Author's Notes: Good day everyone! I hope your last two weeks have been well. Thank you, esteemed readers, for continue to follow this story despite the two week wait. I really appreciate it!
I had a beta, then I lost them, and I went in search of another beta. This time I had not one, but two volunteers! Theostry will read the most recent chapters and Kyra will go through all the previous chapters and clean them up. Thank you both for your time and effort! I will be posting up the revised chapters over the next several weeks/months, so hopefully this will improve the overall reading experience. =)
Chapter 42
Aemon XII
The ladies within the Crownlands returned once more to the Keep seven days after Aemon took over, for which he was grateful. With mostly men for company, he felt like his every move and decision was being watched as closely as a cat stalking its prey. Though it meant his shoulders were constantly seized with tension, it was important that Aemon act unaffected. He hoped the arrival of the ladies would distract some of the worst offenders.
Arya and Sansa were still more than a month out. Margaery Tyrell too, for that matter. His cousin would marry Margaery a month, to the day, from when she arrived and then there would be no reason for Robb, at the very least, to stay in King's Landing. He was already dreading his impending departure. I should see him more often, he thought. The only time he really saw him was when he came to pick up Ghost and take the wolves to the godswood.
I wonder what Robb and uncle think of the decaying rope on the tree, he thought and felt a shiver run down his spine. Would that have been his fate if he'd had to wait ten years for Robert Baratheon to make his appearance at Winterfell? He was grateful not to be in Jaime's shoes. While he was forced to keep up appearances and make tough decisions, he at least had the love and support of his family.
He wouldn't call Tywin's presence supportive. He thought Stannis had been wrought from stone, but if Stannis was stone, Tywin was Valyrian steel. He appeared all but indestructible and there were times it seemed the man's very glare could cut his skin.
I hope Jaime is keeping him in line, Aemon thought. They were both so inundated with work that they rarely saw each other these days. Their last encounter, while frigid, had at least been civil and was primarily about which lords were being sent home with their respective soldiers.
He and Tyrion were now convened in the solar going over the kingdom's accounts once more. They worked for an hour or two at a time each day before they had to part. Aemon in particular could barely stand to follow the numbers, before his mind began drifting away, hoping and praying for Dany.
"I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I know it's not my place, but have you resolved your disagreement with my brother?" Tyrion asked. There was a nervous energy in his expression, suggesting his question wasn't for mere curiosity.
Aemon thought he might understand Tyrion's anxiety. He was working for both of them now, and being caught between the two most powerful men in Westeros was bound to make any man nervous. "I think so," Aemon replied with a nod. He had gone back and decreed that anyone who serves in the Kingsguard, knight or not, was expected to abide by the knightly oaths all the same. It may not have looked good to second guess himself so early into his reign, but he had the feeling it would've been worse if he hadn't made amends. Jaime did have a point, even if he had been far too violent and forceful about expressing it. He had been under the impression that Jaime hadn't cared about the Kingsguard, but he supposed that serving in it for so long and watching it fall to pieces might change one's feelings about the venerable institution. Tyrion had also mentioned Jaime's long-standing hero-worship of Barristan the Bold and Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. They were two of the most stellar and respected Kingsguard in its long history. Is it any wonder he was so angry? Aemon thought. After that mishap, Aemon vowed to take his time with his decisions; they didn't necessarily need to be made on the spot.
He had gotten his wish, however. Ser Barristan had departed a few days ago with the receding tide and with him went Aemon's hopes and dreams for Dany. Please let my vision be a fluke, he prayed to the gods.
Since that argument with Jaime, things had quieted down. Despite Jaime's vehemence, he still carried out his duties and arranged for certain lords' armies to depart, which allowed Aemon to breathe. There should be ample supplies for the city coming in now without the armies taking the lion's share.
He and Tyrion were in his solar. They were making headway into the kingdom's accounts, but it was painstaking. The numbers seemed to mix and float before his eyes until he just wanted to bury his head and sleep. Curse you, Littlefinger, he thought with a numb shake of his head.
They both jumped when the door banged open and Jaime came striding in with a fervor in his eyes.
"Ever heard of knocking?" Aemon snapped.
"Your Grace, Stannis' fleet has been spotted departing Dragonstone!"
There was a beat of inaction, then Aemon leapt to his feet. "Do we know where they're headed?"
"Straight here."
Aemon frowned. "That's awfully bold. Even with some of our forces departed, we're still more than a match for his army."
"Perhaps they intend to deviate from their course eventually, but for the moment they're on a beeline for us."
"How long will it take for them to get here?"
"According to the watchman, it's roughly a three-day journey. They'll come in with the tide in two days time."
"That doesn't give us much time. Perhaps they wanted to surprise us."
"We were expecting this. It won't take long to ready the soldiers," Jaime replied. Whatever disagreement they'd had, it had vanished with the moment.
"Can we see them then?"
"Not quite from King's Landing. Lord Massey at Stonedance castle on Massey Hook spotted the ships and sent a raven to us," Jaime reported.
Aemon stroked his chin. What on Earth could Stannis be thinking? He'd listened to Ser Davos recount the Battle of Blackwater Bay. Stannis taken the fight, at the time, because the Lannister armies were inland. He'd had a perfect opportunity to seize the throne, thanks in part to the newly acquired forces from his brother Renly, though he had still lacked the Reach. He'd left the Red Priestess behind in Dragonstone because he feared his victory being attributed to her magic instead of his skill in battle. Aemon rather felt the Red Priestess had a lot less power than she pretended, but things did appear to take a turn for the better for Stannis whenever she performed one of her rituals. Could Stannis be making this audacious move at her blessing? He shuddered when he thought about the shadow she had sent to assassinate Renly.
Jaime seemed to gauge the direction of his thoughts and he fiercely said, "We won't let Stannis take this from us."
Can you stop her from doing as she pleases? Aemon wanted to ask, but held his tongue. If the Gods were on his side, whether they be the Old or the New Gods, surely they were a match for Melisandre's Lord of Light.
"I think that's obvious. I have the greatest confidence in you. Unless Stannis' forces attack we will wait to engage at my command."
"Yes, your Grace," Jaime replied and hurried off down the hall.
Aemon kept watching long after he disappeared and then bowed his head in thought once more. They had decided to take a week to get the kingdom to something close to functioning, but Stannis was clearly determined to not be starved out of Dragonstone, as was the inevitable plan. There was simply no way of assaulting the island fortress without huge losses. He wasn't sure how much Stannis had in the way of supplies, but he imagined it would take a year or more - and that was a year or more less of mining dragonglass.
His uncle Ned had soothed his concerns that while Stannis had been willing to starve himself for Storm's End, it was another matter entirely to starve himself over Dragonstone. "He has no love for Dragonstone, as you well know. I doubt he'd suffer over it. He also has a child now, and while he is a hard man, he would not want that to be the fate for his child."
He remained skeptical of his uncle's words, but hoped for the better all the same. Hope, however, could not feed his people or lend them the sense of security they needed and if Stannis was permitted to remain on Dragonstone, he would forever be a looming threat.
By evening of the next day, Aemon could stand on his balcony and see the ships of the approaching force come in. There were no more than twenty ships and all but two hung back on the outskirts of Blackwater Bay. The ships heading in were waving the rainbow flag of truce.
It seems the negotiations will start sooner than I had anticipated, Aemon thought. He had certainly hoped that Stannis would recognize the futility of the situation and pledge himself. He had spent the council meeting earlier today ironing out what he expected from Stannis. The Lannister brothers had apparently discussed this and offered a few ruthless ideas so that Stannis would know he was serious.
"I'd rather hoped he wouldn't surrender so easily," Jaime had said after the meeting.
"Because he'll always be a threat in the background," Aemon supplied.
"Exactly. At least he just has a daughter for an heir. No one would support her," he said.
"Hmm," Aemon replied, hoped the glaring look he sent Jaime did not go unnoticed. He had met Shireen Baratheon for a brief moment before the red witch burned her alive. She was a quiet, polite girl who made friends with everyone around her. Ser Davos had spoken of her often and fondly. She didn't deserve to have the blight of the greyscale mar her face and make her a pariah. Would Stannis be desperate enough to agree to the death of his daughter now as he had last time? Much of their negotiations revolved around her future and it caused Aemon's insides to curdle at the hurdles they were setting up in her way, but she would not be tortured and would certainly not die a fiery death under his reign.
|-The Dragon's Roar-|
The next day found Aemon and Jaime awaiting the two ships at the dock. He wore gray and red with the Targaryen seal displayed prominently on his shoulder. He felt ill standing there, smelling a mixture of shit and salt in the humid air. His uncle Ned, Theon, and the other lords paramount waited behind them with a small contingent of soldiers and the goldcloaks. When the gangplank was lowered, the first lord onto the dock was dressed in gray and teal, a seahorse displayed prominently on his shirt. He had salt and pepper hair and a beard to match, and wore a deep frown which reminded Aemon of a particularly stern feline he'd crossed paths with in the Keep.
Monford of House Velaryon of Driftmark, he recited. Among his countless other tasks, he had brushed up on the vassals of his house. A swift glance over of the lords showed that all those sworn to Dragonstone were present, save Ser Davos and Stannis himself.
Lord Velaryon took a moment to openly appraise him and then dropped into a kneel. "My liege," he spoke in an awed whisper. The other lords and their heirs followed suit behind him. "Forgive us, Your Grace, for staying by the side of a traitor and brother to the usurper."
He surveyed them for a moment, taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor, especially since he had been expecting Stannis. "Rise," Aemon replied with a gesture of his hand. Once on their feet, Aemon said, "Please follow me. We will continue this discussion at the Keep."
The lords piled into carriages and Aemon returned to his horse. With Ser Barristan gone, Jaime seemed to have a heightened sense of protectiveness and directed the Kingsguard, even though Ser Preston Greenfield was now acting Lord Commander. The Hound's horse, Stranger, was positioned so closely behind Aemon that its head was almost nudging his elbow. He wondered briefly if Jaime had put him up to that or if the Hound was merely intent on proving his commitment without the knightly oath.
Upon reaching the Keep, Aemon led the lords into a private dining hall. Jaime and his uncle joined them so that they could have more sound voices in regards to Stannis' fate. Lord Velaryon was granted a seat beside the King, while Jaime took his customary place on Aemon's right. His uncle sat a little further down the table, entertaining the other lords. An early dinner was served.
"Your Grace, you are most generous," Monford said.
"You came to King's Landing bearing a rainbow flag. Your words at the dock suggest you wish to pledge your allegiance to me rather than negotiate a treaty. For all intents and purposes, you will be among my subjects. I would not treat any of the other lords who have pledged to me any differently," Aemon replied.
Monford nodded, staring back at him for a moment too long, before tearing his eyes away back to his plate. "You sounded much like Prince Rhaegar just now; I can believe you are his son."
"Did you need more proof? I do have it."
"That won't be necessary, Your Grace."
After a few moments spent eating, Aemon said, "Do you know what Stannis has been up to?"
"Brooding, Your Grace," Monford replies.
"Brooding, hmm? Does Stannis do anything else?" Jaime interjected haughtily.
Monford pursed his lips and regarded Jaime coolly before returning to his meal. Then he continued, "He pores over the map in the solar at Dragonstone everyday. The only lord who is privy to his thoughts is Ser Davos Seaworth, the onion knight" - there was no mistaking the current of disdain that ran through his voice - "and the red priestess."
Aemon held his breath. She was still at Stannis' side then, as she had been before. "The red priestess?"
"Supposedly she's a follower of the Lord of Light, R'hllor," he replied, scowling. "I know not what she whispers into his ear, but it cannot be good. All I heard are mere rumors, such as that the Long Night is coming and in order to defeat the Long Night, the Lord of Light bestows upon us a prophecy, the Prince Who Was Promised. What this has to do with Stannis, I can't be sure."
"Maybe she suspects he is this Prince Who Was Promised?"
Monford scoffed and then cleared his throat and said, "Forgive me, Your Grace. You do not know Lord Stannis, but he is not one to be taken by flights of fancy. I'm not even sure he believes in the Seven."
"Is there anything you can tell us for a certainty?" Jaime asked, his voice and face as hard as stone.
Again, Monford considered Jaime for a brief moment in a way one would consider a worm beneath their boot.
"Lord Velaryon, you and the rest of the lords here will have your pledges accepted tomorrow during court. As such, I expect you to give my Lord Hand the deference he deserves," Aemon said with a stern tone. He turned to direct his glare at Jaime as well, though he doubted it would move him to be more respectful.
Monford's eyes widened and he regarded Aemon for a moment as if he were mad, but then nodded and said, "Apologies, Lord Hand."
Aemon sighed. It seemed no matter Jaime's strides, he would forever be regarded as untrustworthy. He grimaced then, considering their goals, and how likely it was that Jaime would never be granted the level of respect he deserved.
"Please, continue."
"I know that you confounded him, Your Grace. I would say he was paralyzed by indecision, but I suspect more that he thought there were no winning moves to make. Though your rise was meteoric, it was mainly because you were allowed to stand atop a solid foundation. Having the North and the Westerlands at your command made you instantly formidable. Add to that, you had the jump on the rest of the Seven Kingdoms and were able to send out your letters to both former Targaryen allies and Stark allies before anyone else could. It was quite ingenious of you."
Aemon felt the tips of his ears go warm and he struggled to suppress the pleased smile. "I didn't do it alone," he merely said. "What is Stannis' plan then?"
"He knows you'll want your seat. It is the Targaryen ancestral home, after all," Monford replied. "I think he feels he can get the best deal by forcing you to come to him, but he barely has more than a couple thousand men to hold you off."
"If he insists on forcing us to storm Dragonstone, we will manage it swiftly with the forces we have," Jaime said.
"Trying to breach that door? It'll be costly," Aemon muttered, thinking back on his visit to Dragonstone. The long, winding stair up to the castle had been made more impressive by the three great dragons circling in the sky, swooping low enough to force him and Ser Davos to duck their heads. He felt another pang as he remembered entering that throneroom to find the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered sitting upon the great chair that took up an entire wall. He hadn't been sure at the time what to expect from a woman who commanded the loyalty of dragons and a Dothraki horde, but it was certainly not the small, silver-haired woman who was staring at him with more curiosity than hostility. In some respects, his preconceived notions of her had proved only half correct. She was indeed more beautiful and more youthful than he expected of a Mother of Dragons; though she had appeared soft, she was as stiff and unyielding as the stone from which the castle was hewn. Her voice rang out into the throneroom, commanding respect and projecting fearlessness. Needless to say, he had been impressed.
Will that be the woman I meet, when Ser Barristan brings her home to Westeros? He pondered for a moment. It had been in part why he had fallen in love with her. She and Ygritte had been worlds apart in upbringing, style, and attitude, but they both had the same grit.
At the thought, he wondered whether Ygritte was still alive. Surely the time hasn't changed that much, he reflected. All the same, he recognized now that his love for Ygritte had been a candle compared to the torch he bore for Dany. His affection for her had been brought on almost entirely by the circumstances of his captivity and their hazardous tasks than by any true appreciation of her. All the same, he wished her no ill will. He turned back to the conversation at hand.
"Stannis is too practical to be suicidal," Jaime said. "I don't expect him to be a fool like Renly. He should be open to negotiations, if only for the sake of his daughter."
"If you don't mind my prying Your Grace, what is it you intend to offer?" Monford asked.
Aemon heard Jaime huff, and by the abashed look on Monford's face, he realize he'd overstepped his bounds.
"All I will say for the moment is that mercy will be offered to those who are amenable to it. When I hold court tomorrow, I expect you and the rest of the vassals of Dragonstone to pledge your allegiance."
"Of course, Your Grace. I'll let the others know," Monford said, with a small bow of his head.
Aemon lingered a moment longer and then returned to his food. In his research of the vassals, he had learned that the Lord Velaryon traditionally served the Crown as Master of Ships. It was just on the tip of his tongue to offer it to him, but Jaime's words from a few days ago when they had their fight over Sandor Clegane came back to him. He was king and he could make whatever decisions he so choose, but to avoid stepping without looking, he should consult his Hand again. Would it seem peculiar for him to offer a council position to a person who was just the day before an enemy? He hoped not. How can we move forward if we constantly eye each other as a potential threat? He had no reason to believe they meant him ill will. Tyrion had told him that the Dragonstone vassals were among the last holdouts against King Robert. Aemon assumed that they abandoned Stannis once firm news of the successful capture of King's Landing reached them. Perhaps it was folly to think so, but he couldn't spend his time jumping at shadows.
After the luncheon, he convened with Jaime and his uncle and, as he had suspected, neither one opposed the appointment of Lord Velaryon.
"I thought you'd be bent on Ser Davos," Jaime said.
"He is my preferred. But he still hasn't surrendered and while I don't mind bucking tradition" - here Jaime gave him a rather pointed look - "I know that new lords aren't held in as much esteem as established ones. I really should branch out and try to get to know more people," Aemon replied.
"Well, I have no protests on this one. Thank you, at least, for letting us know before simply offering it. We need to do a better job of using the same plan."
Aemon gave him his own pointed look and then nodded.
|-The Dragon's Roar-|
The next day, Aemon held court, and just as the Stormlanders had pledged their allegiance, so did the vassals of Dragonstone. Unlike most of the rest of the southern kingdoms, Dragonstone boasted only five vassal Houses: Velaryon, Celtigar, Bar Emmon, Sunglass, and the Seaworth House, which was missing. He hoped Ser Davos could see sense in this time as well as he had in the last timeline and that there wasn't any need for unnecessary conflict. Lord Monford was last to pledge and when it was done, Aemon said, "I accept your oath, Lord Velaryon. It is my understanding that House Velaryon has a long tradition of serving as Master of Ships. You would honor me if we continued this tradition."
Monford gaped for a moment and then bowed again and said, "I would be honored as well, Your Grace."
The day continued. In addition to accepting greetings and gifts from his new Vassals, there was the regular business of the day. Aemon was struggling to stay focused on a dispute between two wealthy merchants over who owned a horse after it wandered from one property to the next, when the Master of Ceremonies cried, "Lord Petyr Baelish."
His heart began pounding in his chest as he watched Littlefinger stride confidently down the aisle. He was dressed in a velvet doublet of cream-and-silver and presented himself with a self-satisfied smirk. Aemon couldn't keep from glancing to the spot Jaime had stood for his crowning. They had imagined Baelish would give short notice, but not this short. Jaime was supposed to be here so that they'd both have an idea of how much fiction poured from his mouth. It would be far too suspicious to summon Jaime - busy now with the preparations to invade Dragonstone - to make an appearance for a minor lord who had undoubtedly come to pledge his allegiance. He prayed Jaime would understand and braced himself.
"Your Grace," Littlefinger said, dropping to a kneel and bowing his head.
"Lord Baelish, I was wondering when you would show up," Aemon said.
"You're aware of me. I apologize for my tardiness at the pledging ceremony. I was still making my way back here by ship."
"Is that so? The way we'd heard it, you were going to swoop in with the might of the Vale to save Renly."
Lord Baelish heaved a sigh and shook his head. "Sad to see such a promising young man fall. Not that he didn't deserve it, Your Grace."
"You were advising him. Could you not steer him to the correct path then?" Aemon asked, his eyebrows lifting. He hoped his words played off more as curiosity than accusation. He had to be careful that he didn't tip Littlefinger off to his knowledge of any part of his schemes.
"Alas, I tried! However, he had near driven himself mad for fear of you. Jumping at shadows, imagining enemies lurked around every corner. He had a habit of accusing anyone with an errant word of being beholden to traitors. When I promised him the Vale, it was merely to save myself. As I am back so soon since you took the Keep, it's obvious I did not travel as far as the Vale. I was already aware that you had secured them as your ally by that time."
Aware how, Aemon wanted to scream, but he kept a tight lid on his temper. Had there been any leaks from the Eyrie about why he had quarantined the whole castle? Apart from being thoroughly questioned about Dany's whereabouts, Varys had also surrendered his knowledge of the happenings elsewhere in the realm. So far his little birds still did not understand why the Eyrie had been sealed off and the Blackfish barked fiercely at anyone who attempted to broach the subject. Of the men who had attempted the trail down the mountain, only one man made it alive and the Blackfish instantly threw him in the dungeons. He had yet to spill the truth, even to the Blackfish, supposedly for fear of Aemon's wrath. How long would that threat succeed in keeping him silent?
Could Baelish tell the sweat on his brow was from the stress of dealing with him rather than the sweltering heat of King's Landing? He hoped not.
Aemon's face darkened and he replied, "He spoke like a man possessed the first time we met, as though he spat in the face of the Gods and dared retaliation."
"Indeed. It was all a man could do, not to be swept along or to find safe ground where one may. So I was shocked when word reached me that the Keep had been secured without so much as a single drop of blood spilt. Most admirable, Your Grace. A feat worthy of your father, I would think."
Aemon raised his eyebrows at him.
"You knew my father?"
"I never had the honor, Your Grace, however I have certainly heard and read much of him. He would have been a great king," Littlefinger intoned solemnly. "The Seven smile upon us by raising you up."
Aemon felt his skin crawl at the compliment. It would sound lofty coming from anyone else, but it felt like a poison seeping into his mind, meant to disarm him as Littlefinger drew him closer to eventually slit his throat.
"It is my understanding that you were Master of Coin under the usurper Robert Baratheon. Is that correct?"
"It is, Your Grace," Littlefinger replied and for an instance Aemon thought his smile had faltered, but it was back in place immediately, not quite reaching his eyes.
"It pleases me to see you returned. I have had some difficulty finding someone willing to take the position. Few have the intuition for numbers that you seem to. Pledge your allegiance to me and I will offer you the position once more."
This time Littlefinger's smile reached his eyes, though they lacked any warmth. "You honor me, Your Grace. I would do nothing else but as you command."
I'm sure, Aemon thought and nodded at him.
He bent on one knee and announced, "I, Lord Petyr Baelish, of the Fingers, loyal to House Arryn of the Vale, do pledge myself to you, King Aemon I Targaryen."
His eyes lingered on Littlefinger as the man sauntered away and felt dread pool in his stomach. Have I done the right thing? Despite the heat of the day, he shivered.
