Aegor

The days that followed Daemon's death were a mess. The funeral, The Crystal Guard, dragonpit and Flea Bottom… Aenys' mental status.

He had lost a son. Aegor could only imagine the pain. But this was still concerning all the same. It started when Daena came to find him the day after Daemon's death, carrying Rohanne, her eyes red.

"Uncle. I want you to see this." Daena placed Rohanne on Aegor's desk, whispered soothing words to her child, and showed him Rohanne's head. Beneath the soft, smooth silver strands, there were dark bruises on Rohanne's scalp.

"Who did this?" Aegor asked, but he knew the answer already. If it was anyone else, Daena did not have to come to him. She came to him because she believed he was the only one who could force him to admit it should he be too shameful to do so.

"Aenys. I think…" She pursed her lips, "It's because of Daemon. Rohanne was there when Daemon died, and Aenys must have… lost his mind… for a second."

Giving her brother the benefit of the doubt, Aegor mused. Still, Aenys had no real reason to hurt his niece, and Daena was clever enough to realise that. "Hand her to a maester first. We can talk about it once she's treated."

Daena nodded, her actions strangely rigid. She was not just angry; there was a tired, lifeless air surrounding her.

Rohanne would be fine, the maester told them. The bruises would be gone in a few days with no lasting damage. Head covered in bandages, Rohanne smiled faintly to her mother, "Are we going to find Father?"

Daena winced, "Not yet, sweetie. Wait for a moment, could you?"

Back in his solar, Aegor looked at Daena pointedly, "Where is Aerion?"

"I had Ser Duncan look over him. He can go sulk wherever he likes," Daena hissed, some life returning to her eyes. So that was it. That idiot must have thrown a fit over Rohanne's wound.

"If he—"

"No, he didn't. He's being a fool but he didn't actually… do anything," Daena crossed her arms stubbornly, frowning, "I can take care of him. He will be begging for my forgiveness in a week… I think."

Aegor raised a brow. Despite her anger, she was still protecting him in her words. He would have to arrange more men to keep watch of him later, but now… "Keep him tamed."

"I know, uncle, I know," she waved her hands impatiently, "About Aenys…"

"Yes. What do you want from him?" She came to find him because she was afraid that her brother would be too proud to admit his mistake. This would not be a real problem if Aenys was not still devastated by the loss of Daemon.

"I want him to apologise. Not to me, but Rohanne. And I want him not to approach my child without my approval again." Daena's words were strict, but Aegor thought her demands reasonable.

Being a king did not mean he could do whatever he wanted. Aenys could recognise this, surely. Aegor raised him, and he knew the boy was shrewd.

Shrewd, clear of his abilities and limits. Kept his distance from people, but charming when he wished to be. He had used his cleverness and silver tongue to goof off as a child, but since he became king Aenys had poured himself into working hard. He might have made a mistake, but he was still a good king, Aegor believed.

When they found Aenys, he was buried nose deep in a mountain of documents, busily writing, but one quick glance told Aegor his writing was nearly unidentifiable. Black circles surrounding his eyes, white hair dishevelled, he looked like he had lost half of his soul. "Uncle? What was the issue? Was there a problem with the funeral or the building of—" he paused, "Oh. Daena."

"Yes. Me. You know what we need to talk about?" Daena sighed, her eyes avoiding Aenys' pitiable figure. Seeing him must have lessened her rage.

Aenys lowered his head, his fingers tapping the table thoughtfully. Did he truly have to think, or was he procrastinating? Aegor saw no stock of wine or empty goblet in this room, and Aenys looked entirely sober. He should be able to answer her.

Finally, Aenys raised his head, forcing out a weak, apologetic smile, "...Is it about Rohanne?"

"Yes, it is. Are you not aware of her injuries?" Aegor asked, his tone even. He tried not to make Aenys think he was prosecuting him.

"Injuries…" Aenys grimaced. "I didn't think I would hurt her. I suppose I… sorry, sister. I wasn't thinking straight. How is she now?"

"She will be fine," Daena frowned, "I know this is hard for you, brother, but… I don't want to see this happening again."

"I thought I was just ruffling her hair. But with… everything… I can't trust my own hands." Aenys whispered, staring at his fingers, dirtied by ink… but perhaps he was seeing more than ink, for his gaze was hollow.

Aegor worried about his mental status. "Your Grace, would you tell us what happened yesterday?" Daena had told him she could not figure out the exact order of events from Rohanne's words. All they knew was that Aenys talked to Rohanne after returning to the Red Keep.

"I wanted to know what had happened when Daemon…" Aenys swallowed, "The guards told me she was there. So I sent for her. She was sobbing, and when I asked she told me about Daemon. I… blanked out for a second. The next thing I knew Selyse was beside me, pulling my arms. Then I let Rohanne go." he blinked slowly, "I had no idea I hurt her."

"Go to rest," Aegor had heard enough. "I will take care of the paperwork. You didn't sleep last night, did you?"

It was that moment a knight of the kingsguard came in and bowed, "Your Grace, Your Highness, Lord Hand. The queen is here."

"Selyse?" Aenys' dim eyes lit up, alerted, his brows knitted together. "She…"

"Let her in," Aegor ordered. No wonder she wanted to see Aenys if he hadn't returned to their shared chambers the night before. He was not the only one who lost a son...

Selyse Peake stumbled in with widened eyes, clearly stunned by the number of people in Aenys' solar. "Princess Daena, Lord Aegor," when her gaze turned towards Aenys her head dropped slightly, her tone sorrowful, "...Your Grace. I… have I interrupted something? I just thought you might..."

"Yes, we're discussing something," Aenys said, his voice harsh— probably harsher than he had intended. When Selyse visibly winced, Aenys shook his head and turned to Daena, "I will purchase a gift for Rohanne and apologise to her later. Please excuse me for… for a while."

Daena nodded, sighing, "I want to be there when you do, but… I'll leave you to Selyse for now."

Aenys stood up and walked to Selyse, who was teary-eyed and biting her lips. "Sorry. I'll stay with you today," he murmured, "...I shouldn't have left you alone."

Even with Aenys' body covering her, Aegor could see Selyse shaking her head frantically, her braids flying. After placing a kiss on her forehead, Aenys turned to nod at Aegor, "Then I shall leave it all to you, uncle."

"This is the duty of the Hand, Your Grace." Aegor bowed. He was glad to see Aenys taking a rest…

...But this was not the end of the problem.

"What caused this delay?" Aenys asked, his expression dark, his fingers digging deeply into the parchments he held.

"The weather," Aegor answered bluntly. He was sick of how the rest of the small council was unwilling to just state the fact as they should. "The strong rain and wind last week halted the construction and some of the equipment were destroyed. Nevertheless, we should expect the construction to be completed by the end of the year."

"End of the year? The resettlement must begin before the end of next month," Aenys demanded, "As I recall, the new sewers were finished, and the majority of the key structures were completed before this disaster. If we hire more men, we should be able to have enough houses to support the first wave of inhabitants, the poorest, dirtiest of the slums."

"That should work. The City Watch is ready for the assignment," Gormon Peake said, "According to past investigations and our calculations, there are around ten thousand inhabitants who would relocate to their new homes. This could be done in waves, with the first batch complete in three months."

Aegor sighed. Peake was not wrong on paper, but he had missed an important point. "The buildings could be completed if we hasten the construction, this is correct, but with other construction ongoing the pit is no place to live. The sanitary conditions in the construction sites aren't better than the slums, and moving people in only goes against the original purpose of this project."

Aenys frowned deeply, grinding his teeth, clenching his fists. "Send a few maesters to check out the pit, have them give us medical advice. There must be something we can do to improve the sanitary conditions. Grand Maester..."

"Yes, Your Grace! I will arrange it…" The old maester said, his gaze wavering between Aenys and Aegor with fear. It was foolish to have any expectations for a coward like him.

It was left to Aegor. "That won't be sufficient. If there were such methods that could drastically improve sanitary conditions, wouldn't we have applied it to Flea Bottom itself already? There's no need to rush the project, Your Grace. Flea Bottom has survived the Great Spring Sickness before, it can last for another year."

"No, it can't!" Aenys shouted, glaring at Aegor, his nostrils flaring. "My son died of the sickness of King's Landing. The disgusting air of this city killed him! There will be no more of this. No other child should die because of the filth."

That was unreasonable. Daemon died because he was born weak. Children die all the time, and the filth of Flea Bottom could hardly be responsible. Yet he could understand the pain, still flesh and raw, affecting Aenys' decision. Some compensation had to be made.

"This is a noble goal. If we postpone the second wave of the construction and redirect the manpower to set up the existing infrastructures, we might be able to start reallocating just roughly a month behind the original schedule. However, this will decrease the amount of housing we can provide and further delay the second batch of resettlement," Aegor suggested.

Aenys hissed in frustration, "Fine, that's acceptable. If we don't start the reallocation as fast as possible, we will never know what other problems we might encounter along the way. This first batch is a test, to begin with."

"That is a good point," Aegor bowed slightly, "So be it then, Your Grace, it will be done. Lord Peake, I will check with you about the details of the reallocation later."

Peake nodded, "Of course, Lord Hand. We must make sure the City Watch executes your orders perfectly."

Aegor snorted. Sneaky bastard. He wanted to make sure that should the project fail, Aegor would take responsibility instead of him.

No matter. As the Hand of the King and the person in charge, he would bear the responsibility.

How could he know the chain reaction it would cause—

That he would have done irreversible damage to whom he must protect above all?

He did not know how severe the situation was until Calla called for him.

The younger Peake was even more of a fool than his father. A witless moron who could not tell him what happened in Flea Bottom. Aegor rode out, yet he noticed what was wrong long before he even reached his destination. People were rushing from the Street of the Sisters into Cobbler's Square, crying, screaming, not even the heavy rain could wash the sound out.

Aegor's heart sank. It could be the Gold Cloaks, or…

What had that child done? Had he, although unintentionally, pushed her into a place where she must use her sword?

Every step was a struggle against the fleeing crowd, but Aegor marched on.

Yet when he finally reached the outskirts of Flea Bottom, he had lost all words.

Rain wet his cheeks, but the ground was slick with blood.

Cries of terror filled the streets. People ran for their lives, slipping and falling and screaming until they could no longer rise again. Someone should be maintaining the order here. The Gold Cloaks… Aegor saw them, shivering in corners of the streets, hiding in dark alleys so their golden armour would not shine.

He was the Hand of the King. He should do something.

But he would not when he could see what people were running away from.

The Stranger's dance.

Crystal's light.

Calla… a pile of bodies laid beside her. Every time Crystal moved, it brought a wide, red, deadly trajectory. The sword itself was not bloodied— it never had— but Calla's Crystal Armour, normally bright green, was dyed red.

And it was breaking, dissolving into pieces, each shard cutting through Calla's black armour, the one made with metal, the one covering her body beneath the magical armour, like a knife through paper.

Just like that day, on Redgrass Field, when she killed Brynden.

"Calla!" Aegor cried, across the wall of men between them. "Listen to me, Calla!" He had to stop her. He could stop her— just like last time—

Her head slowly turned towards him. Her long silver hair, wet and soaked with blood, fluttered behind her back.

"Aegor…" she cried.

Calla's knees fell. Her armour broke. Crystal disappeared from her grip.

Their eyes met. Calla's eyes were full of tears.

"Why did you make me do this?" she screamed.

Then she fell, and Aegor

could only

watch it happen.