At the Red Keep…
Prince Tommen continued sprinting throughout the halls of the Red Keep, panting heavily as he searched from room-to-room for a certain individual he believes can help his brother Daveth recover. None of that mattered at the moment; only searching for assistance. Finally, Tommen reached a certain room and found the red priestess Vaeraleah packing her belongings, apparently readying herself to apparently leave the capital.
"You have been making quite a ruckus, young one," she said calmly.
Tommen panted, still catching his breath. "*huff!* *huff!* I… I need your help!" he said.
"Oh? And what prompted you to leave your brother's bedside to seek me out?"
'So she does know,' he realized. "You're… you're leaving? But why?"
Vaeraleah shook her head in disappointment. "Let us say that not every society is perfect, young Prince Tommen. Our devotees—including some of our own fellow priests—are like herd of cattle in need of a shepherd, in need for one to guide them as they misinterpret the Lord of Light's will or have strayed too far. I fear I must take my leave from the capital… For good this time."
"But you can't leave just yet! We need you."
"'We'? And who is 'we'? You? Your sister? That old, lecherous, self-serving cunt of a Grand Maester? The priests with their idols stuck in their old ways, unable to comprehend the much larger picture?"
Tommen stuttered. "My brother!" he wanted to say. Steadily he felt his nerves and a sense of panic beginning to rise until Jaime Lannister and Varys finally found their way into the room.
"There you are," exclaimed Jaime.
Varys entered not too far behind. "Such a dutiful lad, solely concerned for the well-being of a brother who acted as a personal guardian and father-figure to him that he'd go out of his way to desperately find a savior for one who's done so much for him," he purred.
"Tommen, we know that you're frightened. I get that. Your sister and the Queen are, but… sometimes there isn't much any of us could do to save those who we love no matter how hard we try."
He shook his head. "I don't believe that, uncle! I won't believe it! I won't! My brother is not going to die! He… he…"
"Your bond with your brother is strong, my child," Vaeraleah hushed the frantic Prince, gently lifting his chin up in her hand. "You believe the darkness has come to claim him, yet you wish to push back against what your people believe to be the inevitable by coming to me? Surely the Oathkeeper must be very important to you."
"He's my brother!" he said finally, his voice trembling. "I-I don't want him to die. Please, can't you use whatever magic you used earlier to help him? Like you said you did before when it happened the first time? Please?"
"'Magic'?" Varys scoffed. "Are we resorting to sorcery now?"
The High Priestess noticed the eunuch's suspicion. "You appear to distrust me. Or is it fate, or the power to change one's destiny? This child clearly stands before you visibly distraught with the fear of losing any more of his closest kin. There are many in this world believing the Oathkeeper is one of three who was promised. But you have heard all this before, haven't you? Do you not believe it was inevitable that Prince Tommen Baratheon would one day seek me out?"
Jaime had his guard up. "You must be a bold woman to be speaking such things. Do you have a particular talent in raising a child's hopes up? To fill their heads with ideas?"
"On the contrary, even the best of us is hit with a variable in which we'll need the assistance of others to show us the way. Take yourself for example, Ser Jaime of House Lannister, how you broke a sacred oath when you stabbed your King in the back and how you became one of the most hated man in this country in the later stage of Robert's Rebellion that gave you your moniker? And how it took someone else to truly see the value of your worth? To see you for who and what you really are deep down inside? To understand the reasons behind why you did what you did that day?"
Jaime gripped the hilt of his dagger, his eyes glued to Vaeraleah as his nostrils flared and his body shook slightly for a brief moment. How did this stranger, this foreigner… know so much about him or his actions when they have never even actually met until recently? He felt his throat tighten and surprisingly found himself unable to say anything as she turned towards Varys—taking two steps before being one step away from him.
"And what of you, Lord Varys?" she continued. "Everyone is what they are and where they are for a reason. Terrible things happen for a reason. Take what happened to you, for example, when you were a child. If not for your mutilation at the hand of a second-rate sorcerer, you wouldn't have been remaining here in this city helping the Lord's Chosen guiding the people to the promised land if not lay the foundations for one. Repeatedly bought and sold as a slave, you survived on the streets of Lys before rising to a position of power to become Master of Whisperers, the greatest spymaster in the known world." She places her hand on his arm. "Knowledge has made you powerful, yet quite dangerous as well. But there is still so much you yourself don't even know. Do you remember what you heard that night when the sorcerer tossed your parts in the fire? You heard a voice call out from the flames. Do you remember? Should I tell you what the voice said? Should I tell you the name of the one who spoke?"
Varys scrunches up his face and stares at Vaeraleah in shock and disbelief; the High Priestess smiles and redirects her focus back on Tommen. The Young Cub was quickly growing anxious and felt himself slipping into a full-mode panic attack. In that instant, he surprised all in attendance by doing the unthinkable: Tommen quickly dropped down to his hands and knees and lowered his head submissively, his body slowly started to tremble and quiver; even Vaeraleah herself was taken aback by this act.
"Please, my lady *hic*," Tommen's voice cracked in desperation, having finally lost his composure. "I don't care what happened to whom or what happened way back when, nor do I care about what happens to me. But… *hic* please, I beg of you, for the love you claim you and your God has for him, *hic* please use your magic to save my brother's life. I'll do anything; just please find it in your heart *hic* and grant me this act of kindness, even if it's just a tiny drop of it. *hic* I've already lost my— *hic* my father, my mother, my grandfather…. *hic* I-I don't want my brother to die! Please don't let death take him from us! *hic* Please… please save Daveth. Please save my brother."
Vaeraleah felt sympathy for this boy, born of royalty… throwing away proper protocol and literally begging for her help to save the life of one of the most important people in his life. Necessarily a high-ranking red priest or priestess of the R'hllor doctrine aren't permitted to use their powers as a crutch or a means to an end… only for when it was absolutely necessary in the Lord of Light's will. The High Priestess of Asshai had been observing Daveth Baratheon from an early age over the years and watched his progress unbeknownst to all present; determining that the Young Stag himself was one of three sides of the pyramid, Vaeraleah prayed in silence for the Lord's favor.
Kneeling down, she gently cupped Tommen's cheeks—bringing him to face her at eye-level. "You say your brother is dying?" she asks with a gentle tone.
Tommen sniffles and nods yes.
"And this child is your—" she asks Jaime.
"Nephew," he interrupted her rather curtly; Jaime could tell by the look in Vaeraleah's eyes that she knew the whole truth. The Kingslayer knew with every fiber of his being that by looking into Vaeraleah's eyes he knew that she knew that Tommen wasn't actually his 'nephew', but his bastard son born of incest.
The High Priestess sighed and stood. "Then take me to him."
Tommen quickly raised his head up. "Does— *hic* does that mean…?"
She nods. "You have a kind, gentle heart, Prince Tommen. Even the Lord of Light does not like seeing the pain, suffering and misfortune of the innocent. I will heal your brother, young one. It is the Lord's will."
"Oh, thank you! Thank you so much!" he wiped his eyes.
'Lo mērī ao gīmigon skoros se odre iksin, ābrītsos mēre. Aōha lēkia daor māzigon arlī hae keskydoso. (If only you knew what the cost was, young one. Your brother might not come back as the same)', she mused in High Valyrian. 'Tolvie jēda iā issaros iksis maghatan arlī naejot ābrar tolī istin, pōnta ojughagon mirrī hen pōja hen rūnagon se issi mirrī byka hen pōntāla. (Every time a person is revived more than once, they lose a bit of their memory and are a bit less of themselves.)'
Gently brushing her way past Tommen, Jaime and Varys—the trio keeping a steady pace behind her, a strange yet slightly warming essence began emanating off of Vaeraleah. Whether it was the magical aura the High Priestess let off, or whatever, none of it mattered to Tommen as he recomposed himself. He felt a wave of relief washing over him as the woman had agreed to help them.
Upon entering the main room, they could see Sansa, Catelyn, Myrcella, Trystane, Tyrion, Pycelle, Ser Barristan, Shae, Septa Rosyn, Olyvar silently looking at them as they re-entered the room. Daveth still remained unresponsive; Sansa wiped her husband's forehead and was in the middle of changing his sheets. The Wolf Queen glanced up and noticed Vaeraleah.
"I remember you," she spoke.
Vaeraleah nodded. "And I you, Your Grace. Your brother-in-law here brought me in, believing I could help your beloved husband."
"I've seen her work firsthand," Tommen insisted. "She said she's done this before when Daveth was four. She can make him better!"
Sansa appeared skeptical, but somewhat hopeful. "You… you can?"
"It is why I am here."
Varys and Jaime both looked at each other and said nothing. Septa Rosyn and Grand Maester Pycelle appeared to be suspicious of this foreigner's motives as Vaeraleah approached Daveth's bedside; pulling out a fresh pair of sheers, the High Priestess snipped and clipped the Young Stag's hair and trimmed his beard until his face was freshly clean. Dipping one of her fingers in medicinal ointments, Vaeraleah traced them across every battle scar on Daveth's body before placing two palms over his torso and closed her eyes.
"Āeksiot Ōño, rȳbagon īlva sir. (Lord of Light, hear us now)", she prayed, "Bisy's prūmia iksis vok, yn ropagon ondoso pirta se ōdrikagon. Zȳhon gīs ēza issare zgiēñisi, yn zȳhon perzys ēza gone hen gō zȳhon jēda. (This one's heart is pure, but beset by doubt and strife. His spirit has been mended, but his fire has gone out before his time.)"
All in attendance watched, but were taken by surprise when her hands started to glow and a hint of light began to shine brightly from the High Priestess's palm. Everyone turned their heads slightly to keep the blinding light out of their eyes.
"Īlon epagon se āeksio naejot maghagon bisa prūmia hen sȳndror se arlī ezīmagon se ōños. Rhaenagon zȳhon perzys, oh Āeksio, se maghagon zirȳla arlī naejot skoriot se aerēptan dōrī ēdrugon, naejot skoriot se aerēptan dōrī ēdrugon, se raqnon dōrī ilimagho. Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson. (We ask the Lord to deliver this soul out of darkness and back into the light. Restore his flame, oh Lord, and bring him back to where the traveler never tires, the children never cry, the lover never mourns. From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life.)"
The light shined bright for a brief moment before finally vanishing. Opening her eyes once more, Vaeraleah moved her hands away and back off. She looked visibly worn out as everyone looked at her.
"What did you just do?" asked Septa Rosyn.
Vaeraleah took a few breaths. "I have done all I can for the King, just as I had done once before when this tragedy happened seventeen years ago. Something your idols did not. Now… all the rest of us can do is simply pray for the best."
Before the high-ranking Septa could respond, the High Priestess left the room but not before parting with a simple choice of words:
"I must now take my leave and round up a rather bunch of rowdy converts who tarnish our Lord's reputation before the true war begins. The night is dark and full of terrors."
Vaeraleah then left the room and apparently left the Red Keep, leaving King's Landing all while ignoring the Septs and Septons shouts and exclamations, accusing her of spreading blasphemy. All the while, Sansa returned her focus towards Daveth—who remained motionless in bed. She brushed her hand across her husband's cheek and gently pressed her forehead against his.
"Daveth…" she said in an almost quiet whisper.
Somewhere in the dream world…
Daveth still sat on the log in the dream world with the spirits of his late father Robert Baratheon and his late father-in-law Eddard Stark, each of them drinking out of what appeared to be flasks of wine. Even in this state, the Young Stag was still uncertain about whether or not any of this was real. Still, this moment of reprieve allowed him to reconcile with his father… or what appears to be an impersonation of him.
"You remember your first, Ned?" Robert's spirit asked.
Eddard's spirit nodded.
"Who was it?"
"One of the hill tribes around the Mountains of the Moon near the Fingers, had to fight my way back to the North to call my bannermen."
"So how'd you get to Winterfell?"
"Hired a fisherman to bring me to White Harbor, though I was stuck at Sisterton for a while after a bad storm."
Robert hummed. "Unforgiving elements, I know. Mine was some Tarly boy at the Battle of Summerhall. My horse took an arrow so I was on foot, slogging through the mud. He came running at me, the dumb high-born lad, thinking he could end the rebellion with a single swing of his sword. I knocked him down with the hammer. Gods, I was strong then! Caved in his breastplate. Probably shattered every rib he had. Stood over him, hammer in the air. Right before I brought it down he shouted, 'Wait! Wait'," he chuckled. "They never tell you how they all shit themselves. They don't put that part in the songs. Stupid boy," he then turned to Daveth. "All right, boy, your turn. We're telling war stories so out with it. Who was your first kill?"
Daveth sighed; deciding that this might be the only time he'd actually get to bond with his father. « One of the rioters in King's Landing during the Stag Sedition. » he answered.
Eddard looked at him. "I was there that day," he reminded him. "Joffrey foolishly started the whole ordeal, almost got my daughter raped."
« And I had no intention of ever letting that happen, father-in-law. Not so long as I ruled. »
"How'd you do it?" Robert asked.
« I shoved my sword through his throat. Only sound he made was 'BLEARGH!' »
"What about Balon Greyjoy? What did the kraken say when you beat him to a bloody pulp? I never asked."
« He said the same thing the ironborn would always say… 'What is dead may never die.' »
"How'd you do him in?"
Daveth shook his head. « I didn't. The entire castle was in the middle of being reduced to a pile of rubble. As far as I can remember, he plummeted to the bottom of the Sunset Sea before I could finish him off. I'm not proud of how I handled myself that day nor would I like to remember it. »
"Sometimes we have to learn the hard way if we're to ever learn to let go of the past instead of carrying it with us like an anchor. It takes another to show us the error of one's ways," Eddard advised. "What you did afterwards, it's just another part of growing up."
« I suppose it does, Lord Stark. No one's perfect. Life would be too easy if it was. »
"Bah! What I'd do for another fight again. Seven hells, I've already learned to die a long time ago."
"As did I, Robert. We both grew up with soldiers."
"And left the young'uns to carry the bag for us."
Daveth listened to them talk for a while, still holding the flask in his hand. As Robert took a gigantic gulp of wine, the Young Stag spoke up. « I forgive you, father. And I'm sorry. »
Robert's eyes widened as he spat out the wine, coughing on the concoction. Even Eddard was slightly surprised; both stags never seemed to see eye-to-eye on anything nor did they get along well at all. What prompted this?
"For what?" Robert asked confused.
« Growing up, I always thought you were a terrible father; a pitiful, drunken fool. But when I saw that letter the day you died, it made me… think about some things lately. Perhaps there was more to you than others let on. »
As Robert apparently stood mouth agape in disbelief, Eddard seemed to chime in. "Your father was a good man at heart, despite his failings. What he did, we both knew it was wrong, it was Robert's own way of drowning his grief after my sister Lyanna died. She was originally promised to your father, but she was taken from us. It started the rebellion. Your father never got over that – even after wedding your mother."
« A lesson I learned only four years late. Just never took a moment to see past it all. I'm… sorry, father. »
Robert sighed in resignation. "I know. And I know I was a terrible father to you. But you're doing much better at being one than I did. I mean, look at you. Two kids, a wife who loves you. You succeeded where I failed."
Daveth seemed to smile a bit. « I never got the chance to thank both of you for arranging the match. Sansa's been a good wife to me, a wonderful mother to our children… and an outstanding consort to the realm. She's come a long way since Winterfell. »
Eddard smiled. "We know. We've been watching you, remember? You've been taking good care of her."
As they traded banter back and forth, Daveth felt a sense of relief wash over him; and whatever guilt or remorse he had earlier was lifted from his shoulders. Years of meditation, contemplation and self-reflection seemed to grant him a sense of closure in whatever wrongs that may have been said or done during his childhood. But just as they were in the middle of their talks, Daveth started to glow brightly.
« Wha… What is this? What's happening to me?! » he started to panic, seeing he was starting to fade away.
"Well, well… It seems that it's not actually your time yet," Robert remarked.
« Father? »
"Do not worry, Daveth," Eddard reassured. "We'll be right here, watching you from the afterlife. Keep doing what you're doing, and remember your promise to me. Take good care of my daughter. Can you do that?"
As Daveth faded some more, he clenched his hands tightly and shut his eyes tight. Nodding his head, he told them yes. « I… I will, father-in-law. I promise. I'll never forget any of you. I swear it. »
"Just try not to be too hard on yourself sometimes. Now go… Sansa is waiting for you; as are our grandchildren."
Closing his eyes and raising his head up, Daveth simply faded away from the spirit world. Wherever he went, Eddard and Robert returned their focus towards the Pool of Reflection as the sun in that world quickly set in the distance.
Back in the Red Keep…
Night had covered King's Landing in darkness with the stars illuminating the landscape. Within the Red Keep, nearly everyone had been redirected towards their respective rooms… all with the exception of one. Queen Sansa Stark remained by Daveth's bedside, her head resting against her arms as her chest rose and fell. She was fast asleep and had not moved a muscle.
Silence had filled the room. All that broke it was a simple movement… and a quiet sound.
"*GASP!* *huff* *huff*"
Chapter End
Author's Note: And there in ends another Part 2 of another chapter. Feeling the sense of closure, a demonstration of how strong a bond between the youngest and eldest siblings is, and with a little nudging (and practically begging and pleading for help motivate a stranger to help in the royal family's hour of need)… it seemed apparent that a miracle would happen. How far Tommen went to try to save Daveth, how he was willing to throw pride and titles away for someone he cares about. But what did you guys think Vaeraleah's earlier thoughts would entail in future chapters? Overall, what did you all think as we move onto to more chapters? Thoughts? Let me know.
jgs237: Nice update. I was scared that Daveth was gonna die and everything was gonna spiral out of control.
I can see Tyrion Sansa Jaime Tommen and Mrycela forcing Daveth the lighten the workload now so he doesnt die again.
Can't wait for the showdown between Dany and Daveth its gonna be lit. Just dont do Jon going to Dany first because in the show he only went to her for help because it was either her or Ceresi. But Daveth is alive and a friend, his brother in law and his uncle controls Dragonstone.
Hope you update soon
Silent Wolf Singer: Daveth needed closure between his father figures. Jon Arryn helped him with his issue with the Ironborn, but Ned and Robert helped him with his personal demons of guilt.
Guest #2: I kinda like the red witch
oneironaught101: Regular updates are always nice to have. Great chapter :)
mpowers045: He lives! Now to take down Ramsay for his crime!
Guest #1: Thanks for the update, I especially like how you portrayed tommen that was good. I hope you'll not abandon this fic.
―Thanks. And I have no intention on abandoning it until it's finished.
10868letsgo: Awesome! I can't wait to read more.
Morgan: Tommen is so sweet. He deserved better in the show despite everything. I am glad to see him still alive and doing well.
Hear My Fury: And so the Oathkeeper lives again! Hopefully it'll be more like Jon's resurrection and he'll be shaken up but it'll be Sansa, Myrcella and Tommen that pulls him back to reality. Now let's have him deal with the Sparrows quickly and efficiently and have Vaeraleah deal with the stupid R'hllor people in the Reach and Stormlands.
RHatch89: Awesome update :)
―Thanks.