ublinking. "I miss the blood oranges from the Water Gardens," he said, wistful.

I do too, Ali thought. "You can have all the blood oranges you want when we return," he said.

They were just finishing their meals when there came a knock at the door.

"Enter," the heir to Starfall called.

A servant walked in, holding a metal plate in hand. Over it was a covering. He removed it to reveal a slip of paper.

"My master commanded me to give this to you, m'lord," he said. His eyes were lowered to the floor, but there was a tension in his shoulders. When he looked at Maegor, recognition flickered across his face. Dislike as well. Ali bristled.

He took the slip of paper, unfolded it.

To Lord Ali Dayne of Starfall, it read, your presence has been requested – and of course, that meant commanded – by His Grace, Aerys Targaryen, the Second of His Name. You shall meet him in an hour's time, in his private chambers along with Maegor Sand.

Ali's eyes narrowed at the thinly-veiled disrespect of the message. There were no pleasantries, no attempts at politeness. In fact, to give him only an hour to prepare was exceptionally rude.

King Aerys, it seemed, had not yet moved past Anarra's slight.

Anger twisted in the heir to Starfall's chest, sharp and red-hot. He was a knight who had gained his spurs at six-and-ten. He had served faithfully in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. He had fostered at Sunspear, with the Martells. Whatever Aerys felt towards his niece – and Ali could not say that ire had not been earned – he was owed a certain level of respect.

This whore's son , who had not even done half as much as Ali had by the time he'd been his age, had no right to this mockery!

Inbred fucker.

Ali spat in his mind's eye, conveniently forgetting that Maegor, bless him, was a grandchild of incest in this moment. He sat for a long moment, jaw clenched with anger. Then he closed his eyes, exhaled. Opened his eyes again.

"Nuncle?" Maegor asked. "What is it?"
Ali rubbed at his temples. He set the slip of paper down.

"The king has summoned us to meet him," he said. "We are preparing now. He hasn't given us much time."

.

.

Again, Maegor dressed neutrally. The wardrobe they had prepared for him was designed to not inflame any tempers. Ali thought to tone down his Dayne colors, but the thought of doing so to please King Aerys left a bitter taste in his mouth. Instead he forwent his sash and outright sigils of his house.

"Take your dagger," he said. It was hardly inconspicuous, but it had been a gift from Aerys and to not wear it would be a slight. His niece's son slipped its belt around his waist and sheathed the blade at his side.

As they walked to where they would meet the King on the Iron Throne, Ali considered how Aerys would react to his bastard son. Maegor had little of Anarra in him, physically, and nearly everything of the king. That would please him, the heir to Starfall thought. On the other hand, he spoke with a Dornish drawl. The cadence was not as slow or as thick as how it would have been had he been born and raised in, say, Sunspear, but it was there. Anarra had perfected accents young. She had been bored one day, and took it up. Then she'd quickly grown fascinated by it and, well, the rest was history. It was how she'd managed to fool Aerys. But she had never bothered to teach her son the same thing. The thought had not even crossed her mind.

Yes, Maegor's manner of speech would most likely anger the king. At the very least, it would irritate him. And though he looked Valyrian, looked Targaryen, Dornish blood coursed through his veins. He had been born in Dorne, had been told Dornish stories, had been sung Dornish lullabies. Right to the bone, he belonged to the land and the people Aerys looked down upon, if not hated.

The king, when he realized this, would not take kindly to it.

Ali gripped Maegor's shoulder lightly but firmly before they entered his father's chambers. "Be respectful," he said, though he had told him this as they'd prepared, "but not meek. Do not crumple before him but do not be proud. Be yourself, Maegor, the good-natured child that you are, and you'll be fine."

His great-nephew was shaking, he realized. His heart went out to him. Maegor drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders. His jaw set. His amethyst eyes blazed. His mouth drew to a thin, tight line. He looked older than his four years, at that moment. There was a wariness to his gaze, an age that Ali sometimes caught flickers of, but had never before seen so clearly.

Maegor was strange, sometimes, behaving as a child would but then clamming up, growing melancholy or quiet or both, looking tired in the way no one his age should. Ali had always been discomforted by it. Now, he thought it might be a good thing.

"I'll be with you every step of the way," the heir to Starfall said.

"Do you promise?" Maegor asked.

Ali nodded, the movement crisp, precise.

His great-nephew sucked in a deep breath.

He knocked on the door.

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A/N: Dang, it's been a hot second, huh? I was going to make this chapter a little longer but honestly I think this works better. I've been busy with my personal life, so that's why there hasn't been an update.

Next chapter Maegor meets Aerys which is going to be… interesting to write. And by that I mean difficult lol.

As you can see, I switched up the tenses here. It was not a flashback, for clarification. I think past tense honestly really works so far. We'll see if that keeps up.

Thanks for reading!