Author's Notes: Welcome back to TDR! I hope you all had a wonderful week. Thank you for your continued support for this story. It really means a lot to me! Enjoy!
I would like to thank catzrko0l for being beta for this chapter. You rock!
Chapter 58
Daenerys VI
The next day, Xaro Xhoan Daxos ejected her from his palace. "You wreak havoc where you go, Khaleesi. The council have informed me that you are to be banished from the city. You have until nightfall to leave with your Khalasar or you will all be put to death," he informed her, his very countenance as grim as he if were presiding over a funeral.
"Give me a ship bound for Westeros and I will gladly leave just as hastily."
"I cannot be seen giving aid to exiles. You walk alone, my Queen," he replied and then he abruptly turned and left her apartments.
His guards closed in around them. They hastily packed their meager belongings and left. She unapologetically took the items that had been gifted to her when she was accepting donations to gift to the Council, which included a crown of gold and silver, every facet inlaid with diamonds. With luck, she could use them to trade for a ship.
She now walked the docks, looking for a captain willing to take her and her Khalasar, but the people fell away from her in terror. When she had first arrived, they had welcomed her with open arms, lining the streets and throwing all manner of trinkets and flower petals. You need not fear me, Daenerys desperately wanted to say to them, but she stayed silent. What was done was done and she would never compromise her dragons' safety again.
"Khaleesi, perhaps I may be of service," a voice called out to her. She turned to find a man who did appear to be from Westeros judging by the lightness of his skin. There was a gold tooth in his smile, but he was otherwise kempt and eager.
Still she approached him cautiously, her bloodriders at her elbows.
"You are captain of a ship?" She asked.
"I am but a mere merchant, Princess, however I am arrived from Westeros on the orders of King Aemon I Targaryen himself. He is eager to have you home."
"Is he now?" She asked, raising an eyebrow. "I have longed for many moons to meet him."
"As he has done for you, Princess. In fact, he commanded I present to you this gift upon our meeting. Come see," he said, grabbing a worn box behind him. He opened it so that it was just far enough away that she had to learn closer to peer inside.
Suddenly Jhogo screamed in agony. She turned to see him clutching at his chest. The box dropped and shattered at her feet. She briefly glimpsed a shining black scorpion with a red-tipped stinger crawl from the shards of the box when she was yanked forward by her hand, the merchant held a dagger in his other hand, ready to strike her throat.
Daenerys felt her heartbeat slow as she followed the slow descent of the dagger. She tugged her wrist futilely, but could not take her eyes away. Then the merchant was screaming as the dagger fell from his hand as a swordpoint grew from his chest. An old man dressed in shining armor and a white cloak had suddenly appeared. He kept moving. His boot came down in a vicious stomp on the scorpion, ending its life, and then she saw him turn with his sword brandished as though looking for more threats. She then noticed that a group of soldiers quickly grabbed and dispatched the other men that had been hiding behind the merchant in the stack of crates.
She finally turned to Jhogo, who lay on the ground, gasping for air.
"Are you hurt, Khaleesi?"
"No," she said quickly, but bent down to cradle her bloodrider's head.
"Khaleesi," Jhogo gasped and with it blood spurted from his mouth.
"He was shot in the lungs," Ser Jorah murmured to her. "You cannot help him."
"You served me faithfully. You shall ride in the heavens," she whispered, running her hands through his hair in a soothing motion. She was watching as she saw the light fade from his eyes.
A tear splashed Jhogo's cheek and she brushed it away, closing his eyes. Her Handmaid Jhiqui crouched next to her, sobbing. She had suspected Jhiqui and Jhogo had been lovers and now it was confirmed. Daenerys placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"Princess Daenerys," a new voice spoke in low, warm tones. She looked up to see the man now stood in front of her and upon their eyes connecting he dropped to one knee and laid his sword in front of her. "I apologize for not arriving sooner to your aid. I have been searching for you for weeks."
"And you are?"
"Ser Barristan Selmy," Ser Jorah said before he could answer. She saw what appeared to be a combination of awe, respect, but also wariness warring on his face. "Ser Barristan the Bold, Khaleesi. He was Prince Rhaegar's most faithful kingsguard."
"As he said, Princess. King Aemon I Targaryen sent me on a mission to find you. It eases my heart that we have finally met. I am yours to command."
Daenerys stood and drew her lips into a thin line. "That merchant just told me the same thing. Prove it."
"Khaleesi, this is Ser Barristan Selmy. He is considered the most honorable man in Westeros and among the greatest swords that ever lived," Ser Jorah said.
"I said prove it," Daenerys replied.
"A letter from His Grace to you, Princess," Ser Barristan said, reaching into a pouch and pulling out a folded and stamped piece of parchment.
She took it gingerly but, unlike the merchant's box, it was unlikely to sting her with poison. She studied the Targaryen seal, running her hands over it lovingly. It pained her to break it, but she needed to see her nephew's words.
Dearest Aunt Daenerys,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and good spirits. I can't know your journey, but I know it must have been fraught. You need not run anymore. I have successfully taken the throne back in the name of House Targaryen. You have a place here now.
More than that. I extend to you an offer in marriage, to rule as queen by my side. It would please me to be joined with you in a holy union so that we may reestablish our once strong dynasty. Whether you accept or not, you still have a place here in Westeros.
Please allow my Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan Selmy, to protect and guide you on your way home. Don't be afraid to ask him anything you please. He is true and loyal to House Targaryen and will serve you well.
King Aemon I Targaryen, Rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First men
Daenerys felt herself waver and both Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan reached to steady her. The sadness of losing Jhogo, the mounting panic of being caught within city limits after sundown, the terror from her ordeal in the Palace of Dust, and now her nephew and king, Aemon Targaryen, welcoming her home and offering her a hand in marriage.
"Khaleesi?" Ser Jorah said.
"He intends to marry me," Daenerys replied breathlessly.
She saw Ser Jorah give Ser Barristan a sharp look. The older knight took no notice of this and kept his eyes only on her. "That is correct, Princess. The Targaryen bloodline is severely weakened, but together you will bring peace and glory back once more to the Seven Kingdoms."
Daenerys closed her eyes, already feeling like she was on the deck of a ship in stormy seas. "I...will..I don't—"
"You don't need to answer right away, my Princess. However, the hour grows late and we must leave quickly."
"But Jhogo. We have to give him a funeral."
"We can bury him at sea," Ser Barristan offered.
She glared at him. "That is not the proper burial for a bloodrider! They hate the sea."
"Please, Khaleesi," Jhiqui said through her sobs, holding Jhogo's head in her lap. "He will never reach the sky."
"Khaleesi, we don't have time to give Jhogo his proper rites," Ser Jorah said in a pleading tone. "You need to leave."
Daenerys glanced back at her people who had followed her all of his way. Her bloodriders appeared grim but steadfast. They nodded at her. She said, "I will not leave my Khalasar behind. Can you take us all?"
"Yes, Khaleesi. I was given a large enough galleon to accept a few hundred people. I don't think your horses will be able to make the journey though."
"I accept your offer, Ser Barristan."
|-The Dragon's Roar-|
Jaime XIX
"You sent for us, My Lord?"
Jaime regarded Lord Cyrus Alexandratos and his wife Delphine with a critical eye. If his father were here, he would have undoubtedly lectured them on the proper behavior befitting a vassal lord of the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. He was at least not surprised that they continued their duties as Shepherds to Healer David and he wasn't about to begrudge them that. He was a man of action himself and he had difficulty seeing them twiddling their thumbs and gossiping with the rest of the nobility when they could be doing something productive. Their work had slimmed down since he knew now that Healer David closed his clinic two days at a time and he had a feeling their boredom is what led them to be standing in front of him at this moment.
At the very minimum, his father would approve of their finery. Lord Alexandratos was resplendent in dark blue with silver buttons and trimming on his doublet. His head was held high and his shoulders back, like a soldier standing before his commander. Lady Delphine was wearing a dress of her usual cut which opened at her waist to show the black leggings underneath. The dress was also dark blue with silver trimming.
He heard the telltale sound of a book closing, and glanced over to see Tyrion wasn't bothering to pretend not to eavesdrop and gave them his full attention. There was amusement on his face like he knew what was coming.
Tyrion would occasionally spend a few hours with him every two to three days depending on his mood. While his company often eased the stress that came with being temporary regent as Hand of the King, Jaime was under the distinct impression that he was deliberately making himself available for advice. Otherwise, winter would come before Jaime sought out help.
That did not mean he wholly approved of their conduct; he refocused on Lord Cyrus and Lady Delphine.
"Yes, Lord Alexandratos, I was going over the request for renaming Clegane's Keep and...I must ask why you chose this name."
Lady Delphine pinched her face and she gave her husband a look that could only be translated as 'I told you so.' He focused on Lord Cyrus as the culprit. Jaime was impressed that Cyrus did not cower under his glare.
"I think you'll find under further examination that it's a perfectly acceptable name."
Jaime glared and picked up the neatly written parchment and said, "You want to rename Clegane's Keep to Fort Fort?"
Cyrus sighed and Delphine's grimace only grew.
"No," he barked, but then composed himself when his wife elbowed him. "Forgive me, my Lord, but you're not pronouncing it correctly. It's Fort Forté."
"And what is the significance of that?"
"Forté is a musical term. It means 'loud.'"
Jaime stared at him for a moment. He kept his eyes fixed on Cyrus, even as he heard Tyrion clearly trying to hide his laughter behind his hand.
"So you want to name your castle 'Fort Loud?'"
"No, I want to name it Fort Forté. It's a play on words." Tyrion could no longer stay quiet and burst out laughing. Cyrus pointed to him, "See? He gets it!"
"You want to give your castle a joke name?" Jaime stared at him like Cyrus had just told him he wanted to name his first born Tywin.
"We tried to talk him out of it, Lord Jaime, but he wouldn't see reason," Delphine said, worry on her face.
"Why am I not surprised your lady wife has more sense than you? Consider the name vetoed."
Cyrus opened his mouth to protest, but his wife nudged him again with a stern look and gave the barest shake of her head. "Very well, my Lord."
"Since I can't seem to trust you to name your own castle, I will give you the option of naming it Alexandratos Keep or Fort Alexandratos. What will it be?"
"Alexandratos Keep," Cyrus replied in a dull voice.
"Your colors?"
"Blue and silver."
Obviously, Jaime thought. "Sigil?"
"An owl, one claw has an olive branch and the other a violin bow," Delphine replied.
He stared at them and said, "I've heard of stranger. Take that idea to the seamstress to design your sigil. You're dismissed."
As soon as they were out the door, he could hear them speak.
"I've been waiting my whole life to make that pun…!"
"You really should've known better. There is no place in the world of nobility for jokes like that."
"These nobility could use…" The rest trailed away as they left.
Tyrion burst out laughing once more.
"I don't understand what you find so funny. You understood that joke?"
"Jaime, I can't fight, so I read. I can also speak. I've talked to all sorts, so yes I've learned of the musical terms."
"He's from Essos! Music shares a common language?"
"It appears to. I believe the language is known as Gaela and it hails from an ancient territory Gaelia that has long since been conquered and absorbed by Braavos. History has it that the best musicians hailed from Gaelia, so other musicians picked up the language to imitate it and it has long since become the language by which musicians speak with each other. But that one would be so bold to try and use it for the name of his castle...I like him."
"It's hardly appropriate, especially for a vassal of the Westerlands."
Jaime suddenly glanced over to the fireplace, but just as quickly caught himself and looked away. Did I hear a laugh from behind the wall? He was well aware that Vicente could be eavesdropping at that moment, however he was never to know when he was eavesdropping. The knowledge that Vicente was otherwise keeping a close eye on him was enough to make him tense and paranoid. After the first week, he'd managed to get the thought of Vicente lurking out of his head, but it came crashing back down just now.
But since Healer David had started experimenting with wildfire, he thought it likely the clinic was closed and that left the rest of the Shepherds with little else to do. Was Vicente behind the walls even more frequently now?
He kneaded his forehead as a distraction.
"He's a creative. You're going to have to put up with more of that," Tyrion said and there was a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "I hope it was worth raising him to a minor lord."
"Well, if that's the worst he does, I can tolerate it," Jaime grumbled. He frowned as he thought back to Ser Gregor Clegane whom it was rumored brutalized his servants in the Keep before being called to war. The smallfolk would be happier for a new lord and lady, especially if the worst the lord did was attempt to make a joke of his castle.
Tyrion was still chuckling when there was a knock at the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's Podrick, my Lord. I have yours and the king's letters."
"Bring them in," Jaime said in a weary tone. He wished desperately he could delegate this task to Tyrion. He was learned, he liked reading, and he had proven himself in the previous life as a great player of the game. But he and Aemon had already agreed to keep Tyrion at arm's length for the time being. Though, when Aemon returned, Jaime was going to advocate on behalf of his brother. This position was choking the life out of him and Aemon deserved someone who could keep up with the demands that being Hand came with.
Pod gave him a nod and a pleasant smile and set the letters on his desk.
"Good work in the yard today, Pod. You're learning well under the warrior ladies."
The boy puffed out his chest and beamed proudly, then he deflated. "I still have trouble with my footwork though, Mi'lord."
"That'll come with practice. Just keep at it. You'll do your house proud."
Jaime only smirked in satisfaction when Pod turned to walk back outside looking like he was walking on clouds.
"I have never seen you so soft with anyone before, brother. Are you sure you're feeling well?"
"He's a good boy. Loyal. He deserves to be treated well," Jaime replied in a gruff manner.
"Treated well, sure, but you're doting on him like he's your own son."
Jaime began rifling through the letters and then stopped when he saw the bear seal of House Mormont. It trembled in his fingers as he looked at it before abruptly moving on and shaking himself. It could be anything. It doesn't necessarily mean it has to do with Cersei, he thought, but the dread welling up in the pit of his stomach suggested otherwise.
"Jaime?"
"Huh?" He glanced at Tyrion who was now frowning at him.
"You look pale. Are you well?"
"Fine, fine. Just...overwhelmed with more letters.
Tyrion's frown drew deeper. "There aren't anymore letters there today than yesterday."
"You're the one who enjoys reading! Not me," Jaime grumbled, though that wasn't true. He enjoyed reading fictions. Anything else bored him to tears or sent him to sleep. It's why he kept a copy of Maester Rollan's A History and Lineages of the Northern Kingdom on the stand next to his bed. He laid that letter aside. It was best left for a time when Tyrion couldn't hound him.
He opened the next letter and scoffed. "Another letter to bless a wedding. It's tempting to say no."
"Jaime," Tyrion said in a warning tone.
"I'm not actually going to do it. I have grown past doing something like that."
"Even so. You're standing in for the king. They'll think it's from him not you."
"Even if I have my name on it?"
"You're his Hand. You carry his authority."
"Fine, I will bless the marriage of the new Lord and Lady Sarwyck," Jaime replied with a roll of his eyes.
There was another wedding blessing, two births, and a nameday. Other letters were requests written in the most saccharine sweet way that it gave Jaime pleasure to deny them. Most of the requests were a plea for funds which the Seven Kingdoms lacked for anyway, so all requests were denied equally and with the same rote answer: "Although King Aemon I Targaryen, ruler of the First Men, etc wishes you well, the requested funds are denied. It is in the king's interest to restore the treasury and ease the debt burden on the Seven Kingdoms." He had to write it so often that he felt like one of those parrots that 'talked' in repetitive phrases.
Tyrion slammed the book shut and scowled at Jaime. "Are you done?"
"I have two more letters to write."
"It's past noon. Long past time for lunch."
"Is it?" Jaime glanced toward the windows and noted the short shadows.
"Yes, so you're having lunch."
"I'll take lunch here."
"Brother! You can't avoid the other lords forever. It's been two weeks and you've yet to dine with any. King Aemon dined at least once a week with one."
"I am not the king. I don't have to do everything he does," Jaime grumbled.
"You should make the effort."
"Tomorrow. I'll dine with...Lord Royce tomorrow."
"See that you do," Tyrion said. "Shall I summon Pod for our plates?"
"You don't have to stay."
"Because you resist my company, I think I will."
Jaime sighed and rolled his eyes. "Must you be so contrary?"
"Someone has to make sure you don't die from boredom."
|-The Dragon's Roar-|
It was nightfall by the time Jaime returned to the Mormont letter. Not long after lunch, Tyrion had finally grown bored of waiting and declared he was going to find a worthier companion to drink with. Jaime suggested he take Pod with him. The panic on Pod's face as Tyrion tugged him away amused Jaime, but he was glad to be alone for once.
Jaime eyed the letter like he expected it to attack him. He grabbed the flagon of wine left by the servants and poured himself a generous goblet and sipped at it. It was important he maintained discipline this time. He was regent, so he couldn't allow his drinking to get out of hand as it had before. Carefully, he lowered himself into his chair and continued to sip at the goblet, then he set it down and breathed deeply.
He tried to ignore the trembling in his hand as he picked the letter up once more and considered it. It was addressed to Aemon and not to him. It's possible it's not even about Cersei, he mused. The odds, however, that a letter would be addressed to Aemon first over Lady Maege was unlikely. He took a deep breath and then broke open the seal, unfurling it to read.
To King Aemon I Targaryen...and the First Men,
Lady Cersei refuses all food and drink, demanding that her newborn be returned to her and that she be let out of prison. I have denied these demands and ordered her to be force fed. How would you like us to proceed, Your Grace?
With Honor,
Lady Lyanna of House Mormont, Bear Island
Jaime felt bile enter his throat and he swallowed it. Cersei was starving herself. Good riddance, he thought. Yet anguish welled up inside of him, ready to choke him. He felt like he was burning up and he began pulling at the collar of his doublet, breathing raggedly. Abruptly, he stormed out of the Solar. His guards started at seeing him, but he left them behind, barely noticing.
At first, he thought he was walking blindly, but then he realized the shapes passing him in the dark were trees. He saw a sliver of white and angled for it. The fake weirwood loomed over him with its crudely carved face and he stared into it desperately as if looking for answers.
"She deserves to die," he snarled into the tree.
He only heard the leaves rustling as a gentle ocean breeze brushed them.
"She deserves to die," he repeated. "Why do I care if she's starving herself?"
Did he still care for her somehow? He was certain he had exorcised that feeling. She had haunted and hounded him for years as queen. The torture had caused him to wish so desperately to take her head himself, but it was stayed by the simple fact that he did not wish to be named Kingslayer and Queenslayer as well. One horrible moniker and irreparable stain was enough.
For all the pain that she had caused him, made him suffer, she was still his sister, his twin. He had grown up believing she was his other half. It was a fact as sure as he was Tywin Lannister's son. Just like how he had been unable to hate Tyrion for killing their father after a time. He had been hoping with Cersei's eventual death that he would finally be rid of her and be able to move on from the inconvenience of having lived with her his whole life, but she'd produced a child from his stolen seed. Would he hate the child? He didn't think he could. He was glad it was a son, so that he wouldn't see Cersei in a little girl at every turn.
Aemon had given him the details on how the babe was to be separated from Cersei and he felt a cruel delight at it. She was not even able to see the babe or even know whether it was a boy or a girl. No doubt the agony would drive her even further into madness, but she was toothless where she was imprisoned. It eased his heart to know she would not be whispering her poisonous words into his son's ear. He had long hoped that this meant she would fade from his scope of influence and hopefully die unknown and unloved.
He should've expected that she would hasten her end with a foolish and desperate strategy like starvation. It was how she worked. Arming the Faith Militant had been another one of her foolish and desperate bids, which backfired on her in the end. He shuddered just thinking about Cersei's revenge against the Faith Militant and the murdering of the Tyrells, which had the added effect of driving their last remaining child to suicide.
"Let her rot in her despair," Jaime whispered and turned to head back to the Tower of the Hand. The instant he got back, he picked up the letter and tossed it in the fire.
Despite reading from the unendingly dry A History and Lineages of the Northern Kingdom, sleep came slowly and when it did, he once more dreamed of Cersei having her way with him. Now it included a boy who looked like Joffrey from his old life, cackling with insane laughter and swinging the sword that removed his head.
Jaime startled awake, drenched with sweat, and then jumped when he heard a polite knock at the door. He pulled on a pair of pants and walked stiffly towards the door.
"Who is it?" He asked in a strained voice.
"It's Maester Taren, my Lord. He has grave news."
Jaime blinked, trying to place him and then finally realized that he was the Maester standing in for Grandmaester Pycelle. The Grandmaester was too prestigious of a position to take care of the tasks like feeding and training the crows or tending to the servants, so he had a few other Maesters on hand for that. When Jaime opened the door, Maester Taron peered up at him looking as fresh-faced as a boy entering the training ring for the first time. While not young by any means, he was not of an age that most Maesters were yet he was already balding.
"Grave news, you said?" Jaime asked.
"Y-yes, my Lord. I'm sorry to bring you the news that Robert Baratheon has passed."
Jaime felt like a bucket of water had been dumped on him. "What happened?" He hissed.
"It was noticed that he began ailing after his evening meal was delivered. He was feverish, throwing up. We gave him a compress, fluids, but he couldn't keep it down. We were just about to inform you of his condition when he suddenly lapsed into a deep sleep and died," Maester Taron said in a trembling voice. His forehead was shiny with sweat and his eyes were wide in fear.
Jaime glared. "You let him die?!"
"We tried everything we could, but it happened so quickly, my Lord! We suspect—"
"He was poisoned." The Maester stared at him, but Jaime was no longer seeing him. He refocused on the Maester and said, "This did not just come from nowhere. He was poisoned! Did you check the Lord Stannis Baratheon? Renly?"
"They are healthy and hale, my Lord."
"See that they remain so!"
Jaime opened the door and turned to the Lannister guard outside. "Double the guards on the Baratheons' cells and fetch the servant who delivered the food and bring them to me! I'm going to get to the bottom of this."
Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed the chapter!
Is a Discord channel for this story something that you guys would be interested in? On a forum I frequent, I've seen people talk about how their readers enjoyed a channel and I was wondering if that's something you'd like. It wouldn't just be to talk TDR. I'd have other channels: fanfic recommendation, GoT/ASoIaF theory discussion, General Chat, etc. I started learning High Valyrian on Duolingo, so I'd probably include a channel to talk about that.
