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Chapter 23
Standing on a parapet overlooking the sea, Rhaegar sighs. Since reaching the Wall he has sighed so frequently. A far too frequent reaction than he once would have ever thought himself capable of.
He breathes deep, taking in the frigid air so think around Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.
He hated it, he hated everything about Eastwatch. He should not hate anything, but, he does.
It does not help that while the stone and timber of Castle Black was covered in white, this holdfast and the surroundings of it were so very grey. The walls were grey. The earth was grey. The sea beneath it was grey. The commander here, Cotter Pyke, was grey in pallor and in demeanor. Everything was so damned grey.
He supposed it was appropriate, given his mood.
Castle Black, garrisoned as it was, seemed wanting. It was garrisoned in full, or at least as full as possible, but, both Lord Commander Qorgyle and Maester Aemon admitted as much, with no shortage of reluctance and hesitance. That was disturbing enough. On the other hand, to call this keep manned was an understatement at best and a travesty at worst. Even if he was capable of it, this did not deserve any nonchalance. He could only say it was a travesty of the highest order.
He is very close to quitting Eastwatch and Rhaegar thinks he might have been glad. Only, there was still Shadow Tower to see. One more, but it seemed just as daunting task to see this last still functioning holdfasts of the Wall than it was just to come north.
He has seen enough to know that he has not done enough.
He shakes his head, trying unsuccessfully to dislodge the thoughts. Those will not help fix what ails him now.
The Lord Commander informed him, and Pyke confirmed the truth of it soon after he arrived, there were even fewer men at Shadow Tower. Three holdfasts of nineteen which are manned at all and were done barely. He wonders what else, besides a near empty holdfast, would await him there.
Cotter Pyke welcomed him to Eastwatch with a pinched expression and a too sharp nod. Seeing as how the man primarily left him to his own devices, he suspects the man would likely see him off with the same. He had not minded in the least.
Quorgyle and Pyke notwithstanding, he does not know how the last commander would greet him. The commander at the Shadow Tower was a Mallister; a Ser Denys. Quorgyle thought well of the man or so he said. But, then, the Lord Commander was not the type to speak ill of a compatriot. Pyke, meanwhile, did not seem to like his associate much. However, Pike did not seem to like anyone much. With no shortage of reluctance had Pyke admitted the man was capable with what he was given.
It was both something and nothing he could take comfort in.
By now Mallister would know of his presence at the Wall. He likes to think Pyke's belligerence alone would have recommended Mallister's finer points to him, but, Rhaegar does not know the man or remember him much or how the man would respond to him. None of what he does remember, that he unhorsed Mallister's nephew at a tourney once and how his father killed one of their kin, is bound to be helpful in their meeting. Once again, he was grateful he brought Ser Brynden with him. Mallister would welcome him at least or so he hoped.
Seeing Quorgyle's formality and what passed for Pyke's hospitality, he ponders if he would be a welcome sight when he enters the other man's domain at all. It would not surprise him if he would not be. The Wall was a hard place, where courtly civility was unnecessary and almost cumbersome. Most of the men had neither the time nor inclination to change that and he knew better than to expect it.
Since arriving in the North, no matter where he ventured he was met with a palpable sense of ambivalence. He was not thought of highly by many Northmen and knew well their reasons.
He expected it and accepted it, but, at the Wall the sentiment was magnified. Though no one said it to his face, but, perhaps there was resentment of him both from the men he sent here and from those who disliked the type of men he sent here. He deserves it.
With Qorgyle at Castle Black, he learned quickly enough that even if the commanders accept his presence, he knows it is not because they want him to be here. Relatively unexpected royal visits were not exactly welcomed by all and no king stepped foot at the Wall in so many years.
Whatever this future meeting entails, he would not press his company on the even more unwilling than he already has. He does not need the memory of Aemon's rueful expression to tell him that trying to force things will get him nowhere pleasant.
It does not mean he is at ease with not knowing. He never has been. And yet there is so much he does not know.
Looking about he feels a weight settle across his chest though there is nothing that meets him but silence as he takes in the sight of Eastwatch.
No king of late had thought to inspect the goings on here. His father certainly had not. That much was certain. Perhaps not even his grandsire.
Once again he thinks it is because the Night's Watch was set apart from much of the Kingdom. Keeping the order at a distance had its purpose, but, now he sees the result of it, he can feel nothing save dismay.
No one came to the Wall for a whim and most only reluctantly or as a last resort. Even now he had not come here because of the Wall itself. Aemon knew why and Quorgyle did not ask, but, the man knew that about him. But, where Aemon told him to his face, Quorgyle seemed content to leave it alone. Of course, they were not the only one who knew he never expressed any interest in the Night's Watch or much of the North before.
It was no accident that he still avoided Benjen Stark.
On that thought he feels a pang of regret. No, his inattentiveness had not helped at all. He could do nothing about the past, but, the Night's Watch…Here was something he must fix.
He grows weary knowing the list of things becomes longer and longer the more he thinks and the more he sees.
It was only too easy to recognize answering the infrequent calls for more men had not been enough. The men at the Wall would not refuse any aid he could give now that they knew it was in the offering. And yet, there were limits to what they would accept of him aside from what they do request.
Even then, identifying one problem will not lead to solutions.
A chill goes up his spine thinking of that night in Winterfells crypts.
More often than not his discovering solutions to problems and acting on them turns his solutions to ash.
He looks down at the sea once more. No matter how long he stares at it, he knows there will be no answers for him in those grey depts. Much to his regret, there were not too many answers to be found at the Wall. The ones he had received were not overly helpful or much unburden his mind.
That was not to say that being at the Wall was entirely unhelpful. In coming here Maester Aemon's thoughts were what he sought. He found those to be sure, though even after the first meeting the Maester said many things he had been ill-prepared to hear. But, he was grateful for what lore the Maester could instruct him in.
There were various tomes here full of information only being in the ancient North he could have had access to. He was grateful for what he had been given leave to learn though there was only so much one could learn from a book or scrolls especially when he does not know quite what he sought.
The look on Maester Aemon's face had been sly when he professed a notion of words he wants to see not appearing for him simply because he sought them. As if to reassure, Aemon said that while he was visiting these two other holdfasts there were still books and scrolls he would scour through. Though he did not and could not agree with all the older man said to him, given the man's indulgences with him and a lack of continuing to address certain matters, in his gratitude he thought it best not to comment upon what the older man's saw as restraint.
And yet, there was only so much knowledge Aemon could give him. That had also been the old man's admission. With that damnable prophecy, he does not know much more than he had. No one knew and nothing he did will allow him to, not even Aemon or his books. Maester Aemon instructed him in the lore and some of the signs, but, there was only so much they could know when neither of them were seers.
The Maester spoke of fate and destiny. He knew all too well what he believed fate would bring for his children. Maester Aemon, with more than one sad shake of the head could not say otherwise. No one could. But, that does not mean they would be correct.
It does not mean they would not be. Thinking of his children now, he finds that he does not want to be, not at all.
Still, he could not dismiss the prophecy, no matter how much he yearns he could. Gods, he wishes he could.
He takes a calming breath. Then, he takes another for all nothing will ease his mind.
If not now, in the future there will be a struggle: a struggle against some enemy he does not know the nature of.
For all that he had to fear prophesy becoming truth, and he fears it greatly, if this threat was for his children to face, he thinks there might be there will be time. Knowing that does not soothe him. If that is the best he can hope for, then it was a flimsy hope. It would not sound sweet to any sort of father and it does not sound sweet to him.
It sickened him now thinking of how he once would have welcomed whatever came. What sort of man did that make him? Once he would have seen nothing but surety that he would be successful in facing the phantom threat, but, now…His children.
He does not think he could sacrifice them so easily. All too well remembering Aemon's words, he thinks he might have doomed them.
He cannot think otherwise, not when he thinks of them and Elia's letter. True to his word, Maester Aemon had produced the letter she had written. His older relation said her letter to him had been polite. Rhaegar knew his wife would not be otherwise though Aemon had only given him the letter addressed to him. He was keenly aware there was a difference in what familiarity she would allow in a letter to his older relation and what she would write to him. He remembers dreading to read it, even with Aemon's encouraging, if expectant, expression staring down at him.
He committed the contents of her letter to memory before he left Castle Black, though he brought it to Eastwatch. He does not look at it. He cannot bring himself to read it again.
It was not as though the letter contained anything particularly shocking or surprising. It did not make her words any easier to read. As he expected she wrote about the goings on and squabbles at Court and how Oberyn was a father to yet another girl, this time the mother actually being his wife. She also wrote about how as far as she knew Lord Arryn had no plans of returning to King's Landing. It was oddly comforting knowing Jon showed no sign of dreading the same news; and yet, it only reminded him that the presence of a Hand was no excuse for the absence of a King.
The letter, however, was dominated by other personal matters, primarily their children. Viserys, it seems, still enjoys dragging Rhaenys into mischief. Elia also wrote about how Aegon and Jon had taken to running around, leading her and their nurses to chase after them. Daenerys, Elia claims, looks more and more like his mother and has begun to speak and had taken to trying to follow the older ones whenever opportunity struck.
He cherished each tale she briefly recounted, but, they only serve to remind him of where they were and where he was. He missed so much already. The last time he had been away he missed Aegon's first steps and words and Daenerys' birth entirely. Now he was missing more still.
A voice, suspiciously so much like Oberyn's, and of course when it was in recrimination it is nearly always that voice, reminds him that he chose to be.
It does not help that he keeps remembering the simple words at the beginning of the letter where she enquires about how he fares and at the end of her letter where she says she misses him. She had been dubious this venture of his. He remembers all too well she had been dubious about the last one. Had his wife been anyone else he would imagine there would have been words about hoping he found what he sought and an implication that he should come home soon.
When he first went back to King's Landing, Jon in hand, he said that was to be it that he was done with all of this. He promised her. Just by being here, he broke that promise. For all that he has a good reason, he continues to break his promises to her. Somehow, reading her words was worse than if the entire letter had been a harangue though there was nothing of the sort put to voice in this letter.
Watching the waves crash about the rocks beneath him, he thinks does not deserve any of her words, not with the letter he wrote back to her.
He wrote about how when he first took in the sight of the Wall and the men, or rather, the lack of them at Castle Black, he recognized he had not done his duty well to this part of the realm and so he chose to remain behind. He had to, but, what he would do he was unsure of.
Once he would have prided himself in knowing exactly what to do and being able to do whatever he put his efforts into. There had been little that did not come to him easily.
That has not been true for some time. It is still difficult for him to accept, but, this…
A horn blares off in the distance.
Minutes later there is shuffling behind him. It was Arthur. Most just leave him alone, except Arthur who has taken to looking at him worriedly more often than not.
"The man who sounded the horn thought he might have seen a wilding."
Incredulously, he queries, "Could have been a wilding?"
Arthur shakes his head ruefully, "Others believe it could have been an animal or an illusion."
Arthur does not have to say the rest for Rhaegar to know his thoughts. It could have easily been nothing at all save for the madness which comes from having to the same tedious activities day after endless day.
He tries to stifle the laughter which threatens to bubble up, lest someone think him madder than they already do. However, he and Arthur are alone and Arthur also looks as though he wants to laugh. Instead his friend just shakes his head bemusedly, as if to indicate he should not be surprised.
In fact, he was not, and so he turned his gaze back to the grey walls behind him him all he can think of was that he forced himself to leave his family for this.
He wanted to come to the Wall, convincing himself he needed to because he had a duty to his family. Now he feels as though by staying he was failing at the same duty.
A bitter smile twists at his lips. Aemon, still at Castle Black, helpful with his books, and pointed advice, would likely find some humor in that.
"I do not believe him."
Elia's eyebrows nearly reach her hair at Viserys' outburst. Rhaenys pipes up, "Who, Uncle?"
"Maester Aemon." Viserys harrumphed. Aegon turns to Viserys, curiosity etched in his expression. Elia nearly laughs aloud. Her son has obviously thought they were speaking about him. She supposed it was inevitable, many Targaryen's names sound so similar. However, just as quickly, her son returns his attention to the nurse who had been telling him, Jon, and Daenerys some sort of tale.
Her amusement, too, dies quickly enough after that. How can it not when Aegon looked so much like Rhaegar in that moment?
She catches herself trying not to sigh. As with any thought of the Maester now, it only serves as another reminder that Rhaegar was with him. Rhaegar should be here, not there.
Remembering those letters received from the Wall tucked into a drawer in her rooms she knows she does not have an answer to the one question she wants answered, but, she has to give Viserys something lest he go seeking some for himself. It's times like these that she misses Rhaella so very much. She would have known what to say.
For now, looking at Viserys' expectant face she knows she has to give him something. There was no one else save for her to ask. She thinks back to the letter she received from Maester Aemon. Courteous as it had been, it was a letter from a Targaryen prince no matter how many years he has been a man of the Night's Watch and a man of Oldtown before that.
"Maester Aemon would not lie to you." Never lie, but, evade and obfuscate if it meant doing what he thought was the ideal course of action to complete his aims. With a pang she recognizes Rhaegar was the same way.
"Rhaegar said not to ask such questions. Why would he say that unless there is something he does not want me to know?"
"Perhaps it is because there is nothing more to know. Your brother is very wise. You should listen to him more often."
Crossed arms and a mulish expression greet her. "Rhaegar is not here."
He looks almost shamefaced at her sharp intake of breath. No, he is not.
Looking at her worryingly, he leans close and pats her hand. "Why would anyone not want to be king if they could?" Rhaenys, upon hearing this well-traveled topic, shrugs. Elia wishes she could do the same, but, she welcomes the change in subject as obvious a ploy as it was.
Though she knew it was more for her benefit, and while it warmed her, a child like Viserys should not see it as his responsibility to comfort her. Still, she grateful it was this sort of question which plagued Viserys; very unlike those which plague his older brother. To inject any levity, she asks pointedly, "Do you have any plans I should know about?"
The tension in her subsides when he replies, "No" and the word is accompanied in a whine she would have never thought a Targaryen would have ever been capable of.
There was no question in her youth when Doran had been nine years her senior, but, she could not say she never thought about what being born earlier would have meant. She doubted Maester Aemon was entirely truthful, but, she suspected he thought gave a reasonable sounding reply. Much to her chagrin it had been a reasonable reply save for the recklessness of a curious child.
"He gave you the reasons for his actions and they were logical ones. He felt it was his duty to join the Night's Watch. That is all that matters."
And, gods she almost chokes on the words. Duty above all else; just like Rhaegar. Rather than highlight the similarities between Maekar's third son and her husband, she ventures, "I would have you remember that it was a very personal thing you asked and it was very kind of him to answer at all."
For a moment she gets a mulish look again, but, then, Viserys nodded unhappily. But, the sly look she gets afterward immediately puts her on her guard. "What did Maester Aemon write to you?"
She nearly snorted in relief, "That is between Maester Aemon and me."
He crosses his arms, just like Rhaegar when someone in council told him he did not want to hear. The pout on his face, however, is nothing like his brother's; Rhaegar Targaryen did not pout. "I told you what he wrote to me and it cannot be that private if Maester Pycelle reads all the letters."
Much to her chagrin she nearly laughs aloud. She would never tell Viserys how clever she thinks he is. It would only encourage him. "If I recall correctly, you volunteered information I did not ask for. A prince should be careful to know the difference."
However, Viserys looks as though he was going to say something more. To head off the imminent argument, she replies, "Speaking of Maester Pycelle, I believe there were certain passages he set for you to read."
With another childish groan he gets up to go to his chambers to collect those books. Naturally, Rhaenys asks if she can go along. Elia agrees though she nearly regrets it when the other three children take her acquiescence as permission for them to follow.
Once ensuring each child is where they should be she returns to her rooms and immediately goes to the bureau she kept her letters in. Carefully she pulls out one of the two she received recently.
The first part of it makes her smile. Rhaegar used to complain about how dusty and cramped King's Landing seemed; now he complains about the desperate cold and vastness of the North. The other portions of the letter do not lend themselves to humor and she would not be able to find any even if it had been present.
Rhaegar, then, goes on to describe Maester Aemon. Rhaegar called him as old and wise, which she expected. But, then he calls the man severe and surprising. She frowns slightly, remembering how nothing in the letter explains what he meant by that. He had said the Maester forced him to think of things he previously had not, but, had not elaborated at all. In the Maester's letter to her, the man simply stating there were concerns he wanted to address with her husband. It frustrates her how similar, how guarded, they were in certain respects.
The part of the letter which disturbed her most were where Rhaegar describes the wall as something entirely unexpected. He had been at Castle Black when he wrote the letter, but, she knew he was going to venture to the other keeps though he did not say which he was going to see first. As for Castle Black, like the Wall itself, he described it as a grand structure. He also called it 'undermanned'. It is something he needs to change, he said. It was then she knew. When she first read the words she felt her heart twist.
Necessary changes require proper attention and time. She understood his reasons for going to the Wall even if she did not share his thoughts. She could not, never when it came to that terrible prophecy. She could even understand wishing to stay at the Wall for longer. The part of her which knew herself to be Queen understood that duty all too well, but, she was more than just Queen. It was selfish of her, but, the part of her which was of a wife and a mother wanted her husband back as soon as possible.
Though it is only a piece of parchment the weight of it is heavy in her hands. Her heart is not any lighter because she reads the same words again.
She feels to shortage of relief when the Hand was announced. It was far too easy to willingly put that letter away.
She pasted on a smile when Jon murmurs a polite greeting. She should not be so grateful for the distraction his presence provided, but, she was. These days she was grateful for any sort of distraction.
Still, even before she finishes pouring glasses of wine for the both of them and offers him some fruit the relief from mere moments ago faded away quite thoroughly.
Jon claims he wanted to discuss council business with her. She readily agreed, grasping for anything to take her mind off of Rhaegar, but, she knew, just as he did, that council business was a pretense for the both of them. Jon rarely forced his company on her for no reason and she knew there was no urgent matter or disturbance the council would be concerned about; not when the last meeting was called two days ago.
No, this was about Rhaegar though Jon would not say his name and neither would she. She knew it was his manners and pride preventing him asking directly in the same way it prevented her from asking Rhaegar the same questions.
When that letter came she knew she had to tell the council about Rhaegar's delay. She revealed Rhaegar's plans to stay behind at the Wall for a thorough examination. The council knowing Northern ambivalence towards King's Landing, accepted it. With Jon, though, was a difference.
She might be a Queen and Jon might be the Hand of the King, but, for how long would those titles matter if the King remained away?
But, she was not just thinking as a queen, just a woman who wanted her husband home.
