"The corpse must not be older than a night, your grace," said Ser Gwayne Corbray, the discoverer of Prince Lotaryon's corpse.

Daeron gazed at the horrible state of the corpse, legs removed, head cut and a wound in the belly. "If we consider that the body was hidden in the bushes of the courtyard then the murder couldn't have killed him outside of this region," he concluded and turned to Ser Gwayne, "Did anyone witness the act, ser?"

"I'm afraid not, your grace," Ser Gwayne answered, "Servants all were either in the great hall or in the kitchen and the guardsmen were distributed unevenly, so it is unlikely any of them was at this place to see the murder."

"Still, I want you to question everyone," Ser Gwayne nodded at that. Daeron turned toward a page, "Call for the members of the small council, lad. Tell them it is an emergency."

"Even Lord Celtigar, your grace?" At the mention of his name, Daeron's eyes fell on the leather glove he still wore. He couldn't recall many events of the last night, but he remembered Lord Celtigar and his missing fingers.

"Yes, even him." With that, the page ran off. Daeron himself began marching towards the small council chambers, he hoped to arrive there just in time with his wife so that he could deliver the heartbreaking news in private.

His wish was not to be realised, however, for as he reached the chambers, he saw his council already arriving, "My lords, welcome," he greeted them with disdain. Surprisingly, Lord Celtigar seemed both well-rested and dressed eloquently whereas Lord Lannister's outfit was something betwixt a nightgown and a formal garb.

"Your grace, what urgent matter has occurred?" said Lord Royce.

"Unfortunately, while we feasted in Lord Celtigar's wedding celebration, someone murdered Prince Lotaryon of Dorne." To think that Daeron spent all those time negotiating with him to marry Daenerys.

Lord Royce exchanged looks with Lord Lannister and Lord Tully, all three at least seemed distraught. "Your grace," Lord Celtigar spoke, "I will begin the investigations as soon as possible."

"Why?" said Lord Lannister, "Finding the killer is not the main course of action here."

"That's the only course of action we can take, my lord," said Daeron.

"No, your grace, there are far more important things we should take into consideration with this murder," said Lord Tully.

Daeron frowned, "What could possibly be more important than finding a murderer who dwells in my castle?"

"See, right off the bat you're not asking the right questions, your grace."

"I'm not?" Daeron raised an eyebrow.

"No you see, the right question is: what should we do against the Dornish invasion?"

"Dornish invasion?" Daeron frowned in confusion, "Why would the Dornish invade us?"

"For the same reason why the Dothraki ransacked Sarnor, your grace," said Lord Lannister, "Some foolish peasant killed the heir of a khal, who was the guest of the Sarnor's king and led the wrath of the Dothraki to destroy those lands."

"You don't want the same to happen to us, now would you, your grace?" Lord Tully asked.

Daeron was baffled by his councillor's words, but as he was to disregard them, Lord Royce interrupted him, "If I may, your grace, I do agree to an extent to Lord Tully and Lord Lannister's argument. The Prince of Dorne will not be pleased with the murder of his son, who was a guest at your disposal. Although, even his wrath cannot outstep the alliance you share by blood. The best course of action I suggest is to dispatch an apology mission to formally apologise for the prince's death and hand over his remains to his father."

That idea was not as idiotic as Daeron expected, in fact, it was indeed the best thing to do in the current situation. I'm glad that I have chosen a great hand, he mused. "That's a great idea, my lord hand. But who should lead this mission? Mayhaps Prince Baelor and the queen?"

"A royal prince but without silver hair? The old prick would love it," said Lord Lannister.

"So, Prince Baelor would represent the union between the Martells and the Targaryens, that's good and all, but we also need a silver-haired prince to represent the might of dragons," said Lord Tully.

Daeron could agree with that, though he hoped they didn't mean to send Daemon to Dorne. "Who do you have in mind, my lord?"

"The obvious choice: Prince Aenyx."

For a second, Daeron refused to believe what he had heard. "Did you mean Prince Aerys, my lord? I'm sure he can charm them with his….er… knowledge of books."

"No, your grace, I meant exactly what I said: send Prince Aenyx."

Daeron jerked his face, "Why?"

"For several reasons, your grace," Lord Tully held his fingers high, "Prince Aenyx has the silver look, but is not the result of brother-sister lovemaking, thus would not gross out the Dornish, who seemed to not bother the wild oats of an affair. Moreover, he's a lovely young man, who, I believe will charm the Prince of Dorne, at least better than Prince Aerys."

Daeron's mouth was opened agape, "I cannot believe that you are serious at this moment, my lord. What charm does my brother possess? What talent other than breeding havoc?"

"If I may, your grace," said Lord Royce, "The mission must contain a silver-haired Targaryen as well. But could not send two sons whilst you have three brothers, of course only one of them is suitable for this mission: Prince Aenyx."

"It seems to me that the lot of you have decided to endorse Prince Aenyx in any way possible. Very well," Daeron sighed in defeat, "Prince Aenyx it shall be. Of course, the leading figure of this mission should still be Prince Baelor."

Lord Royce bowed, "A wise decision, your grace."

"If you say so."

YYY

"Can you believe it, Valter? We're finally out of this hellhole!" Aenyx cried in joy as Valter and Ser Selvy packed his belongings.

"I wouldn't have been this joyful, my prince," Ser Selvy whispered in his raspy voice, "We're heading to Dorne, that place has a reputation for killing Targaryens."

Aenyx raised an eyebrow, "Care to give a number for this claim, kind ser?"

"Two, my prince, which is not a lot, but it is still considerable."

Aenyx now snorted, "Well, from our adventures together, ser, I believe you can say that I'm quite invincible."

"At the cost of others satisfying themselves, my prince," said Valter but not with a sarcastic tone.

"Hey, I didn't ask them to sacrifice themselves, now did I?" Even though I did carve their way to feel pain, Aenyx left this part unsaid.

Knock! Knock!

"Someone is knocking on the door, my prince," said Valter.

"You don't say?" Aenyx made his way to the door and opened it.

A fat boy with a tabard of a red dragon walked into the house. Yes, please invite yourself in, Aenyx mused. "Milord! Milord!"

"What?"

"Prince Baelor awaits you."

"Ah, alright," Aenyx was anxious about sharing a trip with this nephew of all of them. Aerys could've been better. He noticed the boy was still standing there, "What?"

"I thought you might tip me, my prince?"

"Nope, get out." The page finally got out. Aenyx turned towards his companions, "Well, lads, you ready for our journey to Dorne?"

"Yes, my prince," Valter answered as he picked up some of the luggage, Ser Selvy did the same. Turns out their belongings were few; except for some outfits, Aenyx didn't own anything, and Valter and Ser Selvy each only had a small sack.

The three walked through the halls and arrived at the courtyard. Once there, he expected some people to come to bid their farewells with him, but he only saw his nephew Baelor getting recognition from his family members and everyone else alike. To be honest, it did make Aenyx feel terrible, he wondered if he was nicer to them, would they accept him? He and his companions then walked towards their carriage as Aenyx heard a sound: "UNCLE!"

Aenyx turned around and saw his nephew, Aerys, running towards him. "Nephew?! I…I did not think I would find you in my camp." He then remembered he had to keep a stern façade, "How come you're not with your brother? Prince Baelor seems to get along with everyone nicely."

"Oh, Baelor bid me his farewells earlier in my bedchambers, uncle," said Aerys, "Regardless, I thought I might say my goodbyes to you, and not only you but Valter and Ser Selvy. I will miss you terribly, you three are my only true friends."

"The feeling is mutual, nephew, for you are my only friend as well," said Aenyx, "Well, outside Ser Selvy and Valter."

"You both honour us, my princes," said Ser Selvy.

Valter turned to Aerys, "My prince, your kind words moved me greatly, what about when I'm in Dorne, I'll get you some souvenirs? As a token of my gratitude of course."

Aerys smiled brightly, "I would be very thankful, my lord."

The sound of a horn interrupted them all. "We are off to go!" cried Ser Gwayne Corbray to Baelor.

Aerys turned back to them, "I hope the three of you have a safe journey, my friends; may you return from my grandsire's seat with satisfying results."

"Thank you, nephew," Aenyx nodded in appreciation, then he turned to Valter and Ser Selvy, "Well, comrades, it is time for us to depart. Ser Selvy, I gather I'll be riding with?"

"If you prefer to, my prince."

"I do."

Thus, Ser Selvy helped Aenyx mount a horse, and he mounted it as well. Valter also took one of the brown palfreys. When Baelor and his entourage began riding out of the gates, Aenyx and his companions followed suit. Aenyx made the effort to look back once more before he left Red Keep completely, he felt relief and dread pour through his veins. He only could hope that he was not going to die.

YYY

"How are you faring, uncle?" Aerys turned his head to see Baelor riding next to him and Ser Selvy.

He frowned, why would his nephew ask about his feelings? "I am fine, nephew. Thanks for asking."

"I must say, uncle, I have never seen a child of seven namedays clutch to a horse so strongly and not get tired after four days." Indeed, it was four days after they departed King's Landing and Aenyx had dismounted the horse only to sleep. "Of course, it may be that you are in fact tired, but pretend not to be; if it's the case, then I can arrange for you to ride with the carriage." His tone was so sincere and yet, Aenyx could not help but doubt him.

"No need, nephew. I'm fine with Ser Selvy." That soon proved to be a lie, however.

Aenyx saw Valter nearing him, "My prince, I brought you the beverage you required for your hip pain," he brought a small bottle out of his purse.

"Hip pain?" Baelor asked, "We must stop and treat you, uncle, if you have hip pain."

Aenyx could feel his face flush, "No, I do not have hip pain, can we please continue?"

Baelor lingered but eventually agreed, "Fine, but do not keep your pains to yourself, uncle. I am tasked to bring you the best time of your life," He said as he directed his horse towards another direction.

Aenyx again frowned, that was weird. Why would Baelor be so concerned with him?

"Should I waste this beverage away, my prince?" Valter asked.

"No, give it to me."

Later in the day, Baelor again returned to Aenyx's side. "Look, uncle, can you see that castle over there?"

Aenyx followed his gaze and saw a tower coloured in pale grey stone abreast of the sea. "Yes, what about it?"

"That's where we shall spend the night, Storm's End." As he said the word, the sound of a thundering storm broke out in the sky.

"Well, that was on the nose, now wasn't it?" Aenyx mumbled.

After a thirty minutes ride, they reached the gates to Storm's End, which is definitely not a stupid name for a castle, Aenyx thought.

"My prince," Ser Selvy whispered, "Do you want me to dismount so that you won't come off as a child who needs help riding a horse."

"Ah, thank you for your kindness, ser, but no, I think I'll be fine just with you."

Aenyx expected something glorious as their caravan walked into the castle, but only encountered an empty courtyard with a cat sleeping on the ground.

Ser Selvy helped Aenyx to dismount. Aenyx then walked forward and investigated the emptied courtyard for no reason. His eyes drifted to the lying cat, "You at least bow to me, catty." He then saw Baelor walking up to him. "Nephew, where is the grand greeting? Must I always face an empty courtyard when I stumble upon a new location?"

"Do not worry, uncle, they mustn't see us coming."

A page boy appeared by the tower's long doors, looking dumbfounded. Baelor smiled at him, "Ah, greetings, lad. What is your name?"

The boy looked at them with widened eyes and did not speak for a second, "… Conrad Baratheon, the heir to Storm's End."

"Nice to meet you, Conrad. I am Prince Baelor Targaryen, son of his grace, King Daeron, the second of his name, and this is my youngest uncle, Prince Aenyx Targaryen."

Conrad then bowed, "I apologies, your graces, I did not recognise you."

"Think nothing of it, Conrad," said Baelor, "Would you inform your lord father that we have arrived?"

"Of course." He disappeared into the depths of the castle.

Aenyx turned to Baelor, "Should we follow him?"

Baelor shook his head, "No, I'm certain he went to inform Lord Baratheon of our arrival."

Minutes passed but Lord Baratheon did not appear. Conrad Baratheon, however, appeared at the great doors of the castle with raised eyebrows. "Your graces, please come in. My lord father awaits you."

"Ah, at once, my lord," said Baelor as he beckoned for his men to follow him. Aenyx sighed and with Ser Selvy and Valter walked towards the castle.

They walked through the castle's wide halls until they reached the main hall, where a man was sitting on a throne. He smiled at the sight of Baelor. "Ah, Prince Baelor Targaryen, you honour us with your sudden arrival."

"Lord Baratheon," Baelor greeted him.

Lord Baratheon's eyes suddenly drifted to Aenyx, "And who this might be? One of your brothers?"

"No, my lord," Baelor answered him, "This is my uncle, Prince Aenyx Targaryen."

"Ah," Lord Baratheon leaned back on his throne, "So, one of the bastards then."

Aenyx groaned, but before he could speak, Baelor interrupted him, "My lord, my uncle and I, and our caravan, have been riding for days. Would you kindly grant us a stay for the night?"

Lord Baratheon raised an eyebrow, "Might I ask for what reason you've been riding for days?"

"My maternal uncle… Prince Lotaryon of Dorne was found dead in the courtyards of Red Keep. Prince Aenxy and I were sent by his grace the king as a delegation to bring Prince Lotaryon's corpse to my grandfather, the Prince of Dorne and apologise to him for his tragic death."

Now Lord Baratheon smirked mockingly, "How confounding that his grace the king sought to have the heir to Dorne in his coronation but did not deem me worthy of even sending an invitation."

Baelor looked worriedly at Aenyx and then turned to Lord Baratheon. He probably wanted to apologise to the fat lord. Well, Aenyx wouldn't let him.

"You did not get an invitation, my lord," he started, "Only because the maester forgot to send you one. My brother the king always speaks fondly of you and I'm sure he is much saddened that you could not attend his coronation," Aenyx lied.

"Oh?" said Lord Baratheon, "Are you sure of his grace's fondness for me, boy? For I've yet to meet him once in my life."

Aenyx froze. His lie did not last long, unfortunately. Luckily for him, Baelor had something to say in his defence, "I'm sure my uncle has mistaken your lord father for you, my lord. My father does speak fondly of the old Lord Dorrel and I wager he would come to like you as much as he did with him."

Lord Baratheon burst into laughing then. "Gods let hope so, my prince," he raised from his seat, "You are welcome to stay in our castle as much as you like. I shall arrange our best rooms for our two royal princes."

"Your efforts are appreciated, my lord," said Baelor.

Not by me, Aenyx thought bitterly.

YYY

By nightfall, Aenyx's caravan had taken their places in the castle and Aenyx himself found himself wandering in the lonely hallways of Storm's End. He was searching alone, for both Valter and Ser Selvy were preoccupied with other activities, namely, sleeping.

As Aenyx walked around and explore the castle, he stumbled upon a hall with an open view as a giant window. He walked into the hall, of course, and studied the various artefacts that were placed there like historical items in a museum. The light of the night shone through the giant window into the hall, its purple light reflected upon the artefacts and on Aenyx himself.

"I gather you're having a pleasant night, uncle?" asked the voice of Baelor. Aenyx startled and looked at him, seeing his nephew hidden in the shadowy corner of the hall and slowly creeping towards the light, his purple eyes becoming more prominent under the moonlight.

"Greetings, nephew," said Aenyx cautiously, "Having trouble with sleeping like I?"

"You may call it that, but I simply like the comforting silence of the night. Although, I have heard that one might find sleeping difficult if guilt torments him," said Baelor as he walked towards Aenyx.

Aenyx, however, took a step back to put further space between the two. You seem to be quite displeased by me, nephew, though I wonder why? He lied to himself. He exactly knew why Baelor was angry with him, it was because of the whole Blackwood fiasco. Aenyx separated Baelor from his to-be-lover, Myra, and his nephew grew a grudge against him. Wonderful.

Aenyx turned his eyes towards one of the ancient armours, "This place smells like history, doesn't it nephew?" He tried to change the subject.

"Indeed it does, uncle," said Baelor as his eyes drifted to the armour, "In these very halls, Prince Aemond Targaryen invited his nephew, Prince Lucerys. To an uneven fight."

Aenyx frowned in confusion, but let Baelor continue, "Of course, their fight was not on the ground, with swords and spears, but in the skies with the roaring dragons."

"Dragons, you say?" Aenyx chuckled nervously, "I wonder who had the upper hand, the nephew or the uncle?"

"The uncle, uncle," Baelor's eyes were fixed on Aenyx, "Prince Aemond tore Prince Lucerys and his dragon apart. He killed his nephew."

Aenyx now found himself leaning forcefully on a wall. Baelor couldn't be clearer with his words, he wants to kill me. He noticed Baelor was again walking towards him with a faked concern look printed in his eyes, but Aenyx wasn't fooled by him and moved in the opposite direction of him. "Well, nephew," he said as he tried to exit the hall, "I think we had quite a night here, eh? Alas, I feel much tired."

"Oh, well, then, good night, uncle. Be watchful for storms striking."

Aenyx did not even turn to look at his nephew and quickly left the hall for his bedchambers.

YYY

By the afternoon of the next day, the caravan was ready to depart. Aenyx and his companions and Baelor's entourage all stood by Storm's End gates.

"On behalf of my father, my lord, I thank you for welcoming us into your house," said Baelor to Lord Baratheon.

"Don't speak of it, my prince," said the lord with a bright smile, "I'm sure his grace the king will remember our pleasant encounter."

Aenyx eyed Baelor and did not like to be left behind, "I would like to express my gratitude also, my lord."

The mere cold look of Lord Baratheon erupted shivers in him, and Aenyx thought he could melt away in humiliation.

Lord Baratheon turned to Baelor, "I wish for you a good journey, my prince. Send my best regards for his grace the king and tell him I await his royal tour to Storm's End."

"Thank you, my lord. Farewell."

And with that their caravan began to ride. Aenyx constantly gazed back at Baelor, who always seemed to be in a conversation with someone, his devious smile enchanting whoever descended upon him. Aenyx knew his nephew aspired to have him killed. But Aenyx was cleverer than Baelor, he would hunt him before his nephew could become the hunter. He already had done that with the Dornish prince, had he not? What's the difference between these two?

No one could belittle Aenyx, and he will prove it to Baelor before this journey ends.

Suddenly a rush of pain hit him. "Valter!" Aenyx shouted, "My hip hurts!"