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As always, the lovely Catzrko0l beta'd this chapter and made sure that you were in for a smooth ride. Thank you, beta!

Chapter 72

Aemon XXIV

He was just leaving the feast to return to his room, his heart light with the knowledge that they would be setting sail for King's Landing the next morning, when he heard his name called. With some reluctance, he turned.

"King Aemon, Your Grace, a moment if you will?" Prince Oberyn was sauntering up to him with his typical mocking smile.

Aemon wanted nothing more than to return to his room for a quiet moment to himself and to allow Ghost to run free one last time before they boarded the ship. Instead, he smiled and nodded. He thought he heard the Hound growl in annoyance.

"What can I do for you, Prince Oberyn?"

"If you will follow me, I have a gift."

Aemon raised his eyebrows. "You're bringing this up now?"

"My brother suggested that I wait until the negotiations had been formalized before presenting it."

More like you didn't want to waste a gift on someone you had no intention of allying with, Aemon thought. After exchanging a brief glance with the Hound, he nodded and waved Prince Oberyn forward. The Hound was following him so closely that he was nearly stepping on his heels. He figured the Hound thought the prince had ill intent, but now that they were allies, Aemon felt safe enough. Dorne would not receive their gifts if he turned up dead.

Aemon followed Prince Oberyn to yet another outdoor room with no walls. The sun was setting and a chill was stealing upon the palace. The cold invigorated Aemon and it made him itch to dive into Ghost once again. A case was laid out on a table which Prince Oberyn opened.

"Are you familiar with Myrish Lace, Your Grace?"

"I have heard of it. Can't say I'm familiar. I know it is a favorite item among the noble ladies in the Red Keep," Aemon replied.

"Well, the Myrish have turned their talents towards creating lace for men, so to speak," Prince Oberyn said. He pulled a shimmering silver garment from the case that Aemon placed as chain mail. He couldn't keep the awe from his face as it pooled like silk in Prince Oberyn's hands. "Not quite as tightly woven as lace, but close enough. The best mail in the world. It is yours."

Aemon started. "Mine? This appears more than a mere gift, Prince Oberyn."

The prince chuckled. "Indeed. It's a gift of thanks."

Aemon stayed silent, waiting for an explanation; he dared not touch the mail yet.

"A gift of many thanks. I doubted your willingness to grant Dorne their justice. You went above and beyond. You sent us Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch. You granted my nephew his place as king. You oversaw a trial and demanded justice where others before you cared not for our pain. Even after doing your duty as king by holding the trial, you expressed your concern about my wellbeing. Your story reminded me that all would be for naught if I died in the pursuit of justice. And your advice allowed me to anticipate Clegane's last move. For delivering justice for my sister and her children, for giving me the knowledge to safeguard myself, I present this mail to you."

Aemon finally took it into his hands and marveled at how it seemed to flow like water across his fingers. It was fairly heavy but thin so that it could easily fit under his armor. Did the gift suggest that Dorne was interested in protecting him? Or was it just a gift?

He cleared his throat and said, "Thank you. I've never seen aught like it."

Prince Oberyn gave him a responding grin. "Were you not king, I would suggest you get out and travel more."

"Would that I could," Aemon replied lamentably. From the way Daenerys had described it, Essos sounded like an adventurous land that made his wild heart sing at the thought of exploring it. However, she had also mentioned the extreme heat everywhere and he was certain he would burn up under the sun within days of arriving. How anyone could live in such extreme heat baffled him. He longed for little more than a return to Winterfell and the North. That did not seem likely for years to come, so he had to find a way to manage with the heat in King's Landing.

"Now that I have wet your appetite, I have another favor to ask," Prince Oberyn said.

Aemon gave him a suspicious look. "We agreed on the terms. What's done is done."

"The favor isn't for Dorne. It's for my daughter. My daughter, Sarella, has long had a desire to attend the Citadel to be a Maester," Prince Oberyn said.

Aemon felt his heartbeat ratchet up. He had no interest in attempting to subvert a several thousand-year-old institute and suggest they soften their attitudes to allow women the freedom of becoming educated. He had learned that when Jaime raged at him about elevating the Hound without first insisting on knighthood. No matter how inappropriate Jaime had been, he'd had a fair point that people did not enjoy watching their cultural traditions being torn asunder. He needed unity.

"I see your expression and it's not what you think. In Dorne, we've heard a rumor that you've taken an interest in a particular healer."

"David?" Aemon asked.

"Yes, David and his Shepherd group. He has been around for some time. I heard tales of him in Essos and how he allowed all sorts to join his group. He even taught his craft to women."

Aemon nearly breathed a sigh in relief. "Yes, David has a group of people who work in his healing clinic in King's Landing. It's brought the people much joy and relief."

"That is satisfying to hear. Is he perchance taking any more pupils?"

"I know he was expecting to receive more candidates from the Citadel. It is important to me that my people be happy and healthy, so we struck a bargain to allow candidates within the Citadel the opportunity to learn from him. I am sure he would be happy to accept your daughter."

"Marvelous. I will go inform her so that she is ready to leave in the morning," Prince Oberyn replied. Although he was pleased, Aemon thought he caught an element of disbelief in his eyes.

Aemon hesitated for a moment and then said, "The Crown does not control the Shepherds. They merely have my blessing."

Prince Oberyn's smile turned quickly to a suspicious frown. "How do you mean?"

"The Crown does not pay for them. Lord Jaime Lannister is their patron," Aemon replied.

The prince grew stiff at the information and his expression grew suspicious. "How much...control does Lord Jaime Lannister exert over them?"

"He pays little attention to their daily operations. David is in control of how the money is spent. He has a place on the small council, so his actions are accountable. I have no complaints about his group. He has been a welcome relief for the people of King's Landing," Aemon said.

"If you say so. I still don't understand this...trust that you have placed in Lord Jaime Lannister. Men like him don't change."

"With all due respect, Prince Oberyn, you don't know him at all," Aemon said, his tone becoming curt with annoyance. "If we're done here, I would like to rest."

"As you will, Your Grace," Prince Oberyn said and waved a hand to let him know he was free.

Aemon placed the mail back in the case and picked the case up. "Thank you, again, for this most generous gift."

The walk back to his room was quiet save for the chirping of insects in the gardens he passed. He breathed deeply in the cool night air and thought, I will finally return home.

|-The Dragon's Roar-|

Jaime XXII

Talking Podrick through putting on his armor was a welcome distraction and it struck him then how long it had been since he had actually worn his armor. It was long ago back in Winterfell when he was still donning the white cloak of the Kingsguard. And yet, as Podrick put the pieces in place, it felt like he was being placed back into his second skin.

He was preternaturally calm before the duel and he took comfort in that. This is where I belong, he thought as he weighed using Brightroar. Ser Lyn was one of a few who also had a Valyrian Steel sword and Jaime rather doubted he'd be foolish enough to fight with anything else. Brightroar it is, Jaime concluded and held it out to Pod to strap it onto him.

Despite his elation at having a duel, he found himself spent from the hurricane of emotions from the day and had retired back to his room to cope, having nearly been on the verge of yet another seizure. He'd even had Pod turn his father away, who had come to bang angrily on the door. He was not up to the challenge of dealing with his father at that moment and, as far as he was concerned, his father could just stew. No doubt his father would let him have it eventually, but the reprieve was enough for him.

The free afternoon gave him all the time in the world to fume and berate himself for the way he had acted towards Brienne after her duel. He had been too caught up in his fury to see much else except red, but upon thinking back to it, he was certain he saw tears welling up in Brienne's blue eyes. Her gratefulness had quickly given way to reproach. She had been afraid, rattled, and if he had been a smarter man, he would've spoken words of comfort to her. But, no, he had to belittle her instead for not seeing the dishonesty in a man like Ser Osmund Kettleblack.

Her opponent was hanging onto life by a thread, but Jaime wouldn't bring himself to feel empathy for the bastard, having nearly killed Brienne and for bringing shame to the station of knight once more. As soon as he got the chance, there would be a reckoning among knights and he would find a way to purge the unworthy of their title.

Until then, he would have to find a way to repair the bridge that he had thoughtlessly torn down between himself and Brienne. It had taken months of careful planning and constant days of training to forge what he thought was a connection with her. They were nearly as far apart now as they had been after they'd taken the Red Keep. It wasn't in his nature, but he would sooner grovel at her feet than risk losing her all over again.

But why was she at risk of being lost at all, Jaime thought and his attention turned back to Ser Osmund Kettleblack. His surname had a familiar ring to it, from a long ago memory. He had spent part of his night tossing and turning as he rolled the name through his head and attempted to filter out where it had come from. But the previous life had been so long ago that he couldn't recall Ser Osmund cropping up. He felt he'd remember a man who was second only to the Mountain in height. His sleep had been restless and if he had been hoping his dreams would add clarity, they only made him feel worse. For once, he didn't remember his nightmares, but he had felt exhausted as if he'd fought them all night. He allowed himself to sleep in. He wanted to be fighting fit for Ser Lyn Corbray.

One thing was certain, he didn't think Ser Osmund Kettleblack had chosen to propose to Brienne out of true love. He had set Tyrion to the task of finding out more information about Ser Osmund Kettleblack and he hoped to hear from him soon. He had a sneaking suspicion, though, that it wasn't for Brienne's beauty or even the Island of Tarth, though some might consider that a worthy enough prize.

Jaime felt his knuckles crack as he clenched his fist in a surge of fury. His father was behind Kettleblack. Apart from Tormund Giantsbane, Brienne had never had a single soul within proper Westeros that had ever shown a shred of interest in her, island or not. His father didn't want him marrying her so he would simply fix it so that she was unavailable. Now that she had defeated her suitor, what now? Another? Or would he resort to more drastic measures? Jaime shivered at the thought that Brienne's peril had only grown with her victory. He would need to make a move soon to secure both Brienne's heart and her safety. It was only a matter of time.

Aemon needs to get back here as swiftly as he can, Jaime thought grimly. With the Ironborn attack and Ser Lyn Corbray demanding the return of the Vale army, someone was attempting to whittle Aemon's allies down. Was it his father? Was it Baelish? Or was it a concerted effort on both of their parts? He felt himself waver momentarily at the thought of them working together. This effort was coming to a head and he needed to start laying the ground for meeting it.

And the first step was defeating Ser Lyn Corbray. He knew something and he was certain it had to do with the lifting of the quarantine and Baelish. Littlefinger had been sent to the Eyrie to marry Lady Lysa Arryn in the time before; that much he remembered. It had put him right next to the seat of power in the Vale and Jaime had his suspicions that this was his work again. When things did not go right, Baelish had a habit of silencing the loose ends that would otherwise squeal to reveal his involvement. If Ser Lyn was acting on Baelish's orders and Jaime insisted on getting the truth out of him after defeating him, he was certain Baelish would send a cat's paw to silence once more. Jaime would be sure to catch him this time.

He eyed himself in the mirror, making sure every piece of armor was in place. "You did well, Pod," he said, but his manner was uncharacteristically subdued, so Podrick managed only a weak smile. "It's time."

The excited rush in his veins that he had felt after getting challenged had left. Under normal circumstances, he would have a spring in his step from the pent up energy of being ready for the kill, but he no longer felt like an over-eager lion cub. His steps were measured and he kept his energy under a tight rein.

Unlike Lady Brienne and Ser Osmund's duel, the entire Red Keep had turned out for this one. In preparation, Jaime arranged for the duel to take place on the tourney grounds. Lannister soldiers lined the edge of the ring to keep spectators at bay. Ser Lyn Corbray was already waiting, spending his energy doing practice moves and stopped only when Jaime had finished his approach.

Ser Lyn Corbray's demeanor remained equally cool, though he was glaring back in anger. "Back out now and I won't think less of you, Lord Hand. 'Twould be a shame to damage your reputation as a swordsman since that's all you have left. But truth will be heard."

Jaime remained unmoved. "Yes, it will. The Gods are always the winners in these duels and they shall bestow the truth. Your conviction would be admirable were it not for the lies you insist upon. Those lies will be uncovered."

The knight growled and brought up his sword and settled into his fight stance. "I will make you rue besmirching my honor!"

"What honor?" Jaime pulled out his own sword and dropped into a stance.

With a carnal growl, Ser Lyn rushed forward and attempted to skewer Jaime. His sword was batted away, but Ser Lyn only used the momentum to try another quick blow to Jaime's side. But Jaime leaped back and as Ser Lyn's momentum carried through, Jaime struck out with his foot straight into the back of Ser Lyn's knee. Ser Lyn cried out and backed off, kicking out his leg as if to test its damage.

Jaime circled him as he sized up his prey. As much as he enjoyed the fight, the feeling of his rushing blood that fed him strength, he wanted to end it swiftly. Ser Lyn brought his sword up and lunged forward. Jaime swatted it away effortlessly.

"This is the great Jaime Lannister? Never have I seen an effort so lazy. How much did you pay Ser Arthur Dayne to knight you?" Ser Lyn goaded in a voice of red. He laughed at seeing Jaime's expression darken and then he brought his sword up to prepare for a downward swing.

Ser Lyn appeared to have been expecting Jaime to bend beneath his weight and his strength, but in the instant that their swords touched Jaime coiled and launched forward, throwing Ser Lyn back with such force that he staggered. Ser Lyn's eyes widened and he lashed out wildly as Jaime swept over to him with all the speed of a lion. He batted away Ser Lyn's sword, held out Brightroar in front of him and used it to ram Ser Lyn straight in the chest, knocking him back. Ser Lyn weakly tried to bring his sword in front of him to fend him off, but he screamed as Jaime stomped hard on his arm.

"Please, Lord Hand, have mercy," Ser Lyn shouted.

Much like Brienne, Jaime knelt down with his knee on Ser Lyn's chest to keep him down and put Brightroar at his throat. He growled in his face, "Now, you will tell me why you lied about needing the forces of the Vale. What is the truth?"

Ser Lyn's eyes widened and he shook his head. "I-I didn't—"

"Don't lie," Jaime snarled. "What do you need the Vale forces for? Really?"

"I was told they needed to be back in the Vale," Ser Lyn whispered hoarsely, sweat streaming down his face. "I was to make up an excuse."

"Who ordered this?"

Ser Lyn's eyes merely widened and he gave the barest shake of his head.

Jaime leaned in closer, his eyes burning like fire. "Surrender now and I'll let you live."

"I yield! I yield," Ser Lyn cried.

With that, the crowd rumbled into a great cheer. Jaime narrowed his eyes to block out the extraneous color that threatened to obliterate his vision. He could feel another headache coming on. "Very well, but if you ever sully Ser Arthur Dayne's name again, I will kill you," Jaime spoke in a guttural growl.

Ser Lyn's eyes widened in terror and he leaned away from the blade at his neck some more.

When Jaime stood, he turned. It struck him how reminiscent this felt to Brienne winning her duel, only when he turned, she was not standing there with a smile. The thought caused his mood to drop despite his victory. But as he thought back to Brienne's duel, he walked over and picked up Lady Forlorn, Ser Lyn's own ancestral Valyrian Steel blade, but he doubted Ser Lyn would be able to use it with a broken forearm.

"Ser Addam, you will detain Ser Lyn. I want your best men guarding him. He will stay in the Tower of the Hand," Jaime commanded.

"Yes, my Lord," Ser Addam said as he watched Jaime leave in bewilderment.

"Jaime?" Tyrion called out, but he ignored him and continued on back to the tower. The cheers from the crowds rivaled that of a legendary battle. The flood of yellow and green voices clouded his vision and he felt like the world had drowned in color. It wasn't until he was far enough away from the crowd that he turned to find Pod on his heels and, further back, his father.

Jaime grimaced and scowled. "Podrick, bring refreshments to Lord Lannister and myself. We're going to need them."