Author's Note: Thank you all for reading and giving your kudos and support! You are rockstars!
The updating of this chapter actually marks a special occasion; November 1st was TDR's 2nd birthday! I started in the fall of 2017 as a National Novel Writing Month project. I did not first start posting it until November 29th, when I was done with the challenge. So, thanks once more, for your support! I don't think I would've gotten nearly as far into TDR as I am now were it not for you wonderful readers!
I'd like to thank catzrko0l for being beta for this chapter. You have done a great job and TDR is better for having you!
Chapter 60
Aemon XX
"Welcome, King Aemon Targaryen, to Dorne."
A heavily tanned man with curly black hair said to him. He dressed in a yellow and orange shirt adorned with metal suns down the shoulder; the neck of the shirt dipped nearly to his midriff showing an equally tanned chest. His smile was wily and his eyes were cold.
Aemon had learned from Jaime that Prince Doran was troubled by gout and therefore wheelchair bound. This man, however, was not and exuded the same static energy as a lightning bolt and it seemed certain that bolt was ready to strike him.
Ghost stood even with him and emitted a low growl. He hissed at him for quiet and returned his attention to the prince.
"I am Prince Oberyn. This is my paramour, Ellaria Sand," he said, waving his hand at an equally tan woman. Despite her ignoble status, she was dressed in similar orange tones and was as lovely as any lady in King's Landing.
Aemon reached for her hand and planted a chaste kiss on her knuckles.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, my Lady. I thank you for the welcome," Aemon replied.
She smiled but said, "I am no lady, Your Grace. Call me Ellaria."
"And this here is my niece, the beautiful Princess Arianne Martell."
Princess Arianne Martell was dressed in red as vibrant as the sun on her house's sigil. Her dress crossed only one shoulder, leaving the other free. It shimmered in the sun with what he suspected was gold dust. She was otherwise covered in golden trinkets; a bracelet, suns on her dress, and suns dangled from her ears. A golden band held her dark hair out of her face, which was interwoven with even more gold ornaments. Her face was soft with youth and she gave him a wide smile, also holding her hand out to him.
"You are indeed beautiful, Princess Arianne," Aemon said.
"Thank you, Your Grace," she replied and he thought she might mean it.
Not for the first time, Aemon felt small and unimpressive at the glorious array of colors the family wore. He wore a gray doublet with silver trimmings, complete with a red and black cape to showcase his Targaryen heritage. They all appeared neat and unaffected by the sun when he could feel his shirt begin to cling to his back from soaking in his sweat. He only just felt like he was becoming acclimatized to the heat in King's Landing, but it was incomparable to Dorne. It feels like living in a fire grate, he thought and struggled to keep from wiping the sweat from his forehead. He could hear Ghost panting deeply and he hoped to get him to a place with shade from the sun.
Jaime had given him a thorough recount of Prince Oberyn and his family. He was already aware that they would dislike and distrust him, so the undertone of mocking did not surprise him in the least. They were angry with him, even unjustifiably so. He was not his father and he was certainly not responsible for his father siring him on his mother, setting his first wife aside. But it was a severe enough insult to inspire most Houses to homicidal rage, not just Tywin Lannister.
His Hand had certainly not been thrilled at his commitment to personally oversee the negotiations, but there was no one else, as Aemon had pointed out. Jaime was even more despised than him in Dorne. They were the two most powerful people in Westeros and to send anyone lesser would be an insult.
With that decided, Jaime gave Aemon an even more thorough recounting of Prince Oberyn's time in King's Landing and the trouble that followed after.
"Prince Oberyn may be a cad, but he's not so bloodthirsty as to kill without reason or provocation. And not quite so dishonorable that he'd do it in your sleep or by poisoning your food. It would be in combat," Jaime had said.
He could appreciate that the Prince was passionate about his family. He remembered being beside himself when he'd learned about the death of his uncle and both of his sisters being in the clutch of the Lannisters at King's Landing, but he was stuck at the Wall. Moving on with his duty had been the single most difficult act of his life, but he kept Maester Aemon's words close at heart. How much heartache had he suffered seeing the wholesale destruction of his own family? He was so happy that he had been allowed to offer a familial hand to the Maester Aemon in this life. It was a shame they were so far apart, but he recognized his great great uncle had a duty as a Maester and as a man of the Night's Watch.
He and Ghost began walking down the deck, attempting to match Oberyn stride for stride. The ladies trailed behind them and his uncle Ned was at the back. Theirs and the Dornish soldiers marched on all sides.
"I must say, we were all surprised here in Dorne to receive your first letter. It's always wonderful to hear a small part of the great Targaryen legacy lives on, though you don't look much like a Targaryen. Not like my nephew. He was pale of hair and had the famed violet eyes."
"So I've heard, Prince Oberyn. I wish I could have known my half-siblings," Aemon said, trying not to think of their fate and shuddered.
"Do you? You would not be king were Prince Aegon alive."
"I am aware of that, Prince. I did not take the throne for power."
"Funny, because that's the only trophy you get when you take the throne. Prince Rhaegar understood that. It wasn't enough that my sister, Princess Elia, gave him two beautiful children to secure his legacy. He had to abscond with another woman. A pity she didn't consider the wife in her little tryst."
Aemon felt a rush of heat to his face and before he knew it he was shoving the prince against the closest wall.
"Aemon, stop!" His uncle wrapped an arm around him and attempted to pull him back. The Dornish guards leveled their spears, but they weren't close enough to be threatening. His Kingsguard drew their swords and touched them to the spears. Ghost's hackles were raised and he growled, causing everyone in the vicinity to step back a pace from him.
"Not another fuckin' foot forward," the Hound snarled and one of the spearmen gave the Hound a nervous look.
"My mother was an innocent," Aemon growled. "My father's motives were his motives alone. Do not misplace the blame of your sister's and her childrens' deaths on her!" With that, he lowered the prince, who had to catch himself on the wall before he was upright.
"True enough. For that, I have the Lannisters to thank. We've heard they're your second closest ally next to your uncle. The Kingslayer himself is your Hand," Prince Oberyn said in a voice that shifted in tone.
Aemon drew himself up and stood toe-to-toe with the prince. "Lord Jaime Lannister is also not responsible for their deaths."
Prince Oberyn raised his eyebrows at him and said, "Perhaps. But he was Kingsguard. Their deaths are his failure, especially in light of the fact that he was deliberately disregarding his oaths to his king in the very same instant."
"Ser Barristan Selmy failed to save my father from the same fate, and yet I have the utmost confidence in him. I will not make apologies for Lord Jaime. Those are his to make, but I don't consider him a failure and I trust him with my life."
"You forget the past too easily, Your Grace," Prince Oberyn said. He still had that curious smile on his face, but there was no mistaking the tension of anger in his voice.
If only you knew, Aemon thought. He struggled not to laugh aloud at the thought. He had been living as equally in the past as he did the present. "What's done is done. I have to move this kingdom forward if we want peace. It does not do to dwell in the past." He had been lying to his uncle for so long that the lies came easily, but his uncle trusted him whereas Prince Oberyn did not. Would the prince detect his lies?
"The past never dies. It lives with us and, if cared for, the memory persists long after we perish. You forget it at your peril."
"I never said anything about forgetting," Aemon snapped.
"That is enough, Uncle!" Princess Arianne stepped up, though not between them, and glared at the prince. "Father understands you are a passionate man, but he would be ashamed of your conduct. You are speaking to the king, if you have not forgotten!"
"I have not forgotten," Prince Oberyn replied, though there was no contriteness on his face. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but I wanted to see what kind of man you are. An angry man cannot hide his true self."
"Are you satisfied?" Aemon thundered. He dropped his hand to tangle in Ghost's fur and the dire wolf finally relaxed and returned to panting.
Prince Oberyn cocked his head. Then with a pleased smile, he gave a brief nod and said, "For now."
"That's enough," Aemon said, looking over his shoulder at his Kingsguard. They sheathed their swords, but the Hound seemed to only reluctantly.
Prince Oberyn waved his hand and the Dornish guards stepped back with their spears pointed towards the sky. They began walking towards the palace again. Prince Oberyn spoke, "I had heard that you had made the Hound a Kingsguard."
"He is not his brother," Aemon replied, his voice still tight with tension.
"You would stake your life on that?"
"I have. He has served me faithfully."
"Do you think it wise?"
"You worry about your guard and I'll worry about mine."
"Uncle," Arianne said again with a warning tone.
Prince Oberyn grimaced, but nodded back at his niece. "I believe I have ruined your day enough. Rest assured, Your Grace, we here in Dorne do not believe that the sins of the father are the sins of his sons or daughters. His crimes are not yours."
That doesn't keep you from ascribing the same motivations to me, he thought darkly. He resisted the urge to look back at his uncle, because he was afraid he might see confirmation there. Was he Rhaegar reborn, chasing after dragons and obsessing over the end to the point of disregarding others? He didn't see that he had much recourse. He had to be king and use the powers thereof to prepare the Seven Kingdoms, but being king came with an overzealous paranoia of guarding the throne from other usurpers. King Robert may have had a peaceful reign, but Aemon was learning now that the peace was an illusion. The Usurper had been secure only in that he'd married the lady with the most powerful family in Westeros that guarded it for him. And as it turned out, his very own wife had plotted to take the throne out from under him without his knowing. Even once he himself married and had an heir, he would constantly be on the lookout for predators like a bird guarding its nest.
He was learning that being a good king was about securing peace for the rest of the realm without knowing any such peace himself. It was easy to see how only a small number of men could be worthy of bearing the anvil known as the crown. He hoped he was one such man. If he weren't, his shoulders would crumble beneath its weight and, in all likelihood, the Night King would prevail once more.
That's what he assumed would happen. Was that honestly a given still?
The dragons. The realm still needs Daenerys and her dragons. If nothing else, I have to make the realm safe enough for her and the dragons to thrive.
They wandered into safer topics of discussion. Prince Oberyn asked after Lord Willas. Aemon spoke of his cousins: Arya's desire to fight—"She'd fit well here in Dorne."—and Robb's marriage to Margaery. Aemon thought he saw a pensive look appear on Prince Oberyn's face and he wondered if it had to do with Princess Arianne's current lack of a betrothal. Seeing the Princess here in the hot sun with nary a bead of sweat on her, he thought perhaps she might freeze in the North. It wasn't a good initial match anyway with Dorne since the Starks had been the Usurper's closest ally who stole the throne from their Prince Aegon.
It was only as they were approaching a man bound to a wheelchair that Aemon realized they had ceased walking in the surroundings and had wandered into the palace. Much of it was still open-air, but he found the limestone walls, decorated in colorful frescos, more interesting than walking through the gardens of the Red Keep.
The man twisted in his chair and then maneuvered it to meet them halfway. "King Aemon, it is a pleasure to see you gracing Dorne's beautiful shores. Sunspear welcomes you. I hope it was a pleasant journey."
"As pleasant as the water can be," Aemon replied.
"Forgive my manners, I am Prince Doran Martell. I rule from Sunspear. I trust my brother behaved in our greeting."
"Perfectly charming," Aemon said dryly. He thought he felt Prince Oberyn shift and his brother glared at him.
"My apologies, Your Grace. We would not want you to feel you are not welcome in Dorne. However, I'm sure you're aware that some wounds never heal."
Aemon stayed quiet. He would have to abide the airing of their grievances, no matter how unjust. Despite Prince Oberyn's words about not blaming the son for the sins of the father, they were determined to do just that. This was a wound that had been left festering far too long. Not only had King Robert reveled in the butchering of the baby prince and princess, and their mother Princess Elia, but he had failed to consider how deep Dorne's feelings ran.
"You must be tired from your journey. I will have a servant take you to your rooms. It will be a couple of hours before the meal is served. Make yourselves comfortable."
"Thank you for your hospitality, Prince Doran. You are most gracious."
A few minutes later, Aemon was in his new quarters and he immediately took off the crown. It felt particularly heavy, especially after his frustrated outburst at Prince Oberyn. Pull yourself together, he chastised himself. Long before he'd left, he knew this was going to be a particularly difficult negotiation. There was no guarantee that he would ever win their allegiance. As with most people, they could say one thing and be plotting another, but to what end? The closest Dorne had to an ally was the Reach and that was simply a result of good relations with Lord Willas. They hated the Baratheons, so the Stormlands were out. The North, the Riverlands, and the Vale were currently bound tightly together as his allies. Judging by their caustic remarks about Jaime, they weren't keen on being an ally of the Lannisters any time soon.
They did play at friendship in the other time, he thought. They had accepted the betrothal of Princess Myrcella to Prince Trystane. By all accounts, that had been going swimmingly until Prince Oberyn got himself killed fighting Gregor Clegane and then that had stripped the facade away.
He was not fooled by Prince Doran's display. Despite their differing demeanor, the two brothers were of the same mind regarding the death of their sister and her children. Sending Prince Oberyn to receive him had been deliberate and he had given them exactly what they wanted. He wanted to curse himself for his stupidity. Jaime had warned him that he'd be needled. He had been prepared for every eventuality except the low swipe at his poor dead mother.
Yet, if he wanted these negotiations to work, he'd be expected to forgive them. He could only grant them so much leeway though.
Ghost whined from where he lay on the floor. He continued to pant heavily, even in the cooler shade of this room. The palace was cleverly designed with rooms halfway built into the ground. There were small windows at eye level so that he could see the flowering desert blooms. Whether they hated him or not, they at least gave him a room that was cooler than anywhere else in the palace. He hoped it'd be enough for Ghost. He went over and ran his fingers through his direwolf's thick fur. His wolf nudged him with his wet nose and he grinned.
A knock sounded at the door and Aemon pinched his eyes. "Yes?"
"It's Lord Stark, Your Grace," Ser Arys Oakheart announced.
Aemon gritted his teeth, centered himself to wipe most traces of anger from his face, and said, "Enter." He didn't even turn to look at his uncle. "I'm not particularly interested in a lecture right now, Uncle."
Once more, his uncle was avoiding him since the unpleasant revelation about Bran. He at least offered better than monosyllabic responses, but his demeanor was frosty. It lacked the familial warmth that Aemon relied on to keep his thoughts focused on the present.
His uncle was silent for a moment and then said,"I wish you would've told me."
"And what good would that have done, Uncle? You would have pointlessly fretted over the inevitable."
"I would've been prepared."
"Would you have?" Aemon finally turned. His uncle's profile was the very picture of grief, likely deepened after the pointed remarks by Prince Oberyn. "Knowing too much can be just as dangerous as knowing too little."
Ever since Aemon had taken the throne, they had been sailing into uncharted waters. How often had he agonized over the knowledge he had over a future that could no longer be? Much of what he knew was secondhand from other people. Trusted sources, perhaps, but their memories could falter just as surely as his did. At this point, they could only make broad conclusions. Littlefinger was trouble and would try something. Lord Tywin did not like to be made a fool or have his legacy torn to shreds; comeuppance was to be expected. But the avenues that both Littlefinger and Tywin had before were gone. Cersei was no longer queen and in charge. They had to come from a point lacking in power and he couldn't decide if that was advantageous to him or not. What it did mean is that it was likely to come from a direction they weren't expecting.
If he and Jaime had one advantage, it was that Jaime was more valuable alive than dead. As long as Jaime was alive, he would be loyal. Aemon had to trust that Jaime continued to have his best interests at heart or the Night King would win once more.
He was on edge from the lack of information out of King's Landing. It was likely that the Martells knew more than him about the current happenings in King's Landing. Yet he had to keep calm and assume the situation was under control.
It would be easier if he didn't feel like he was constantly at odds with his uncle. The Martells present a united front. Why can't we? Right now his uncle was frowning at him, looking more cross than he'd ever seen.
"I am not a simpleton, Your Grace. I've fought in a war, I've lost family, and raised one."
Aemon inhaled and had to reel in his temper. Prince Oberyn may have pushed him over the edge, but it had been sitting there for sometime with all of his anxieties and the row with his uncle. "You're right, Uncle. You have done an admirable job of learning what needs to be learned so that you and I both thrive. Just like you're doing now. You have made strides where Jaime has lamentably...not. I appreciate your efforts to come to an understanding with him, even if he could do a better job of bridging that gap." He saw his uncle's face soften and for a moment he was reminded of himself when he received a kind word from him. "I brought you along for a reason. I need your support just as much as I need Jaime's."
"I will do better, Your Grace," his uncle replied, dipping his head.
There was another knock at the door. "Servants have brought a basin and water for bathing, Your Grace."
"Time to get ready. Thank you, Uncle."
Aemon felt calmer after the bath. In King's Landing, the water was often warm, but it had been left cool in Dorne and it was apparently enough to calm his hot blood and soothe his temper back down to a point where he felt in control. He willed himself to set his worries for King's Landing aside for the evening to focus on the meal.
After so many feasts with a hoard of nobility in King's Landing, it seemed odd that those gathered around the table only numbered a dozen or so. There was Prince Oberyn with his paramour and their eight daughters. Prince Doran and his children, Princess Arianne and Prince Quentyn, sat on the other end. It was only himself and his uncle for King's Landing. The table was laden with dishes featuring fish and seafood of a different sort to what he was used to. He could see shells pried partially open, crab legs arranged around a bowl of dip, and he was certain he saw fried legs of a strange creature with multiple arms closer to Prince Doran. He hoped they wouldn't ask him to try it.
The conversation was small as he was formally introduced to the rest of the family. Aemon was asked to relate the tale of how he became king and then the subsequent campaign to take the Keep. Although he was careful not to heap too much praise on Jaime, he did not gloss over his significant role and he was certain that Prince Oberyn was giving him a troubled frown for it, but otherwise the prince did not say a cross word about it.
"A most impressive account, Your Grace. I see now how you managed to bring so many disparate kingdoms together in peace," Prince Doran said. He did appear sincere in his words.
Prince Oberyn gave him a puzzled look. "So we have the Kingslayer to thank for delivering Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch?'
"Lord Jaime Lannister," Aemon corrected. "Yes, you do."
"I will have to thank him next time I see him. Although, I have not yet had my fun with them," Prince Oberyn replied.
"Are they to be imprisoned here for the rest of their natural life?"
When Prince Oberyn smiled, it was a vicious one that did not reach his eyes. "As is their due, they have demanded a trial."
Aemon stalled. "And?"
"They demand that you oversee it."
Aemon had a piece of fish halfway to his mouth when he stopped and stared. "And you would like me to stand as judge?"
"Yes, Your Grace. We intend to hold trial on the morrow," Prince Doran replied, "as long as you are willing."
"Very well, I shall," Aemon replied without hesitation. Once he took in all of the delighted smiles around the table, he knew this was going to be made a spectacle. It was one thing to draw up a plan for negotiation and speak some pretty and soothing words, but there was little time for preparation when it came to this. They were putting him on trial as much as Ser Gregor and Ser Amory. A single misstep would likely spell his doom.
Author's Note: The Discord is doing well and is available for you to join! hh tee tee pee sss : / / discord . gg /M3x6WXM
We don't even have to talk about TDR. There have already been a few different discussions, mostly about GoT and the season-that-shall-not-be-named, however I do have channels for other topics of discussion.
