King's Landing: 298 AC: 1 Week Later:
Aemon Targaryen
As the ship glided into the harbor, the sounds of the bustling dockside grew louder. Merchants hawked their wares, fishermen unloaded their catches, and guards patrolled with a wary eye. The trio's arrival went unnoticed amid the chaos, yet the air around them seemed to hum with anticipation.
Aemon stood with a small glint in his eye, his gaze set upon the distant Red Keep. The castle was enormous and it was a testament to his family's legacy and ingenuity that they built such a place.
Behind him, Arthur stood unwavering, his watchful eyes scanning the approaching docks for anything that may be a threat to his King. He suddenly placed a hand on Aemon's shoulder from behind, his finger pointing to the Red Keep.
"The large tower there, is White Sword Tower, home of the Kingsguard." Arthur proudly stated. "Well, I don't think any Kingsguard are currently staying there. Not true Kingsguard anyway."
"I imagine you're quite fond of such a place, Arthur," Aemon replied, looking at the impressive size of the tower.
"Of course I am. I cannot wait to enter its chambers once more and look upon the White Book."
"Hm." Aemon hummed in quiet contemplation. "Who is the Lord Commander now?"
"I've no idea. All I know is he won't be Lord Commander for long."
Aemon only smirked in reply before Oberyn appeared from behind them, a sadistic smile on his face.
"Welcome to King's Landing, Aemon." He announced. "The center of all the shit that composes Westeros and her Seven Kingdoms. You have everything you need?"
"I do, Oberyn," Aemon replied, as the boat slowly came to a stop at one of the many docks.
"Good. Remember, keep your hoods atop your heads, especially you, Arthur. I understand you've not been here for many years but, people may still come to know you despite your...older appearance."
"Yes, I so do appreciate being called old," Arthur smirked, pulling his hood about his head.
Together, they stepped off the ship and into the bustling scene that was the docks. Workers were everywhere carrying boxes of goods to and fro, whereas excited passengers unloaded off of ships in joy at seeing the capital.
"It must be for the tournament." Arthur assumed, watching the workers. "I imagine it's about to start."
"Let us not waste any time then," Aemon commanded. "Where can we find this Petyr Baelish?"
"The Red Keep I'd imagine," Oberyn interjected. "Though, you're not getting in there unless you're highborn."
Aemon pondered a moment as the crowds moved around them. "There must be some way of getting to him. He surely must leave the Red Keep at some point."
"A man such as him will have many business ventures in the city. I suggest we find one, maybe those that work there will have more information on his whereabouts."
"Perhaps the markets will be a good place to begin," Arthur added, scanning the crowd around them as he did so.
Aemon nodded in agreement, and together, they made their way toward the Cobblers Square. Arthur knew the way and King's Landing like the back of his hand, as tbe wound there way there street after street.
Once they arrived at the square, Aemon took in the sights. The square was lined with shops of many varieties. From smiths to tailors, and everything in between, Aemon marveled at the choice one person could have of all these craftsmen.
"Ask a tailor. I would think Petyr Baelish wears fine silks." Oberyn advised as they pushed their way through the crowded square.
They made their way to the front of large tailors which had garments hanging in the windows, brightly colored for all to see. They reminded Aemon of Pentos and the colors it possessed as they approached.
Stepping inside, the shop only had a handful of customers, all browsing different silks and threads. On a counter at the end, stood a woman, who looked to be barely in her twenties, yet her hands looked worn and firm, as they lay upon the counter.
"Can I help you three gentlemen?" She asked, her voice low and her eyes nervously glancing at the swords and daggers all three men wore.
Aemon removed his hood and offered a warm smile, attempting to put the woman at ease. "We're looking for someone by the name of Petyr Baelish. We were wondering if he brings his custom here and maybe you'll know of him."
The woman glanced at the two men behind Aemon and took slight discomfort at their serious expressions, and how their eyes remained shadowed by the heavy hoods they wore.
"Lord Petyr Baelish?" She asked, nervously rubbing her hands together.
"Yes, Lord Petyr Baelish." Aemon quickly replied, glancing over his shoulder as he did so.
"I'm sorry, Ser, but I'm not sure it's my place to divulge the personal business of a Lord."
"We only need to know where he is. We're from the Iron Bank and need to speak to him about financial matters."
The woman's deep brown eyes darted from one man to the next, unsure if what they were saying were true. "I-I do not know if I should..." She stammered. "I could get into trouble or worse."
"And what makes you think you won't end up in trouble with us?" Oberyn growled taking a step forward.
"Ser, please I-"
"Tell us what we want to know. You need not worry about Lord Baelish."
"He owns a brothel on the street of silk. You can recognize it by the sigil of the mockingbird by the door. Try and look for him there." The woman replied, her voice defeated and her eyes dropping to the floor.
"Thank you," Oberyn smirked, as he stormed out of the shop.
Aemon and Arthur followed him, their features displeased with what they had just seen. As they pushed through the crowds once more, Arthur's rang out.
"We're not here to intimidate people, Oberyn." He said his voice stern.
"Save your bleatings, Arthur. Our ends justify our means and besides, no harm will come to her after this day." Oberyn retorted.
The narrow, winding alleys of the Street of Silk were alive with the hum of whispers, the rustling of silks, and the occasional burst of laughter from behind heavy brocade curtains. Aemon, Arthur, and Oberyn moved through the crowd with purpose, their cloaks swishing against the cobblestones, their eyes scanning the surroundings with practiced precision.
Their keen eyes scanned each and every building, looking for any sign of a mockingbird. Eventually, Arthur spotted what looked to be a stone carving of a bird engraved into a stone wall. Beside it, a deep brown door lay half open, alluring to anyone who wanders past.
"This must be the place." Arthur surmised, looking at the building. "If he's in here..."
"We'll be ready for him, Arthur, we just have to discover what he looks like," Aemon replied, infusing his tone with confidence.
"Let us go about our business then," Oberyn added, a hand already lingering on the grip of his sword.
The trio exchanged a final glance, each man silently affirming their resolve. They pushed through the heavy, ornate door and were greeted by a scene of decadence. The air was thick with the mingling scents of perfume and wine, and the soft strains of music floated through the room, punctuated by the occasional murmur of conversation. Aemon could hear the voices of men and women's pleasure mixing in the air as he stood before a counter, his eyes almost wide to the world he had stepped into.
"Look at these three fine gentlemen," The lady behind the counter began, her voice soft and tempting. "What can I do for you?" She asked, leaning her sculpted frame forward, allowing Aemon to get a full view of her cleavage.
"We, um." Aemon began, clearing his throat. "We're looking for the man who owns this establishment."
"Oh..." The woman replied, her demeanor becoming much more professional. "Well, that would be Lord Petyr Baelish, but I don't see why it's any business of yours."
"We're...merchants...he borrowed money off of us and we're looking to collect."
"Hmm." The woman behind the counter hummed, her eyes scanning all three of them and the blades they wore. "What merchants require so much protection?"
"The roads are dangerous these days, my Lady," Arthur interrupted, saving Aemon from having to think up more lies. "I imagine you know how it is."
"Yes, well, seeing as you are merchants...perhaps you wouldn't mind staying to an hour or two, rest those weary legs of yours." The woman enticingly said. "Who knows, my Lord may come here and you can speak to him yourselves."
Aemon glanced at Arthur, before making his decision. "Very well..." Aemon sighed, unsure of what he had gotten himself into. "What do you offer?"
The woman let out a small playful giggle, her lustful eyes looking deep into Aemon. "Well, young man, we cater to a range of desires. Anything your pretty little mind can dream up, we are sure to offer."
Oberyn quickly stepped forward, his steps full of confidence. "Give us a girl and the most expensive room you have. I wish to ensure my...companions here enjoy themselves."
"Hmm." The woman hummed. "I love a man who knows what he wants. It'll cost thirty Moons for everything."
Aemon knew the price was outrageous and he had the feeling that they were being overcharged. Begrudgingly, Aemon handed over a handful of silvers, and the woman hardly counted them as she took them.
Smiling, she walked behind the counter and led them through the brothel. As they walked past rooms, Aemon could hear the ecstasy of carnal pleasure coming from within. He smiled slightly to himself as he thought of what his Grandmother would think of him when she found out they visited a brothel.
The woman led them to a large room, smirking all the while as her soft hands pushed open the door. Taking a step inside, Aemon's senses were immediately bombarded by smells of lavender and citrus. The windows had been tinted and red drapes drew over them, letting in only minuscule light.
"I'll need to take your weapons before I bring any girls to you." The woman began, her professional tone returning. "For their safety and yours."
Aemon was facing the window when she called from behind. He quickly unsheathed his dagger and tucked it tightly in his grey waistcoat, being careful not to cut himself as he did so.
Reluctantly, the three of them handed the belt containing their blades over to the woman. Aemon was thankful she failed to notice the empty scabbard that was on his own.
"Bring us more girls, while you're at it, and some good wine," Oberyn ordered, placing a Gold Dragon on the pile of swords the woman was carrying. "The expensive kind, yes?"
The woman seductively smiled, her eyes almost widening at the sight of the coin. "Certainly, Ser, I'll just be a moment."
Aemon watched her walk from the room before he rubbed his eyes, his mind thinking through the situation he now found himself in.
"We're not here to enjoy ourselves, Oberyn." Arthur sighed, shaking his head.
"Ah, I'm making us seem less...threatening. You saw how that woman looked at us when we entered. She most likely thought we were assassins. I'm simply paying the part of a merchant." Oberyn defended, a hint of amusement present in his voice.
"Will he even come here?" Aemon pondered, the exasperation clear in his tone. "We don't even know if he'll turn up."
"Perhaps he will, perhaps he won't." Oberyn shrugged. "If he does, he'll be interested in visiting us. I can't imagine the last time someone paid a gold dragon in this house."
Aemon sat down, a deep breath escaping his lungs as he did so. "I kept the dagger if by some miracle he does appear."
Arthur removed his cloak and sat down beside him, placing a reassuring hand on Aemon's knee as he did so. "It'll be alright, Aemon. I'm sure he'll turn up."
Aemon softy smiled at him, appreciating his attempt at comfort. Suddenly, the door swung open as the woman from earlier led a trio of whores into the room.
Each of them wore silk robes of blue, black, and red, so sheer that it left nothing to the imagination. They bore lustful smiles on their pretty faces as they stood in the center of the room. In their hands, they carried jugs of wine, willing the three men to drink.
"This one here still has her maidenhead, Sers." The woman proudly announced, tracing a finger over the shoulders of the whore in black silk. "I thought one of you may enjoy her."
"Thank you." Oberyn smiled. "I'm sure my young friend here may find a use for her."
Aemon stood up, doing his best to play the role of someone who was actually interested in whores. "She'll do." He decided, his tone confident. "Before you go, do be sure to tell your Lord we're here. He'll be remised if he was to miss us."
"Of course." The woman respectfully nodded. "Please, enjoy yourselves." She smiled before leaving the room.
"Set the wine down on the table," Aemon ordered, the girls following his command.
An awkward silence fell over the room as the girls stood before them, eagerly waiting for the next command.
"Is there anything you would like from us, Sers?" One of them asked, her eyes darting from one man to the next.
Aemon stood for a moment, thinking his actions through before deciding. "The one in black, come with me. The others do with as you wish, my friends." He smirked, taking the young girl by the hand and leading her to a corner of the room.
Aemon ensured they wouldn't be disturbed by placing a wooden screen in front of them. As he turned to face her, she slowly began to undress, a lustful smile present at the corner of her lips.
"Don't." Aemon softly smiled. "I'm not interested."
The girl drew a confused look across her face. "You're not...if you'd like, Ser, I can fetch you a boy instead if that's what-"
"No, no, it's not like that. Please, sit."
The girl sat down, her legs instinctively crossing as she did so. Aemon sat down beside her, studying her features as he did so. Behind all the lustful facade, he could see a hint of uncertainty in her young blue eyes.
"I'm not going to hurt you in any way. I only wish to talk." Aemon assured.
The girl's demeanor relaxed slightly, as she allowed a small giggle to escape her mouth. "You paid a Gold Dragon to talk?"
"It seems I did." Aemon laughed.
"Very well, what is so interesting about me is that you paid so much."
"It's more your master I'm interested in, I'm afraid. I need to know some things about him."
"I'm...not sure what I could tell you."
"Well, does he frequent this establishment much?"
"More than he would normally. He's been coming and going, ensuring that everything is ready for when the tournament starts on the morrow."
"Do you know if he'll be here today?"
"Most likely."
"Hm, good." Aemon nodded, lounging back on the cushioned seat he found himself in.
"May I ask why, Ser?" The girl wondered, her curious tone revealing her youth.
"He owes me a debt. I'm here to see it paid."
"Must quite the sum for you to come here yourself."
"It is, and I intend to see it returned. He's a slippery man, I'm told." Aemon sighed. "I imagine he paid a pretty sum for you."
"He bought me from Chataya's a few moons ago. Told me his clientele had been missing one such as me. I don't know how much he paid for me to speak the truth, only I was sent here by Chataya a few days later."
"You enjoy it here?"
"It is not my place to say, Ser, nor do I imagine you care so much." The girl resigned, her blue eyes dropping to the floor as her black hair cascaded down her face.
Aemon shook his head slightly, feeling a pang of guilt. Using this girl to blend in gnawed at him on the inside as he looked at her blue eyes that should have sparkled but now only held the shadow of lost dreams. For a moment, they sat in silence, the world around them fading into the background. Aemon's mind was on the task at hand, but his heart was weighed down by the sorrow of the girl beside him. He vowed silently that once this night was over, he would do what he could to help her, to give her a chance at a life away from this wretched place.
Petyr Baelish
Petyr Baelish moved through the bustling streets of King's Landing with an air of calm authority. The King's name day tournament had drawn countless visitors to the city, and the throngs of people filled every corner with a sense of chaotic energy. His brothel was sure to be teeming with patrons tonight, but Baelish remained composed, his mind ever calculating.
Flanked by two hired guards, Baelish cut an imposing figure amidst the sea of bodies. The guards were burly men, their faces hard and unreadable, eyes ever vigilant. They moved with a sense of purpose, creating a bubble of space around their master, a stark contrast to the teeming masses. His destination was his beloved brothel, his mind turning to the profits he would make from it tonight and the coming days.
Arriving on the Street of Silk, he could already see the crowds beginning to form, despite the daylight the daylight that still lingered around them. As they approached the brothel, the familiar sight of the establishment came into view—a stately building that exuded both luxury and a certain illicit charm. The sigil of a mockingbird, Baelish's personal emblem, adorned the entrance, a reminder of the subtle power he wielded in the shadows.
"Keep an eye out for anything unusual," he instructed his guards, his voice low and measured. "The city is full of eyes and ears during the tournament. I don't want any surprises."
The guards nodded, their expressions remaining stoic. Baelish trusted them to handle any trouble, but he never let his own guard down. The game he played required constant vigilance, and he prided himself on being one step ahead of his enemies. As he entered the brothel, he was greeted by the familiar sight of Alanna, her figure always pleasing to his eye as she stood behind the counter, taking in any patron's custom.
"Alanna," Petyr coldly called, his eyes looking through her. "How is everything?"
"They're fine, Lord Baelish, we've had a steady flow of patrons throughout the day with it expected to pick up tonight as it usually does," Alanna replied, her tone incredibly professional and respectful.
"Good, good. Is there anything else?"
"There is one thing, my Lord." Alanna nervously began. "There are three men here to see you, they said they were merchants that you are indebted to."
"Indebted to?" Baelish remarked, shaking his head. "I owe no coin to any man."
"These men seemed serious, my Lord. They even paid with a Gold Dragon, after they asked for the most expensive...products we have."
"A Gold Dragon? What did they look like?"
"One was young and had dark curly hair. The other two seemed middle-aged, both with dark hair. I couldn't put a name to any of them, my Lord."
Petyr rubbed his eyes, unsure of what to make of what he was being told. His mind wandered to Varys and if he had set him up to get back at him for the spies he had sent after him. But how could Varys know? The spies he sent hadn't returned but Varys was no killer. The man couldn't fend off a mouse if he tried.
"Where are these men?" Petyr asked, glancing down the hallway of his establishment.
"They paid for the largest room, my Lord. They're in there currently with the most expensive of girls." Alanna answered. "They were well armed when they arrived, my Lord."
Petyr watched as Alanna glanced down at the three swords that lay against the wall behind her. The weapons bore no markings of any allegiance nor did they look particularly expensive. He racked his mind on what to do. Confronting these men could lead to him being harmed or worse, however leaving them in his establishment ran the risk of them doing damage to his property.
Glancing at the two burly guards behind him, Petyr took a dagger from one of their belts and slipped it into his own, thinking it did no harm to be prepared for whatever was to come. "Thank you, Alanna, I'll see to it." Petyr nodded, attempting to sound as confident as he could.
Inwardly, he knew he was not stupid enough to confront these men, even with the two guards with him. Varys had planned all of this out, just as he had foreseen and he would happily spare the expense of a few whores if it meant preserving his own life. Silently, he made his way down the narrow hallway, careful not to make any noise, despite the creaking floorboards. Taking a turn away from the door of the large room, he hastily made his way out of a secret passage only he knew.
The passage led to the back of the Street of Silk and onto the cobbled paths once more. Ensuring his guards were still with him, he made his way back onto the Street of Silk, this time moving through the crowds to ensure he was not followed. Varys was a fool to think he could get to him so easily, and he would ensure that the Eunuch paid the debt ten times over.
Aemon Targaryen
"Shush," Aemon whispered, his eyes darting around to the walls and ceiling above. "Do you hear?"
The girl scanned around at the ceiling, unsure of what to make of the sound. "I don't know what you mean, Ser."
Aemon listened for a second more before immediately standing up. He rushed out from behind the wooden screen, a furious look on his face.
"He knows...he knows we're here." Aemon breathed, his eyes glancing between Arthur and Obern. Arthur sat completely disinterested from the girl beside him, as she sipped her wine uncomfortably. In contrast, Oberyn had his head in his girl's lap, her gentle hands stroking his jet-black hair.
"What? How?" Arthur exclaimed, standing from his chair.
"That whore at the front...she caught us out." Oberyn spat, immediately rising to his feet.
Aemon nodded in response before immediately opening the door and rushing through it. Arthur and Oberyn followed in tow as they ran down the hallway, desperate to ensure their mission was not a failure. However, their steps immediately came to an end at the counter where the buxom women from earlier had spoken to them.
"Is everything alright, Sers?" She asked, a slight hint of confusion present on her face.
"Our swords. Give them." Aemon angrily beckoned, snatching his sword belt from the Aemon.
As all three men gathered their things before running through the front door of the brothel, like rabid animals after their prey.
"For fuck sake, where is he?" Aemon fumed, looking at the crowds of people. Within them, he could see only a mass of bright colors and unrecognizable faces.
Oberyn and Arthur glanced around at the crowd, desperately looking for anyone who might resemble a lowly Lord.
"Their, Aemon!" Arthur cried, pointing into the midst of the crowd. Aemon looked and saw a panicked thin man, flanked by two armed men, his pace brisk.
It was unknown whether this person they were following was him, but they would find out soon enough. Their pace quickened as the trio before they took a turn down a dimply lit tunnel, leading them into the alleys that made up the back of the Street of Silk.
"Now would be the time, Arthur, Oberyn." Aemon breathed his hand on his sword. "Grab him."
Almost immediately, Arthur and Oberyn began to sprint, catching up to the man before them so suddenly that his two guards drew their swords, causing Arthur and Oberyn to stop in their tracks. Their hands gripped the hilts of their swords before the thin Lord stepped forward, a disgusted look present on his features.
"What is the meaning of this?" He spat, his eyes nervously glancing at the two men before him. "Who are you?"
"We're looking for a Lord Petyr Baelish." Arthur began. "We thought maybe you'd know of him."
Aemon caught up just as Arthur finished speaking. He watched as the thin man thought for a second, his eyes betraying the doubt and fear that swelled within him. Aemon could also see the silver mockingbird that lay on the front of his collar.
"I...know no one by that name." The man mumbled, his eyes glancing to the ground for a brief moment.
"Then who are you?" Aemon asked, his words attempting to sniff out any sign of lies.
"A shopkeeper, now...if you'll excuse me-"
"He lies." Aemon sniffed. "Kill his men."
Aemon, Oberyn, and Arthur all drew their swords simultaneously, the sound of steel on leather echoing in the small stone tunnel they found themselves in.
Arthur made instant work of the man who came at him, cutting his throat with a practiced slash, killing him instantly.
As the burly man before Oberyn came at him, he unsheathed his dagger and drove it into the side of his neck, causing him to immediately become limp and collapse to the floor.
"A longsword is a bad option in close quarters," Oberyn spat at the man as his life left through the wound in his neck.
Aemon stood across from the thin man, who he was certain was Petyr Baelish. The man stood petrified, a small dagger held in his hand.
"You wear the sigil of the mockingbird, you must be him." Aemon laughed, unnerving the man before him.
"I'll gjve you anything, please...let me go." The thin man pleaded, his shrewd eyes widening in horror at the sight of the three armed men before him, as his shaking hands dropped the blade he held. "Is it gold? I can triple the amount Varys is paying you."
"Ah, that's where you're mistaken, Lord Baelish." Aemon chuckled. "Varys hasn't paid us a penny, for he has not sent us."
"Well whoever paid you, I'll triple it." Petyr bargained, thinking of any way to save his skin.
"You're wrong again. I am Aemon Targaryen, and I cannot be bought."
Aemon watched as a stunned look came across Petyr's features. The young dragon became slightly amused by it all, as this was the last thing he imagined Petyr expected today.
"Aemon...please, I wasn't-I never-"
"Shut your fucking mouth." Aemon seethed. "I think it's time I send a message to Robert fucking Baratheon."
"No, no, wait, I can give you information, please hear me ."
"What information? " Aemon growled, taking an intimidating step toward Petyr.
"I can tell you who's been looking for you."
"Who?"
"Jon Arryn... he's been searching for you for years."
"I'm well aware of Jon Arryn, Lord Baelish. You'll have to do better than that." Aemon sighed taking another step forward and pushing Petyr against the wall with the tip of his sword.
"Wait. I can offer you my services. Let me be your man on the inside. I can help you." Petyr practically begged, his hands raising in feeble defense.
"By the Gods, why do you beg? You think I spare you now so you can stab me in the back later? I think not. I know your ilk, Lord Baelish. Leeching from one Lord to the next until you've grown so fat and powerful, no one can challenge you."
"Please...I-"
Petyr's breath became sharp as Aemon slowly pressed his sword into his stomach. Petyr slid down the wall slowly, as Aemon withdrew his blade, blood trailing with him.
"I am so sick of you," Aemon whispered, the hatred in his voice clear.
Petyr clutched the searing pain that emanated from the wound in his stomach. He frantically placed his hands over the blood that oozed from it, his gray-green eyes looking up in pure hatred at the boy who stood proudly before him.
"You'll never make it out of here alive, boy...I promise you that." He spat, blood taking its form in his mouth.
"You were a smart man, Lord Baelish. Only someone as shrewd as you could rise from the depths of nothing to King's Landing itself." Aemon smiled, kneeling and taking the mockingbird pin from Petyr's collar. "I'll be sure to give this to Lord Varys. I'm sure he'll be overjoyed to see it."
"You...fucking fool." Baelish seethed, his breaths becoming shorter. "Robert will find you for this...they all will. They won't even find what's left of you..."
"You put too much emphasis on how important you are." Aemon laughed, unsheathing his dagger. "This is the end."
Aemon drove the dagger into Petyr's neck, whatever remained of his life being cut short instantaneously. Removing the dagger, Aemon stood back a moment, gazing at the carnage that surrounded him.
"We need to leave, Aemon. The City Watch could be upon us at any moment." Arthur advised, sheathing his sword.
"Good. Let us go..." Aemon agreed, following Arthur and Oberyn from the visceral scene behind them.
As they left the scene of Petyr Baelish's demise, their footsteps echoed softly in the evening twilight. They moved with a practiced ease, their faces set in grim satisfaction after finally ending the conniving lord's machinations.
The trio soon came across a humble inn, its windows glowing warmly in the encroaching darkness. They exchanged a glance and, without a word, stepped inside. The inn was modest but inviting, filled with the murmur of quiet conversation and the comforting scent of roasting meat. They found a table in a secluded corner and settled in, the weight of their recent deed hanging heavily in the air.
After a moment, Oberyn's dark eyes flickered with a gleam of determination. "There's something I need to share with you both," he began, his voice low and measured. "My journey isn't over yet. There's one more name on my list."
"I fucking knew it, Oberyn," Arthur growled, his voice low and vexed. "Who?"
"The Mountain that Rides...Gregor Clegane. I know he will be here for this tournament...I wish to ensure he never leaves this place." Oberyn explained, his tone deadly serious. "I helped you in tracking down Baelish, now do me a good turn in kind."
Aemon rubbed his eyes. "Prince Oberyn, I do not see-"
"I've given you the support of Dorne on the promise that I would have the heads of those responsible for the death of Elia and her children." Oberyn began, his dark eyes glancing from Arthur to Aemon. "Tywin will have to wait, but the Mountain will die this day."
"I understand, but I wish you told us sooner. We have no plan to kill a man such as him and not only that, we have already killed a Lord. It won't be too long before this city is crawling with the Watch and whoever else."
"Do you know what he did to them?" Oberyn asked, his tone almost threatening.
"I've heard rumors..." Aemon answered his eyes glancing down to the floor.
"He caved Aegon's head in by bashing it against the wall, then with his blood on his hands, he raped my sister and split her in half with his greatsword."
Aemon had a difficult time saying no to Oberyn after his telling of how his family died. In truth, it angered Aemon like nothing else and he began to see things Oberyn's way.
"Fine," Aemon sighed. "How will we kill him?"
"I've been planning this day for years." Oberyn smiled, leaning forward.
As the night continued, they strategized in hushed tones, their plans weaving through the din of the tournament. They knew the path ahead was fraught with danger, but their bond and shared purpose gave them strength. The Mountain's days were numbered, and with the tournament as their stage, they were ready to deliver a performance that would echo through history.
Pentos: 298 AC: The Next Day
Daenerys Targaryen
In the sun-drenched courtyard of Illyrio's manse, the gentle rustling of leaves created a soothing backdrop. Daenerys sat on a stone bench, a book in her hands. Her silver hair cascaded over her shoulders, catching the light as she turned the pages. Beside her, the imposing form of Frostfyre, her dragon, lay coiled. His icy-blue scales glinted in the sunlight, and his breath emitted a faint mist. Despite his immense size, he seemed content, his presence both reassuring and formidable.
Opposite Daenerys, Jaime Lannister stood vigilant, his eyes ever watchful. His armor beamed from head to toe in the sunlight, its color of dark silver standing out for all to see. Standing proudly on his chest, the sigil of House Targaryen lay, the dragon on it looking almost alive as it danced with the light. His shoulders lay covered with dark silver pauldrons, each engraved with dragons breathing fire. Behind him, his white cloak billowed in the wind, as if it were the fresh snow of winter.
Engrossed in her book, Daenerys occasionally looked up to meet Jaime's gaze. She admired his new armor and he looked quite the sight with his long flowing golden hair and sculpted face. He looked like a knight from the stories she read as a child, the ones where the fair maiden falls in love with him after he rescues her from an evil witch or some nonsense.
"Do you not get bored, Ser Jaime?" She asked him, her eyes still engrossed in her book.
"No, not often, Princess." He smiled back, his emerald eyes never leaving her.
"Truthfully? I couldn't think of anything worse than having to stand guard all day."
"It has its ups and downs, Princess, much like anything else."
Daenerys smirked at his reply. She enjoyed speaking with Jaime more than any of the other Kingsguard Aemon had seeing as he was the only one who really took an interest in her. Arthur was glued to Aemon like a newborn, whereas Barristan found his interests more aligned with Viserys and whatever trouble he found himself in. Jaime seemed to be the only one who Daenerys could talk to like a normal person would.
However, her thoughts soon turned to Aemon and his stinging rejection. Of course, she still loved him for how could she not, but she always thought that they belonged together, more than just brothers and sisters. They were born during the same year and grew up doing everything together, from eating, training, and learning. Yet he still couldn't love her as she did him.
Her mind drifted back to that night and the words they shared. However, her mind lingered on his advice.
"Go to Driftmark...You don't need my permission...I want you to be happy."
Smiling to herself, her eyes looked up at Jaime who stood watching the birds in the trees around them. "Would you like to go on a journey, Ser Jaime?" She asked, a slight hint of mischief present in her voice.
"And where would we go, Princess?" Jaime asked, his tone curious.
"I don't think a trip to Driftmark would do us any harm..."
"Hm, Driftmark? It is your decision, Princess."
"Fine, let us go." Daenerys smiled, immediately closing her book and standing up.
"You don't want to tell your mother?" Jaime wondered, looking to the door of the manse. "I'll have to speak to Ser Barristan before we depart."
"Fine, you go speak to him and I'll see my mother."
Jaime quickly nodded at her before making his way into the manse. Daenerys followed him, but took a different turn from Jaime, making her way to where she knew her mother was. As she walked, she could hear the clinking and crashing of Jaime's armor grow fainter. It always made her amused when she could hear the Kingsguard coming from a mile away.
After a few moments of walking, Daenerys arrived at the large chamber where her mother had spent most of the day. Rhaella sat with Illyrio, Ser Bonifer, and Jon Connington. They spent the last few days organizing Aemon's newfound wealth from the Iron Bank. On the table before them, parchment was littered everywhere and the aroma of ink filled the warm room.
Rhaella wore a much more adventurous ensemble than what Daenerys was used to seeing. Her hair lay completely loose as it draped down her back. She wore black high-waisted trousers and high leather boots whereas her white shirt sat under an unbuttoned black doublet, bearing the sigil of her house.
"Ah, Daenerys, good to have you here." Rhaella smiled, her eyes only momentarily glancing up from the parchment she was reading.
"Mother...what is all of this?" Daenerys asked, grabbing a loose piece of parchment from the table.
"Well, it is all numbers and figures. We're handling the logistics of the war to come. With the numbers of the Tyrell army and Dorne, plus the few thousand that may come from the Narrow Sea, we're figuring out what it may take to feed and arm them all, should it be a prolonged campaign."
"This sounds very complicated."
"It is, which is why I'm wondering why you are here. I didn't take you to be interested in numbers and grain shipments."
"I'm not...I just wanted to let you know I'm going to Driftmark."
"What? Now?"
"Well, yes, if it's no issue."
"Fine, go on then, but don't be gone for too long" Rhaella smirked before giving Daenerys a departing hug. "And take someone with you so I know you're safe."
Daenerys unfurled her arms from her mother's waist. "I'm taking Jaime with me, so don't worry."
"Good, I'll see you soon,"
Daenerys also said her goodbyes to Jon, Bonifer, and Illyrio. Each man soppily remarked how her presence brightened up their day, which she felt had some truth in it. She couldn't imagine that tallying up numbers with her mother was anything close to entertaining.
Making her way back to the courtyard, she found Jaime already waiting for her. In his hands, he held a dark silver close helmet, polished to a perfect shine and engraved with swirling patterns and lines at the edges. Daenerys wondered how he could ever see out of such a thing, considering the helm only had two narrow slits for sight. Though, she must admit, it looked fairly intimidating once the helm was donned.
"Your armor looks nice," Daenerys remarked as she walked past him and toward a sleeping Frostfyre.
"It does, doesn't it? Jon said something about 'being noticed'." Jaime chuckled. "I tell you, it's a damn sight brighter than our old armor from when we guarded your father."
"Oh? What did the armor look like?"
"Ah, it was a dull grey thing. Incredibly lightweight and maneuverable, but boring. I know Arthur was fond of it, however."
Daenerys hummed in acknowledgment. She had never really thought about her father before, and it felt strange for Jaime to bring him up. She had heard all the stories of his madness and cruelty, especially from her mother who went to great lengths to ensure her children knew what kind of man he was as they were growing up.
"Are you ready?" Daenerys asked, her eyes giving a momentary glance to Jaime before they returned to the restong Frostfyre.
"Whenever you are, Princess." Jaime nodded.
Daenerys nodded and began the arduous process of waking Frostfyre from his slumber. She gently pressed her head into his side, whispering soft words of Valyrian to him. Soon, he began to stir awake, making low rumblings as he uncoiled himself from his self-made comfort.
She could see that Frostfyre was not entirely content with being woken, as his piercing blue eyes looked at her with a hint of displeasure. Reassuring him for a final time, she stood aside as Frostfyre slowly made his way to the center of the courtyard, ready and waiting to take flight once more.
Daenerys clambered upon his side and saddled herself in with practiced efficiency. Jaime donned his helmet, replacing his chiseled features with a faceless mask of silvery steel. He climbed on and settled in for another unnerving flight, though the more he took part in them, the easier they became.
Ensuring they were both comfortable, Daenerys spoke a simple command and with a roar, Frostfyre took to the air once more, his destination Driftmark.
King's Landing: 298 AC: The Same Day
Margaery Tyrell
The tournament grounds were a vivid tableau of banners and pennants flapping in the brisk breeze, the stands brimming with lords, ladies, and common folk alike. But an undercurrent of tension marred the festive atmosphere, for the shadow of Petyr Baelish's recent murder hung heavily over King's Landing. City watchmen patrolled every corner with hawk-like vigilance, their eyes sharp and restless. Margaery could see them everywhere in the stands, guarding every corner and cranny. Her Grandmother beside her, insisted that they bring their household guard with them everywhere they went for the remainder of their stay in King's Landing.
Among the nobility seated in the grandstands, Margaery sat regally, her golden gown shimmering like the morning sun. Her gaze was intense, focused on the jousting field below. Her brother, Ser Loras Tyrell, was poised to face Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides.
She had never seen a man so large and intimidating. From what she could see, his face bore no emotion aside from anger and hate all mixed together to form something grotesque and horrifying. There was no chance that her brother could topple a man such as him, no matter how well he rode and carried a lance.
"Grandmother...I'm not sure Loras could beat him." Margaery grimaced, her eyes darting from Olenna and Loras.
"Calm yourself, dear, Loraas rides well enough." Olenna smiled, placing a reassuring hand on Margaery's own.
Margaery's heart beat a staccato rhythm in her chest as she watched the two knights ready their lances. The contrast between them was stark. Loras was lithe and graceful in his gleaming armor adorned with roses, while the Mountain loomed like a dark titan, his armor menacing and rough-hewn.
As the trumpets blared, signaling the start of the joust, the two combatants spurred their horses forward. The ground trembled beneath the weight of the Mountain's warhorse, while Loras's steed danced nimbly across the field. Margaery's fingers gripped the armrest of her seat, knuckles white with tension.
Lances clashed with a thunderous impact as wood splintered and shields buckled. The first pass saw both knights remain steadfast in their saddles, neither yielding ground. The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and gasps, the air electric with anticipation. Margaery's eyes never left Loras, her heart willing him to triumph.
The second pass was more brutal. The Mountain's lance struck Loras's shield with such force that it splintered into shards, yet Loras held firm, his own lance finding its mark against the Mountain's chestplate. The sound of metal on metal reverberated through the arena, a symphony of battle. She could hear the growls of displeasure coming from The Mountain as he angrily forced his black steed to turn once more.
Margaery held her breath as they lined up for the final pass. As they charged once more, time seemed to slow for her. She watched, entranced, as Loras aimed true and struck the Mountain's helm with a powerful blow. The impact was enough to unseat the giant, sending him crashing to the ground in a thunderous fall.
A roar of triumph surged through the crowd, and Margaery's heart soared with pride and relief. The Mountain had fallen, and Loras had emerged victorious. But as she looked around, she could not ignore the watchful eyes of the city guards, a reminder that even in victory, the shadows of danger and intrigue loomed ever near.
Loras passed his helm to his squire and rode around with his usual pomp and ardor, a rose present in his hand ready to give to a lady he deems worthy. His eyes settled on Margaery herself and he rode slowly to give her the rose.
"For you, my Lady." Loras smiled, bowing his head slightly as he passed the rose to his sister.
"Thank you, Ser knight," Margaery smirked, playing along with Loras' games.
Just as Loras handed the rose to Margaery, the Mountain surged forward with a roar, his greatsword arcing down in a deadly swing. Time seemed to slow as the enormous blade hurtled towards Loras. Margaery's eyes widened in horror, and her breath caught in her throat.
Loras raised his shield, but the sheer force of the Mountain's blow was overwhelming. The impact sent a shockwave through the air, and the audience gasped collectively. The Mountain's greatsword struck Loras's armor with a resounding clang, denting it deeply but failing to penetrate.
Loras staggered backward, pain and shock etched across his face, but he remained standing. The dent in his armor was a stark reminder of the Mountain's immense strength. Margaery's heart raced as she watched the confrontation unfold, her fingers gripping the armrest tightly.
Before the Mountain could strike again, the city watch rushed forward, their weapons drawn and voices raised in unison. They surrounded the towering knight, shouting for him to yield. The Mountain hesitated, his eyes blazing with fury, but with the presence of the city watchmen and the amount of them, The Mountain hesitated for a moment. She could see the brute stare glance at King Robert, who now stood tall from his seat, a deathly glare seen in his eyes. It was this and the presence of so many men around him that Margaery imagined caused him to yield.
Throwing his greatsword into the dirt, The Mountain stormed off in anger, leaving a half-broken Loras coughing on the ground.
"Somebody help him!" Cried Olenna, her concern etched across her features as she stood up from her chair.
Margaery watched on in a quiet panic as Loras was helped to his feet by a litany of squires. He slowly trudged away, his feet heavy and weary after the beating he had just suffered. Although he won the joust, he looked nothing like the winner with his caved-in armor and dirty face. Margaery and Olenna made their way from the stands and to the tent that Loras had just been virtually carried into.
Arriving at the tent with a host of household guards, Olenna and Margaery could see the damage The Mountain had wrought firsthand. Loras lay on a wooden table, his armor already half removed and scattered around the tent. His breastplate was currently undergoing strenuous removal as the squires found it difficult to remove it due to the bent and broken steel plates.
Rushing to her brother's side, Margaery knelt by his head and placed a soft hand on his forehead. "Loras..." She sighed. "Are you alright?"
"I'll be...fine, sister. Just winded...is all." Loras weakly smiled, finding his breathing taxing and labored.
The squire's finally removed his breastplate with a final heave. As they cut away at the padded surcoat he wore underneath, Margaery could see the extent of the damage that had begun to form. Despite all his steel protection, The Mountain's sword had left an enormous blue and purple bruise on Loras' ribs and chest as the swelling was already beginning to show.
"My goodness." Olenna gasped, placing a cloth to her mouth. "I swear if I had my way that Clegane would be-"
"Grandmother," Margaery warned, interrupting her.
"What? It's bad enough I have one grandson who is injured for life thanks to these damn tournaments, I'll not have another."
"It's fine...Grandmother...I'll be mended before you know it." Loras breathed.
"Go fetch a Maester," Margaery said softly to one of the squires who immediately did as he was told. Turning her gaze back to Loras, she saw that he was closing his eyes, perhaps to ease his pain.
"He is an evil man." Margaery eventually said, stroking Loras' hair as she did so.
"He is. The world would be a better place without him." Olenna agreed.
Margaery wishes men like The Mountain had no place in this world, but she could not fathom what kind of man could kill one such as him. She imagined it impossible, as not only was he freakish big, and inhumanly strong, but he also had the backing of Tywin Lannister. Anyone who crosses The Mountain would almost certainly cross him, which no one alive would dare.
Aemon Targaryen
From a shadowed corner of the stands, Aemon's eyes burned with barely contained fury as he watched the Mountain being escorted away by the city watch. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, fingers twitching with the urge to act. The sight of the giant nearly decapitating Margaery had ignited a fire within him that threatened to consume his carefully maintained composure.
Beside him, Arthur and Oberyn remained equally tense, their gazes fixed on the departing Mountain. They had come here with a singular purpose. To end the Mountain's reign of terror. None in the arena suspected their presence, hidden as they were among the throngs of spectators.
Aemon's heart pounded in his chest as he recalled the near miss that could have taken Margaery from him. The thought of losing her was unbearable, and his resolve to see the Mountain brought to justice only grew stronger. Arthur's hand rested briefly on Aemon's shoulder, a silent reminder to stay patient.
"Not yet," Arthur murmured, his voice steady and calm, though his eyes mirrored Aemon's rage. "We'll strike when the time is right."
"He could've killed her, Arthur, right then and there," Aemon growled, his voice barely containing the rage within. "The man is an animal."
"Calm yourself, Aemon," Oberyn advised, his voice taking on a soothing tone. "A man such as The Mountain cannot be felled like any other. We must be patient and smart. If we rush in and attempt to take him, one of, if not all of us, will die."
"I do not fear a brute such as him." Arthur boasted, glancing at Oberyn. "I'd kill him in my sleep."
"I do not doubt it, Arthur, but one misstep or slight mistake and he'll crush your head like a watermelon. This is why we must be patient."
Behind all the anger and bravado, Aemon could feel a slight pang of fear creeping up inside of him. Perhaps it was justified, he mused, as The Mountain struck fear into any man he came across, and for good reason. You don't earn the reputation he has by being a courageous and gallant knight. However, the desire for vengeance burned brighter for now, and he silently vowed to see this through to the end.
"Let us move." Oberyn quietly said, beckoning to
Oberyn, Arthur, and Aemon move with silent determination from the stands, their eyes locked on the towering figure of the Mountain. The tension is palpable, and the air seems to crackle with the promise of impending violence. Gold cloaks are stationed everywhere, their attention divided between maintaining order and the chaos that Baelish's death has sparked.
The gold cloaks cast suspicious glances their way, but the trio moved with the confidence of men on a mission. They stick to every corner, every shadowed alley of this place, and use it to their advantage, staying just out of sight but always in pursuit.
Suddenly, The Mountain pauses, sensing something amiss. His massive form turns slowly, scanning the crowd. Oberyn, Arthur, and Aemon freeze, each poised to strike, their collective breath held. The mountain's eyes pass over them, suspicion darkening his features, but he sees nothing more than an ordinary crowd.
With a final glance, The Mountain continues on his path, unaware of the storm trailing him. The trio resumes their pursuit, moving closer with every step, their resolve unshakable. They watch as The Mountain heads into a plethora of buildings and manses, each decorated with the banners of the houses they belonged to for the moment. Guards lingered everywhere, no doubt more alert and aware than they would normally be thanks to Aemon's own doing.
Aemon watched on from a street corner as The Mountain made his way into the manse decorated with Lannister banners. "He's gone inside." Aemon sighed, glancing at Arthur and Oberyn. "Into the Lannister manse, it seems."
"This is pure folly..." Arthur resigned.
"Calm yourselves. I have not come so close to give up now." Oberyn snapped, his viper-like eyes never leaving the entrance of the manse.
"What do you suggest?" Aemon asked, peering over Oberyn's shoulder.
"We break in and kill him whilst he's unarmed and unarmored."
"Oh, yes, fight the Mountain in incredibly close quarters...that'll work." Arthur groaned, shaking his head.
"We could lure him out," Aemon suggested. "I'm not sure how, perhaps..."
"I know how." Oberyn decided, removing his grey cloak.
"What are you doing?"
"Luring him out," Oberyn smirked.
Aemon and Arthur exchanged a glance, their mutual respect for Oberyn evident. They both knew the risks, but Oberyn's plan was their best chance.
"Are you sure of this?" Aemon asked, grabbing Oberyn's arm in some desperate attempt to keep him still.
"If this is what it has come to, then so be it." Obeyrn smiled, his voice unwavering.
Arthur nodded in agreement. "Make sure he doesn't get a chance to retreat. We'll be ready."
With a final nod, Oberyn turned and strode confidently toward the Lannister manse. The ornate gates loomed ahead, but Oberyn's focus was unshakable. He stopped just beyond the reach of the torchlight, his presence a challenge in itself.
"Gregor Clegane! The Mountain! I challenge you to face me, here and now!" Oberyn's voice rang out, clear and defiant.
Oberyn grew displeased when all he could see was a handful of Lannister guards staring him down with a mix of awe and concern.
"Gregor Clegane! Face me and die!" Oberyn called out once more, his voice echoing throughout the streets.
From their hidden vantage points, Aemon and Arthur watched, their muscles tense and ready. Inside the manse, the Mountain's rage flared at the sound of Oberyn's challenge. The heavy doors creaked open, and Gregor Clegane emerged, his massive form silhouetted against the light. Aemon could see that in his hand, he held a greatsword as large as Aemon was. The sight of it unnerved Aemon, but he steeled himself as best he could.
"Who calls my name?" Gregor yelled, his voice as loud as he was tall. "Who wishes to die?"
Oberyn stood resolutely before him, sword already unsheathed and ready to spill blood. "Do you know who I am?" He sneered, his eyes meeting Gregor's.
"Some dead man."
"I am the brother of Elia Martell, and do you know why I have come all this way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you."
The Mountain had no more patience for words as he heaved his cleaver and swung at Oberyn. The Red Viper moved out of the way with relative ease and slashed at the black armor The Mountain had bound himself in.
"I'm going to hear you confess before you die." Oberyn sadistically smirked. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children."
The words echoed around the near-empty streets around the manse as Aemon watched on. He marveled at the way Oberyn weaved and dodged with practiced ease, the Mountain having never come close to striking him. The Red Viper slashed at wear his armor was weakest, the back of the knees, his armpits, and his neck.
"Confess now and we can make this quick." Oberyn spat, taking another swipe at The Mountain's neck.
The Mountain only growled in response and rushed forward, attempting to stab Oberyn. He moved out of the way once more, slashing his sword down the Mountain's back, causing him to growl in pain.
"You raped her! You murdered her!" Oberyn yelled, his anger beginning to boil over. "You killed her children!"
The Mountain slashed at the Viper once more, still only hitting the stone where he once stood. Oberyn saw the opportunity to thrust his sword deep into the back of the Mountain's knee, causing him to fall to one knee almost immediately, his breathing heavy.
"Are you dying? No, no, no, no you can't die yet, you haven't confessed." Oberyn breathed, pacing around the crumbling Mountain.
Aemon began to grow worried. As the Mountain fell to his knees, the guards at the gate began to surround Oberyn, their concern for the Mountain begging to outweigh their fear of him. They formed a circle of at least five around them, closing the radius every so often. Aemon dared not to think what would happen should those guards get their hands on Oberyn if the Mountain was still living.
"We need to move, Arthur." Aemon decided, his voice betraying his inner nerves. "He's being surrounded."
Arthur nodded in response and together they moved from the shadows, their cloaks dropping from their shoulders to reveal their drab and dull garments. As they approached, they could see the Mountain rise to his feet once more, defying all odds as he picked up his greatsword once more. Aemon was still unnerved by the sight of him, as he pondered on what kind of man could still walk after all Oberyn had put him through.
"Now, Aemon," Arthur whispered, and the two men unsheathed their blades, causing all the guards to turn their attention their way.
Arthur engaged the nearest guards with lethal precision, his sword dancing through the air as he dispatched them one by one. Aemon, ever the faithful student, followed in the footsteps of Arthur and cleaved through the two guards nearest to him, leaving delicate slashes at their necks.
Oberyn, still locked in combat with the Mountain, caught sight of his allies joining the fray. A flicker of relief and renewed determination crossed his face. He parried a crushing blow from the Mountain and sidestepped, giving himself a brief moment to catch his breath. The final guard drew his sword in a blind panic at the sight of Aemon and Arthur approaching him. Arthur instantly disarmed him and drove his sword deep into his neck, dropping him to his knees. Arthur removed his blade, leaving the guard on the ground gasping for air and dying.
Oberyn took a step back as the Mountain paused for a moment to observe the carnage around him. A wry smile came across his face as the three men stood before him, each of their blades covered in blood.
"I will kill you all and use your skulls as my pisspot." The Mountain grimaced, readying his blade once more.
"Leave him. He is mine." Oberyn spat as he took a step forward once more.
The Mountain's sword came crashing down with a labored swing, as Oberyn moved out of the way yet again. Aemon watched as the Mountain's movements became more sluggish than they already were, as he swung lazily in Oberyn's direction.
"Who gave you the order?" Oberyn cried, cutting the Mountain across the face. "Who?"
The Mountain growled in pain once more and delivered a slow but powerful blow aimed in Oberyn's direction, hitting nothing but air once more. Suddenly, the Mountain caught sight of Aemon in his peripheral vision. Fueled by rage and desperation, the giant turned his attention toward the watchful figure. With a roar, he swung his massive sword, aiming to strike down Aemon before he could react.
Time seemed to slow as the deadly blade arced through the air, heading straight for Aemon. But before the Mountain's strike could land, Arthur moved with lightning speed. With a powerful, precise swing of his sword, Arthur intercepted the blow, his blade slicing deep into the Mountain's arm.
The Mountain let out a bellow of pain and rage as Arthur's strike nearly severed his arm, rendering it useless. Blood poured from the wound, and the giant staggered, his strength waning. Oberyn quickly sprung back into action and drove his sword through the Mountain's knee once more, dropping him immediately.
"Confess!" Oberyn yelled, slashing at the Mountain's back once more. "Confess!"
Oberyn cocked his head in anger and saw that the Mountain hardly had the strength left to speak, let alone confess to his crimes. Deciding to finish what was started all those years ago, Oberyn took the Mountain's head off with a loud yell and precise strike. His head fell to the ground as his large body collapsed under the weight of his armor.
The Mountain's fall echoed through the now-silent streets of King's Landing. Arthur and Aemon joined Oberyn, their faces etched with relief and triumph. They had faced the Mountain and emerged victorious, their combined strength and quick thinking proving the key.
Arthur clapped Aemon on the shoulder, a silent acknowledgment of their teamwork. "We did it," he said simply.
Oberyn, breathing heavily but victorious, nodded. "We did...I only wish he could've suffered more."
"It is enough, Oberyn. Rhaenys and Aegon are avenged as well as Elia," Aemon assured, patting Oberyn on the back.
Oberyn looked at the massacre around him. "We need to leave this place at once. The noise and the bodies...we cannot be here any longer than we must."
"Agreed, let us make our way to the ship before the bodies are discovered," Arthur advised.
Aemon's gaze, however, was distant, fixated on something beyond their current predicament. "There's something I must do first," he murmured, almost to himself.
Arthur's exasperation bubbled over. "What could possibly be more urgent than our escape?"
Aemon turned to his companions, his expression resolute. "Margaery. I need to ensure she's safe."
Oberyn's sigh was deep and weary. "You can't be serious. We've just slain the Mountain. The entire city will be hunting us by dawn."
"I understand, but the way that blade was so close to harming her..."
Oberyn's usual confidence wavered, replaced by a flicker of understanding. "We can't afford this detour, Aemon."
But Aemon's mind was set. "I can't leave without knowing she's safe. You two go on ahead. I'll catch up."
Arthur and Oberyn exchanged glances, their shared displeasure evident. Yet they knew Aemon's resolve was unshakable.
Reluctantly, Oberyn sighed. "We'll be waiting at the ship. You have an hour, Aemon."
"I'll come with you, Aemon. Lest you find yourself in a situation you cannot deal with yourself." Arthur nodded.
Oberyn nodded and turned to make his way back to the docks, leaving Aemon and Arthur in the middle of the street with the dead.
"Come, let us find your betrothed." Arthur calmly said, placing a hand on Aemon's shoulder as he did so.
The city of King's Landing lay shrouded in an uneasy calm as Aemon and Arthur maneuvered through its winding streets. The night air was cool, carrying the distant sounds of revelry mixed with the whispers of impending turmoil. The shadows were their allies, concealing their presence as they made their way toward the Tyrell manse.
Margaery Tyrell
The warmth of the evening meal did little to soothe Margaery's frayed nerves as she sat with her grandmother, Olenna, in the dimly lit dining hall of their manse. The events of the day weighed heavily on her mind, each moment replaying with brutal clarity.
Olenna regarded her granddaughter with a mixture of concern and resolve. "You're lucky to be alive, Margaery. That brute… I can hardly fathom what might have happened."
Margaery's fingers tightened around her goblet, her voice trembling. "When he struck Loras, I thought… I thought I'd lost him. And then the sword came for me, and I saw my life flash before my eyes."
Olenna reached out, placing a comforting hand on Margaery's. "Loras is strong. He will recover. And you, my dear, have a resilience that even the Mountain cannot crush."
A tear slipped down Margaery's cheek as she nodded. "But to see him like that, so vulnerable… I felt powerless."
"The power we wield is not always in the sword," Olenna said softly. "It is in our spirit, our courage, and our love for those we cherish."
They finished their meal in thoughtful silence, the bond between them providing a sliver of solace in the tumultuous sea of their emotions. As the evening drew to a close, Olenna stood, offering her hand to Margaery. "Come, let us retire. You need rest."
Margaery followed her grandmother through the quiet halls, the soft candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. They reached her bedchamber, the door creaking softly as Olenna pushed it open.
Inside, the room was shrouded in darkness, save for the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the open window. Margaery's heart skipped a beat as her eyes adjusted, revealing the figure of Aemon standing by the window, his silhouette framed by the night sky. Behind him, the white drapes of her room billowed with the wind as he stood there mighty and proud.
"Aemon?" she whispered, her voice a mix of surprise and relief. "By the Gods, what are you doing here? How did you get in?"
He turned, his gaze locking onto hers with an intensity that made her heart race. "Margaery," he said softly, crossing the room to stand before her. "I had to see you, to know you were safe."
Olenna looked just as shocked as Margaery, though a hint of a smile played at her lips. "You certainly have a knack for dramatic entrances, Aemon."
He offered a wry smile in return. "Forgive me, Lady Olenna, but there was no other way."
Olenna's eyes glanced at the window behind him. "Climbing through windows now?"
"Um, yes...I didn't think they would have let me through the front gate."
Olenna shook her head in disbelief. "I'll have to have a word with our guards, especially during these times when noblemen are being cut down like low thieves."
Margaery noticed how Aemon guiltily glanced at the floor as if he had something to do with all that was happening. It was then she smelt the metallic stench of the dried blood that lingered at the edges of his clothes and spattered his hands.
Margaery grabbed his hands and inspected them. "What have you been doing?" She asked, her eyes glancing at his.
"I...killed Petyr Baelish." Aemon simply said, his voice resolute and proud.
"You killed Petyr Baelish?" Olenna remarked. "Is that why you are here?"
"Yes...I couldn't leave him alive before the war started in earnest. He was too dangerous." Aemon admitted, looking at Olenna.
"All of the guards were because of you? I admire your bravery, Aemon, but, why are you here?"
"I saw what the Mountain did to your brother, and what he nearly did to you...I couldn't help myself." Aemon smiled toward Margaery, his rough hands holding hers. "I had to know you were alright and safe."
"Honestly Aemon, I am fine...You didn't have to..."
"But I did...Besides, I need to warn you. Both of you." Aemon cryptically replied, glancing at Olenna.
"Warn us of what, young man?" Olenna queried. "What else have you done?"
"The Mountain, he is also dead."
"Impossible." Olenna blustered. "I don't deny you have the skill to beat him, but on your own?"
"I never said I was on my own, my Lady."
"Who then? Ser Arthur?"
"Oberyn Martell."
"Ah, I should've known he'd have a hand in this." Olenna sighed. "So what is this warning?"
"You need to leave this city as soon as you are able. With both the Mountain and Baelish dead, they may close the gates and search every house for the culprits. I wouldn't want any of you to be caught up in that."
"I see, well thank you I suppose, Aemon." Olenna exasperated, making her way toward the door. "I'll give you two a moment alone, but only a moment."
"Oh, and my Lady?" Aemon called, causing Olenna to turn to face him. "When you get back to Highgarden, begin preparing your armies. This war will start much sooner than you think."
Olenna gave a small solemn nod before making her way out of the room, the door closing behind her. As soon as she left, Margaery immediately wrapped her arms around Aemon's neck, pulling into her embrace.
"Thank you." She whispered as she stroked his hair, her hands soft on the back of his head.
"For what?" Aemon questioned, a slight hint of amusement present in his voice as he wrapped his arms around her waist.
"For being here." Margaery softly smiled, looking into Aemon's grey eyes.
"It's alright...I wanted to come."
"How long can you stay?"
"Not long at all... I should probably be leaving now before Arthur begins to get annoyed with me." Aemon laughed, glancing at the wooden floor beneath him.
Margaery took a deep breath in and out, the disappointment of him leaving so soon all too clear. "I understand." She softly spoke, her hand still running through the black curls of his hair.
"I'm sorry...I wish I could stay for longer but it's too dangerous for me here and I have already risked too much in coming here to see you now." Aemon guiltily replied.
"It's fine, Aemon, I already told you I understand." Margaery giggled, a soft smile appearing on the corner of her lips as she did so. She took his hand and lead him to the window where he climbed in from. "Promise me we'll be together soon."
Margaery could see that the question caught Aemon slightly off guard as he took a moment to answer her. "I promise, Margaery, we will be. Once everything is done and the war is won."
"Good." Margaery smiled, planting a kiss on his forehead and squeezing his hands. "Now go, I'll see you soon."
Margaery watched as Aemon smiled before clambering out of the window and down the twisting vines and leaves that scattered the stone walls of her family's manse. For a moment, he disappeared into the darkness of the shadows before emerging outside of the walls only to be met by an equally shadowy figure she presumed was Arthur Dayne.
She smiled as she saw the two figures disappear into the darkness of the street.
A shiver ran down her spine, not from the cool night air but from the realization of just how deeply her feelings for Aemon had rooted themselves within her heart. She had tried to maintain a semblance of detachment, to guard her emotions behind a carefully constructed facade. Yet, as she stood there, watching him leave, she knew she had failed.
Her heart ached with a mixture of worry and longing, each step Aemon took further away from her was a reminder of the risks and uncertainties that lay ahead. She couldn't help but question her own judgment. Was she a fool for letting herself fall so quickly, for becoming so invested in a man who had to walk a path fraught with danger?
And yet, she couldn't regret it. Aemon had brought light into her life, a warmth that she had not known she needed until he was there to provide it. The memory of his touch, the sound of his voice, the intensity of his gaze—these were the things that made her world vibrant and whole.
Margaery sighed softly, her eyes lingering on the spot where Aemon and Arthur had disappeared. She whispered to the night, a quiet promise to herself. "Stay safe, Aemon. Come back to me."
Turning away from the window, she steeled herself, knowing that the path of love she had chosen was not an easy one. But it was a path she would walk willingly, even if it meant facing the shadows of uncertainty.
King's Landing: 298 AC: The Next Day:
Varys
The small council chamber was suffused with tension, but a hidden glimmer of satisfaction danced in Varys's eyes as he listened to Jon Arryn's outraged tirade. The deaths of Petyr Baelish and the Mountain had sent shockwaves through the council, yet behind Varys's calm facade lay a deep sense of triumph. As midday sunlight streamed through the high, narrow windows of the small council chamber, it cast a stark contrast of light and shadow across the room. The rays pierced through the thick air, creating slanted beams that illuminated the ancient stone walls. Dust motes danced lazily in the golden light, adding an ethereal quality to the otherwise tense atmosphere.
Jon Arryn continued to pace, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "How in the Seven Hells could this happen? Petyr Baelish, dead! And the Mountain? We are losing control, and the realm is descending into chaos!"
Stannis Baratheon, with his usual cold pragmatism, replied, "Baelish was always playing dangerous games. It was only a matter of time before one caught up with him."
Renly, ever the diplomat, sighed. "While we may not mourn the Mountain's passing, Baelish's death leaves a void in our network. He had his uses, albeit slimy ones."
Varys nodded thoughtfully, maintaining his mask of neutrality. "Indeed, Lord Baelish's absence will be felt, though his machinations often left us uneasy. We must tread carefully now."
But within, Varys's thoughts raced with a private joy. The death of Baelish was a victory for Aemon, a carefully orchestrated step in their grand design. Varys had long played the game of shadows, and now, one of his most troublesome rivals had been eliminated.
Jon slammed his fist against the table, the thud echoing around the confined space of the council chamber. "And who is responsible? I promise you now, that this is not the work of a common killer. No one could have killed the Mountain single-handedly, not without help."
"Perhaps a faceless man from Braavos? Maybe someone rich enough to hire one." Renly suggested with a hint of indifference in his voice. "It would be no coincidence that they were both killed whilst this damned tournament is happening."
"On the contrary, my Lord, my sources indicate that Oberyn Martell is responsible for killing Ser Gregor. Challenged him in the night and slew him and his guards to boot." Varys admitted, feeling he could not hide the truth fully on this occasion. "His hatred of the Mountain was well known."
Varys watched as Jon Arryn grew more perplexed and annoyed at his words. "Oberyn Martell came here in the night and killed Gregor Clegane? Where is he now?"
"I am unsure, my Lord Hand, but he is not in the city."
"Fled in the night I'd imagine," Renly interjected. "Most likely halfway back to Dorne by now."
"Stannis, send a parchment to Dorne for Oberyn to return to the Capital to answer for the crime of the murder of Ser Gregor Clegane. I'll sign it." Jon resolutely said, his eyes glancing at each of the councilors.
"My Lord Hand, if he refuses to come..." Varys warned.
"Then he will be branded an enemy of the Crown within a fortnight."
"If he still refuses, then there will be war. You know how the Dornish are."
"Good. The Dornish cannot stand against the might of the Crown and the rest of the Kingdoms combined. They'll be smart to give him up to us should we have to go and collect him in person."
The heavy wooden doors of the council chamber creaked open, and Cersei Lannister swept into the room with a regal grace that did little to mask her annoyance. Her green eyes flashed with irritation, and the corners of her mouth tightened as she glanced around at the assembled council members.
Her gaze lingered briefly on Jon Arryn, who was still pacing furiously, before settling on Varys. "I heard that Ser Gregor Clegane is dead," she said, her voice cold and clipped. "How could this happen? The Mountain was supposed to be untouchable."
Varys inclined his head slightly, his tone measured. "It appears that Oberyn Martell came and killed him in the night along with some Lannister guards."
"My father will be sure to hear about this and bring that pompous Viper to heel." Cersei spat, the venom in her words clear. "I want to know that this city is safe for my children...the deaths of nobles cannot be taken lightly."
Just as the council members began to address her, the doors swung open, and Janos Slynt entered, his face flushed with apprehension.
Jon Arryn's eyes fixed on Janos with a piercing glare. "Ah, Lord Slynt, you've finally graced us with your presence. Explain to us, if you will, how the city has become so perilous under your watch."
Janos shifted uncomfortably, sweat beading on his brow. "M-My lords, we've been diligent. The City Watch has been patrolling the streets day and night—"
Jon cut him off, his voice rising. "Diligent? Is that what you call it? Petyr Baelish lies dead, and the Mountain, a man supposedly untouchable, has been struck down within our own walls. How can this be considered diligence?"
Stannis leaned forward, his gaze cold and unyielding. "Lord Slynt, the safety of the realm is paramount. You were tasked with maintaining order, yet chaos reigns. What measures have you taken to ensure such failures do not occur again?"
Janos swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "I—I assure you, m'lord, we are investigating thoroughly. Extra patrols have been deployed, and we've tightened security at the gates."
Renly Baratheon chimed in, a hint of sarcasm in his tone. "And yet, the people whisper of unrest, of feeling unsafe in their own homes. How do you intend to restore their faith in the City Watch?"
Varys watched the exchange with detached interest, noting the beads of sweat on Slynt's forehead and the nervous twitch of his fingers. Keeping a man as incompetent as incompetent as him in charge wouldn't be a bad thing at this moment in time, he mused. "Your Grace, my Lords. Perhaps, it would be prudent to keep Lord Slynt in command for a while longer. Give him a chance to prove himself and avoid any...grumblings due to a change in leadership at this moment."
Jon's eyes narrowed as if weighing up the words of Varys. "Very well. Find the killer of Lord Baelish, Janos. I won't tolerate failure for a second time."
"I will, my Lord, thank you." Janos thankfully bowed before leaving the chamber.
Jon took a sluggish seat at the head of the table, his exasperation clear for all to see. "Lord Varys, look into this murder. Meanwhile, I'll inform the King of all that has been going on once he tears his eyes away from the festivities."
Varys's mind churned with possibilities as he considered the recent events. The death of Petyr Baelish was a significant move, one that required both cunning and precision. He couldn't shake the feeling that Aemon was behind it, especially after seeing him in Braavos. Aemon's presence in Braavos had been intriguing, but the idea of him traveling all the way to King's Landing to personally oversee Baelish's demise was audacious.
Varys pondered the implications. Aemon was not one to act without purpose. If he had come to King's Landing, it meant that the stakes were higher than Varys had initially thought. The master of whispers allowed himself a moment of admiration for Aemon's boldness. It would take someone of great determination and skill to pull off such a feat.
The question remained: had Aemon really come all this way, risking exposure and danger, to eliminate Baelish? Varys knew that Aemon's motivations were complex, driven by a mix of loyalty, ambition, and perhaps a desire for justice. If Aemon was indeed responsible, it meant that he had a larger plan in motion, one that meant the war was close at hand.
A/N: Did not intend for this to be as long as it was, but I couldn't help myself I suppose. Thanks for reading and I welcome any reviews and comments. Thanks for the kind ones too. Should hopefully have the next chapter out by the end of next week, so look forward to that. Much love x