Author's Notes: Good day, my readers! I hope you continue to safeguard yourselves. I have greatly enjoyed your input and I hope this fic allows you to find escape. Hang in there and thank you, as always, for reading, commenting, and giving this fic your valuable time!
So, I have come to understand that this site has started placing ads in the middle of chapters. For those who are frustrated by this, have you considered installing adblock on your browser? I have adblock and do not get any ads on this site. And for mobile users, I've heard that the apps available for both iPhone and Android are ad-free.
Thank you, Catzrko0l, for being beta to this chapter. They offered valuable insight that improved the structure and the overall narrative in particular. You're awesome!
Chapter 71
Aemon XXIII
He focused on the sound of his boots echoing in the corridor. Apart from Ser Torrhen, he was alone. He felt caged in his room, so he sought peace and solitude out in the palace. Under normal circumstances, someone of the nobility would stop him, but his expression was closed and he regarded passersby in such a cool manner that servants and nobles alike skirted him.
It was not a secret that there was trouble brewing in King's Landing and it pained Aemon that he was too far away to either manage it or be of much help to Jaime. Worse, his uncle had shouted to the heavens that Lord Jaime Lannister was responsible for Robert Baratheon's death.
Aemon held the note with trembling fingers before carefully folding it up and placing it in a pocket in his clothes. The jubilation had bled away and a tense silence followed Aemon's announcement. The last person Aemon locked eyes with was his Uncle Ned. He was shocked to see his own uncle trembling, but with rage. He had never seen him so angry.
When his uncle reached his eyes, he snarled, "I told you! I warned you! Never trust a Lannister! This is clearly Lord Jaime's doing!"
Aemon saw red and shouted, "Bite your tongue, Uncle! I will not allow you to make unjust accusations against Lord Jaime!"
His uncle stared at him as if he'd grown a second head."But you must see—"
"No! Lord Jaime would never betray me! We are done here!" While Aemon leaped to his feet, nearly upending his chair, his uncle remained stubbornly rooted to his seat. Aemon's patience was at an end and he grabbed his uncle by the shoulder and abruptly pulled him from the chair, pushing him past all of the denizens and out into the halls.
Leading his uncle into his room, they had yet another row where they shouted into each other's faces. His uncle's usual good grace and courtesy had vanished with the death of his old friend.
"You are so taken in by the Lannister's gold and power, by Lord Jaime's skill with the sword, that you're not willing to see them for their flaws."
"And you wish to see nothing of Jaime but his flaws! Jaime has not betrayed me, but you can't say the same for yourself against your friend, Robert," Aemon shouted.
"I turned against Robert for your sake because you would otherwise sacrifice yourself for that cad!"
"You betrayed Robert even before that. And that 'cad' believed in me more than you ever did, spending your time trying to usher me to the Wall! You weren't saving me, you were trying to save Robert's legacy!"
Ned's face grew grave, but anger still sparked in his eyes. "I was trying to protect you!"
"You were trying to cast me away so that I wouldn't upset your happy existence. So that I wouldn't upset Lady Catelyn, so that I couldn't challenge Robb for Winterfell or Robert for the crown. So that I could never experience having a family for your fear that my children would threaten your grandchildren. You led me to believe my mother was a whore you slipped up with. You left me to believe that I was nothing and never would amount to anything!"
"I—but, you must see, it was only ever for you."
"We're done here, Uncle. If I hear you continue to poison Lord Jaime's good name, I will have you confined to your rooms for the duration of this stay," Aemon commanded. He walked over and held the door open.
With a final angry look, his uncle walked through the door.
The feast for Prince Oberyn's victory over Ser Gregor Clegane had been a week ago. Aemon refrained from speaking with his uncle, and thankfully, his uncle kept mute and sullen around him, which made it easier for Aemon to not tell him the rest of Jaime's message. Aemon had to try three of their ciphers before he pinpointed it to 'Tormund Giantsbane.'
Be careful of asassination! Don't trust anyone!
Robert was murdered. The servant who gave him the wine is dead. Robert has been killed to clear the path for other blood on the throne. Joffrey? Stannis or Renly unlikely. Doubled their guard to be sure.
New rumor that Cersei is being starved on your orders. She starves herself.
Aemon frowned, feeling a mixture of frustration and fear. With a great effort, he stuck the letter into the candle flame and held it as long as he could and then burned the parchment he had written the cipher onto. He stamped out the fire to ensure nothing caught and then examined the ashes to find that every bit of ink had been reduced to cinder. As much as he preferred to keep the letter for the value it provided, he couldn't risk it falling into the hands of a servant willing to make a quick coin.
Once the parchment was disposed of, he stewed. It shouldn't have surprised him that the moment he was away from King's Landing for an extended period of time, the threats would start making their presence known. He had hoped that the coalition of allies he had solidified would be enough to deter anyone from doing something so foolish as to attempt to challenge him. However, they had already determined that Tywin Lannister was hardly a fool and would also never rest until his blood was on the throne. Him striking had only been a matter of 'when.' Lord Lannister could be patient, but would he wait for a weaker moment or was he more likely to strike before Aemon had fully ensconced himself? Without even a wife or so much as an heir, Aemon was unlikely to be weaker than he was now.
But poison did not sound like a Lannister weapon. Even when Lord Lannister had had the opportunity to kill Robb at the Frey's, he'd preferred a pitched battle than a simple dosing of the wine for every Northern lord. The poisoning stank of Littlefinger. He felt a chill sweep him at the thought of those two finding allies in one another.
He needed to get back to King's Landing, but he had originally promised a month in Dorne to ease their alliance and solidify a friendship. That would have to be cut short, but the negotiations had yet to take place. The first thing Aemon did when he woke up in the morning was insist on a date for the negotiations.
It took a bit of haggling, but out of interest to not insult his hosts, he agreed to have them five days after the fight with the Mountain. He announced that he was to leave the day after the negotiations. He spent his time sparring with Prince Oberyn and putting in more time teaching Olyvar. He would take open walks in the garden with Princess Arianne, but he was careful to keep her at a distance. Although she was smiling and courteous, he felt there was something distinctly calculatory in her eyes. Unlike Lady Margaery though, she hadn't dared to cross any boundaries, suggestive or otherwise. In the evening, he would break his bread with Prince Doran and they would discuss politics, supplies, and the coming winter. Although Doran was careful, Aemon could sense the needling in some of his questions, which Aemon dodged to the best of his ability. If Prince Doran was disappointed with his answers, he didn't show it.
As the days passed, the news out of King's Landing only grew worse. Aemon received two more notes from Jaime that the Healer David had been grievously injured and Lord Yohn Royce had passed away. He had been equally loath to inform his uncle about the last one. He had never seen his uncle in such a prolonged state of fury, but this news only darkened it. However, it seemed his uncle didn't let his anger cloud his judgment this time for he simply walked away in silence. He was happy to let his uncle be.
Lord Yohn Royce dying caused him greater consternation than Robert Baratheon. Robert was nothing anymore and he had intended to execute him once he had united the Seven Kingdoms. His death was meant to be an end to the strife, yet he had been robbed of that. Lord Royce, though, was his key to the Vale. The Houses in the Vale followed him in Lady Lysa's stead. Now who would they follow? Jaime had certainly hinted in his private note that he suspected murder. Had Baelish managed to crack the Eyrie or did he strike Lord Royce down because he was the one standing in his way? He hoped the Blackfish watched himself.
Whether Baelish had learned what he'd done at the Eyrie or not, he was striking entirely too close. He prayed to the Old Gods that Jaime would find a way to trace the murders back to him somehow. They needed to catch Baelish and quickly, before he could sow anymore chaos.
Aemon was itching to return to King's Landing, so he burned off what nervous energy he could sparring and learned a great deal about combat with spears. Without sparring to keep him occupied on the ship, the trip back was bound to be agonizing. But he would have to be patient.
The day for the negotiations arrived and it was how Aemon now found himself gliding along the corridors to an open room in a private section of the palace.
Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn awaited him there, sitting on one side of a long table and next to Prince Doran was a piece of parchment and inkwell with a quill. Prince Oberyn stood and bowed while his brother merely bowed his head. Since the match against Gregor Clegane, Prince Oberyn treated him a great deal more warmly. With both he and his uncle being cold to one another, he had enjoyed his time with Prince Oberyn and was reminded forcefully of Jaime again. He missed Jaime and prayed every night for him to persevere as his Hand.
Aemon waved a hand to point Ser Torrhen to stand at the edge of the room and took his seat. Under normal circumstances, his uncle was supposed to be present, but Aemon no longer trusted him not to ruin the negotiations.
"No Lord Stark today?" Prince Oberyn asked in his usual mocking tone.
"He wishes you both well, but he has never been one for the tedium of politics," Aemon replied.
They were perfectly aware that he was at odds with his uncle, but they allowed the decorous comment to slide.
"Your Grace, I would like to thank you for allowing us to host you in Dorne," Prince Doran began. "It has been a pleasure to meet you and I think we both have a greater understanding of each other. You have surprised us with your compassion and respect towards our departed family members."
Aemon regarded them with mounting apprehension. Not that he had not enjoyed his time in Dorne and found the Martells an amenable family, but the anger and suffering they had endured for more than a decade did not simply disappear in a week. One vengeful duel and two removed heads was not enough either. His uncle and Jaime both had repeatedly stressed to him how angry the Dornish were over the cruel deaths of King Aegon, Princess Elia, and Princess Rhaenys. Whatever understanding they had apparently come to, Aemon knew they were still going to use their pain as leverage to elevate their family.
"Where your predecessor mocked our pain, you have offered your support and even overseen the justice against two men who were responsible for Princess Elia and her children's deaths. However, there is one man left who is still responsible for their suffering—"
"No," Aemon said abruptly. "I would not have been able to take and hold King's Landing without the support of Lord Tywin Lannister and his son, Lord Jaime Lannister. I will not turn on an ally unless they give me good reason to."
A muscle in Prince Doran's face twitched and Prince Oberyn's expression was dark and serious for once. "With all due respect, that sounds...perilous, Your Grace. We are speaking of the old lion and his riotous cub. One sacked the city and the other murdered your grandfather."
Aemon felt his irritation increase as, once more, someone used the death of a grandfather he'd never met—who had killed other members of his family—in an attempt to drive a wedge between him and Jaime. It was becoming tiresome. "I am well aware of what they did. As you are well aware what my grandfather did to my other side of the family and other noblemen. I cannot change the past. The brutal legacy of my grandfather casts a long shadow, but we cannot step outside of that shadow as long as we continue to brood in it. I would prefer to focus on the future."
"What future might that be?" Prince Oberyn spokeup, but his mocking was light. "From what we've heard, it is not all that quiet in the Red Keep."
"Two people are dead. While shocking, it's hardly a cause for alarm. I am confident that Lord Jaime has things well in hand," Aemon replied. He hoped they mistook his sweat as natural from the heat and not an indication of his nerves. It took everything in him to keep his hands clasped on the table.
"You must admit, Your Grace, that your uncle hardly agrees," Oberyn said.
Aemon felt his frown become more severe. "You must understand, my uncle spoke in grief. He has long had a vendetta against Lord Jaime, ever since he became a kingslayer. They may not like each other, but they are willing to put their ill will towards each other aside for the sake of unity in the Seven Kingdoms."
"You must admit, Your Grace, it is puzzling that you have so much faith in a man who murdered a member of your own family," Prince Doran replied.
"I know Lord Jaime. He would not betray me," Aemon said carefully.
Both men studied him as he waited.
"Very well, we will consider your terms. Present them if you please," Prince Doran replied with a pensive frown. He was so very different from his brother. Where Oberyn Martell was all action, like a wild horse too keyed to stand still, aching to run and buck, his brother was like a large river, plodding yet determined. He was calm, intelligent, and considerate. Not that Oberyn was not, but he seemed to have neither the discipline nor the patience for much planning. Doran did and Aemon warned himself that he would have to be careful with his words.
Aemon nodded and said, "First, I would like to formally thank you for hosting me and my uncle. Consider formalizing King Aegon VI Targaryen as a gift and a wrong that should have long been righted."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Prince Doran replied.
"It is a most welcome gift, Your Grace," Prince Oberyn said.
"As my ally, I expect you to provide Dornish soldiers when commanded. As a united Seven Kingdoms, we fight as one or die apart. There can be no hesitation if you are called to provide soldiers to defend a kingdom that is not your own."
"Yes, Your Grace," they both replied. Prince Oberyn sighed forcefully and showed his restlessness as he shifted. Prince Doran glared at him and he settled.
"Now, for my first item, I would like to welcome a member of House Martell to King's Landing and to have a seat on the Small Council."
They both perked up. "Do you have a position in mind?" Prince Doran asked.
"That would depend on the person you send. I would prefer the position be one that plays to their strengths," Aemon replied. He waited while Prince Doran carefully wrote out the term.
"And?" Prince Doran prompted him.
"I currently have six Kingsguard. I am short one. It would honor me were you to provide a knight to fill the last opening," Aemon said.
Prince Oberyn's smile grew wide and he seemed to have trouble containing himself. However, Prince Doran remained unreadable and measured as he wrote down the option.
"You are yet unmarried, are you not?"
"I am," Aemon replied. I can't possibly make it through without at least one proposal of marriage, he thought with some exasperation.
"You've met Princess Arianne and get along swimmingly. Set aside the Dornish Kingsguard for my daughter and I would consider Dorne and the crown allies once more."
Aemon nodded and he turned over the proposition in his head, not that he was actually considering it. He had to understand what they could gain from a marriage with him and whether or not to offer a marriage with Viserys after all. It was enough to understand that Prince Doran wanted his daughter to be queen, just as the Tyrells had. It came with power and prestige. Her marriage to Viserys, while not providing with it the status of queen, would at least hint at the possibility of royalty. Until he himself had an heir, Viserys was it once he reached the Seven Kingdoms.
Assuming he's still alive, Aemon thought and hoped his shiver did not show. He could easily be providing Princess Arianne the hand of a dead man, not that he knew for sure. It put him ill at ease to offer a false solution, but the only option was Viserys or Arya. He could deceive them for Arya's happiness. He had to.
Aemon said, "Forgive me, Prince Doran, but I have already publicly committed to marrying my aunt, Daenerys Targaryen."
"Is that so?" Doran replied, tilting his head curiously. "I had heard a rumor that Daenerys Targaryen was wed to a Dothraki horse lord. Much like your grandfather, you may not find your pure Targaryen bride."
Aemon ignored the jab. He felt his knuckles crack as he clenched his hands, but then tried to center himself. He made a conscious effort to drop his shoulders as they tensed.
"I hadn't heard such rumors. Whether or not she's already married, she deserves to be with her remaining family in her homeland. She can decide when my envoy arrives to offer her safe passage to Westeros. I think it best to remain unbetrothed until such a determination is made."
Doran's frown deepened but he had little to say against it. Much as it pained him, there was a silver lining to Daenerys being so far away—any stories attributed to her whereabouts could be disregarded as hearsay. Aemon would take advantage of that confusion where he could, but he despaired at the thought that she might still be married to that Dothraki horse lord.
"I do, however, have another Targaryen family member to offer you: my uncle Viserys."
There was an eager light that entered Prince Doran's eyes, even as he kept his face passive.
Oberyn's grin grew slowly. "He is still alive, isn't he?"
"Last we heard, he is and if rumor has it, he's equally keen to return to Westeros," Aemon replied. It took everything he had to keep his voice steady. His tongue felt as dry as parchment and his heart pounded in his chest. Should Viserys be alive, betrothing him to Princess Arianne might very well be the worst thing he could do. Not only would he be exposing himself to an early death from Dorne in a bid to replace him with Viserys, but he would be condemning a woman to spend her life with him. Or had Viserys changed? Was it reasonable to expect him not only to be of sound mind this time but to welcome a new family member? He prayed to the Old Gods that he didn't just offer Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn knives to stab him in the back.
Doran nodded in agreement. "This is not quite as strong as a marriage with you. However, if you allow us the spot for the Dornish Kingsguard, I think we can come to an agreement. Presuming, of course, that those are your terms."
"Yes, those are my terms," Aemon said.
"Thank you, Your Grace. You have given us much to consider. I would appreciate it if you could give us time to discuss this," Prince Doran said smoothly.
"Of course, but I will require an answer before tomorrow."
"I think you should have our answer by dinner."
"Very well, I await your favorable reply." Aemon stood. He gave them a courteous nod and they bowed in return. Once more, Ser Torrhen fell in behind him and Aemon strode off, seeking a deserted part of the palace to think.
Would they dare attempt to remain neutral? He wondered and frowned ponderously. He had offered enough to entice any kingdom and had granted enough boons to Dorne that they should be willing to fold. Did they think him so soft from these boons that they would dare to ask more? He'd put Lord Frey in his place, but he'd had an army at his back then. Only a small force of Stark men and his Kingsguard had accompanied him to Dorne. Was there any benefit to poisoning him now?
If I were to die, it would give Tywin Lannister all the space he would need to take the throne, he thought sourly. Even with all of Dorne's might, they would not be able to either prevent or uproot Lord Lannister. And in the eventuality of his and his uncle's deaths, they would find themselves alone. Neither the Riverlands nor the North would assist Dorne after assassinating their king. Killing him now would put the Martells and Dorne in a position that was even worse than before he'd taken the throne. With his terms, they had everything to gain and the only thing that could possibly conceive as lost was the queenship.
Allowing Princess Arianne to marry Viserys gave them a path to the queenship, if they so dared. It was a risky ploy, but as long as he was correct in his assumption that Viserys had died in this time, as he had in the last time, then it was a risk he was willing to take.
Aemon decided to return to his rooms. Ghost remained there, panting even in the cool air and he petted him, whispering into his ear, "Thank you for always being here, boy. It seems you're the only one I can rely on." As the nights had passed, he found himself warging repeatedly into Ghost. It was becoming easier as he remembered how to do it. The cool desert nights were a respite from the heat for the both of them. He allowed Ghost to take the lead and simply came along with him on a romp. He sometimes wondered if Ghost even understood that he was with him in some tangential way.
He freshened up as usual for dinner, pulling on a doublet that wasn't soaked with sweat. I feel like a trim is necessary, he thought as he looked in the mirror. Not too short. His long curly locks still hung around his shoulders, feeling weighty and hot in the heat, but he recalled a handful of memories where Dany played with the curls while in bed. She had seemed to like it in the time before and he would suffer the heat if it helped her to fall in love with him once more.
Daenerys will be here shortly. I must look dashing for her, he thought and felt a thrill. It had been three months since he had sent Ser Barristan to find her. Had he succeeded? Or was there a yet unknown obstacle impeding him?
Enough, he berated himself. You're no longer a boy who's wet behind the ears. Time enough to worry about those obstacles when we meet them. We must stay the course for now. He never thought of himself as a lone figure governing the Seven Kingdoms. Jaime would always have his back and he supposed his uncle would never abandon him. At least he hoped his uncle wouldn't. Had he done enough dishonorable things now for his uncle to withdraw his support? He hadn't told him yet of his plans to offer a likely dead Viserys to Princess Arianne. Would his uncle approve of such a risky tactic? Perhaps it was best that he wasn't there after all.
Aemon was forced to engage with the other nobility as he waited for the Martell brothers to make their appearance. His uncle sat stoic and silent next to him, merely grunting out monosyllabic answers to other noblemen that tried to engage him. He barely heard a word any of them were saying and his attention diverted the moment Prince Doran was wheeled into place just a few seats down.
A small gong was rung and the guests all fell silent.
"I have an announcement to make," Prince Doran said in a loud, clear voice. "King Aemon has offered us generous terms. After much discussion, Prince Oberyn and I have agreed to accept them."
The hall burst into cheers. Prince Oberyn immediately helped himself to a goblet full of wine and reached over to clap Aemon on the back.
Even as Aemon was holding up the goblet for a toast, he thought, All that's left is the Ironborn. But first we have to stop Baelish and then I will hatch Rhaegal.
