"Do as I say, not as I do."
Standing by one of the postern gates of the Red Keep, waiting for minutes to pass until it was time for the court to meet, was a rather dull experience as it turned out. This far away from anything interesting, with only the presence of some liberally bribed guards for company, there was not much to do.
Which meant that the skies were far more interesting than they usually were.
Dreamfyre was circling. The court was due to meet, and Dreamfyre was circling. The smaller shapes of Smoke and Sundancer were with here, dull and gleaming respectively. Further behind them still was the massive bronze bulk of Vhagar, while scarlet Meleys swooped between individual dragons as they raced across the sky. Deep inside, it pained me that I could not be up there with them. Forget my duties, forget my responsibilities to the realm, but the Cannibal could not be relied on with so much potential prey around it.
He was getting better, that much was clear, but not enough that I trusted him not to lash out at everything around him.
Ordinarily, there was nothing wrong with seeing my family flying. Court was a dull affair, most of the time. But today was different. And Maegelle knew as much. She had been trying to keep today from going horribly wrong.
And now she was anywhere but court.
Her estimation of my chance of success was low.
"Vaegon." A familiar voice broke into my thoughts, light and full of unspoken amusement. Martyn Mooton, dressed not as a member of the city watch, but as just another member of the court in fine silks liberally decorated in the sigil of his house. Unarmored, but most certainly not unarmed, with two swords belted to his waist. And one was uncomfortably familiar… "You'll want this."
He undid one of the belts and dropped a sword with a deceptively plain hilt into my hands. With a twitch of the thumb, I withdrew the blade a fraction of an inch to reveal the milky white blade before belting the weapon to my own waist.
As I had guessed, it was my stolen sword.
"You failed, then?" I asked. If Martyn was giving me a weapon to take to court, unprompted at that… then things had gone quite poorly. Of course, I had been able to guess as much just by looking to the skies and extrapolating. "Do not take it too hard. It was always a possibility."
"Your brother is a stubborn one," Martyn explained. "Nobody can even get to Her Grace your mother without his approval, since His Grace the king is always with her. And he stopped listening to me days ago."
"Of course," I said with a sigh. "How did you find me, anyhow? I chose this place for a reason."
"I figured you would be waiting somewhere in the Red Keep instead of the city," he said with an easy smile. "Last place your brother would look, after all, what with this being the center of his power."
"So it was," I agreed, pleased that my friend knew me so well. A more suspicious man might have been worried, but what good was a friend you did not trust? What good was council if you silenced those who were good at their work?
"Having fun without me?" A new voice chimed in. Desmond Darry, still wearing the badge of his office as commander of the city watch of King's Landing. That sight was enough to give me hope since it meant that Aemon had not retaliated against him. "And after all the effort I went through for you…"
He tossed a pair of wineskins towards us, Martyn and I catching them easily.
"That's what happens when you're late," Martyn pointed out, already removing the stopper from his without hesitation and taking a drink.
"I really should not be drinking," I pointed out after taking an experimental sniff. Arbor Gold, but quite heavily subdued, watered down. "I will need a clear head to face Aemon."
"All the more reason to drink," Martyn countered. "You think I want to face the rest of the day sober?"
"You'll have to," Desmond said. "I watered down the wine considerably. It's enough to take the edge off, but not enough to get you properly drunk."
"It will if I drink fast enough." Despite the seriousness of the situation, the scene brought a smile to my face. And how could it not? When things were at their darkest, what more could I ask of my friends but to make things a little brighter?
"Ah, yes, that will do wonders to keep order in the city," I said with a smile. "Nothing says everything is under control like inebriated law enforcement."
"It worked for you," Martyn pointed out.
"I was celebrating the birth of my twins," I countered. "It was only right that the city celebrated with me. The people just wanted to stay on my good side."
"No, the other time," Desmond said.
"There was no other time."
"You mean you don't remember?" Martyn said, his tone mocking. "No wonder. You drank an entire rowing crew under the table."
"And now you're pulling my leg," I deadpanned.
"Mercilessly," Desmond agreed.
The next hour went much the same. We sat, we joked, we laughed, all until the bells of the Red Keep began to ring. Whatever pleasantness had managed to accumulate in my body swiftly evaporated like a drop of water in the streets of Hellholt at noon.
"You might want to head into the city soon," I said with a sigh, barely loud enough to be heard above the clamor of the bells far above our heads. "Both of you."
"Oh?" Martyn asked. "Are you expecting it to go that poorly?"
"You know I am," I reminded him, shooting meaningful glances at the already bribed guards around me. Blessedly, they took the hint a kept their distance. "I am about to commit treason. Unambiguously, this time. I do not want you getting caught in the aftermath."
"And you want us in place to quell any potential riots," Desmond surmised.
"Also that," I admitted. "But it need not go so poorly. Mayhaps Aemon will see reason and will not cause a scene."
"Gambling on your brother's sanity again?" Martyn gave a slow shake of the head. "I'm starting to think you may have a problem. What would Maegelle think?"
"We already know what she thinks," I said softly, head turning to the skies where the dragons still wheeled and soared. The three of us had been there when Aemon had tried to arrest me. "We both pray that this will not end with a soul consigned to the Seven Hells."
Silence reigned for a moment, broken only by the periodic sounding of the bells.
"Then may the Seven guide you," Desmond said, reaching out to clasp my hand and grip it tightly. "I'll see you after this is over."
"I'll leave you to it," Martyn said. Unwilling to wait his turn to grab my hand, he gave me a friendly clap on the shoulder, if a bit more vigorously than normal. "Best of luck to you Vaegon."
"My thanks," I said and watched my friends leave. What followed would be my actions alone, that much I had long since decided. Unless I succeeded. In that case, it would retroactively be a group effort.
They all deserved that much.
I walked into the Great Hall of the Red Keep a few later, still mumbling prayers under my breath. Unlike the hundreds if not thousands of other sessions of court I had attended, however, I did not enter through the back with the most exalted members of the royal household. No, that was a right reserved for those in good standing with the one sitting atop the throne.
For people like me, it was through the double doors with the rest of the supplicants. Still, it had to be admitted, it made for quite the view. All along the walls, banners of the great houses of Westeros adorned the wall. Tyrell, Lannister, Stark, Arryn, Tully, and Baratheon in pride of place, though the Targaryen banner behind the Iron Throne dwarfed them all.
Arguably, the pair of dragon skulls on either side of the banner caught the eye more, one the massive skull of Meraxes and the other the sleeker and diminutive remains of Quicksilver. One had been killed by the now-broken kingdom of Dorne, the other by the madness of Maegor.
But it all served to lead the eyes to the Iron Throne. The mountain of half-molten steel forged into something resembling a throne. And at its peak sat none other than my brother Aemon. On his brow, I spotted a familiar crown snaking about his brow and glimmering with rubies.
The crown I had gifted my brother.
Father had not needed a crown for the realm to know he was king. Aemon needed every possible symbol to show he was regent. Insecurity, plain and simple. Of course, I had known as much from the absolute mess he had created.
The mess I was about to potentially escalate.
I waited amongst the crowd of assembled petitioners as the rest of the important members of the court filed in. Mainly, this meant the members of the Small Council. Grand Maester Elysar, Lord Tyrell, my friends and good-brothers Braxton and Corlys, and… and that was it. The Grand Maester, the Master of Coin (or rather, the Master of Coin's husband), the Master of Ships, and the Master of Whisperers. The Master of Laws sat the throne, but that was it.
The seat of the Hand of the King remained empty. My seat.
I approached the table of the Small Council. Though I knew doing so was to invite disaster, it was still my place. Unless Aemon wished to press the issue, I had every legal right to take my seat.
Or so I thought until the Kingsguard stepped forward to stop me. As an aside, it was rather amusing. These were men who had taken vows to protect the royal family, to never raise their swords against House Targaryen. If I truly wished to approach without hostile intent, there was little they could do to stop me.
But clearly, the white knights had been informed by my brother. They formed a protective ring around the steps leading up to the forged monstrosity that was the iron throne as my brother's gaze fell squarely upon me.
"Vaegon." From atop the iron throne, my brother's voice carried impressively well. Of course, the entire room had been designed around it. "What do you think you are doing?"
"I am taking my place with my fellow councilors, brother," I said politely. "Unless I have been removed from my post without notice?"
"You know what you have done," Aemon replied coldly. He knew why I was here. He knew what I planned. He had been given an out and time to consider it. Why was he still clinging to this idiocy of his? "And you know why you are not welcome on the Small Council."
Why was he so intent on the worst possible course of action?
All around me, the other notables of the court shifted awkwardly. Wealthy merchants, knights in the service of House Targaryen, and various nobles who had earned the attention of my father, they all lacked the context for this. The only thing they knew was that I had disappeared for a few days, and now the Prince Regent was quite unhappy.
Or they had been informed of the alleged treason I had committed for years on end without so much as a verbal reprimand from the king and were not particularly keen to be in the metaphorical, and soon to be literal, splash zone. One or the other.
"Why was I removed, Aemon?" I asked, undaunted. Let it be something petty, I mentally begged. Let it be something small, something that could be spun to benefit the crown on some imaginary campaign of purity within the Red Keep. "It was not incompetence; the state of the realm can speak to that. Disloyalty? After I won the war in Dorne for you? No, that cannot be it, either. What was it?"
My brother took a deep breath atop the throne that would, by all rights, eventually be his, before answering.
"Treason," Aemon said, and the crowd behind me began to murmur. My stomach sank as I realized that my brother very much intended to make things actively worse with every word that continued to spill out of his mouth. "Tax evasion. Bribery. Embezzlement of royal funds. Owning property without royal permission. Subversion of the authority of the crown."
"All of which are activities of which Father was aware," I pointed out. "I never made a secret of it. Ignorance of the accuser is not evidence of a crime."
"Your only witness is incapable of keeping himself alive," Aemon declared. "Ser Joffrey, take him away."
Yeah, no.
"Have you even bothered asking our father?" I asked, all but shouting to make sure the entire court heard me, as Ser Joffrey paused. The old knight had not been my closest friend amongst the Kingsguard, but he was the oldest of my father's companions. One of those sworn to keep his secrets and a former knight of the Warrior's Sons. If anyone would have second thoughts about this order, it would be he. "Asking our mother? Asking the Kingsguard, who stood at Father's side for decades?"
"I am the Master of Laws, and regent besides," Aemon pointed out. "If there is anyone in the realm who knows what laws you broke, it is I. And none are immune to the law."
He was doing this.
He was really doing this.
I looked over to my friends on the Small Council, seated at a table atop the raised dais. Corlys gave a nod, as clear a signal of his support as any. Braxton did not look particularly happy, however, but his features quickly turned resolute.
My role was clear.
"As you are immune to being punished for usurpation?" I asked but did not wait for an answer. Let the public hear the question but never the answer. Let them mull over it. "Forget it. If you insist on this madness, then let us be mad. I demand a trial by combat, to be fought by myself. So name your champion, unless you are too craven to defend your claims personally."
There were few men in the realm that stood a chance against men, and most wore a white cloak. They could not fight me by the nature of their vows. Even naming a champion was to invite rumor and ridicule, after what I had said. It was a direct challenge to his manhood that had far too great a chance of seeing one of us a kinslayer.
A title that would see either of us cursed in the eyes of the Seven.
He had an out. One after another after another, I had given him opportunities to settle this peacefully. But if he did not wish to solve this in a mutually beneficial manner… then there really was only one way this could end.
"So be it," Aemon said, before addressing the Kingsguard once more. "Bring me my armor."
Only one way, may the Seven forgive me.
...
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