A/N I own nothing as I stated at the beginning, but apart from that, it has to be acknowledged that the sentence "Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died" is a direct quotation from the Chapter 23 of the Game of Thrones book, Ser Jorah Mormont tells that to Daenerys.
Chapter 30
The Mystery Bard
Where Mance Rayder is not the only singer in the capital
xx
Sansa
"They will let you in to see your son, Lord Blackwood," Sansa told the elderly lord hoping he would believe her.
Nymeria was howling greedily at her feet while Sansa carefully arranged a septa's headdress over her opulent hair. Several years of dying it had not changed its unwarranted splendour. A gift, a burden, a sign of certain recognition. She had to put a leather collar to Nymeria, asking her for forgiveness for such offence. The wolf was so distressed of late that Sansa was afraid she could commit some atrocity in the city. The people would kill her for it as easily as they drew breath. Satisfied that her hair was hidden, Sansa had a moment of doubt. Accepting the robes of the Faith from Septa Lemore, a kind stranger, but stranger nevertheless, may have been another dangerous mistake on her side; to trust where she should not.
But what would life be without a little trust? she dissipated her suspicions with a warm smile, and gifted Lord Blackwood with a questioning, yet polite, stare.
"My lady," Tytos Blackwood said, "it is not wise. You risk your freedom by returning to the Red Keep. My son has told me that Lord Baelish counselled the king to invite you to stay there as a ward of the crown."
"I will only see Sweetrobin and leave. The city is full of the members of the Faith ever since His Holiness has seen fit to arm it in his great wisdom. One more septa will go unnoticed."
So they went, and in the end, Sansa was glad that the Hound was not there. He wouldn't approve, she thought, ridden with guilt for not confiding in him, again. Or worse, he'd insist in following my steps and ruin everything with his lack of manners.
She couldn't have waited any longer even if she wanted. The time for midday meal was long passed and the heavy rain clouds covered the sky. Gendry would call at the gates of the Red Keep shortly before sundown, when the streets were the busiest, with Tom Waters hidden nearby. They would disappear at first sign of trouble. She should better convince her cousin fast.
The gateway to the Red Keep gaped open. No one heeded them at all. A cold draft ran through the corridors, followed by cries of murder and despair, getting louder as Sansa dared to approach their source.
"It's the young king!" A maid cried, long skirts rustling down the corridor. "He lies dead in his bed with the woman who warmed it."
Lord Blackwood and Sansa followed the commotion leading to Aegon's chambers. Sansa withdrew behind a column with her wolf, when she noticed Petyr and the freckled old griffin lord, leading the crowd of the curious and the grieving.
"Make way for the true king!" the voice of Sweetrobin was ten times more shrill than she remembered it, a predatory cry of a white mountain eagle, or a wild hawk. Between the press of the courtiers and servants, Aegon strode forward alone, his helm revealing his noble looking face, and keen purple eyes.
"My lords," he addressed his councillors. "What has happened here?"
"It is a gift of the gods to see you unharmed, Your Grace," Petyr bowed an inch deeper than required, always perfect in his flattery. "It would seem there has been an attempt at your life in your very home. But alas, the hand of the assassin must have hit one of your faithful servants in your stead."
Aegon burst into his own chamber, like an impatient lad, not the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Sansa trod after at a safe distance, mingling with the shadows, wishing to see, but not to be seen. Lord Blackwood was never far behind.
"It's Peckledon, and Pia, his paramour!" Aegon cried. "He was on guard at dawn. I had to leave on an urgent errand and I asked him to take my place until I should return…"
"Your Grace," Petyr instructed subserviently the King. "The High Septon, on whom so much depends, would not take kindly to your referral of such questionable customs from Dorne with any honour… Perhaps the body of the courtesan should be removed…"
But Aegon was already touching the bodies while the orange-headed griffin lord turned upside down the empty flagon of wine at the bed side.
"It was Arbour gold," he said. "And not only. It smells of nothing but it had to be tampered with. I am not an expert on such cowardly deeds, but I would say that someone had laced His Grace's drink with the tears of Lys, exaggerating in a drop or two. Had the assassin been more correct in his use of the vile potion, they would die in a few days, of sickness looking naturally… A fever."
"Your knowledge of poisons is rather complete for an honourable lord and the Hand of the King," Petyr commented, underlining every word. "Yet it has been said that poison is a woman's weapon, or a eunuch's."
Aegon turned to look warily at Lord Varys who appeared in the back as a ghost, as if he had passed through one of the walls. Maybe he did, thought Sansa, recalling the gossip of the servants about the hidden passages King Maegor dug under all the halls of the Red Keep.
"Who in this castle possesses the tears of Lys?" the king asked. "Speak and your life will be spared. Stay silent and it will be forfeit!"
"I do, Your Grace," a soft but determined woman's voice spoke.
"Septa Lemore!" Aegon exclaimed.
Petyr appeared shocked, but Sansa noticed how his only arm gripped the hilt of the dagger he always carried on his person, and a corner of his mouth bent, as when he would win an important victory over the lords of the Vale who loved him not; an upstart, a failure, and a lesser lord.
"I never wanted to imply that any lady has done such a vile thing," Petyr said with feigned sorrow.
"And I, at least, have not done any such thing," Septa Lemore refuted the veiled accusation placidly. "The alchemists discovered many uses of the substance. I take it as medicine, half a drop a day. It alleviates strong headaches when the sun is too strong in the south."
"I shall have to confine you to your quarters until this matter is investigated," Aegon said to Septa Lemore, emotionless. "I pray to the gods that you are found innocent of this heinous crime."
The septa advanced hesitantly and bowed to Aegon. "I trust in the great wisdom of Your Grace. If you would only allow me to examine the victims. They may yet live."
"No, Aegon," Lord Connington spoke before Petyr could. What he said next, made Petyr smile. "As much as I want to trust Septa Lemore, she should not be allowed to finish what she possibly started."
Sansa was scared for the fate of the kind septa. She may not know that the boy she raised is not the same now that he has become king.
"Jon," the septa tried to say. "You know my healing skills better than anyone."
"Honour without prudent judgement is for fools," Jon Connington told her. "Rhaegar died as a consequence of it. What would you do, my friend, if I admitted to possessing this poison?"
"My lords," Sansa spoke and came forward, amazed at her own outburst of bravery. Nymeria growled at Petyr, who was staring at Sansa in a way which made her more uncomfortable then all the threats and the ugly words she had heard recently from the Hound.
"There is another healer, the Elder Brother, the champion of the Faith," Sansa's voice was losing strength and pace as she spoke. "Maybe they can be saved!"
"Oh, the Lady Sansa, such a gentle heart! Ever a lady as her mother before her!" Petyr praised her. "In search of the hospitality of His Grace, no doubt. It is not safe in the city for such a noble lady."
Aegon only had eyes of hurt disappointment for Septa Lemore. "Take her!" he roared to gold cloaks standing sheepishly at the door. "A guard is to be in front of her quarters at all times!" When the unhappy septa was out of his sight, he checked the pulse of the boy on his bed. "Jon! Lord Baelish!" his command hit them hard. "Have this Elder Brother brought here!"
The griffin lord obeyed and left, but Petyr showed no intention to leave.
"Have I not been quite clear?" His Grace eyed him suspiciously, for the first time since the victims were found.
"But of course, Your Grace," Petyr could understand defeat, even if temporary. He removed his legs, thinner than spits to roast the meat on, in the opposite direction of the castle than the one taken by the Lord Hand. Nymeria roared after him.
"Lady Sansa," Aegon said, willing his voice even. "You must have come for a reason. What would you ask of me?"
"Your Grace is too kind to inquire about my wishes," she said, mechanically.
"I have half of the mind to offer you my hospitality until this attempt at assassination is resolved. What frightens me most is that the attacker waited for the first occasion where I would be alone... Or unguarded by someone special, I should rather say."
"I could agree to stay if that would ease Your Grace's heart about my intentions," Sansa said. "But only if you would allow me a guard of my choice. "
"Fair enough," Aegon said.
"But to speak of my errand," she continued, encouraged. "I would ask you to admit a young commoner called Tom Waters into your guard. Sweetrobin knows him: from the time they practised with wooden swords at King's Ro… I wanted to say the Usurper's court."
Aegon laughed at her mistake. "Your words are as brave as your deeds, Lady Sansa, by addressing me in person. The Targaryens of old said that to risk waking the dragon is no small a thing. Robin, what say you?"
"The members of the House Stark have been known to die before forsaking their honour," Sweetrobin said, finding a calm voice of a great lord that lay hidden in the demeanour of a child. "Lady Sansa's father, Lord Eddard Stark, lost his head for it, at the hands of the Usurper's false heir, a bastard in origin and deed"
"Oh, Sweetrobin," Sansa's beautiful eyes swelled with tears. "My father did confess his treason before the people of King's Landing. He said what they wanted to hear, but Joffrey had him beheaded all the same."
"Your Grace," Lord Varys informed, slowly. "Queen Cersei offered Lord Stark a life on the Wall if he publicly confessed his treason."
"And he accepted it?" Aegon asked. "He lied for his life to be spared? That tells little and less of his honour."
"No, my lord," Varys said. "Lord Stark's answer to this generous offer was, if I can still remember it correctly, that we can go ahead and slit his throat. He would have died for his honour just like Lord Arryn had said. But in that case the queen bid me tell him, in no unclear terms, that the price for his honour would not be only his head, but also the head of his daughter, Lady Sansa…"
Sansa cowered, fighting to remain standing. Nymeria leapt on her chest, licking her face for comfort. Sansa staggered on her feet. "I didn't know that," she stammered.
Aegon's keen eyes judged her distress, at a loss of what to believe. "My lady, and if I granted you your wish this time, what would you ask of me next time? To marry you and make an alliance with the North as Lord Baelish already suggested?"
The quiet denial in Sansa's eyes, bluer than the sky on that day, betrayed her despite all her lessons in courtesy.
"No, Your Grace," she followed her reasoning with calm words, worried about the young king's reaction. Will he imprison me like Septa Lemore? She was like a mother to him... "I am greatly honoured that Lord Baelish found me worthy of making such a counsel to you, but marriage, any marriage, is far off my mind…"
"Is it because your house is in ruins and you have no gold to offer to the Faith, to pray for the dissolution of your marriage to Tyrion Lannister? Once a septa would prove your maidenly innocence?"
"I haven't thought of that at all, Your Grace," Sansa said sincerely, a sudden clatter of swords dimming her last words.
The Hound was cutting his way to her side like an avalanche rolling down the hill when the summer snow would melt on a too warm day in the North, stopping at the last unmovable boulder before the valley. She heard him before she saw him, feral and tall. Her lungs tightened and the air was hard to come by. Water dripped from his lank hair. So the rain has started, Sansa concluded, admiring him for a second that the courtesy allowed.
"It is only my guard, Your Grace," she said indifferently, acknowledging the Hound with a polite nod, worthy of a great lady, oblivious to the chatter of steel. "He must have been upset that I left my dwelling unaccompanied. The city is full of dangers for a lady walking alone as Lord Baelish rightfully warned."
Aegon raised his right arm and all fighting stopped. At least that part was easy about being a king.
Sandor Clegane stood silently behind Sansa, as a guard should, immutable like a giant gargoyle carved in grey stone.
"It is just that, concerning marriage,"Aegon said, sounding uncertain of how much he should reveal. "Lord Tyrell has brought me the body of the young Usurper Tommen this morning before dawn. It would appear he wanted to escape the dungeons and the guards had no choice but to kill him. His face was ruined by a blow of a mace…. A mass of flesh beyond any recognition."
"My grief is with Tommen's widow, Lady Margaery," Sansa raised her eyes and said with cheek, hoping that Aegon would be clever and understand.
A wide grin of complicity started spreading on the smooth face of the young king and stopped half the way. Sansa, for her part, understood that it would not do, a smile could not be left to blossom in the dark hall half filled with roses.
"Indeed," Aegon said, "I will say how sorry I am in person to Lady Margaery if the king's business allows it, after hearing out the people in the throne room. They have been patiently waiting until this late in the afternoon. And I extend my kingly invitation to you to stay in the Red Keep until this mystery is resolved. Your guard will be granted suitable rooms next to yours."
The young King's voice lacked compassion, and Sansa understood she had better accept.
"Thank you, Your Grace," she murmured.
"I expect you at my table for dinner two hours from now. It will be a merry feast! I haven't had time to break my fast properly today. Your guard can come too."
Sansa nodded mutely.
"Lord Arryn will see to it that the new candidate for my own guard is fit for his duty."
"Thank you, Your Grace. Tom Waters will seek out Lord Arryn at sunset, at the gates," Sansa said with unfeigned smile full of unbreakable trust in the existence of the gods. Didn't they save her unworthy life many times over and send her a faithful… guard? She could almost taste his thoughts behind her, brimming with anger, wishing for them to be on their own again.
Sansa looked around, but Lord Blackwood seemed to have left. It was good. He and his ravens had a better chance of finding the Elder Brother on time than the griffin lord or Petyr.
Some guard or other showed them the way out. They followed in silence; the man, the woman, and the wolf.
Daenerys
"Lady Jeyne," Daenerys said, uncertain if the courtesy was appropriate. But if Lady Stoneheart wished to be called a lady than perhaps the hooded creature walking after her wanted it too. "Welcome."
They walked on the deck of the ship when Drogon's impassive voice reached a decision on Jeyne in Daenerys' mind. "Not her," she thought it said.
"Did you hear it, my lady," she asked of Jeyne who shook her head. "Would it be too much to ask you to reveal your face? I know of your… condition. It will not appall me, I promise, and…"
A gurgle startled her, and Drogon forwarded the message in colourful tones.
"No, I will not tell Aegon," Daenerys assured Jeyne. "If I wanted to, I could have done so already. He can find out by himself."
The hood of black and purple velvet glided from Jeyne's head revealing a pair of black haunted eyes, large and wise beyond her years. She was young, her black hair a flood of silk reaching almost to her waist, the only attribute she still possessed of a living being.
For her skin was ghastly pale and green, fragile like old parchment, the bones of her fingers visible underneath as sharp claws of a deadly bird. A large black ring on her throat where the noose must have been left no doubt as to what she was.
A corpse, a living corpse, but a corpse still.
Daenerys found herself moved by compassion for the unknown girl, and her unknown destiny, against all her other instincts in the matter.
The girl must have felt it because her broken voice was heard again and Drogon tried to assuage Dany that Jeyne accepted what she was. That it was not Dany's fault, just like the death of Hazzea, the child, had not been.
Daenerys willed her thoughts to halt, suddenly afraid, for unlike the Lady Stoneheart she had caught before, this corpse could also hear Dany's thoughts through Drogon's endlessly scaled untamed mind. There was no other way she could have found out about the bones of the child presented to Daenerys the Queen, an innocent victim of her dragons' gnawing hunger.
"You see, Lady Jeyne," Daenerys started, losing her determination. "First time I saw someone looking a bit like you, if you forgive me the comparison, it was in the flames of R'hllor across the sea. It was a dead man with one black eye, missing. His emissaries took from me what was mine and I have been searching for it ever since. I went to the priest of R'hllor desperate for any answers. And the flames told my treasure was in Westeros, even if the priest was fair enough to warn me that the fire did not lie but the men who read its meaning might err. Until today I believed that this one-eyed man had sworn fealty to Aegon for he conquered the capital so fast, and with no fight. I even caught another woman, looking like you, prying around my encampment. I believed that she meant to murder me. She is resentful and bitter, but Drogon has seen her mind, and he claims that even if she has no love for me, she has never seen my children. Could you tell me anything, anything at all about the existence of other beings such as you? Where does one find them? Where do you find a dead one-eyed man in this land?"
A soft sound like the breaking of parchment came from Jeyne's mouth.
"You don't know anyone but yourself?" Dany asked, disappointed. "And why would you want to see the Lady Stoneheart then? Are you all in league?"
The dragon in her blood was woken up and Daenerys Stormborn contemplated ending her futile attempt at learning some answers by commanding Drogon to scorch Jeyne, her promise to Aegon be damned.
The real dragons did not parley, they conquered, and burned, and murdered.
The thought of her brother Rhaegar, noble and brave, came to stop her. He would not let the dragon wake up. Yet the old words of Ser Jorah Mormont, a trusted advisor who betrayed her, disappearing in Essos after she sent him away, cruelly reminded her of what the world was. Rhaegar fought valiantly, Rhaegar fought nobly, Rhaegar fought honorably. And Rhaegar died.
It was the truth of the matter as it stood.
A strident gurgle, a dissonant screech, irritating as a scratch of a sword on a rusting armour brought her back from her thoughts.
"Rhaegar… was betrayed," Drogon interpreted the dead girls's words clearer than ever, and bright violet eyes of the Mother of Dragons went wide open.
"What do you know?" Dany exclaimed. "Not you, but who else? The singer from the north? The one who would force my hand to listen to his insignificant verses? The slaves I freed granted me the only title that I care to hear, the only one that soothes my aged heart. Mysha, they call me. Mother. I am their mother. I, who will not bear any children of my body…"
Dany was frantically interpreting more incoherent dead thoughts. "You may know something about what sits heavily on my heart. But in return you wish to see Lady Catelyn Stark first." The queen stopped thinking and called for the guards, not noticing how the Lady Jeyne covered herself again to wait for the Lady Stoneheart. The dead woman with a cut throat, her priest and her singer were soon delivered at the queen's feet.
"You shouldn't have freed the Kingslayer's Whore," announced the Red Priest.
"Hold your tongue, priest," Danerys retorted. "I haven't had you brought to my presence to make conversation. Someone here seeks an audience from your lady."
Jeyne glided in the clearing, stopping an inch away from the Lady Stoneheart, upright and unyielding. In a movement slow as passing of time she lowered her cloak again and defiantly revealed her features to the other dead woman.
I only loved the bastard boy,'t was all, was it so much to ask for? Drogon sang in Dany's mind, radiating sadness, unending like death, strong like life itself. Lady Stoneheart attempted to touch Jeyne's cheek, but the younger corpse recoiled. The noises she made reminded of a rustle of autumn leaves on the ground grown infertile from the cold. Dany wanted to cry. And the Lady Stoneheart did cry, even if she didn't shed any tears. Tears were apparently not something a mere body could shed.
Satisfied, Jeyne covered her face and faced the queen, bowing deeply, to the ground.
"The Tyrells, you say? Are you certain?" Danerys held her hands out and took both of Jeyne's helping her rise from the ground, ignoring the freezing coldness of her inhuman touch. Standing, she was much taller than Daenerys, of height with Aegon himself. "No, but you believe it strongly. Thank you!" the queen exhaled, admiring that her breath was visible in the autumn breeze. She had never seen it before in the vast lands she had known and conquered across the sea, always warm and suffocating.
"Ser Barristan," she called the Lord Commander of her Kingsguard, awaiting orders behind the Lady Catelyn and her servants. "Make ready. You and I, and Jeyne will share a dinner with Aegon tonight in the Red Keep. Drogon will see to our safe arrival and departure from that place. Have a raven sent to announce us. Kindly ask Aegon to include Mance Rayder and the members of the House Tyrell in the list of guests. Please, hurry."
Sandor
The Hound wanted to take Sansa in his arms as soon as they were alone in their new rooms. But she glanced at the heavy brown curtains with a pattern of golden flowers behind a somewhat dusty featherbed. Her well shaped lips turned so thin that he retracted to his place immediately, none of them a novice in the Red Keep.
"Do you wish me to leave?" he asked, cheated of a promise, still angry with her for going to the would be king. The trail of the wolf was easy enough to find and follow in the mud on the streets made wet by rain, and the Hound could still not forget how his heart went stiff when he established it led back to the Red Keep. There was some blood on the right sleeve of his tunic, and he unconsciously wiped it on his breeches, not knowing why he needed to spare her the sight. He would never look any better.
And Sansa Stark had seen enough blood already.
She shook her head and a finger journeyed briefly to her mouth in sign of silence, her eyes cast down, measuring him in a strange way. Than she stepped away from the larger room to a smaller one, with a window, and no curtains at all, a rounded table and four chairs. The ladies would use it for reading, or needlework, no doubt. The masonry was flat and thick in that space. If anyone was behind, listening, it was difficult to imagine a spy being able to see through those walls. A single candle burned on the table, illuminating the autumn greyness of the late afternoon, and the wind was carrying inside the last drops of rain. Sansa closed it better, and turned back to look at him shyly, almost in his face.
"I never thought we should both return here, my lord," she said.
The moment was broken by the servants bringing in a pale blue gown, a miracle of silks and ribbons combined. They offered to stay and help her dress, but Sansa politely refused. Nymeria lay in front of the door, calmer than she was in Aegon's chambers, almost slumbering.
Sansa returned to the smaller of the two rooms, carrying the new gown. She moved to the corner out of the line of sight of the watchful eyes beneath the curtain if there were any to be found.
"The weather has turned cold, my lord," she continued in a monotonous voice, markedly turning the back of the septa's dress to him.
He did not understand. She does not mean for me to undress her, does she, now?
"The feast will start soon," she said with the empty voice she would use to reply to Cersei and Joffrey, years ago. "We had best make ready."
But her body was alive, and it made a speech of its own. Unburdening the upper part of it came naturally to the Hound. The soft movement of her back when she leaned into his chest was a blessing of the gods that did not exist, her hair falling between them like a carpet of foreign silk. For the first time he could see parts of her he had only felt before, in the flicker of the candlelight, and it was more than he could take. She held the new dress in front of her body, facing the wall. Not knowing better, he took her breasts in his hands, slowly, pretending to be helping her out of the bottom part of the robes she wore. She didn't find it unseemly the night before so he hoped it would be all right.
She shivered from his touch. Forcing an incredulous laugh that came to his mouth to disappear, he carefully followed the contours of her body with his hands as she stepped out of the septa's clothing and into the dress she had been holding. Tying her laces was an exquisite torture. He probably imagined it but she was nesting against him all the time, imperceptibly, as if she needed to feel his hands better on her back.
Sandor Clegane was half inclined to seek a moment of solitude before dinner to take care of some of his own needs. A ridiculous thought of the Kingslayer came to mind, considering if the man was now doing it with his left hand.
Sansa told him as if she could read his rude thoughts. "Please, stay to accompany me to dinner, my lord." Her hand stretched towards him, begging of his own to tolerate the meaningless title she offered him again, for the sake of others, listening.
The dog has to wait on his master, he thought, giving her his hand. She took it as she never did before when he followed her to do his duty around the Red Keep. Her grip was determined and strong. Her thumb moved to caress his arm, unmistakably.
They passed through the corridors, tall and proud, as a lord and his lady that were to attend a feast with many guests.
"I trust that they still serve dinner at the same place," Sansa said, to break the silence.
They did.
Lord Mace Tyrell and Lady Olenna rose from their places in surprise when the new guests approached the table of the king. Ned Dayne and Hos Blackwood guarded the young Targaryen impostor, not moving a bone. Baelish was still on his feet, his murky eyes narrowed, keenly observing. Lady Margaery, also in attendance, didn't show any sign of surprise.
"Lord Tyrell, Lady Olenna, it pleases me to see that you are well," little bird chirped taking the seat next to the old hag. "Lady Margaery, I am sorry for your loss."
The Hound took a seat next to Sansa, enduring all the looks of despise, especially from the old griffin who should have been dead by now, seated at the right side of the new bastard King. Does the boy know? Or did the carrions around him forget to inform him? Or is it all Mance's imagination. Sandor Clegane did not care.
The place to the Aegon's left was suspiciously empty and the one after that occupied by Littlefinger. Three places loomed unoccupied next to the Hound, facing the king.
"Lady Sansa," Aegon said in a friendly voice, "I believe that you are acquainted with everyone present. And dear Lady Sansa is not our only guest tonight, not by far. The feast will be magnificent! Look!"
The other guests were not late in showing themselves, obeying the wishes of the young king. Littlefinger shot a murderous glance when Mance Rayder sat calmly at the Hound's side, ostentatiously wearing his unusual cloak.
But it was not all.
A silver haired Dragon Queen in a foreign dress, pale yellow and made of several transparent layers one above another, barely covering her chest but so long that it spread over the pavement after her for several feet, walked graciously through the large door, a familiar old knight in white armour in her tow.
"Nephew," she said, omitting any royal title. "Ser Barristan Selmy is the Lord Commander and the only real member of my Queensguard." Ser Barristan whispered something to his queen, and stood back peacefully in the nest of vipers, as a man knowing he was still among the best killers with the sword.
"Welcome," Aegon said. "Will you speak up your mind immediately or shall I send for food and wine first?"
"I am not of a mind to stay long," Daenerys said, remaining firmly standing, several feet away from the high table. "So I will be brief. I have a question for the House Tyrell to answer. What do your scouts report, my ladies, my lord? Is your seat under siege from air or from the sea? I do not take it kindly being lied to, so please answer truthfully."
The threat was plain in her voice, and the Lady Olenna was the only Tyrell who dared to speak. "Princess Daenerys," she said, "there are indeed rumours that the ironborn fleet has gotten feet and that it is marching from the Reach to Highgarden by the way of land, the slaves carrying their ships in exhibition of great power and cruelty. They take more of our people prisoners as they pass."
"Thank you for this," Daenerys said, and then to someone else, invisible, behind her. "And thank you, my lady."
The hooded woman in a rich coloured cloak slowly stepped into the room as the last guest, gliding carelessly to the free place on Aegon's left side.
"You have kept your word," Aegon said to his aunt, standing up on his feet, amazed, blazing with joy.
"What else was there to do?"
"You may be Prince Rhaegar's son, but Her Grace is Prince Rhaegar's sister. And not only in looks," said Ser Barristan Selmy to the boy.
"And here are my terms, nephew, for the future of our relations," Daenerys spoke at length. "I will agree to seeing the mummery Mance Rayder wants so hard to show us and I will open no hostilities against you, or this city for the time being. Until I know who you truly are. But for my good will, and yours, the mummers' company needs to pay the price."
"And if I don't accept your terms, or if the mummers do not do as you ask?"
Daenerys exchanged a knowing look with old Selmy.
"I still remember my house words, beloved nephew," she said. "Do you?"
The silence reigned, unstoppable, in place of fire and blood.
"What are you asking of me, as a price to lend my play your ears?" Mance Rayder spoke to the Silver Queen.
"Not of you in person," Daenerys said. "Whoever attempts this task will not return alive. But if you want so hard for me to see the mummery you prepare, you will have to find another hero. He will ride hard to Highgarden, or to the Reach if need be, and take away from my enemies a trifle that does not belong to them, even if to touch it means certain death. This champion may chance to live only for as long as to hand it to a trusted ally who should have a large sheath or a barrel of steel ready to bring it to me. The vessel has to be made of such metal that can withstand fire."
"What is this trifle, Daenerys Stormborn?" said Mance Rayder.
"A horn," she said. "And not the man who blows it but the man for whom it is blown has most likely enslaved two of my dragons. As of today, I am almost certain of it."
"This is a lot to take in, Princess Daenerys," said Lady Olenna Tyrell. "Our scouts do not report of any such details as you mention."
"That is why there is a need of great haste," the Silver Queen continued. "For it will be too late when Highgarden is conquered and burned. The war will be at the walls of this city and Drogon may not have a chance against two of his brothers driven forward by insanity. It will be a true dance of dragons to be sung about by singers in the times to come. If there are any left living."
"I will go," Aegon said, and Daenerys was surprised. "You would?" she asked.
"I would."
"And I would not permit it," Mance protested. "The success of my play depends on both of you being present. You command an army each. "
"You forget the army of the High Septon," the Hound added, thoroughly enjoying the scandalised look of most other guests when a mere guard dared to speak. "It may preach peace for it belongs to the Faith, but some of its soldiers carry more arms then three sellswords of the Golden Company together."
"If you accept my terms, Mance Rayder," Danerys said, "you will swear it on your cloak."
"Vows are not necessary," the singer said. "For where the need is great, there will be no room left for treason. Tell me, Daenerys Stormborn, is it that you would do this yourself? But if you do, you could lose, your life, and that of your dragon?"
Daenerys did not answer.
"I will think of a way," Mance said and his dark eyes danced vividly, "if Aegon is also willing to agree to all of this."
Aegon leaned his ear to the hooded woman next to him, and one of his brats, Ned Dayne, spoke something to him from the other side.
"We agree," Aegon said, seemingly drunk on night air. "If my lovely aunt would only stay for dinner! Beloved aunt, your beauty is unheard of in Westeros and it matches closely that of the Queen Naerys if the older songs can be trusted. I propose a toast to the victory over the enemies of the House Targaryen, of Highgarden and of the realm! If you wish, Mance Rayder, a host of Golden Company will ride with you on this courageous errand, as a token of my good will. Lord Tyrell, what say you?"
"Killing the enemies of the Highgarden," Mace Tyrell said oafishly, not heeding the subtle hints of his mother and his daughter to keep his thick mouth shut. "It is very well."
"It is well, then," Aegon said heartily. "Aunt, please, do sit at my table, even if you do not believe me to be your nephew. I wish not that people say of Aegon, Sixth of His Name, that he has broken the laws of hospitality. Give us wine!"
The servants hurried in as if they had all been waiting for the command.
"And I would have a song as well if I could, of old times, a song about Rhaegar, my father," Aegon looked at Mance, expectantly.
"Alas," Mance said, "I was in such haste to answer your kind invitation, that I didn't bring my lute. Only my longsword. I expected to be asked for a different music entirely."
Aegon's young face turned sad, but the Red Keep had a mind of its own. Someone is always watching, the Hound knew.
A gentle tune, murmured in a deep male voice, burst from the crevices in the ceiling, filling every part of the hall with a lamentation flowing from the chords of a high harp, slowly forming into words, mourning for the world that was lost.
"Rhaegar, the last dragon, the king's son," the voice rained with sorrow,
"From great grief he was born, sisterless, alone,
Destined to sit on the Iron Throne.
He went to the Trident and there he died.
xx
He left nothing behind,
But a broken harp, and a broken branch,
Of white weirwood a broken promise
And when he left he cried.
xx
Once he dreamed of love,
Only once had he dreamed,
Not of his duty, not of his fate,
And only once he lived.
xx
A lady swore him her soul
The Citadel of loyalty,
And the fastness of her love
The secret of her eyes.
xx
Darker than the clouds they were
Over the fields in the far north.
Dark pools of water
In the dark grove of the old gods
xx
She pledged him her faith
Her vows false as the spring
Her words a flight of an eagle
Under the mountain wing,
In the clear sky,
In the clear sky!
xx
You cannot hold an eagle
Not against her will
Through the tempest and the snows
Find her way she will,
And always fly free,
And always fly free…
xx
Rhaegar believed in a dream
Awakened, he despaired
His arms he shattered in a whim
In love, in anger, in shame!
xx
A new sword he donned, of mere steel,
A black helm on his silver head,
A black steed he chose
A black armour with rubies red
xx
To the great Trident he rode
To the waters of the Great River,
To the forks, to the ponds, to the isles
Where the water was deep enough
To quench the sorrow of his heart,
To quench the sorrow of his heart!
xx
Rhaegar rode to his death
To destruction he bared his chest,
The blow tasted sweet
and the fire clean,
Laid him gently down
to his eternal rest,
to his eternal rest."
Daenerys
It was amusing how the noble guests did their best to ignore the sadness of the rhyme, all except the Lady Sansa whose eyes filled with soft tears. "It is so sad and beautiful," she told her guard. The genuine tone of her words made Daenerys narrow her lively eyes in bafflement.
Aegon seemed happy about the amusement, not carrying about its origin, the flagon of wine in front of him already half empty. It didn't escape Daenerys' regard that Lord Connington tried his wine before his king did. Here is one who would bet his life that Aegon is who he says to be. Lord Tyrell bit greedily in a boar's leg served with gravy and turnips, somewhat lacking in refinement she would expect from a head of one of the great houses. The clatter of cutlery and goblets of wine started to dim the conversations.
"Is this song of your doing, singer?" Daenerys asked timidly, finally letting herself sink to the empty place next to the northerner. Ser Barristan lowered himself in the chair next to hers, but he did not lower his state of alertness. If everything was a trap, they would have to make it alive to one of the open corridors to call Drogon.
"No," Mance Rayder answered pensively, "but the verses and the melody were like an ointment to my old heart. It was admirable."
"Is there any truth to it?" she asked, innocently.
"For my opinion on that," Mance said, "you will have to wait for your horn and the outcome of my play. Unless you change your conditions."
"I will not," Daenerys said. "I cannot," she corrected herself and allowed a look of open desperation to show on her face, only for the eyes of the foreign singer who had had his share of suffering.
"Do not grieve, Daenerys Targaryen. If it is within my powers to have this horn brought to you, I will," said Mance Rayder.
Daenerys noticed that Lady Sansa's guard was the only other person paying attention to their private talk, so she decided to carry it one step further, taking in the size and the strength of the man, and his horrendous scars. Ser Barristan had already warned her that of all the other guests in the hall, the dog, as her Lord Commander had called him, was the only one who could perhaps best him in the direct swordfight.
"And to you, and to anyone else who succeeds in that feat, even if he was my father's killer in person, anyone at all," she vowed in no uncertain terms to Mance Rayder, stressing every word so that it would reach the ears of the man they called dog too. "I would grant anything your hearts desired. I would protect you and your descendants, and any person you hold dear, from all harm, until there would be a life force left in my blood and in the body of my dragons. So swear I, Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, sister of Prince Rhaegar, who died unmatched in nobility."
The huge guard now stared at Daenerys with open interest before he turned his grey eyes to the Lady Sansa, conversing politely with the elderly Lady Tyrell. The man's keen expression slowly changed. But it was not impassive, as it should have been. The man and his scars eased in what he saw, mirroring an awkward kind of peace.
She must be the moon of his life, Daenerys suffered an epiphany, before deciding to have some turnips and gravy. Meat she could not taste, not since the golden locusts served to poison her in Meereen, not since Hazzea.
Only when Aegon was drunk enough, he thought of ordering his guards to find the new bard so that he could properly thank him. The guards returned empty-handed as anyone in their right mind could expect, but Aegon's right mind seemed to have left him, for the time being. The singer, whoever he might have been, did not wish to see the king, the sound of his harp and his clear metallic voice swallowed back to non existence by the walls of the Red Keep.
Daenerys was glad when the feast was over. She forced herself to compliment Aegon for the meal before she left. "Aunt, do come again to visit me," he slurred, slightly. "If I am still here to receive you by the new turn of the moon, it would please me tremendously…"
The Mother of Dragons was confused about his drunken abandon, stirred with a spice of burning hurt. "Lady Jeyne," she said kindly. "Your king may want to retire. The evening has been long."
When she turned to leave, Mance, the Lady Sansa and her guard were already gone. A mocking pair of eyes of a thin man, Lord Baelish, as Ser Barristan had told her, lingered on her hair longer than she would have liked.
Concluding that nothing in Westeros was as she was expecting it, she turned to Ser Barristan to take their leave, longing for the elaborate simplicity and wilderness of Drogon's mind as her only company.
At least, she thought, "no one is sewing dragon banners as poor Viserys expected them to do."
To discover the continent of her famous predecessors was not going to be an easy task by any means.