Big thanks to everyone who reviewed!

Lady of Dorne

Degrading

Finding the Grand Maester proved astonishingly difficult. He wasn't in his chambers. He wasn't in the hall the Small Council held their meetings at. He wasn't anywhere in the Red Keep, at least anywhere they looked for him which meant the whole castle. Rhaegar's impatience grew; walking him pace around, fists clenched, muttering threats of ugly retribution to his deceitful former Queen and the friend who had made a fool of him, Rhaella was reminded, terribly and inevitably, of Aerys in his late years. Despite telling herself that it was just a reaction of his disappointment and genuine hurt and not something he would truly believe in a few years… certainly nothing that he would follow through… the fear kept trickling in her blood, slowly and relentlessly.

Lyanna had leaned over to see whether some of the figurines could still be saved but they were beyond salvaging. She now sat on the settee, staring at Rhaegar, seemingly unable to believe that this enraged man who had shattered his mother's treasured collection was the same gentle prince who had whispered whatever nonsense he had enchanted her with. She looked petrified. From time to time, Rhaella wondered what made her stay here. For herself, she knew that she was not about to run away from her own chambers just because her son was having a bad day. She had done that with his father for more years than she cared to count. Never again. But she had to bite back a smile more than once. She was so happy for Elia who had known little happiness after she arrived at King's Landing as Rhaegar's betrothed and for the last years, she had known none. Rhaella did not doubt that the girl's new marriage was a love match. She had seen the way Elia and Arthur had looked at each other since her arrival and for a while, she had feared what kind of woman her goodaughter might turn out to be. But this concern had soon dissolved.

The Grand Maester arrived when it was almost time for the evening feast, small and frail under the weight of his years and chain. Rhaella remembered him this way since she had been a girl in her grandfather's court, though, so his appearance of tired dignity rose very little respect in her and no pity at all.

The slight quiver of his jaw was barely noticeable in his waterfall of white beard but Rhaella caught it. So Rhaegar was right, she thought and wondered just how much grief could have been avoided if the man hadn't lied.

Pycelle bowed. "You have called for me, Your Grace."

Rhaegar whirled about and fixed him with a stony stare. "For someone as old and feeble as you claim to be, you were remarkably far away from where you were expected to be, leaving in mere minutes after the letter came. One might think that you were hiding."

"Hidind, Your Grace?" Pycelle squeaked.

"From the news that just arrived," Rhaegar elaborated. "And what they mean to you."

There was a long silence. Pycelle looked from Rhaegar to Rhaella, then Lyanna, and then Rhaegar again. None of them showed any inclination to help him out. He was left to his own devices to try and find out what Rhaegar might mean – and they were getting him nowhere. "What do you mean, Your Grace?" he asked, at last.

"I mean the news of Princess Elia being with child," the King said. "A rumour that might soon turn out to be true."

Pycelle swallowed and his eyes darted around, as if he was trying to find an escape route. This sealed the truth for Rhaegar. The man was hiding something – and there was only one thing that he could possibly hide.

"When Aegon was born, you told me that my princess would never give birth to another child," Rhaegar helped him. "Turned out, she probably will in less than a year."

Pycelle looked down. "I – I thought-"

"You were not supposed to think," Rhaegar cut him off. "Your duty was to tell me the truth about the situation. And it looks like you didn't do it."

Pycelle starting tugging at his beard. "Your Grace, I – I-"

"Yes?" Rhaegar asked and his carefully controlled voice turned deadly. "Look, we both know it was just talk. Only, it wasn't. Do you realize that lying about the health of the Princess of Dragonstone is treason? Do you?"

Now, Pycelle's shaking was becoming uncontrollable. "I was bound to tell the truth as I saw it, Your Grace, without giving false hopes…"

"But giving some other people hopes," Rhaegar spat. "Who ordered you to lie to me, old man? I'd rather let you keep your tongue but I won't if the next word coming out of your mouth is anything resembling a lie. Who wanted me to believe that Elia would never be able to give me another child?"

If Pycelle tugged at his beard just a little harder, he would just take it down, like the mummers on mummer shows did. At this moment, his eyes wintry, his fists clenched, surrounded by disarray that he had created himself, Rhaegar looked very much like Aerys – but the fear Pycelle felt from the man giving him the order seemed to be stronger. Still, he didn't utter a lie. In fact, he didn't even utter a word, perhaps out of fear that Rhaegar would deliver on his promise. He only shook his head mutely.

"Was it Tywin Lannister?" Rhaegar asked sharply.

The shaking of the white head became frantic.

"Of course it was," Rhaella said coldly. "He wanted you to take his daughter for your wife. And he never forgave the insult of us choosing Elia. I have no doubt that he felt it was the second time Alric got something he himself had been striving for – and it just fell down straight in Alric's lap."

Pycelle's horrified expression made her smile grimly. "What, Grand Maester? You think I have forgotten? Or maybe that I even didn't know? Have you forgotten that Joanna Lannister was one of my ladies? And even something of a friend? I saw everything, Pycelle. She was smitten with Alric Gargalen the moment she arrived at King's Landing to serve me, before Summerhall, and showed it pretty blatantly. He wasn't interested in her and Arianne found the entire thing very amusing, claiming that Joanna had a great taste. That was about it – Arianne warned her off, saying that Alric would never touch a friend of hers with a ten-foot pole anyway but if Joanna tried something, she'd kill her personally. That was about it. The three of them got over it pretty fast – but Tywin never did. He was born old, this one. And he enjoyed rebuffing Arianne years later. He would never let her and Alric have the last word, would he? Would he?"

Pycelle's mouth opened and closed but once again, no sound came out. The horror in his eyes was proof enough. Rhaegar could already see Lord Tywin's line of reasoning – with some delicate pushing in the right direction, with a carefully seasoned meal from time to time – nothing that would actually kill Aegon since that would prompt a real investigation and looks in a certain directions but sicken him to remind Rhaegar that children were mortal – Rhaegar would have been forced to look around for a new wife, sending his old one away or… mourning her because her death would not have been such a great surprise. And who would be better suited than Tywin's own daughter, the most beautiful girl in the world as she had been described? Rhaegar would have never taken Cersei Lannister to wife – there was something in her eyes that unsettled him more than he could explain – but her father didn't know that. And here they were, in the aftermath of a war he had caused because he had been caught in the schemes of a man with no honour, a man who only cared about his own advancement and satisfying his own grudges. The notion that he had been outsmarted by Tywin Lannister was almost overwhelming.

"I was saying what I presumed was the truth," Pycelle finally gathered the courage to murmur. "I didn't want to give any false hopes…"

The realization that despite everything, the Grand Maester's fear of Lord Tywin was greater than his fear of his King did nothing to soothe Rhaegar's anger but instead, curdled it in fury cold as ice. A smile tugged at his lips. "And yet the Princess conceived soon enough into her new marriage. That means that your knowledge is grossly lacking. I cannot possibly keep you as my Grand Maester under this circumstances. But I cannot burden another castle with your lack of knowledge either," he added.

His voice became a soft purr. "You are going to leave for Oldtown this very night. I will provide you with a ship, so you won't be inconvenienced to look for one. You will return to the Citadel and undergo at least three years of training upon the end of which you will be tested to see whether you have gained the requisite skills to undertake a maester's duties once again.

Pycelle lurched backward. The King quickly reached over and steadied him before he hit his skull at the edge of the marble table. But he did not let him go. Instead, his hands shot upward and took the many maester chains over Pycelle's head.

The Grand Maester let out a cry, as if Rhaegar was disemboweling him.

The King leaned forward and looked him in the eye. "Tell him whom you truly serve that I shall not suffer treachery and disloyalty in our midst," he hissed. "Tell him word by word. Or not tell him anything at all. He will get the message soon enough when word spreads out that your office has been vacated."

"Rhaegar," Rhaella cut in. "Please. I like this no better than you do. But this might mean inviting danger. You cannot condemn the Grand Maester just…"

Rhaegar rose in his full height and gave his mother a level look. "It isn't the Grand Maester that I condemn. It is my subject Pycelle who has unlawfully adorned himself with the chains of a Grand Maester if he has tainted himself with incompetence or worse, treason against the heir of the throne and his princess. And I am ready to defend my decision to everyone who dares ask."

Rhaella did not think it would be so easy. But maybe he was right. The rumours about the former queen's barenness had been spreading for years. It would reflect grievously upon Pycelle's reputation if she had, indeed, gotten with child, proving that Pycelle was incompetent at least in one of his main duties – preserving the continuation and health of the royal line. The Conclave might, in fact, even lose face for advancing such an incompetent Grand Maester. Rhaegar might get away with it. Pity he didn't think of checking Pycelle's true loyalties around the time Aegon was born, she thought and did not insist anymore.

Without his chains, Pycelle didn't look nearly that impressive. There was horror in his eyes and he didn't even notice the drool trickling from his gaping mouth. For first time, Rhaella indeed saw him as the feeble old man he was trying to impersonate. Once again, she found no pity in her heart.

"Ser Gerold!" Rhaegar called out. "Take Pycelle," he ordered when the Lord Commander entered. "Accompany him to his chambers and watch him as he makes ready to depart. He's allowed to take only his books and clothes. Nothing else. In a few hours, he leaves for the Citadel to train as maester."

As astounding as this order was, Ser Gerold didn't move a muscle on his face. Nothing could startle the man who had watched – and committed! – some of Aerys' most heinous acts. He only bowed and steered Pycelle out of the room.

"That's a worm less," Rhaegar spat. "Now, we can think of those in Dorne. Elia will be summoned to King's Landing to answer to me why she wed in such a hurry when one of the terms of our annulment was that she consults me, her King, of her choice of husband."

Rhaella sighed. "And how are you going to explain it? She didn't actually agree to heed your advice in all circumstances. And if you think she'll just come here to answer your charges… of disobedience, I suppose?... you don't know her at all. Short of a war, you cannot bring her here as defendant."

Rhaegar's eyes glinted. "Can't I? Another child was never in the plans we discussed. How am I to know that Arthur won't try to throw Rhaenys out of the succession? The way Dornishmen are, they might even prefer his child to Rhaenys since he or she will be more Dornish. And the Seven knows Alric will be only too happy to assist. He cannot stand me but he thawed to Arthur and people say that Arthur's brother was fostered with him. They broke the agreement."

The one in your head, maybe? Rhaella wondered. She now knew what she should do: try and stop Rhaegar from acting foolishly until his anger cooled down and he could see that there was no breaking of agreement and no plans to have Rhaenys disadvantaged. Because he could not see this now but he could inflict great harm that he would later regret.

All this time, Lyanna had not spoken a word. Rhaella had the distinctive feeling that the girl was just doing her best not to ask herself why Elia's supposed barrenness mattered so much. Perhaps she felt that the answer was more than she could bear.

Every morning, Alaenys Targaryen counted the days she still had before leaving for that huge gloomy castle with its gloomy lord. Today, they were seventeen. On the eighteenth, she would head for a new life that scared her, with a man who scared her. Trading the sun of Dorne for the storms of that unrestful kingdom was terrible beyond imagining. And having seen her betrothed, she did not expect that he'd care to help her get used to her new environment. As if that wasn't bad enough, that know-it-all maester would stare at her constantly, trying to determine whether she'd prove his fears right by failing to provide Storm's End with an heir.

She would bring attendants of her own, of course, but she would be away from everyone she loved and everything she knew. She had always known that it would be her fate and that hadn't troubled her unduly; but with the merciless approach of the wedding, all the fears she had held and many others she hadn't even suspected of had encroached on her, making her startle during the day and stay awake at night.

How could she and Stannis Baratheon possibly get along? He was brooding and solitary; she was lively and friendly; he spoke only when needed, she chattered to no end and one had to pay attention to find the important bits in her ramblings. She was careless with her tongue, calling many people her friends, although both she and the others knew that her true friendships were precious few. Stannis only had his Onion Kinght. And of course, the shadows of the past would haunt them. To him, she would probably be Dorne in his house; she would live in constant fear that one day, he might do what his late brother had – doing away with whomever of her family he could get his hands upon.

Duty and the position of the Lady of Storm's End were hardly enough to compensate about such a life. And the bad weather would probably get her sick as soon as she arrived.

"Don't obsess over things that aren't likely to happen," Alynna said when Alaenys admitted her fears to her cousin. "Getting sick, I mean. You are like me. You don't get seriously ill. Worry about the real problems that you're likely to encounter."

Alaenys stirred to make herself more comfortable on the terrace. "I don't remember you being ill either," she agreed. "You were never sick, were you?"

Alynna looked away. "Just once," she murmured. "I spent the entire night in the gardens of Starfall in a light robe. It was after – " And she inclined her head, instead of mentioning Errol's name or death.

Alaenys felt hot shame blooming red upon her face. Of course that would be the time of Alynna's sickness. She shouldn't have asked.

And still, her cousin went on, her eyes turned inwardly, her voice distant. "But not only from cold. I was tired of life and I very much desired to get sick and go to…"

Alaenys' skin crawled. All the things she feared suddenly seemed so minor. Errol Gargalen, long dead, suddenly rose between them, silver-haired and purple-eyed, with that winning smile of his showing that the world was his for the taking, that happiness was within his tightly closed fist. If Alaenys wedding the gloomy Stannis Baratheon might help prevent more people like him from dying, then it would be worth it. Even if he unleashed his storms upon her at the first disagreement between them. As long as this marriage would prevent Rhaegar Targaryen from unleashing his wrath upon Dorne and the Stark girl's son from claiming a throne that wasn't his. This idea of the benefits drawn in such clear terms brought some dark comfort that relieved her fear, if only a tiny bit.