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A Dragon Expendable

Maekar

"What by the Seven is going on here?"

"Father!" Daella exclaimed, releasing her grip on her horse and rushing to him. He ruffled her hair affectionately, still stunned, his eyes moving from her head to the horse… who rose on two feet, dusted himself off, and said, "I was hoping you'd knock before entering, Maekar…"

"I did," Maekar replied. Of course, they hadn't heard him in the din inside, consisting mostly of Daella's excited shouts. His eyes, wide and disbelieving, took the silk stole that his daughter had used to lead Daeron along the floor. Was this how the girls spent their time in their grandmother's sickroom? No wonder they were so enthused over visiting every day. Despite himself, he smiled, pleased to see that everyone had clearly enjoyed the entertainment. The Queen's eyes were shining and for the moment, she did not look ill at all. Rather, she resembled the radiant mother Maekar remembered from his own childhood at Dragonstone before the full extent of a queen's duties and presiding over the divided court took their toll.

"Is this how the girls spend their time here?" he inquired, taking a seat near Mariah's couch. "I knew he was a devoted slave to them but I didn't know they had entirely twisted him around their little fingers."

"They don't need to." Lately, Mariah's voice had dropped to a painful, low whisper. "He twists himself over their little fingers all on his own. As you know, he has always wanted a granddaughter."

No, I didn't know. He doubted any of his brothers had known the difference either before Daella was born. Soon after, Rhaegel's Aelora's arrival had confirmed it, and then Rhae's. Dyanna knew, though. He had actually thought her far off the mark when, soon after Aemon's birth, he had heard her saying, "I won't disappoint your hopes. No matter what, I will give you granddaughters."

"They aren't too exhausting for you?" he asked, just to make sure, and she smiled to reassure him that all was fine. Only, it wasn't. The Stranger was hovering near her shoulder, no longer bothering to mask his presence. Maekar reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. It was hot, way too hot.

"You skipped the bow this time," she commented, her eyes suddenly playful.

"That I did," he agreed.

"Somehow, it wouldn't do to bow to a horse?" she went on and he smiled. It was so nice to see her spirit restored.

"Perhaps," he admitted.

"I want to have a word with you," his father suddenly announced; surprised, Maekar saw how the light in his mother's eyes flickered and died, and he hated that it died.

"Do you really have to?" Mariah's tone was a plea more than anything else. A desperate plea that Maekar had only heard her make once. When she had been told that he, barely in his seventeenth year, was the one expected to restore order and lasting peace in the steaming cauldron that was the Dornish Marches…

"Yes," Daeron said, and for a moment, Mariah closed her eyes before smiling at Daella. The little girl scrunched her face. Even she could say that the smile was not a real one. But she went to her grandmother's side as beckoned, carrying her own cup and plate of sweetmeats to place on the table, a good distance away from Mariah's own utensils.

It was clear that the conversation would not be held in the ladies' presence. Maekar could already say that he'd dislike it. At his arrival, his mother had looked at his father with love and laughter in her eyes; now, she glared at him and he didn't look surprised, as if he expected it.

"Would you want some wine?" Daeron asked as they went to his solar.

"No, thank you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," Maekar replied and wondered whether Daeron would go as far as offer him tea instead. Some sweets as well, maybe. He seemed pretty reluctant to start the conversation. And then, "Am I seeing a spectre?"

Curious, Maekar joined him at the window overlooking the drawbridge where a young woman was crossing, clearly on her way to visit the Queen. She was looking around with the same childish wonder he remembered from her first visit here with their entourage.

"Just her sister," he said roughly.

"She resembles Dyanna so much, they could be twins…"

"Not at all," Maekar snapped. Still, there must be something about that because the King was not the first to say so. Of course, Astrea was silver-haired to Dyanna's black and short, instead of willowy-tall. It must be something in the features. And of course, Astrea also had the eyes. Violet. Haunting. I wish Maekar would take a second wife, Daeron thought but he knew it wasn't likely.

"I see she has come without her much desired husband," Maekar commented and Daeron smiled a little, remembering how furious his son and goodaughter had been when her little sister had eloped right under their noses. The rumour had it that the marriage was not a good one. At least I'm sparing Aemon this, he thought, a love that went wrong. He would also spare the boy the torment he was undergoing at the moment. Mariah would die any day now and it was simply unacceptable to him. He couldn't imagine what kind of life he would lead after. Perhaps the Citadel would provide Aemon with a shield against the heartbreak brought by such illnesses and fatal accidents like the one that had claimed his mother's life. The memory of Dyanna's white face as they brought her into the Red Keep woke again. Just a moment of carelessness, a sad misadventure…

"So?" Maekar asked, turning his back to the window. "What is it that you want to talk to me about?"

There it was. The moment. Daeron also deserted the window and the young creature of life and beauty behind it.

"Lately," he said, taking a seat and indicating that Maekar should do the same, "I've been thinking of many things."

"Such as?" No, Maekar did not like where this was going. Winded words and long introductions were never the King's way with him – Daeron was well aware that those only irked him and were likely to make him less compliant. To resort to them now, his father must be quite anxious indeed.

"Such as the stability of the kingdom and the good of the family."

"I see." Maekar's voice was very level. Such a start was never one that led to something good.

Daeron sighed and looked him in the eye. "The boys are too numerous," he said bluntly. "And that means danger as past taught us."

"Not quite." Maekar had turned very pale but he still kept his temper under control. "Daemon was never one of us and he knew it. That was what drove him. And that was something even you couldn't change."

That was the closest thing to a critique he would allow himself now. Once, he had not been so restrained! No matter how long ago the change had settled over him, it still saddened Daeron to think of it.

"I suppose all this is a way to tell me that it's my sons who have to go?" Maekar looked mildly curious. "May I know what the method will be? Exile, execution, or poison?"

"Stop it!"

Daeron was shocked by his own outburst. In the space of a breath, he was on his feet, glaring at Maekar. "Stop it immediately! Do you hear me? Stop it!"

Maekar shrugged and waited for explanation.

Daeron composed himself and sat back in his chair. "I intend to send Aemon to the Citadel," he said. "I do believe he'll have a good future as a maester."

"No," Maekar said, not bothering to raise his voice. "Out of question. No."

"I'm afraid it's my call to make." Daeron was determined not to let his son provoke him again. "As much as it pains me, I cannot allow the threat of too many dragons expand beyond control."

"Yes, that's what I've heard," Maekar said dryly. "Since I was old enough to understand. That was what Grandfather used to tell about us – Rhaegel and I."

Not bothering to lower his voice. Yes, Daeron also remembered. The Dornish woman brought us nothing but her obstinacy and her too fertile cunt, that had been a refrain Aegon often repeated when into his cups. And Daeron remembered that his father's attitude towards Maekar had changed, albeit very slightly, when it became clear that this silver-haired, purple-eyed grandson of his would be a warrior.

He didn't rise to the bait. Maekar knew that Daeron's attitude to his grandchildren was very different from Aegon's. He had to know.

"What a luxury," Maekar went on. His sharp smile could cut a diamond. "To have so many dragons that you can choose the ones who would be most useful, instead of working with what you have. I suppose I should be grateful I didn't end up at the Wall… surely not even your concern for the realm could bring you to send me to the Citadel, of all places? I would have made a terrible maester. If I lasted this long there, I mean."

Daeron looked down. No, he wouldn't have sent him to the Wall even if he hadn't needed him but the truth was, he had. Ever since he had turned fourteen, Maekar had been groomed to take up the responsibilities that Aerys and Rhaegel were incapable of shouldering. Daeron didn't want to imagine what would have happened without Maekar in the Dornish Marches. Building Summerhall had not been enough and he had never expected it to be. He had built it with the specific thought of sending Maekar there to hold the volatile situation in the Marches under control – and that had been only the beginning of what would be expected of him in the future. Of course, people saw it as indulging on Daeron's part when it had been, more than anything, a hard work. Just like now. Baelor and Maekar worked, and Aerys and Rhaegel shared in their wages. To make it worse, the work Maekar did every day went almost unnoticed. Unacknowledged, certainly. Unfair, so unfair. But that was the only way. The thought that people would take his decision exactly the wrong way, thinking that he was sending away the grandson who was most like him because he thought him disappointing and useless made him grind his teeth, the way Maekar was doing now. But there was no way around it.

Still, he was enraged with Maekar as well. Not even Mariah had ever dared to tell him that he used the members of his family, exploiting the ones who could work to do so in the place of those who couldn't. Did I never consider him as a potential threat to the succession even after Daemon because I needed him? No, Daeron protested against this monstrous thought. It isn't true. I always knew he was no danger to his brothers because of who he is, what he is like.

And still… would he have considered sending Aemon away if Valarr or Matarys had proved as hopeless as Aerys and Rhaegel? Was he indeed getting carelessly dismissive because he had enough dragons to feel confident?

"I am not talking to you when you're like this," he snapped, angered at Maekar for bringing such thoughts to his mind. "We'll have this conversation later. After you compose yourself. We'll discuss it at length then. I believe you'll see the right of it. It isn't something that I do out of enjoyment, spite, or whatever ugly thoughts are crossing your mind. It's just a necessity."

Maekar rose. "We have nothing to talk about," he said curtly. "It isn't going to happen and that's not a matter of discussion."

It isn't a matter of discussion indeed, Daeron thought as Maekar bowed and left his presence. But we'll discuss it anyway and it'll deal more wounds before it ends my way.