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A Queen To Be

Chapter 6

Three months later…

"I can't believe they actually complied with his request," Duncan said, staring at the sunlight piercing the heavy cloud-washed sky. "All this time, they really didn't approach King's Landing – neither the Blackwoods nor anyone else."

His father chuckled and looked around at the lush forest whispering to them. Even the long winter could not subdue the Kingswood entirely and they would have plenty of grass for their horses when they stopped. Their retainers'mood had gotten considerably better now that they believed they were finally coming home with no more frictions. The ones in charge, though, weren't so sure.

"Would he have really burned the treasury?" Jaehaerys wondered.

"No," Ser Duncan said. "It was just a threat but a convincing one."

"I am not so sure," Ser Ronald Crakehall broke into the conversation, his eyes never stopping looking around for a covert arrow or a sudden attacker. He was now guarding the kingdom's future and this duty pressed him heavily – it showed in his gaunt face and tired eyes. But he sat straight as ever, his whole manner bespeaking careful attention.

"What?" Prince Duncan asked and laughed. "You think he'd really have burned it all?"

"That might have been the best outcome, Duncan," his father said, obviously not liking it one bit. "The treasure, as little as there is left of it, should not fall in the Blackwood's hands. In no one's hands, actually. Never mind the price."

Aemon gave him a look of approval and Aegon felt ridiculously proud. During all their travels where they had talked, threatened, and coerced their way into making allies in all those who were now divided in their loyalties after Maekar's death, Aemon had always been collected, convincing and in his discreet way, the soul of their negotiations, although he was very careful not to reveal himself as such. He was so eloquent that some of the disgruntled lords ended up thinking of him as their protector. Aegon couldn't, didn't want to think what would have become of the Targaryen cause without his brother's interventions.

"He is one who really wouldn't think about the price," the Kingsguard said. "I remember him when he first came to King's Landing. Even then, he did whatever he had in mind and never thought about the price… and that was where he was a battle prize, a little more than a slave, actually, and a child at that. He'll die defending the treasury if need be."

"Really?" Aegon gave him a look of surprised interest. "He was a captive once? I never knew."

"He'll tell you his story himself. And I don't know that much about it anyway. I first saw him when he was paraded at Lannisport as a part of the crew of a pirate's ship that got destroyed when attacking one of our own ships. The court happened to be at Lannisport at the moment. I was the Hand's squire back then… Your lord father begged His Grace to let the boy serve him as one of his attendants and he agreed, despite the Queen's objections. The boy never strayed far from the Prince's side. Maekar's Shadow, Prince Baelor and the others called him because he slept in the Prince's antechamber at night and padded behind him like a cat by day." Ser Roland's eyes were distant, turned to a past time, a better time. "I remember that in the beginning, I used to wonder what his name was," he added in a while. "You know, he couldn't speak Westerosi."

Aegon stared straight ahead even while the boys started firing questions at Ser Ronald. They wanted to know more about their grandfather's youth, about his participation in the Blackfyre Rebellion, everything. Their youth healed the wounds of loss. The memory no longer hurt with the previous intensity. Now, they wanted to know all about Maekar, that was their way to keep him with them. Aegon, though, did not want to think about his father right now. He needed to focus if he were to preserve the kingdom that Maekar had died defending. As always, the biggest threat were the Blackfyres. Three of Daemon Blackfyre's sons still lived, as well as Bittersteel, as ailing as he had become in the last fifteen or so years. He'll outlive all of us to cause troubles for all of you, Maekar had often said. Actually, this was probably the only thing the three of them had ever agreed on – Maekar, Aerys, and Bloodraven. They needed to make a quick organization of their power and resources before the Golden Company could finish their preparations and treaties and land at their shores to deliver the next wave of destruction, weeping and doom.

Now more than ever they needed to present an united force, yet here they were, relying on an old man to keep the treasury from the grasping hands of various lords and die defending it if he must.

It was pathetic. Revolting. Shameful.

It was reality.

"Faster," Aegon snapped and spurred his horse. The others followed, vigilant of any attackers, for they had long ago disbanded their army. Because they could no longer feed it.

At the same time…

"No!"

Rhaelle was pacing through the open galleries, having just come back from the roof where she had roamed alone in the cold, looking around and waiting in vain for a courier of her father's coming with the news that it was safe, that they could go home now. It was so long since they had come here. She had not set a foot outside of this blasted gate and there were no indications that she would do so soon. That drove her mad. She wanted to scream and stomp her foot until she was allowed out. Not that her mother would be moved. Rhae didn't care at all how her children felt, she only wanted them locked here, away from the world, safe from a threat that existed in her feverish mind alone. When Rhaelle tried to talk to her, she got angry and told her not to be such a child. She was cold and determined, worse than the silent sisters because… well, she was Rhaelle's mother. She was supposed to nurture her, not torment her here, in this living hell. Within these windowless confines, Rhae had started seeing things in the darkest corner of her cell. If she didn't leave soon, she'd go as blind as a bat!

The snow was falling softly, sparsely, but steadily. The flagstones had become slippery and she yelped when she fell with a thud, barely managing to turn her head aside, so she did not land on her nose. Immediately, blood started trickling down her temple. She wiped it angrily.

"I cannot stay here any longer. What are we, prisoners?"

"Prisoners," Aemon said, liking the new word. "I like prisoners."

His sister whirled and glared at him. "No, you don't!"

"You don't," Rhaegar agreed. "No."

Rhaelle smiled a little through her scowl. "Now, that's a smart boy," she said.

Rhaegar looked horrified. "No smat," he declared. "No, no, no. No smat. Stuuuupid."

Now, Rhaelle burst out laughing. Alaenys joined in.

Rhaelle grabbed the little boy and spun him around before giving him a noisy kiss. He laughed in delight. "Come on," the Princess said, her mood slightly better now. "Let's hand them back to Aunt Daella."

By the time they reached their confines, Rhaegar's laughter had turned into an incessant wail of No,no,no-s when he realized that he'd be forced back inside. Rhaelle literally threw him on the bed and strode out, shaking with fury. "He is insufferable," she declared. "They all are."

"Well," Alaenys snapped, driven, not for a first time, to some open insolence, "I'm sure I've heard the Princess your mother saying the same thing about you, my lady."

They glowered at each other and hurried to take care of their other duties. It was already longer than a month since the last time any of them had fainted or screamed when they were forced to assist the sisters in preparing corpses for funeral. Alaenys did not even have nightmares about it anymore – now she went a heavy sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. The strange thing was, no longer how long she slept – and she did sleep long, for saving candles was a must in the chapterhouse, - in the morning she was always exhausted and rousing from sleep was always trying. It was this way with the Princess, too, as if they wanted to sleep through as much of their lives here as possible.

The chamber where they removed the organs was icy. The girls fastened their cloaks more tightly. Their breath was coming in small clouds of puffs. Alaenys' shoe, still slick from the snow outside, slipped and she fell, reaching instinctively for something to steady herself. Her hand found the heavy table and grabbed the huge piece of cloth covering it. The corpse they would embalm this day fell down and crushed her, like a man crushing a woman under his weight in bed, like her huge husband had crushed her child's body once. The dead eyes were right over hers, the gaping mouth was choking the breath out of her. She screamed and screamed while they were hastily removing the dead man. She screamed and struggled against the restraining hands while they were hauling her up and applying potion to her bloodied knees. She screamed, breaking the sacred silence in the chapterhouse and causing questioning looks and heads peering in until she no longer had voice to scream with.