Author's Note: Happy weekend, everyone! I hope you're all doing well and enjoying your weather. You're all truly amazing and I want to thank you for your continued support in this work. Your comments, faves, and alerts are always welcome!
Mr Soze - I guess I'm confused about how Jaime wanting the Kingsguard to traditionally remain a guard for the best knights while also wanting to expand the criteria of a knight to allow women is hypocritical. He'd be opposed to Brienne becoming a member of the Kingsguard if she weren't a knight either. He'd insist on her being a knight first and, seeing as this is Brienne, she would insist that the Kingsguard remain sanctified as a knights-only position as well. At any rate, Jaime has his feelings and he probably wouldn't care if they were hypocritical.
CeciliaP - Sorry, but...I honestly haven't read all that much GoT fanfiction lately. I got a bit sucked into the Good Omens fanfiction. It's fun and fluffy!
Chapter 54
Aemon XVIII
There was a palpable air of excitement when Aemon sat down to break his fast with the Starks that day. But judging by the strained expressions, there was an underlying air of guilt. His uncle was all smiles, though it did not reach his eyes. His cousin Robb was sitting restless in his seat like he was a boy no more than five, his expressions in a constant transition of delight to sadness. Sansa wore a restrained smile, though there appeared to be moisture in her eyes. Arya looked downright sullen. Theon also appeared confused about how he should be feeling.
Lord Robb Stark was marrying Lady Margaery Tyrell. Yet just a few days earlier, a raven from the North had arrived bearing the solemn news that Bran had taken a blow to the head and lay unconscious in his bed.
Aemon remembered his heart coming to a standstill in his chest when his uncle relayed the news. He vaguely recalled his conversation with Lord Howland Reed outside of Moat Cailin that Bran had to experience some form of trauma to open his inner eye. What he would have given to prevent his suffering. But it seemed some things were fixed. Dany had to hatch her dragons - at least two of them - and Bran had to suffer. It was hardly fair and it tore his heart to pieces knowing there was nothing he could do about it.
He felt his stomach curdling in guilt that he had failed to tell his uncle about Bran's role in the Long Night. It had pained him to gloss over the truth in front of the weirwood, but he knew that his uncle, and every single one of his cousins, would fight against fate if they knew what it had in store for Bran. They couldn't afford delays. A time would come when Bran would have to make the journey north of the Wall to become the Three-Eyed Raven. They had failed to adequately protect Bran in the time before, the wights having overrun them before they could extract Bran. That was when Aemon knew they had lost their war against the Long Night. All the following skirmishes had simply been a prolonging of the inevitable.
We had won in the end. There is always hope, he thought. Apparently that win hadn't been good enough for the Gods and now he and Jaime were being made to suffer again. A rare anger swept through him at the injustice of it all, but he quickly smothered it. What's done is done. Now maybe Jaime and I need not suffer so much. But the wait for both of their lovers seemed interminable and he couldn't imagine Jaime waiting an extra fifteen years to be with Brienne. All in all, he had been back for less than a year and he was already fetching Daenerys. He just needed to be patient.
When he swept into the room, his stride was purposeful and energetic. He smiled broadly at Robb and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Have you got the vows memorized, cousin? I would hate to think you'd taint your wedding with a misstep," Aemon teased.
Robb playfully glared at him. "I have only been reciting them for an hour every day, but thank you for putting the fear of the Seven into me."
"I doubt you'd be the first to flub the vows during the ceremony. Just don't get lost in her eyes, I don't know if we'll be able to fetch you."
"You can't. I have already been lost," Robb replied, smirking at him.
He chuckled and sat down, trying to quash the feelings of uneasiness in his gut. It had been merely two weeks prior when Lady Margaery had come to him beneath the weirwood with mischief on her mind. Jaime had warned him about this. The Tyrells appeared to be under the mistaken impression that their treasured flower was owed the position of queen and they were willing to stoop to whoring her out to him to achieve it. The thought caused his lip to curl in disgust and he tried to keep his expression placid and even.
Were he a lesser man who had not yet met his love, he could see himself falling for her, though he felt that she would have her work cut out for her. As sweet as she seemed, he felt her cheer and constant frivolity would chafe against his stolid and grim countenance. After having survived at the Wall for so long, he was too gruff and cold for the likes of someone like her. It was a shame that she was trained to want for power, regardless of the man holding it. Just from the little bit he had heard from Jaime, that lust for power had been her and her entire family's downfall, as it had been for Cersei.
Unlike Cersei, though, Lady Margaery was not so consumed by that desire that she disregarded all others. At the very least, his rejection of her advances had made it clear that he was not receptive. He hoped it was also clear that he would not be afraid to suspend her betrothal to his cousin if her inconsiderate behavior continued. Based on what his cousins told him, Lady Margaery appeared unphased, but he had not seen her hovering nearby at all.
Perhaps it was foolish to think she'd given up, but unless she wanted a distasteful reputation, then she would govern her interactions with him more carefully from here on out. For all of her pretty words and bounding joy, she was not as witless as she pretended.
Would the Tyrells poison Robb to get her out of that betrothal? He pondered. But then what would that gain them? Lady Olenna had poisoned Joffrey because he was a horrid person and the Lannisters still desperately needed the resources the Reach was providing that a betrothal to the next king was brokered almost immediately. However, he was not leaning on the Tyrells for their resources anymore than the rest of the kingdoms. They couldn't honestly expect him to just suddenly marry Lady Margaery if Robb suddenly died, could they? The only other unmarried Lord Paramount heir was Jaime, but he had become expert at swatting any and all betrothals and they would've had the opportunity to test Jaime's resolve when he was there brokering the alliance. Jaime had remained steadfast and unmoved. Not to mention being Lady of the North is nothing to be upset about. The North made up half of the Seven Kingdoms by itself.
Aemon had a feeling his nerves would only settle when Robb and Lady Margaery were safely bedded for the night. He silently cursed the Tyrells for their devious ways when he should be focusing on the negotiations with Dorne. He was leaving with the tide on the morn.
Just before leaving for the Sept of Baelor, Aemon walked to the Maiden Vault tailed by Ser Preston Greenfield and the Hound. When he knocked on the door, one of Lady Margaery's cousins answered and squeaked like a mouse upon seeing him.
"Would it be possible to speak with Lady Margaery? I promise, it will take but a moment."
"Of course, Your Grace," the young lady said and dashed off to speak with her cousins.
Lady Margaery appeared at the door smiling brightly, already outfitted in a gown of shimmering green with gold trimming that left her shoulders bare. He could only imagine the flabbergast on Robb's face when he saw her. "To what do I owe this visit, Your Grace?" She asked and he thought he saw apprehension in her eyes as she studied him.
"I wanted to wish you well on your wedding day, Lady Margaery. Now, I understand that the bedding ceremony is traditional, however if you at all feel uncomfortable with it, I would be more than willing to suspend it on your behalf. Just say the word."
Her expression softened and she considered him with a genuinely warm smile. "I am flattered that you would be so considerate, but I have been expecting the bedding ceremony my whole life. I would hate to ruin all of the fun."
Aemon nodded and smiled. "As you wish, my Lady. I look forward to calling you cousin."
There was understanding and perhaps a little sadness in her eyes as she nodded, but Aemon felt more confident about the situation as he walked to mount his horse. She did appear resigned to marrying Robb Stark. He hoped that wouldn't cast a pall on their marriage, but he knew it was rare already to marry for love or to even find it. He prayed that she and Robb could find happiness, just as Uncle Ned and Lady Catelyn had.
When he stepped out into the courtyard to join the Stark party, he was surprised to find Jaime there standing with his horse, a placid expression on his face. It had been a few days since he had broken down from the news of his son being born. He still didn't look quite himself, as there was a bleak look in his eyes and he barely spoke beyond what was necessary. He had heard that Lady Brienne had stayed for at least an hour and Lord Gerion contributed her presence as the main reason for Jaime's recovery. He had hoped that the two had found comfort in one another.
"You're not going with the Lannister party?"
"I am your Hand," Jaime stated baldly. "I have no desire to stand with my father for the ceremony."
Aemon gave him a sympathetic look. He hadn't had any personal encounters with Lord Tywin since their meeting in the tent before the negotiations with Renly. He had seen him at court on an occasion and he had noticed the way his eyes followed him, like a lion sizing up its prey. The man was always finely dressed with a severe expression. He couldn't imagine having one like him for a father and secretly pitied Jaime for his undoubtedly fraught upbringing.
He didn't want to think about the earful Jaime was getting about not marrying as well. The council was enough of a hindrance, he would loathe a man like Tywin Lannister breathing down his neck about it. He looked askance at Jaime for a moment, trying to be discreet, but there was no mistaking the uneasiness on his face. While Jaime hadn't looked anymore tired or harried than usual, he thought his face looked a bit thin. Being Hand to the King was clearly not doing Jaime any favors, on top of his other troubles.
A son. Jaime has a bastard son. Aemon wasn't sure what to think of the news, other than pitying his friend. Jaime had tried so hard to ensure he fathered no bastards and it was yet another thing that Cersei had robbed him of. Not for the first time, he wished he could offer more than empty words, but knew that Jaime would just brush the gestures away.
"The party is ready, Your Grace," his uncle announced, riding up beside him. Ned and Jaime curtly nodded at each other, but otherwise remained silent. Aemon smiled lightly at their attempts at being cordial. It had pleased him to no end when he'd heard from his uncle that Jaime had given him his sympathies for Bran's ill health.
"Let's go then," Aemon said, nudging the horse forward.
The smallfolk were roaring with excitement. The Goldcloaks were forced to carve a path through the crowd to the Sept of Baelor. In all of his years at Winterfell, he had never attended an event so large. At best, his uncle had held a feast to welcome the new season when it had arrived, distinctly remembering the first spring and summer feasts. As with every notable feast, he tried to sit with his cousins, but Lady Stark insisted that he sit with the soldiers. He assumed it scandalized her thinking about what the visiting nobility would think of a bastard mingling among the trueborns. Though he had enjoyed the food, he couldn't say he remembered them with any sort of fondness.
Aemon heard the Hound growl next to him as he used his foot to push the smallfolk back as they tried to crowd him in their zeal. Not that he doubted the healer, but it still stunned him to see crowds of people cheering for him. He had lived so much of his former life among soldiers that he failed to think about how the smallfolk's reactions to him would be different. While the wildlings had kept things loose, there was still a structure and discipline to his soldiers. They had never peered up at him in awe like he was a god to be admired, but every gesture had been their sign of camaraderie and respect.
He felt a smack at his elbow and he turned to see Jaime glaring at him before he abruptly sat up straight. Aemon mimicked him and Jaime nodded in satisfaction. He felt a surge of envy at Jaime's collected demeanor, appearing unruffled and statuesque in the seething masses.
He's always so confident and untouchable. Similar to Lord Tywin dressed in his Lannister finery and standing in his tent, he couldn't help but think how kingly Jaime appeared next to him. Not for the first time did he thank the Old Gods for the lessons that Jaime had taught him during his brief tenure as his squire about the best way to carry one's self. He wondered then if Jaime had been preparing him to be a knight or a king.
His eyes widened as they approached the Sept. It was the largest structure in this district, something not easily missed, and yet it had not appeared half as impressive from the Red Keep as it did now. The towers at the corners supported the square sides and framed the dome in a way that suggested it as the true home of the Seven, fit only for Gods. He particularly liked the stonework, marveling at the marble statues. Vines and leaves wrapped around the statues and the pillars which one could mistaken for being real were it not for their marble white color. Other broad arches of stone arced across the windows joining together into pointed tips, giving the building a certain severity that made him think of his Uncle Ned's sternness.
That any human could have wrought such beauty from stone is remarkable, he thought, before he was nudged again by Jaime and once again forced himself into a mask of stolidity.
They dismounted at the bottom of the stairs. The Goldcloaks and Winterfell soldiers had carved out a space in front of the Sept for the nobility to arrive in peace.
"You look ready to join the faith of the Seven," Jaime leaned in to mutter at him.
Aemon smothered a smile. "I can marvel at its splendor, but I doubt the presence of the Seven is any stronger here than it is in any godswood." Jamie snorted and Aemon's smile became bleak. His Hand had made it clear to him that, no matter his heavenly allegiances, he would have to be seen practicing the Faith of the Seven. He and Daenerys would be married here too. Since few worshippers of the Old Gods lived in King's Landing, their mystique and otherworldly nature still bred confusion and fear among the southron folk.*
The inside was just as captivating with a floor pattern of a beautiful star that connected the massive idols of the Seven together. They towered above him as he walked in and he shivered, finding their wide, blank stone eyes unnerving.
"Wow." Robb was next to him staring up equally awed. "Who would think to make such monuments?"
He nodded in vague agreement. It took time to get situated, but the Kingsguard all stood in their own row behind him. His uncle, Sansa, and Arya stood closest to the middle and then Jaime stood on his other side at the far end. Much of the rest of the nobility in King's Landing began to fill in the space behind them. At one point, Tyrion passed him with an annoyed look on his face and had a hurried whispered conversation with his brother that apparently hadn't ended well. He likely had to stand with Jaime's father, since he was not a part of either family. The Tyrells and their extended family filled up across the way. Lord Mace Tyrell was strutting exactly like a rooster and it took everything he had not to laugh at the display. Robb finally took his place on top of the dais and then he heard the doors open to Lady Margaery.
Next to him he felt Jaime shift. While he had a placid look on his face, staring straight ahead, Aemon thought he saw a bead of sweat sliding down his temple. Jaime shifted his weight again, clenching and unclenching his fists.
Aemon nudged him discreetly with his elbow and gave him a questioning look.
Jaime peered into his eyes and then cast his eyes down and gave Aemon another meaningful look.
What? He narrowed his eyes. His Hand was trying to tell him something and he had a feeling he would state his concerns outright, even in the middle of a wedding, if he thought it was important enough. But Jaime looked nervous and, if he didn't know better, on the verge of panic.
Jaime pointedly stared down at his feet again.
Aemon gave the barest shake of his head.
There was a spark of irritation and finally Jaime mouthed, Wildfire.
Aemon's eyes widened and a cold chill cascaded through him that reminded him of the time he fell into the frozen lake beyond the Wall. He turned once more to the front, but he wasn't hearing the vows. There are still barrels of wildfire under the Sept, he thought, cursing himself. On top of everything else he'd had to worry about, the wildfire being present slipped his mind. They had to do something about it. Even if it couldn't explode without aid, it would be entirely too easy to eliminate how many people here gathered in the Sept? Likely a few dozen families would be extinguished, including the majority of the Tyrells, and the main branches of four other Lord Paramounts', including Lord Edmure Tully.
The primary reason for them continuing to hide the details of Jaime's murder of the Mad King was to avoid tipping off anyone dangerous to the existence of it. They had to find a way to get rid of it and he had been blissfully sitting on it for far too long. Likely it had also slipped Jaime's mind until they entered the Sept.
I leave for Dorne on the morrow, he thought, cursing himself. While he was sure Jaime could do well enough tackling this on his own, he wanted to be fully informed to the plan to take care of it. At this point, it could only ease his mind to know that they had a plan at all.
He was so lost in his thoughts that he was only brought back to the ceremony by the applause as Robb gave Margaery a chaste kiss. Both of them were beaming in their excitement at being married, but Robb gently picked up her cloak with the house sigil and folded it under an arm, and then offered his free one to Margaery as they marched out.
Aemon kept a measured pace as they walked out of the Sept, the great doors seeming so far away. He only breathed as they stepped through into the light.
"Is everything well, Your Grace?" His uncle said, frowning at him.
"Fine, Uncle! How did you find the ceremony? Hard to believe your firstborn is already married, I imagine?"
"It was lovely. Robb and Lady Margaery looked truly happy and I hope that carries over into their marriage," he replied, though his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "This day has already had more promise for them than mine."
"It turned out well for you. I think it will turn out well for them too," Aemon replied. He glanced back at Jaime, certain his mixed emotions were on his face. Now that they were back out in the sun, Jaime's face was schooled once more to cool pleasantness, though he remained silent for the duration of the horse ride back to the Keep.
The wedding feast was kept to a reasonable seven courses, though Aemon felt even that was excessive. Clearly, though, seven was a number of great power for the religion, so he happily put up with it, chatting amicably with his family. He breathed a sigh of relief when the music started and Robb and Margaery started the dancing. His uncle left to have a chat with Lord Cerwyn. Arya had been sent away to bed, but Sansa was on the floor, smiling as she danced with Dickon Tarly.
As if they were thinking the same thing, he and Jaime immediately turned toward one another. "We need to find a way to dispose of the wildfire. I will not have it continuing to sit under the city where just anyone could find it and set it off."
"I don't think we can. It's too dangerous to move, but something needs to be done about it," Jaime said, rubbing his forehead. "We leave the Pyromancers Guild out of this. We should keep this quiet. Even if no one set it off, the knowledge of its presence could start a riot. I was such a fool!"
"What? How are you a fool?"
"I forgot all about it until I actually saw the Sept and then the memory came flooding back. That was dangerous.* It would be nothing for a man like Baelish to have destroyed us all right then," he whispered fiercely.
"Well then, consider me a fool right along with you," Aemon replied. "Your antics were the only way I remembered. We've had a lot on our plates, Jaime. It's not like anything that we've done has been lacking in urgency. It all needed to be done. So what do we do?"
Jaime shook his head. "I have no idea. I don't know anything about this."
Aemon pondered, tapping his foot against the floor. The new Grandmaester for the Red Keep had yet to arrive, so they weren't even sure he could be trusted yet. The Citadel had returned a letter filled with apologies for the behavior of the former Grandmaester Pycelle and promised to fulfill the request of providing a new Grandmaester and candidates to fill the positions that Healer David needed. In return, they had asked to personally oversee Pycelle's punishment, which Aemon was more than happy to oblige. Pycelle would get an armed escort all the way to the Citadel as soon as the new Grandmaester arrived. Pycelle likely had a much unhappier fate awaiting him at the Citadel; it wouldn't do to embarrass the organization and foster distrust in its services.
"Could David do it?" Aemon asked.
Jaime sighed and scowled at the table.
"I know you're not fond of - "
"I don't see any other way. I trust him to be an ally to both of us. He may be on the council, but he's of minor importance. There was enmity between him and Pycelle, but that was personal. I doubt many would still consider him a threat and it's pretty clear he can be trusted to keep our secrets."
"I want to see him tonight. We may not have time in the morning."
"I'll send for him. You should dance. You need to be seen mingling," Jaime said and for the first time that day he saw his eyes shining with amusement.
"Do I have to?"
"You're king! A king who can't dance isn't a king worth having."
"I can order you to dance too! I would insist we both make fools of ourselves."
Jaime raised his eyebrows and smirked. "The only fool would be you. I was taught the steps by the time I was ten."
"Prove it then! Show off your ability!"
Suddenly the light faded from Jaime's face and he said, "There's only one whom I would dance with, but it's not time for that." His eyes drifted across the crowds and Aemon was sure he was seeking out Brienne. She had attended the wedding, undoubtedly, in breeches and was likely sitting miserable and alone at one of the tables below.
Aemon felt a pang. At least when Daenerys arrived, there would be no reason to keep up pretenses of not being interested in one another. They would be encouraged to mingle and associate right away.
"Does your father suspect anything?"
"He would be a fool not to and he's not a fool, thanks to that stunt you and Gerion pulled. Now likely everyone knows of my interest in Lady Brienne," he said, his eyes flashing.
"You needed her. You should be thanking your uncle for knowing that."
"Well, now everybody knows. It could put her in danger," Jaime gritted. "I would hate to wonder what my father would do if he knew my plans." He took a deep breath and said, "I'll send for the healer. Pod will retrieve you when we're ready."
Aemon nodded and they both stood. Jaime swept off, his cloak trailing behind him, looking dashing in the low light of the torches and one thousand candles. He took a deep breath once more and headed towards the dancing. He first picked up a dance with Sansa, whose smile only seemed to grow wider.
"Are you going to dance with Lord Willas?" He asked.
The smile dimmed ever so slightly. "I asked for this dance, but he declined. His leg keeps him from dancing."
"You don't have to dance with the crowd, Sansa. You can dance apart, even if it's only swaying."
Her eyes lit up again. "Do you think he'd like that?"
"It wouldn't hurt to try?"
"I shall then," she replied.
When he moved on to dancing with a Tyrell cousin, he noticed Sansa stride purposefully to Willas to speak with him and smiled. The Tyrell cousin was so struck to be dancing with the king that she didn't seem to notice his attention was adrift, for which he was grateful. On the next turn, he did catch Sansa and Willas swaying to the music in their own tiny corner of the floor.
He picked up Lady Margaery next. She was smiling and laughing without end. Studying her, he did think her happiness was genuine. She did seem pleased with the outcome after all. He'd be able to breathe again when she and Robb were safely on their way to Winterfell.
As wondrous of a dancer she was, he still found himself glancing around the Hall, hoping to see Pod.
"Your thoughts are far away," Lady Margaery said.
"I apologize, my lady."
"I know better than to ask what is on your mind. You may call for the bedding at any time. I'm ready."
He felt a blush creeping up his cheeks at her nonchalance. "I'll be sure to do that soon," he said. It would be the perfect distraction for whenever Podrick made his appearance.
There was yet another Tyrell cousin, a dance with Lollys Stokeworth, and then a dance with a woman from House Lefford. Though the young woman showed only a pleased smile, there was a chill to her demeanor that he found interesting and wondered what he may have done to foment it. Or perhaps she simply wasn't skilled enough to hide her ire for another from her king.
He had one last dance with a lady from the Stormlands when he caught Podrick attempting to skirt the crowds. He sent a quick prayer of thanks to the Old Gods and then stepped back up to his table and clapped for attention. "It is time for the bedding!"
Aemon winced ever so slightly at the hungry crowds that descended on both the young lord and lady. A large group of women, mostly comprised of Tyrells, were herding him out one side of the hall, shrieking like sea birds. Lady Margaery, however, was being lifted out on the men's shoulders like she was a queen. Sitting up straight, she embraced it, and the men appeared to carry her away with all the gentleness of a cloud. He took the opportunity of the distraction and slipped out of the hall, grabbing Pod as he went.
"Where to?" He whispered.
"The Tower of the Hand, uh, Your Grace," Podrick said.
He did a doubletake at Pod hearing that, but said nothing.
We want secrecy and Jaime holds a meeting in one of the few places we know has passages behind the walls? What is he playing at? Was he trying to play the fool, like they didn't already know there were passages in Tower of the Hand? He remembered Jaime deliberately spreading a false story of how he infiltrated the Keep to grab Renly, pointedly leaving out the fact that there were hidden passages.
But Littlefinger specifically wanted David's man Vicente to spy. Could they be assured that the one lurking in the walls was him? And could he truly be trusted? It took everything in him not to run a hand through his hair in exasperation. They had to make bold moves. While, yes, there was always the possibility that someone they didn't trust was always within earshot of their closest secrets, they had to risk speaking or be paralyzed by fear.
I trust Jaime, he said to himself. His Hand was not a fool like some still considered him to be. He was abrasive and he was impulsive even now, but he was not a halfwit. He knew what was at stake, he knew what could be lurking behind the walls of his tower. If there was one truth he could hold dear in the Red Keep, that was unfailing, it was that Jaime Lannister was loyal to him.
He knocked on the door and only entered at Jaime's command. His Hand was pacing the office like a restless lion and there was a ferocious intensity to his gaze as he turned to acknowledge him. It was the look Jaime got when he threw himself into an urgent problem.
David was slumped in the chair in front of Jaime's desk and wavered as he turned to nod at the king. Jaime opened his mouth to berate his lack of decorum, but Aemon waved him off. The healer's eyes were dim with sleep, his gray hair tousled and he was wearing a grey gown, having clearly been dragged unceremoniously from his bed.
"Lord Jaime said this was important," David said, remaining seated and he blinked slowly in the dim light. "My rest is paramount. It takes more than a few potions to care for the citizens of King's Landing."
"Show some respect," Jaime hissed.
Aemon felt a chill sweep him at the cold look David gave Jaime. Anyone else would cower in front of the Lion of Lannister, but that look reminded him distinctly of the look the Night King had on his face. He felt himself swallow his fear and willed himself not to cower.
"Are you familiar with wildfire?" He asked, taking note of the way Jaime curled his fist, rushing to intervene before the healer was laid out cold for his disrespect.
When David turned to him, that cold look was gone and it was thoughtful. "I have heard of it. It's an abominable substance. What about it?"
"There are currently a dozen caches of it hidden underneath King's Landing," Jaime growled. "I know where it is and others may as well. It needs to be disposed of."
David's eyes widened in understanding and fear. "But it can't be disposed. Those fools at the Pyromancers Guild made enough of it to destroy the city? Why?"
"They did it at King Aerys II's command," Aemon replied. "They were obeying a king who should've been deposed long ago."
"May the Seven smite those fucking fools," David said, shaking his head.
"We need to find a way to dispose of it. I will not risk it being there to blow up, either me or the innocent. It must be destroyed."
"I know of no way to destroy it," David said with a helpless shaking of his head.
"But you make your medicines. Surely you can think of something that will destroy it."
"I think the best you can hope for is to neutralize it. Perhaps it can be mixed with something that will disable its explosive properties," David said, rubbing his chin.
"Can you find that out?"
David froze. "Me?"
"Yes, this is urgent. And should be kept secret. That's why you're here."
The healer stared. "You wish for me to care for the people of King's Landing, train a bunch of new healers that are arriving any day now, and experiment with this?"
Jaime's face was thunder and he seemed about ready to put him to the sword, but a glare from Aemon held his hand in place. Perhaps it was a mistake to trust in this man who would stare down Jaime Lannister and speak to the king like an equal, but Aemon ony insisted on decorum because it was expected of him. He didn't mind the facade being dropped for clandestine meetings.
"Time is of the essence," Aemon replied. "I think you can agree that this is worth devoting some attention towards."
There was a pause as David thought it over. Finally, with a resigned slump of his shoulders, he nodded. "Very well, it shall be done. I'm going to need some materials, not to mention the wildfire itself."
"It will be done," Jaime growled.
"I will begin as soon as soon as the materials are ready."
"See that it gets done, Jaime."
"I will, Your Grace," he replied with a curt nod.
