Chapter 6: Fuck This Shit, I'm Out
"Don't mind me. Imma just grab my stuff and leave. Excuse me please."
The ride back was a blur. All Marq vaguely remembers is angry Tullys trying to speak to the King as he rode back to the Red Keep. Marq himself mostly tuned it out, exhausted from the fighting. He thinks he overheard something about this being 'a grave insult' and an 'upstart bastard' before the King sent the red-faced lord away.
Marq chooses not to look anyone in the eyes and keeps his eyes trained straight ahead as he rides. Trying not to insult anyone and start another feud today accidentally. If he had the option, he would have avoided the feast, but it's Princess Daenerys's wedding feast, leaving that road closed to him.
Maybe starting a feud would be more bearable than riding with his two half-siblings flanking either side of him. On his right is the angriest and edgiest of the great bastards, Aegor himself. On the left is the creepiest one, Brynden. Both are silent and glaring at each other over Marq's head, no doubt feuding over which of them gets to fuck their sister, the nutjobs.
He snaps when he hears Aegor nearly start growling at Brynden. "By the crone's saggy tits, will you two just lay off each other for a moment!"
The outburst causes Brynden and Aegor to stop glaring at each other and look at Marq in surprise. As if they have the right to be surprised by his anger when they constantly act like toddlers fighting over who gets a toy.
"I don't know why you two hate each other so much," He does know and is constantly sickened by it. "But can you let it rest for one day? Just stay away from each other if you need to."
Aegor stares at Marq and looks almost thoughtful for a moment before anger returns to his face as he grunts like a caveman and rides away ahead of everyone. Leaving just Brynden and Marq awkwardly riding alongside each other.
"My apologies for acting so… unseemly." Brynden breaks the silence first, speaking in a more diplomatic tone as if talking to an angry vassal lord instead of his own half-brother.
"I do not need your apology. Just keep your feuding with Aegor more private." Marq bites the inside of his cheek, stopping himself from making some tongue-in-cheek remark about incestuous Targaryens.
"Wise advice, Ser Marq." Somehow Brynden only gets more formal, nodding at Marq before riding forward also, likely to speak to someone else.
Marq resists the urge to sigh. He finds it unsurprising that Daemon has seemingly grown so attached to him, given that the rest of the Bastards are half insane. He spends the rest of the ride back at the rear of the procession, far away from anyone else.
Once inside, he bravely runs away from his insane family and instead goes to chambers. Using the excuse of preparing himself for the feast, which well he was. However, a knock on the door ruined his plans to hide away.
"Come in!" Marq shouts, standing in front of a mirror as he puts on a new brown doublet, this one with a small golden crown patched onto it. He looks over himself one last time, part of him wondering if Aegon IV had simply gotten drunk and mistaken him as one of his bastards, and that was how he ended up in the red keep. There are almost no Valyrian features to speak of in his messy brown hair. His build is tall and stocky, and he stands a few inches over most other boys his age. The only hint that he had any Targaryen blood was the flecks of purple in his otherwise blue eyes. His face still sporting a nasty bruise and a busted lip from his clash with Maekar in the melee.
Without hesitation, a messenger walks in, a messenger Marq recognizes as the same one who swiftly delivered the news of Aegon IV's death years ago. "Milord, his grace requests your presence in his solar."
Marq sighs, "Very well. I'll be there in a moment."
The messenger leaves, and Marq is left alone. However, as it is usually a bad idea to leave royalty waiting, he quickly exits his room, heading for the royal solar in Maegor's Holdfast.
The place had become much more lively since Daeron had taken the throne and much more dornish. Sometimes Marq wonders if Queen Myriah had brought half of the dornish court with her. Soon enough is able to make it to the solar and knocks on the door.
Marq hears a brief swear from inside and a shout that could only have come from Daeron. "Who is it?!"
"It's Marq." He replies.
"Oh, well, come in," Daeron commands.
Marq does precisely that, opening the door and stepping into the solar. Only to pause as he gazed upon the scene before him. King Daeron sitting at his desk, parchment out in front of him, a large splotch of ink spilled upon the parchment, and an irate fat tabby cat with ink all over his paws, tracking it all over the royal solar as it roams around.
"Your knock gave Sunfyre here quite the scare, knocked my ink over," Daeron explains at Marq's questioning look.
"You named the cat Sunfyre?" Marq raises an eyebrow.
Daeron shrugs without any remorse. "It's as good of a name as any. However, I didn't call you here to discuss cats. Come sit."
Marq obeys, sitting across from the King. He does not doubt by the end of this conversation. He would have preferred if they just here talking about cats.
Daeron sits up straighter, looking Marq in the eyes. "First, I must congratulate you on your victory and give my apologies on behalf of Maekar. He is a… spirited boy."
"As my face can attest," Marq speaks before remembering who he is talking to. "My apolo-"
Daeron interrupts him with a wave, "I am not blind to my children's flaws, but again we've gotten sidetracked. No, I called you here because I distinctly remember you saying one day you wished to rebuild Oldstones. Given that you chose to take the Mudd name and arms, I can only assume you haven't forgotten that dream. Rest assured, I haven't forgotten either."
"Your grace that isn't-" Marq tries to protest, to say it wasn't necessary but is once again silenced by Daeron raising his hand.
Daeron speaks, adopting a tone as if lecturing a class. "Nonsense, it is an idea that I believe would benefit us both. I do plan on beginning work on restoring Oldstones. Ideally, the keep should be fit for living by your 16th name day, not too far away given your 15th is coming soon."
"That is very generous, your grace." Marq musters all his strength to not just sink into his chair. He didn't want this, not yet. It's too early! He wanted to explore the world, a whole foreign world, and he'd be stuck in some dusty keep in the Riverlands.
"You don't seem very enthused by it," Daeron notes almost amusedly. "Perhaps this next bit of news will perk your spirits a bit under the recommendation of Lord Butterwell and with permission gained from Lady Melissa. I have managed just about to arrange a betrothal between you and Mya. All I need to do now is announce it, which I plan to do tonight during the feast. Which I expect you shall be attending."
"Of course, your grace," Marq plasters a fake smile on his face. If he had his way, there would be no such wedding. He hasn't gone that native that he is willing to marry his sister, half or not. He makes up his mind then and there. Tonight he will flee the Red Keep, the politics, the whackjob family, all of it.