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Prologue, XI: The Trial of Seven

17th-19th day, 7th month, 127 after Aegon’s Landing. (or, 7.17-19.127AC)

17th-19th day, 2nd month, 1590 after Artys’ Victory. (or, 2.17-19.1590AV)

“This is madness,” said the Lord Hand, from behind his desk, as the cupbearer filled his goblet. “From Last Hearth to the Arbor, the realm will know of this. My grandson, the prince, who returns from vanquishing an outlaw king, is charged with infidelity, and forced to fight in a trial of seven.”

A single look from the Queen kept me silent. I’d told the two of them what had transpired… only to find that the tales had come before me, no doubt thanks to the walls. They knew the truth, from both sets of mouths, and made of it what they did. 

“A council must be called,” stated Lord Peake. “There is no law forbidding a gathering of lords.” 

“A council is unnecessary, my lord. The realm does not rule the Princess of Dragonstone, nor can it stop her plots,” the Queen said, accepting her offered cup. “My son has been challenged to combat at an upjumped whore’s word. A single raven will accomplish leagues further.”

“A single raven? Your Grace, forgive me, to whom?” asked Ser Farring, who took for his family’s duelists bordered in green as a show of allegiance.

It was not the Queen who answered, but the Hand, with a narrowing of his eyes. “Driftmark. The Princess has set a dangerous precedent. Whores may be given lands and titles for claiming to bear bastards of royal parentage. In no realm beyond the Narrow Sea does her new law hold power. Which is why I have brought you together, men of Blackwater and the Wendwater.” And Lord Peake, but he was a persistent resident of these sorts of councils, and thus went without mentioning. 

By rewarding my fight against the mountain clans with a charge of infidelity, the Princess had taken leave of her senses. In this everyone agreed. Not the King, for, whether we liked it or not, he was the King. All those who supported my claim to the throne were willingly supporting my father’s. Besides, it was obvious, more so after the trial, that all of this was Dragonstone’s doing. Obvious to us, that is. 

I stood there, patient and quiet and dutiful, all as the Queen had needed of me, and listened to my supporters. Or, in other words, the Hand spoke, and we listened. 

I never met Essie to begin with. The bastard was an invention of the Princess, the whore a whore brought forth to be used as a tool. The Princess wanted to divide Helaena and I in our marriage bed. The Princess wanted to hide eyes from Dragonstone’s own rumors of bastardry. 

The Princess would see the Iron Throne abandon the Seven Kingdoms to outlaw kings and invaders. From that, it became ‘The Princess will see those who do not preach support for her burn in the seven hells.’ The Hand explained that I had flown off to fight, not in defense of the Greens, but in defense of the realm.

No longer was infidelity the crime. No, it was disobedience. 

Nor was it a crime, it was a plot that brewed to the surface.

It was not a single plot, either. The Queen contributed her own counter-accusations, that the Princess was envious and jealous of Helaena and I’s deeds in King’s Landing.

The Hand took that one step further. “The Princess of Dragonstone has ever been envious of those who temper their excesses. My grandson and granddaughter, your prince and princess, have taken vows of chastity to give thanks to the Seven-Who-Are-One for saving their lives after his injury and her childbirth.” 

I wish I could say I was befuddled by his words. Not in the slightest. If the Hand says the sun rises in the west, the sun rises in the west. 

The entirety of the meeting was twenty minutes. Within it, I went from being accused of bastardy and needing to defend it in a trial of seven, to being the latest in a long line of victims of the Princess of Dragonstone’s plotting against those who do not fall in line with her. 

The riders and ravens would be off before sundown. 

A thousand lords would hear of the heroic version of me. I had valiantly risked my life in defense of the Vale, only to return to King’s Landing and be accused by an ennobled whore of infidelity, with said whore demanding Lord Flea Bottom as her champion. Why infidelity and not disobedience? The King did not charge me with disobedience. 

I couldn’t hold a candle to my mother or grandfather, even I picked up enough from them and from Helaena’s bedroom talks. The charge of infidelity, alone, would spread dangerous rumors. The addition of it being from a Dragonstone-ennobled whore who named Lord Flea Bottom as her champion would do the opposite. 

Through a raven scroll, it is easy to contextualize all of this as a case of too many coincidences; me fighting in the Vale, a whore coming out of nowhere and being ennobled by Dragonstone, said whore then naming Lord Flea Bottom as her champion in a trial by combat against me. 

The meeting was concluded with the assembled lords dismissed. With any luck, one would imagine, the events of the trial would be from their lips before Dragonstone’s. Knowing our luck, Dragonstone had a contingency in mind. Oh well, better late than never. 

All the Hand had to do was eye the two of us to keep us here while the rest left. 

“Explain yourself, Prince Aegon,” the Hand commanded, as he sipped his goblet. 

“What is there to explain? I told you what transpired,” I’d moved in my chair, to sit more comfortably…

…the Queen latched onto my shoulder and held me in place. “We must scheme as never before because of your-”

“Alicent.” 

The Queen closed her own mouth.

The Hand turned to me. “I understand the impatience of youth, so spare me the begs for how you ‘did not mean’ to do as you did. You are a prince of the realm, your every choice is considered, or you should abdicate to your son Jaehaerys.”

Explain myself? “I lost it… seeing the two of them talking about feasts… I lost it.” 

“As my daughter had said, your foolishness has cost us. We may recover, we may not, it is in the hands of the lords.”

“Grandfather… the speech you just gave… the actions-”

His icy glare stopped me then and there. “Are the actions of a man pouring boiling water into his wound. The Princess is at fault for this plot, but it would remain a plot had it not been for you. A plot is a plot. Plots are contained. A tale of a brave prince being charged by an upjumped whore… that is desperation, not sensibility.” 

“Father, what’s done is done, Aegon did-”

His glare turned on her, and she too subsided. “Aegon can speak for himself, Alicent.” He motioned to me. “Go on then, men will now die from your behavior.” 

I tried. “From the moment I unleashed Sunfyre upon the mountain clans, I have felt resentment for-” I waved my hand about, “-all of this. My father, my elder sister… I was there, knelt in the mud with knights of the Vale, and they were here. I’d attempted to keep it contained when I returned-”

The Hand cut me off. “You failed, the first words out of your mouth when you returned were regarding the crown and the Griffin King.”

“Yes. Yes they were.” I took a deep breath. Explain yourself. Explain yourself. Explain yourself. He doesn’t want excuses, he wants the answer. “It was father’s words, ‘I gave you orders two weeks past, and you flew away from them,’ that made me break.” 

“You are hurt by his remarks of disobedience?” the Hand asked, raising a thinned eyebrow.

In actuality, no. “No, it’s his… focus. Feasts before the realm. His daughter before the realm. I saw the realm, mother, grandfather. Hundreds of leagues of fields, forests and hills, full of commoners. It’s… it’s my place to be with them.”  

The Hand considered me for half a minute, before pulling his chair back and sitting down. “Very well. Your actions were foolish, yet it is as the Queen has said, it is done. I could have you struck, for no avail. The lesson has been learnt.”

I saw that as a chance to provide the lesson. “Don’t fall for the provocations of my sister and father. I won’t.”

“As the Star says, we are all mortal, with our flaws. You tell me you won’t, but you will. Your… excuse… for your failings… is better than most princes. Do you agree, daughter?”

The Queen bobbed her head. “Defense of the realm. I believe this will benefit us in the wars to come. As the smallfolk love Helaena’s almsgiving, they will love Aegon’s bravery-”

“Alicent, need I bring in a maester to provide you some sweetsleep?”

She stopped talking. He fetched a piece of parchment, ink, and a quill. He began writing. “You felt a closeness to the war you fought. You returned to a land, a city, where the concerns are not in the war, but in matters closer to the city. A feast. A holding. A crime.” His eyes met mine. “Do I have the heart of it, my prince?” 

“You do, grandfather.” 

A parchment-thin smile graced his weathered face. “The Queen is right. This is an opportunity. Your actions in Gwayne’s Sept have won us allies. Repeat it. A streak of victories to offset this attempted tarnishing of your reputation.”

“Grandfather?” 

“Your weakness is here in the Red Keep, when forced to confront your sister. Fortunately for both of you, you don’t need to remain in the Red Keep.”

“I don’t understand, grandfather,” I admitted, half-heartedly. 

He clicked his tongue. “If you cannot tolerate the King’s feasts, you will not remain here. There are ever outlaw bands and rebels plaguing the Seven Kingdoms. By dispatching you to quell them, the Iron Throne’s authority is reinforced and your claim is bolstered.”

“Isn’t… isn’t my assaulting the outlaws what caused my sister to go forward with her plot?”

He nodded. “It is. She has played her little trick once. It will not happen again. You will win this trial of seven, and you will take wing for White Harbor to rejoin your wife.” 

“My wife is not facing rebels.”

“She is settling disputes. You may do the same. Alicent, tell the King that his eldest son needs more responsibility.” 

The Queen perked up, facing him, not me. “Of what sort, father?” 

“Royal Bailiff. The King gets to hand out a title and the Princess of Dragonstone gets to defeat the Hightowers.”

I went from being reprimanded for being a foolish prince to being suggested for such a high honor? “My lord, I am honored… but why me?” 

“It is your new place. You told me you were resentful of King’s Landing, for the feasts and the court culture. Your words are nothing I have never heard before. Your cousins Ser Runcel and Ser Aegon are bailiffs serving in Highgarden. I have offered you a means to make yourself useful for the realm. Do I have cause in overestimating your worth, my prince?”

If he’s saying that, he does. He’s trying to get me out of King’s Landing before I screw things up, isn’t he? A bit late on that part, but to his credit, he’s improvising. Thinking about ‘making myself useful’ and ‘fighting for the realm’ drew me back, before Gulltown, before Gwayne’s Sept, to the Eyrie, to a certain Templeton, to a discussion I had with Helaena. 

I stood up. “Mother, grandfather, I have a proposal.”

The Hand heard my tone and set down his quill. He’s listening. 

The Queen kept her court face on. She’s listening. 

Now is as good a time as any. For Ser Templeton, and all those who have suffered. 

“Andalos. Faithful are being attacked in Andalos. I met one such man in the Eyrie, one Ser Theo Templeton.” I retold them his story. A pilgrim who took up service as a septry guard. With his own eyes he saw a peasant mob sack his septry, for the crime of being of the Faith, and thus accused of conspiring with the Braavosi enemy. 

I gave them the names of all those who knew of the attacks on followers of the Seven; Lord Hersy, Ser Lynderly, Septon Symond of Gulltown, and a score of knights I remembered by name from Gwayne’s Sept.  

I’d lie if I claimed I didn’t have cold feet with the two most powerful figures in the Seven Kingdoms giving me their full attention, in such a way that I’d never had before in my life in Westeros. 

I’d also lie if I said it lasted for more than five seconds. Two weeks of Helaena and Sunfyre and praying to the Seven had prepared me for this. Every last detail. 

“The Lord of Dragonstone fought his own war for the Stepstones and the King welcomed him back into the realm. Had he been less tempestuous, the Stepstones may be part of the Iron Throne to this day. I would not go to Andalos to reave and pillage. It is Andalos. The High Septon is the Shepherd of the Faithful, and ignores these faithful, for he serves the King, not the realm.”

“We live in an age never seen before. The High Septons could never mount expeditions to Andalos in the days of the Freehold. After the Freehold fell, Oldtown’s campaigns were just as futile. They landed on the shores of Andalos and were broken by sellsword companies. Now? Now, the last dragons in the known world are in the hands of the Iron Throne, an Iron Throne coronated by Oldtown, not by Valyria.”

“To reclaim Andalos would not only bring support from every knight from the Arbor to Highpoint, it would cripple Dragonstone’s strongest ally across the Narrow Sea. You wish for me to make myself useful? To seize the opportunity presented by Gwayne’s Sept? This is the opportunity above any. A war no man has ever been able to wage, for we are the first in all recorded history with this power.” 

I bowed my head to both, and took my seat. 

The Queen opened her mouth, but it was the Hand who spoke first. “It is done.” 

“Done?” 

“You do pay attention from time to time. One swing that kills two men. It is true. You, Helaena, Aemond, Daeron, are in possession of beasts worth more than all the Valyrian steel to ever exist. A successful war with Pentos would…” for the first time ever, he panted, “...it would be the Conquest come again.” He sipped his goblet and cleared his throat. “Yes, it would be a second Conquest.” 

Neither of us had a comment, I because I’d come up with it, the Queen because she was busy beaming at me. 

“The High Septon will be against this, as the King would rather trade with the Free Cities than cripple them.” He put the piece of parchment he was writing on in a fire, pulled out a new one, and began writing. With that, his tone went back to normal. “I must make inquiries, Your Grace.” 

“To find septons more agreeable?” 

“Every hedge septon will agree with Your Grace, my prince. We need the regional septs. Tumbleton, Ashford, Horn Hill, Goldengrove, Brightwater, Lannisport, Kayce, Castamere, Ashemark, Tarth, Stonehelm, Blackheart, Wayfarer’s Rest, Stone Hedge, Stoney Sept, Darry, Seagard, Harroway’s Town, Gulltown, Heart’s Home, Runestone, White Harbor.” 

“My lord… few of those outwardly support my claim.” The Reach was split, the Westerlands we could trust in, the Stormlands had yet to pass on to Borros the Belligerent, and the Riverlands… Why, when in history has the Riverlands ever agreed on anything? I could see it now, the support of Wayfarer’s Rest would make me the enemy of the rest. 

“The Faith has long since had a way of mending the wounds of the realms. Would that your father had read my great-granduncle’s treatise between his feasts, he could have taken his precious delight from castle to castle. No, he left her to go from keep to keep, using what wasn’t between her legs to win the support of heirs and spares…” he dabbled the quill in ink, “...she is no longer the comeliest maiden in the realm, and they have wed their own delights. Delights that will remain faithful to them in marriage and never think of giving lands and titles to whores.”

“What is your plan?” I asked, half-stupefied and half-amazed by his quick-thinking skills. 

He resumed writing. “Make inquiries into which of these septons would be willing to risk excommunication in the name of Andalos. First I shall turn to Garmund of Ashford, Quenton of Horn Hill, Harwyn of Lannisport, Andrew of Stonehelm, Ronnel of Stone Hedge, Symond of Gulltown, and Vardis of Heart’s Home. All of them have… previously spoken against the High Septon. Now, their bravery shall be paid-” he pointed his quill at me, “-heed this lesson, grandson, brave men are remembered, cravens are not.” 

“I thought you would advise caution.”

“Caution should be your armor. Too much caution, and you move nowhere. Too little, and you die. You would not say heavy foot and scouts require the same type of armor. Now, enough of this, you have a trial of seven to prepare for. May the Seven save you.”

Did the Hand of the King just say ‘May the Seven save you.’ Yes, yes he did. 

“Who would you recommend?” I asked them both. 

“Who would you pick, grandson?” 

I’d had a list brewing in my head ever since I found out the Kingsguard weren’t coming. “Ser Borros Baratheon, Lords Jon Roxton, Daryl Bulwer, and Unwin Peake, Sers Tybolt Westerling and Clarent Crakehall.” 

“The King will not allow you to summon them from across the realm, Your Grace. He, rather, she, wants this to be resolved forthwith, hence the trial’s date in two days.” 

First you strip me of my Kingsguard, then you strip me of the right of ravens? Why not just throw me at the Lord of Flea Bottom? “How did you find out?” 

He motioned to the painting on the wall.

Of course, I thought with a sigh. “He will not allow the… scandal of an ennobled whore precede the trial.”

The Hand let out a barking laugh. “Or every lord from Eyron Bolton and Roderick Dustin to Donnel Tarly and Omer Oakheart would rescind their oaths to your sister.” 

It’d be a shame if the ravens went flying anyhow. There most definitely wasn’t time to gloat. “Who do you recommend, grandfather?” 

“In the city? Lord Unwin Peake, Amos Bracken, Denys Reyne. Peake’s been tempering his sword in Dornishmen since he was a squire, Bracken’s done the same with his cousins across the Red Fork, and Reyne isn’t called ‘Ironbreaker’ for his blacksmithing.” 

“That’s five, we only need two more.”

“Five?” 

“Prince Aemond will join me.” I hadn’t asked, but it was obvious. If he didn’t, I’d go sailing to Valyria. 

“I will find two more, Your Grace.” 

With that, the Hand dismissed me. There was no long lecture about what I had to do, or how I was supposed to be better behaved next time, he had obligations, I had mine. 

It hadn’t even been three weeks since I last went to my solar. It felt like a lifetime. 

I changed from court clothes into less formal wear. A long green tunic bearing my personal arms across the chest and torso, yellow-gold and green hose, a pair of turnshoes, and, a small Oldtowner’s flat cap, white-and-gray with a little golden dragon badge sewn in. 

“Your Grace, welcome back to the Red Keep,” the two boys said as one. Titus was on his knee instantly, Edgarran went about it with a little flourish. 

I waved them up. “I’ll take some Quiet Isle, if you’d be so kind.”

Roxton fetched the wine jug, Peake cleared the comforter for me and laid it down. 

“How much do the both of you know of the trial that took place this noon?”

“You will be facing a trial of seven against the Lord Consort of Dragonstone,” Peake stated stiffly. 

“The Princess passed off some sailor’s whelp as yours to hurt your renown,” Roxton declared, much too loud for his well being. Then again, the walls had green ears. 

Curious. The Hand’s whispers reached my squires before his reprimands reached me. “You are both… accurate. I have been charged with infidelity, do you know what infidelity is?” 

“It means you were bedding someone other than your wife,” Roxton said, all parts precocious.

“Do you think I am guilty?”

“No,” said Roxton. “Yes,” said Peake.

I accepted the jug from him and passed it to one of the serving women to taste. I forgot the man’s name, but he was from Oldtown. 

Afterwards, I looked back over my shoulder to find Peake. The two boys stood like Kingsguard to either side of me.  “Why is that, little lord Peake?” 

“Father says you like tasting the serving girls.” 

I suppose I did. “Aye, I did, in the past. Do you know why I stopped, Peake?” 

His eyes went off to one of the tapestries, searching for an answer. It clicked, and he gave it. “The Seven punished you for your sins by pulling you from Sunfyre’s saddle.”

That’s a… Eustace way of putting it. I raised my hand to silence him. “I am not one to say what the Seven may or may not do. If you think I am guilty, why am I fighting in the trial of seven? Why not kneel and confess?”

“To defend the rights of your wife,” answered Peake, puffing himself up ever so slightly. “The Mother says a man should give his life in defense of his wife and children.” 

Roxton nodded. 

Interesting takes here. Then again, that’s why I brought it up. That, and they’re my squires. 

I had another question for them. “Do you believe a knight’s vows come before a lord’s?”

Thirteen year old Roxton scratched his fuzz. Fourteen year old Peake tilted his head unsurely. “Ser?” 

“Do you know my vows?” 

“All of them, ser?”

I raised my hand. “I will tell you. As a boy anointed by the Seven, I must obey the gods and all that they decree. They say I should listen to my father and mother and love my brothers and sisters and those of my blood. They say I should do whatever I can to support them. As a knight, which if the Seven are good, I will live to dub you both, I must be just yet merciful, strong yet compassionate, defend my wife and her children, be diligent, be wise, and choose death over dishonor. I must protect all innocents no matter the banners they fly. As a prince of the realm, I must listen to my father the king, pass the sentences he gives, and defend him from all who oppose him. I must swear to defend the rights of my father and of my sister and of those who have come forth from her loins. These are just the vows I remember. All of them were made with my hand upon the Star, or the King’s upon Blackfyre. In sight of gods and men and now dragons, I must obey all of these, and break none.” 

The serving girl hadn’t died of poison, so I took my drink.

“Here, you see my crossroads. Which vows come first?” 

The two of them had more experience in Westerosi society than I did. 

“Your vows as a knight,” Peake said, firm as before. 

“Your vows as a man of the Seven,” Roxton countered.

I went from one to the other. “Why is that?” 

Peake gave his reason, “I want to be a knight like Ryam Redwyne,” and Roxton gave his, “We’re named in the light of the Seven before we’re knights.” 

A conundrum. “So when my elder sister the Princess charges me with infidelity, am I not breaking my vow to the Seven by fighting her?”

“Words are wind, ser,” said Roxton, “she may be your sister, that does not mean she is right.”

“She seeks to do harm to you and your wife, ser,” answered Peake. 

You’ve given me such interesting squires, mother. 

As a reward for their own diligence, and for providing me some delicious wine, I told them of my battles with the mountain clansmen. The drums and horns that went on for day and night. The abrupt stopped, followed by the clansmen emerging from the forest, howling and screaming, pounding their chests. The volleys of arrows streaking as dawn’s first light fell upon us. Taking Sunfyre to the skies and avenging the villages they raided. Meeting the Griffin King in the air. The first dragon-griffin duel in recorded history, and its culmination at the hand of Helaena and Dreamfyre. The Griffin King himself meeting a brave end, fighting the knights of Heart’s Home until he met a man braver than he; a boy little older than them named Benjen Manderly. 

The sleepless week between the battles, as we waited and planned for the next assault. 

One night, the drums and horns sounded in the mists once more. The clansmen’s second assault. The storming of the battlements and fights on the walls and in the streets, all of which I went into intense detail. Shield walls, cramped melees, and cavalry charges. Sunfyre’s second flight and the breaking of the clans. I concluded the tale with the second Griffin King’s valiant attempt to kill me, and die in the attempt. 

“May the both of you have the bravery of the Griffin Kings, who fought dragons and did not give in. The fire in their eyes, no man I have ever met could match.”

“Your Grace, they’re outlaws, they shouldn’t be remembered,” said Peake.

He was right. “Outlaws they may be, but they are brave men. Were they captured, I would have allowed them to live out their days as guests of the crown. Were they ordered to be killed, I would take their heads myself.” 

“Truly?”

“Upon the Seven. The realm needs more men with their ferocity. Would that my father had half their determination, Dorne would bend the knee out of fear.” 

The two pondered my -possibly heretical- words for a minute or two as they held their posts. 

I moved on. “Edgarran.”

“Ser,” the boy stepped forward and bowed his head. 

“Bring me Maester Alaric’s book on runes. It’s-” 

Roxton, ever with an eye for the details, knew where it was by second nature, and retrieved it from the shelf before I could finish what I said. 

Maester Alaric was one of the maesters serving King Edwyn Stark. His field was in language. He wrote a sizable compendium on the runic language. Said compendium found its way onto my shelf, courtesy Orwyle. 

As Roxton brought it, Peake, remaining where he’d been assigned, asked me. “Why, ser?”

“You find my interest odd?”

“You’ve never shown an interest in the runes, ser,” he said, conscientious of how he sounded.

He was correct, I hadn’t. “I never have, you are sharp for saying so. Why, then? The demon who I am to face in battle, my wife is not the first woman he seeks to tarnish. During my campaign in the Vale, I learned of the truth.” I pushed my chair back and rose to my feet. “The Lord of Flea Bottom killed Lady Rhea Royce. Had I known how, I would have sewn the runes of Runestone upon my favor, for the Lady’s protection, and in the Lady’s honor. I must make do with less.” I took the book from him, set it down, and turned to the both of them. 

“Kneel.” 

The squires dropped to their knees.

“I charge you, as your knight and your prince, to remember his black deed. Remember he killed her. Do not let this tale die when I do. Swear these words-” I drew my mace and held it high, “‘We Remember.’” 

“We Remember,” they said, bowing their heads.

Good. I set my mace down and waved them up. “Tonight, when you go to the sept, ask for the Lady’s blessing.” 

“She is dead, ser,” pointed out Roxton, while Peake made the sign of the seven.

“She may be dead, her tale shall never die.” Nor will I let her. 

Lady Arryn could cower in fear if she wished. I wasn’t Lady Arryn. I wasn’t going to let him stop me. Was I afraid of him? Were the contents of my bladder running down my leg in the minutes after Essie named him? Yes to both. That was not going to stop me. I’d fight in her name too. Black or Green, she was of this realm, supposedly under the protection of my father and all his feudal oaths.

Now the realm will see the worth of his protection. A whore has been ennobled. 

“Titus. Edgarran. I face a trial of seven. To have it, I have need of six more champions.” I held my hand. “Do not name names. Titus, find your father, tell him I ask him to be one. If he says yes, summon him to my chambers. Edgarran, find Amos Bracken. He should be in the sept. Tell him the same, I name him as one of my champions.”

“Ser,” the boys bowed their heads, rose, and set off on their journeys. 

“Thorne!” I bellowed. 

As the boys left, Helaena’s knight of flails marched in, click-stomping and dropping his head. “Your Grace.” 

“You know of my impending trial of seven.”

“I do, Your Grace. Forgive me, the King has forbidden the Kingsguard from fighting. May the Seven give you the strength of Ser Cole and Ser Darklyn.” 

“My grandfather recommends Ser Denys Reyne. I have just sent for Lord Unwin Peake and Ser Amos Bracken. I know not where he is.”

“I shall find him. Your Grace, may I offer counsel?”

“It is with your oaths, is it not?” I waved him on. “You may provide it.”

“My brother Ser Adrian was ever my better at the sword. Had he not wed, he would have taken my place.”

“You have my leave to send my gray cloaks to find him and bring him to my waiting chamber.” Not him, as Ser Thorne, obedient as he is, would be reluctant to leave my chamber guarded by my grandfather’s guardsmen. 

Ser Thorne departed. 

I was parsing through the book when the first of the applicants arrived.

“Lord Unwin Peake, Lord of Starpike, Lord of Dunstonbury, Lord of Whitegrove, and Marshal of the Iron Throne,” announced one of the gray cloaks, miraculously not out of breath. 

“Enter,” I ordered, and he did. 

I’d met him not two hours before. Somehow, no wait I know how, he’s Lord Peake, he found a way to surprise me. 

“Caving in the Prince’s skull? I would be honored, Your Grace.” 

“Your enthusiasm is outright treasonous.” I forced out a laugh, this man’s is a real fruitcake isn’t he? “I shall allow it, as I must fight him too.” 

“Bah,” he swatted, “most men would piss themselves and run at the sight of him and his Valyrian steel armor.”

“What makes you special?”

“I’ve been dreaming of fighting the Prince in a melee since that steward’s son from Blackhaven won.”

“That steward’s son is your Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and you will show him respect” I ruffled my papers. “You did not answer me.” 

“My family has been making ornaments out of hell beasts since the first Vulture arose out of the Red Mountains. Come to Starpike, we have the skeletons of the giant vultures the Blackmonts flew into battle. My forebear Lord Armen slew one in the days of Mern, Ninth of that Name Since the Greenhand.” He made the sign of the seven. “May the Seven bless him and his line.” 

On the one hand, he was a bit too overconfident for my liking. On the other hand, I was inspired by his confidence. What can I say, I’m a stupid Green. “You understand that this duel is to submission or the death?”

“Aye, I do. My father once said, ‘A man should seek out death, he should not let it come for him.’ If I die slaying this rogue, I will be remembered forever. If I win, I have a story to tell my children.” 

“Very well.” I did not rise from my chair, as there was no need. “I, Aegon Targaryen, name you one of my champions. Take this-” I handed him a parchment, “-this will give you one hundred gold from the vaults. Do with it as you wish. By my name, you have my leave until the morning of the duel. Additionally, you may take your boy for the next two days.” 

His eyes watered with gratitude. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will ask him, Your Grace, with Your Grace’s leave.” 

“You have it.” I waved his dismissal. 

Alaric’s text included a dictionary made to help the Kings of Winter. While not comprehensive, it was more than what I needed, as it included all the words I required. 

I’d been practicing my calligraphy with one such word when the gray cloak heralded “Ser Amos Bracken, heir to the Stone Hedge!” 

“Enter,” I ordered, and he did. 

The thirty three year old heir would not have looked like a noble without all his accouterments. He had a plain face, a tiny broken nose, red-brown hair, and a close-cropped beard. He wore a surcoat bearing the red stallion on gold of his house. Around his neck hung a dark blue seven-pointed star. On his fingers were a collection of little golden rings, inlaid with stallions and stars and other sorts of intricate artisanry. Nothing close to Oldtown, still notable for how shiny it was. 

“Your Grace has my lance,” he boomed, in a thick Riverrun accent. 

I smiled. That was easy. Too easy? ‘Hold your horses,’ I deemed too on the tiny nose to say, so I chose different words. “Do you understand who you are fighting?” I asked, courteously. 

He let out a gruff chuckle. “The Seven will bring this demon to the seven hells. It is my duty to send him there.” 

No, there’s no way I’m stopping this man’s enthusiasm for bloodshed. “Is it now?”

“Aye. I brought seven of my father’s finest steeds to King’s Landing. Only now do I see why. The Crone wished me to slay this brigand and feed his corpse to the Red Fork.” He bowed his head. “You will find no better mounts on this side of Highgarden.”

Right. You’re going to get slain in five seconds, won’t you? “I would ask if you have taken leave of your wits. I see now that you have.” 

“Your Grace, I possess all my wits,” he barked, annoyed at my accusation. “You are to fight a rogue who plots to overturn the Great Council.” 

I tapped my scraggly facial hair. “And you want to ride in there and kill him.”

He smirked. “Men die when you kill them, aye. Allow me a raven, I shall write to my brothers and cousins.” 

Great, I can fill out my roster with even more bloodthirsty lunatics. “Where are your brothers and cousins?”

“Across the Seven Kingdoms.”

“The trial is two days from now. I fear your raven to your lord father would arrive after your death, were you to die.”

“Do you fear death, Your Grace?”

“Yes, I’m made of blood and flesh.”

“May I provide Your Grace the words of my septon, Ronnel?”

Am I going to be able to stop you and your thunderous bellowing? Probably not. “You may, ser.” 

“‘A knight is sworn to protect the weak and the innocent from outlaws, savages, and Blackwoods.’ You should not fear death. Our wives are not with us here, they will know of our deeds, and they will smile.” 

I tend to think Helaena would bawl her eyes out if I died. I wasn’t going to mention that, one, it’d compromise her dignity, two, it was beside the point I wanted to make. “You are mad.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “If you think I am mad, Your Grace, you must meet my cousin Bowbreaker.” 

Let me take a wild guess, “He earned his name from breaking bows?” I tried to sound humble. I failed. 

He grinned. “He broke Blackwood’s spine with his knee.”

Ah, that makes more sense. I don’t know which Blackwood, and I don’t think I care. 

“I, Aegon Targaryen, name you one of my champions.” I pushed a parchment to him. “One hundred golden dragons, from the royal vaults. Do with it as you wish.”

He studied the parchment before handing it back to me. 

Well that’s odd. “Ser, it’s yours.” 

“I refuse it. I will kill the brigand with the steel I bear, or I will die in the attempt.” 

I think he misunderstands. Too many times bonking his head in his attempts to ‘break bows,’ I’d assume. “You can use the gold for any-thing you desire. It is gold.”

“I refuse it. What deed have I done to earn it?”

“You have sworn to die for me.”

“It is my duty to die for you, Your Grace. Were it not, I would not have come here.” 

  As you wish. Wait. I spotted the star on his chest. “You can take this gold and throw it at the smallfolk.”

“Commoners cannot use gold. They need food and houses. Neither of which I can provide, as I am not master of this city, nor lord of this keep.” 

This man was giving me a headache. “As you wish, Ser Amos. You have my leave until the morning of the trial.” 

“Aye, Your Grace,” he gleamed with delight. “That morning cannot come soon enough. I shall be at quintain.” 

Whatever you say. You should take a loon for your sigil. I waved his dismissal.

He didn’t take the parchment. 

I learned the word I needed to know. I was getting the hang of drawing it. I was about to call for some steak when Ser Thorne at the door called out “Ser Denys Reyne.” 

“Enter,” I said, stacking the papers I’d been using to practice with and shoving them into a drawer, likely to be forgotten for all time. 

Denys Reyne belonged in wrestling, not dressed up for court. The man was built like a rectangle, with broad shoulders and arms thicker than my head. To complement this, he allowed himself a wild red beard. Not ginger, not red-brown, not auburn, red. Bright red, like his house’s sigil. He wore a long Westerlands style tabard with the red lion rampant on a silver field. 

“Your Grace,” he began, in Kingslander, “I would be honored to be your champion.” 

As with the men that came before, I was not going to make this easy. “Do you understand who it is I am to fight?”

“The Lord Consort of Dragonstone. The blackguard who would be a second Maegor, were he allowed to sit the throne. By the Seven, that shall never come to pass.”

More treason. Oh well, it’s a good thing the walls are on my side, right? “Do you have a wife? Children?” 

His eyes narrowed. “Once. My lady Shirei and my two sons Reynard and Walderan are with the Seven now.” 

It was then I noticed the… is that a finger bone… hanging from his neck. “Is that a finger bone?”

He growled. “It is, Your Grace. Torwyn Saltcliffe’s. The man had a great affinity for his fingers.”

“Many men do.” I changed the subject slightly. “You slew him?”

“The Gods did.”

“Why? How?” 

“He took his wife and two sons’ untimely deaths harshly.” His lips curved into something feral.  

Untimely… I understand. I was starting to grasp why I did not want to be in the same room as this man. 

Right. Let’s resolve this quickly, before this man gives me nightmares. “I, Aegon Targaryen, name you one of my champions.” I handed him the parchment. “One hundred golden dragons, from the royal vaults. Do with it as you wish.”

“I cannot, Your Grace.”

Oh great, another one. “Why, Ser Denys?”

“Your uncle will pay the iron price for his realm. I will pay the iron price for his heart.” 

You know, I don’t have the courage for this. “As you wish, ser. You have my leave until the morning of the trial.” 

“May the Warrior give strength to your arm, Your Grace. May He Who Rules the Storms lay this Maegor low.” 

I wasn’t even going to ask what in all the hells he meant by that. 

I waved his dismissal.

Once he was gone I finished the rest of my goblet, poured a second, and finished it. 

I was getting a good grasp of the runes I needed to carve. In the meantime, I had decided how I’d integrate the studs of House Royce. I had, at last, acquired that piece of steak. It served its purpose as a steak. 

I practiced the words I needed to write, and practiced again and again. I wasn’t going to take out the cloth until I knew I’d get it right on my first attempt. 

Ser Thorne heralded the arrival of his brother, and I had a fresh goblet poured just in case he turned out as genial as Ser Denys Ironbreaker Reyne. 

Ser Adrian Thorne proved far more down to earth than the last three. He also revealed that my grandfather was hard at work while I sat here playing a game of meat-carving. “The Lord Hand wished for me to fight for you, Your Grace. I am honored by the Lord Hand, and accept.”

“I thought I sent Ser Thorne for you.”

“You did, Your Grace. The Hand’s men came for me first.”

“Your reputation precedes you,” I half-japed. 

He laid his hand over his battered surcoat and bent his head. 

Not a man of boasting? I can work with that. At least he’s not carving hearts out of his enemies. “I have heard you had a wife. Do you have children?”

“I do, Your Grace. Robin is two. Trebor is one. My wife Merry has a third on the way.”

“Is she in the city?”

“She is. We have a small manse near the Old Gate. I was just with her.” 

I don’t need to know more about that, thank you. I thought of Helaena’s advice on Andalos. The twins’ approval comes before hers. “Ride to your wife. Tell her I would name you as one of my champions, only with her assent.”

“She would approve, Your Grace. House Thorne were among the first to declare for your namesake.” 

“So I have heard. Aegon promised you the Confederation anew. Do you think his promise has been fulfilled?”

The words sat on his lips, only for him to lower his head. “It is not my place to judge. I am not some blood of kings, like half those in this city. Our sigil is the flail, for we were once farmers. Ser Rickard serves Your Graces as his namesake served the First Speakers.” 

I raised my hand and he ceased. “Ride to your wife now. Ask for her assent.” 

“Your Grace, she will approve.”

“That was not to be discussed, ser. You wish to die for me? Make peace with your wife and sons first.” I eyed the door. “Or I will have your dutiful brother remove you.” 

He bowed his head and complied. 

After a dozen attempts, I, out of my own independent decision making, concluded that I wouldn’t get any neater. Ser Thorne announced a man I hadn’t heard of. “Ser Durwald Trant, of Gallowsgrey.” 

“On what business?” I countered, though in my head I sensed why. 

After a few seconds, Thorne barked the answer. “He bears the Hand’s seal. The Lord Hand appointed him as one of Your Grace’s champions.” 

“Roxton, the Tumbleton Red for him. Quiet Isle for me.” 

“Aye, Ser.”

Peake was off with his father, and would be for the next day and some. That left Roxton with double the obligations. 

Ser Durwald, like Amos before him, was a plain man. He had thick black hair that fell down to his shoulders and a thick black horseshoe mustache. He wore a blue Stormlander surcoat, on it, his personal arms; a yellow hanging man, with a sun in place of the man’s head. 

He knelt, I waved him up, and motioned for him to sit. 

“Tumbleton Red from the days of Lord Harlan Tyrell.” Roxton filled his goblet. 

“Your Grace,” he thanked me and received Roxton’s offered goblet. 

“I was informed you were to be one of my champions?” I asked as I sipped my Quiet Isle White. 

“The Lord Hand picked me, Your Grace.”

Unwin Peake and Amos Bracken’s names loomed large in the tourney circuits, the former as a master in melees, the latter as one of the finest horsemen in the Trident. Denys Reyne looked like he belonged with the mountain clansmen. Adrian Thorne had his brother’s recommendation. The One-Eye was the One-Eye. 

I’m sorry, who are you? “How is it that I have never heard of your name before, Ser… Sun Gallows?” 

“This?” He glanced at his own surcoat, as though he’d never been asked in all his years. “This is for Ser Davos Tarth, who I slew in battle.” 

On closer inspection, the sun was smiling. No, that wasn’t off-putting in the slightest. 

So it was a battle. “Why were you killing Tarths?” 

“He had defiled my betrothed. I challenged him to a duel.” The rage in him could kindle the Dragonmont. 

I could sympathize with such feelings. Thoughts of what the gold cloaks did to my wife were a very good way to keep me focusing on the tasks at hand. “A duel you won.”

“No, Your Grace. I lost it, for he was craven. I hunted him down a day later and took his head.” 

What do you know, being a prince, and making everyone legally obligated to tell the truth, has its perks. “You slew him honorably?”

“I waited until sunset and approached him from the west. He attacked, his beloved sun blinded him, I took his head.” 

This is why my grandfather appointed you. You’re shrewd as a Florent. “Have you won any other feats, good ser?” 

“I was third place in the melee celebrating Lord Boremund’s five-and-seventieth name day. Before that, Lord Jon and his father Barristan charged me with defending Gallowsgrey from raiders along the Sapphire Sea.” 

My grandfather brought you here the same he did with the rest of the Stormlanders. “Do you have a wife? Children?”

“The Seven have blessed Jeyne and I with nine children, three boys and six girls.” 

“Are they in King’s Landing?”

“Gallowsgrey, Your Grace.” 

That must be close enough to reach by raven. “Do you wish to be my champion?” It couldn’t hurt to ask. 

“I would be most honored.” 

“Would your wife Jeyne allow it?” 

“A Trant has not fought in a trial of seven since the days of Good King Durran.”

“Which Durran might that be? Forgive me, every other Stormlander claims his Durran was Good King Durran.”

Trant laughed. “Durran XLIX, Your Grace.” 

Ah, so not that distant. The last Storm King to bear that name lived two hundred years ago. He was the Forty Ninth. Wait, Lord Jon. I don’t know why it took me this long to go Trant, that Trant? “You wouldn’t happen to be brothers with Durran Trant?” 

“The Hanging Bard is my elder brother.” 

Small world. “He is one of the finest bards I’ve had the pleasure of hearing.” That wasn’t a lie either. High Summer, Lords of the Yellow Mud, Fairmarket, Argilac’s Fury, all ended up being whistled while I flew Sunfyre. 

He blushed. “He will be grateful to have Your Grace’s patronage.” 

“You have my leave to write to your kin. I fear the ravens will not return by the time you fight.”

“Your Grace need not fear. All rogues fight the same, be they dragons or sapphires. The secret is to anticipate their craven tricks.” 

I was content. Once he finished his wine, I did for him as for the rest, parchment that granted him one hundred dragons. He accepted the parchment and took his leave. 

I had finished my dinner and finished writing the words onto the bronze-colored ribbon. ‘Words,’ they were runes that translated into words. A phrase, to be exact. ‘We Remember.’ As for the stud, that had to wait until the battle itself. 

“Ser Arneld Langward, of Langward Hall,” called Ser Thorne from his post. This time, he’d checked. “He bears the Hand’s seal to be one of Your Grace’s champions.” 

I looked at Roxton. He realized my meaning, and set about clearing the supplicant’s table. My own desk remained littered with papers and books and would continue to do so, as there wasn’t a single literate soul in the Seven Kingdoms who’d reprimand a prince for being in his books. 

Ser Langward had straw-colored hair that fell in ringlets down past his shoulders and a delicate-trimmed mustache and goatee. His surcoat depicted the crown of stars in the red sky of twilight above the eponymous Blackwater. No, officially it was ‘a crown of white stars upon a red sky, above black.’ I knew it off-handed, as they were Crownlords, and the sigil was interesting. To the shock of nobody, it had a story behind it. 

The Langwards fought a major battle against a force of Gardeners. The battle took place along the shores of the Blackwater. The battle was decided in the hour before dawn, as the King’s Crown constellation rose in the red sky. 

He took his seat and accepted the Tumbleton Red. 

“The Lord Hand wished for you to be one of my champions?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” 

“Do you have a wife? Children?” 

“No, Your Grace. I swore my sword to the Seven.” 

Oh, did you now? “The Swords are outlawed. My great-grandfather’s orders.”

“I was sworn to an order of wandering knights. ‘The Brothers of the Kingswood.’”

Not to be confused with the outlaw band that won’t exist for a century and a half. I tried to make sense of it. “Not to the Seven, to a lord?”

“We followed a Captain. Ser Hyle.” He saw that I had no idea what he was talking about, and clarified. “Where there were outlaws, we would march there, slay them, and help the farmers rebuild their villages.” 

“You were sellswords.”

“We did not charge gold.”

“I suppose the Seven provided you with manna?” 

“Manna, Your Grace?” The knight’s confusion was understandable. 

Never you mind that old joke. ‘Yair, where the hell are we supposed to get food?’ ‘Isn’t this where God rained manna from the sky?’ ‘I think.’ ‘Let’s eat some manna!’ Such is the madness that results from not having any rations on hand. Logistics provided us boxes of sauce packets, and no food. In the middle of the sweltering heat. 

“How did you survive?” I almost said ‘the Negev.’ Had to catch myself there. 

“The farmers would feed us, Your Grace.” 

Right. The farmers had a better functioning logistics division than a current-century military. “Why aren’t you fighting for the Brothers?” 

“The Crone gave me a vision to come to King’s Landing to purge the city of corruption.” 

Why, that sort of rhetoric sounds perfectly stable. “Do you believe this trial is that… purging?”

“No, this is a trial between princes of the blood.”

“I can overrule my grandfather, should you not wish to fight.” He had more than two potential applicants for me. 

His eyes widened in surprise. “No, no, Your Grace, I want to fight,” his panic was replaced with eagerness. “We Brothers of the Kingswood have heard of Her Grace’s kindnesses. It would be my honor to defend Princess Helaena’s name, as she has defended ours.” 

Her name. Interesting plot you’ve got spinning here, grandfather. Not that I’d complain. “My wife is unfortunately not in King’s Landing.” Can I take a message? I wasn’t foolish enough to ask how she ‘defended’ theirs. I’d never heard of them before. “I will tell her on your behalf.” 

“Thank you, Your Grace.” 

I gave him the same lines as the rest, a parchment of one hundred gold for him to do with as he wished. He took it and said he would send it to his cousin in Langward Hall. “This will see hundreds fed through the winter, Your Grace. You may not remember this paltry sum, those of the Kingswood will.” 

At that, he took his leave.

I dismissed Edgarran shortly thereafter, as it was almost nighttime. 

“You have quarters to return to,” I told him absentmindedly, myself half asleep. 

“I sleep in your chambers, ser,” he answered, sheepishly. 

I tried waving him away. “Then go there and set the bed and have a good sleep.” 

“You aren’t done, ser,” he pointed out, leaning over to look me in my half-lidded eyes. 

I burbled awake, not all dissimilar to Maelor. “No, I’m not.” A prince’s work is never done. 

He smiled. “I shall stay here until you are.”

You’re too good for this fat prince. “Get out, Ed, I would have the room to myself.”

“What about services, ser?”

Services. Services. Services. Right. Services. “I will go later.” If I saw my father, sept or no sept, there was a high percentage chance I’d commit regicide. The thick squire didn’t leave. “Ser, is there anything I can help you with?”

Tell me I can win this, you precocious preteen. Tell me there’s a way I defeat the Rogue. “Leave me.” I looked around the room. “All of you, leave me. You have the morning off. If the Mistress of the Household complains, tell her I said it.”

The servants filtered out after giving the proper bows and curtseys. 

The squire stayed. 

“Why are you looking at me the way Helly looks at cake?” 

He provided an answer that was about as relevant to my question as my analogy was to his actions. “My father made me stand at attention from dawn until dusk every day in the moon leading up to when I came to squire for you.” 

“Yes, you Marchers are strange.” Wait a second. “Go write to your father.”

“What should I write to him?”

“He’s your father, not mine. You tell me.”

“I…” he hmmed, and, slowly, he went back to being a thirteen year old. “I want to know how my mother’s doing. The last raven he sent, she was with child again. Oh, and Donnel! I heard he’s in Oldtown with your brother, ser.” 

For one of the first times in the day, I let myself relax and smile. “Go on, lad.” 

He went on. He wanted to hear from his mother, and his little brother, and his baby sister in the Ring, and his cousins in Oldtown and Highgarden and Starpike and Lannisport, and of the fighting with Lord Dayne of Starfall, and the latest tourney at the Arbor, and half a hundred other trivial details. 

When he finally finished, I gave him my leave to write to his father in the Ring and his cousins across the realm. He darted out of the room, forgetting his discipline and his duties. 

The door closed, and I fell asleep in my chair. 

I was ignobly jostled awake. I instinctively went for my knife, as grabbing my royal personage was illegal. I opened my eyes, hand on the grip, only to find my brother the One-Eye. He smelled of sweat and Vhagar, which implied that he, like me, had ignored his nightly services. 

“I’m going to be one of your champions.”

The direct statement, as opposed to all the semi-courteous behavior, made me laugh. “Did you ask mother first?”

“Mother is not a dragon. The dragons must stay together when facing a surfeit of rogues.”

What in the ding dong did he just say? “I’m sorry?”

“We are brothers,” he continued shaking my shoulders. “It is my place to fight by your side, for only if we stand together can we kill them.” 

“What?” was all I could muster. Did you just take the Frey house words and use them in a sentence? 

“The Griffinslayer and the Sapphire. We will free the realm of him together! Together!”

“What?” Sapphire?  

“Our father’s dishonorable actions will, not, stand!”

I didn’t need eardrums. “Aemond, please stop shouting.”

He let go immediately and fell to his knees. “I beg your forgiveness, my liege. If there is anything I can-”

My liege? The hand went up and he stopped talking. “I’m not…” right. I’m the rightful king. “For one, cease this mummery, you’re a prince, act like it. Two,” I gripped his arm, “what did you mean by ‘will not stand?’” I had an inkling of an idea, the idea was called ‘the Lord Hand says, and we listen.’ As with previous rumors, I wanted his version of the story first. 

“Father has proven himself to be no true king. He listens to what the whore says. You came back from fighting the mountain clans and were punished! Punished! On lies! Her lies! The whore’s lies! What is next? Helaena is punished for giving away gold? I am punished for flying too close to Driftmark? Daeron is punished for hanging outlaws?” 

‘Stop shouting.’ That worked wonders. “Quiet,” no, that’s not enough. I scrambled to my feet and locked his right shoulder in a tight grip. “Your tongue could be taken for this, Aemond.” 

“By who?”

“Father.”

He snarled. “Let him try. He cannot protect his bannermen, no number of tongues will change that.” 

Wake-up time. I slapped him. “Do you have no wits, brother? If you cannot control yourself for yourself, do it for Helaena! For Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and Maelor.” After the blow landed, I regretted it. That didn’t mean I attempted to unjustify it. I was too tired for his antics. 

He took the disciplinary action well. “I will hold my tongue,” he snapped, “but the truth cannot be hidden. We are the blood of the dragon, and dragons do not tremble in fear.”

“Did mother allow you to be my champion?” 

“Yes.” He tapped the shortsword gleefully. “She offered me a special blade.” 

“That is not spellforged.” 

He smirked and dropped his voice to a whisper. “It is tipped with Flowersbane.” 

“Who or what is Flower and what is his bane?”

The smirk widened. “Only the Lords of Oldtown know of it.” 

The Queen has resorted to poisoning, using some family recipe. Why was that not a surprise? The Lords of Oldtown did not maintain their high tower through purely peaceful means. If there was any house in the Seven Kingdoms that’d have generations of herbalists brewing recipes, it would be my mother’s. 

Then it hit me. 

She’s going to sacrifice his reputation for all time so that mine remains pure. Mother, it’s you who needs to be slapped. “Take this blade and cast it into a well.” 

“Brother, this is-”

I barely contained myself. “This is dishonorable treachery.” The Lord of Flea Bottom was not someone we were supposed to emulate. He was mortal like the rest of us. He could die like the rest of us. 

“‘We must fight a rogue with rogues,’ mother told me before.”

“You will dispose of this blade.” I stepped back from him. “You will.” 

“Your Grace” was all he said in return. 

If he wanted to be unbending, I’d find another angle. “What is the hour?” 

“The hour of the owl.” 

That late at night? I could believe it. “You didn’t attend services?”

“I will not set foot in the same room as father until he rescinds his punishment,” he rumbled, clenching his fists.

The burning anger in his eyes warmed my heart. No, not in a Targaryen way, in a normal brotherly way. He’s on my side. He gets it. “Thank you Aemond. Your faithfulness is… needed.” 

He smiled. “For you and Helaena, anything.” 

I couldn’t explain why, but those words made my shoulders slacken. “Please… please tell me you saw to the babes.”

“I read Jaehaerys and Jaehaera to sleep.” 

I ended up stumbling, I missed that. He caught me and helped me back up. “Let’s help you to bed.” 

“No…” I broke off his grip and strode away, catching myself on the wall. “I need to talk to mother.” 

“About my sword?”

“About my life. Go… go sulk out on Maegor’s.” 

“Your Grace,” he agreed, “may I help you to the chambers?”

“Your king gave you a command. Go, take a walk, and bring wine to my chambers.” 

“Your Grace,” he went to one knee, took my hand, and kissed the signet ring. 

I waved him up. 

He walked out. 

Ser Thorne was still at the door, some twelve hours later. 

“You’re relieved. I’m going to the royal apartments,” I told him and left the implications unsaid. 

Unlike Aemond, he obeyed quickly, albeit not without comment. “My brother Adrian wished to inform you that he had his wife’s assent.” 

“Excellent. You’re relieved for the night.” 

“A good night to you, Your Grace.” 

“And you, knight of flails.” I didn’t care if that was my wife’s name for him. We were one heart, one mind, one soul. His brother and his prince, both marching to their deaths. One would never know it looking at his stoic face. 

I went to the doors of my mother’s chambers, only to find the Cargylls standing guard outside. 

Before either could talk, I heard moaning from inside. 

I was beyond the pale of being disgusted. My first thought was how could you possibly love this man, Your Grace?. My second was you’re not making love to him, you’re trying to make an opportunity where there is none. 

Neither of the Cargylls commented. 

I didn’t tell him I wanted to speak with her. I stood there for about thirty seconds, considering what to do. Another wave of moaning gave me my answer. 

I turned and went back towards my own chambers. 

I’d say I remembered what I talked about with my brother that night, but it was a lie.

I remember sitting down and emptying the whole flagon into our collective stomachs.

I remember waking up half-on half-off the bed, in a pool of my own saliva, with a pounding headache. Aemond was nowhere to be seen.  

Even that was brief, for after I went and emptied my bladder, I went back to my nightstand, drank some more wine, and passed out. This time, at least, I did so completely on the bed. This time, I went to sleep dreaming of my sister. Not in some Targaryen way, in a simple ‘I wish you were here. I need my rock.’ 

I would have slept the alcohol-induced headache off on the morning of the 18th, had I not been interrupted. Mother had my servants see to me. I only paid half attention as my mind was swirling. Something about ravens and Driftmark. As said, I wasn’t truly listening. I changed from one set of semi-formal clothes into another; the pattern work was slightly different, the colors and hues remained the same.  

Any preconceived notions of falling back asleep died when the herald at the door announced “Her Grace Princess Rhaenys Velaryon is without, and wishes for an audience.”

The small beer I was drinking was sucked down the wrong pipe. I cough-spat it out. 

Princess Rhaenys.

Roxton’s own eyes had bugged out. It wasn’t just me losing my mind. 

The servants hastily cleaned up the mess I made. 

It took them one minute and thirty one seconds to make the room ready. That was one minute and thirty two seconds longer than it should have. 

I tied on my green cloak and stood. 

“I am modest,” was the excuse I gave. “She may enter.” 

The door swiveled open.

The servants bowed and curtseyed. 

Princess Rhaenys stormed in, dressed in blue riding leathers, her long black hair wound into a bun. Somewhere along the way, she found time to don a small crown. It was once a red gold circlet. Jewelsmiths had fused a golden stag’s head and silver seahorse’s head to its points, each captured with their mouths open, roaring defiance. 

“Your Grace’s presence is most welcome.” 

She offered her hand. Her signet bore the three headed dragon ‘inside’ a ring of seven miniature gemstones. 

As I knelt to kiss it, she spoke. ‘Spoke’ was an understatement. 

She bellowed. “Are the rumors true? My gooddaughter has raised a whore to a seat?” 

I laid a kiss on her hand and rose. “Yes, Your Grace.” 

She swatted it aside. “Cousin is enough. We’re all graces here. These years, there’s graces appearing like mushrooms after a rain. ” 

“Yes, cousin. She gave a whore land.” 

She took two steps back and studied me. 

“The bastard, is he yours?” 

That’s abrupt. No it isn’t, that’s the Lady of Driftmark. “I seek to fight in a trial to prove he isn’t.” 

She inclined her head. “Which means he is, and honor compels you. Tell it true, how many of my cousins are to die for some whore’s whelp?”

“My brother Aemond and I will fight against our uncle.”

I wish I hadn’t looked into her pale dead eyes.

I truly wish I hadn’t.

“Mother save you all! This is madness! Madness and foolishness! In the name of some bastard?” 

It wasn’t princely to waver. I waved right back into my chair. “Yes, Princess.” 

“Has your sister taken leave of her wits?”

That surprised me more than her permanent outdoor voice. “My sister?”

“You bed women and have bastards.” She closed her fist. “This does not need a trial. Since Aenar our family has planted seeds in wombs and left them to take root. Only now is it a crime?” 

“What would you have me do?” I asked hoarsely. “My wife’s honor is on the line.” 

She raised her hand. I stopped. “Don’t waste your breath on me. You are defending your wife’s honor and your lack of it. You aren’t the first prince and you won’t be the last. Your father should declare the bastard yours and send him away from court. Not-” she inhaled sharply “-not allow a whore to be given lands and titles for claiming a prince has made her get with child.” 

In that instant, I thought of my grandfather and his opportunities. “My father… had little part to play in this.”

“So I’ve heard. His brother has bedded half the women in my court. I do not fly to King’s Landing and weep when one of them grows great with child.” 

“Why?”

She made to grab at me, staying her hand at the last second. “We are Targaryens! We must be one house, not twenty! The realm dislikes us. The Free Cities hate us. The Triarchy plots against us.” 

“What would you have me do, cousin?” I asked, quite seriously. If nothing else, she might give me an answer and then I can stop going deaf. 

“Go run to your father crying, mayhaps he’ll let you hand out titles to whores! Whores! Whores! What next, Vis? Are we going to hand out towerhouses to everyone in Flea Bottom? Throw a feast for the Griffin King?”

I suppressed my chuckling. “I did not ask. I would not put it past his nature, cousin.” 

Her dead eyes found me. “Next time you bring our house words to the outlaws, do stop at Driftmark.”

“So you may join?”

That ‘smile’ of hers was definitely going to give me nightmares. “Meleys belongs in battle, Prince Aegon. She was not bred to sit in the courtyard of Dragonstone all day, feasting on goats and sheep.” 

“I will consider it.” 

“You will do it. Three dragons is better than two.” 

I was at a loss for what to say. The Lady of Driftmark barging into my room wasn’t on my list of expectations in the morning. “May I offer you anything to drink?”

She shook her head. “I am warmed by the thought, but no. Half the wine in this castle is poisoned. I would have you come with me. Let us do something other than lament my grandfather’s conciliatory rule and how it has dissolved into squabbling factions of children in the bodies of men and women grown.”

“Go with you?” Where am I going now? Another campaign? 

“Take Sunfyre up and show me how you fought the Griffin King.”

“I…” my tongue looped around itself, “...I don’t know how to show you that.” I must’ve sounded twelve. 

She let out a roaring laugh. “You did not know how to fight the Griffin King. When he fell upon you from the heavens, you slew him all the same.” She clapped me on the shoulder. “Well fought, my prince, well fought. Your fight vexed your father, did it not?”

I kept my composure low. “He was most wroth I abandoned his feast in favor of Heart’s Home.”

“When your nephew is King and my granddaughter Baela is Queen, no feasts shall be held until the outlaws burn.” 

“Not my sister?”

“Your sister has taken leave of her wits.” She sent dagger eyes at me. “And do not take this as me declaring for your mother. A good deed does not wash out the bad, nor bad the good. You did the blood of the Conqueror was born to do, from the days of Maegor since. It seems I must remind my good-daughter. Will you come with me?” 

“My elder sister would stab me if I was in the same chamber as her.” Or kiss me, which would be worse. 

“Then stand here and brood. She is in need of a thrashing.” She pulled her riding gloves taut. 

That might’ve been a first, someone entered my solar, chewed my sister out, and left without as much as a drink.

Before she could, I heard my grandfather’s voice. Opportunity, and my wife’s, bastards. I called out. “Princess!”

The Princess whirled about in a flash of blue. “Yes, my prince? Reconsider your brooding?” 

Somewhat. “My father will not allow me to take Sunfyre flying. May I walk you up to the top of Maegor?”

“To throw me off the battlements?” When I didn’t answer, from being stunned, she laughed. 

I accompanied her to the top of Maegor’s. 

When we reached the battlements of the square castle, I turned to her and explained why we’d walked all this way.

I looked around. Two gray cloaks and two men with Velaryon badges stood twenty paces away. Beyond them, there were guards posted at every fifty paces. 

Now or never. “In Hull you will find a trader named Marilda. She runs a small fleet.” 

“Yes, I have met her a few times. She sails the Blackwater coast.” 

“She has a pair of sons with silver hair and purple eyes. They are her first and second mates aboard her flagship.” 

The pale eyes twitched, ever so slightly. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would,” I admitted, quite bluntly. “Addam and Alyn.”  

“I should challenge you to combat for this,” she stated, as calm as the skies. “My husband would never.” 

Interesting, your husband, and not your son. It’s as if you know your son would no more bed a woman than I would bed my sisters. “Have you wondered why I told you, and did not run to my father?” 

Her eyes searched me. “Do tell me, before I feed you to Meleys.”

Why, someone’s in a rocky marriage. I crossed my arms over my chest. “I am not my elder sister. The Sea Snake, the Rogue Prince, and I, the son of Oldtown, all have bastards. It is as you said, it is the way of those with dragon’s blood.” The Snake had more than a few drops from all the intermarriage between Targaryen and Velaryon and Celtigar. 

“How long have you been plotting this slander?”

“I do not remember.” I raised my hand. “Before you slay me, know this. As House Velaryon has spies in King’s Landing, House Hightower has them across Driftmark. It is the nature of the great game, as you will no doubt concede. We know one another’s secrets. One of which is your husband’s… frequenting… of Hull while you were away.” Everything I said was true. Grandfather had spies across Driftmark, as Lord Velaryon did King’s Landing. The former knew of the latter’s frequenting of Hull on occasions the Princess was elsewhere. 

“Why should I believe your claim?”

The anger simmering in you means you’ve had your doubts. “You shouldn’t. Go find out for yourself.” I produced the crystal dangling from my neck. “I will swear a vow upon the Seven if you would be so content.”

“I would have you swear one.”

I would never speak this slander again, to her or anyone else. In return, she would pretend our conversation -and its threats- up here never happened, for the love she bears my and Helaena’s children.

I swore the words, and we departed our separate paths. “I must go thrash your sister for giving land to whores,” she said, before turning and storming off.  

No summons from the Hand or the Queen came for the rest of the morning. The top of Maegor’s must not have had the same ears as the rest. That, or the walls -in that case, floors- were so enamored by my rumor-spinning that they had to go confirm them themselves. I didn’t care either way. That was why I did something so stupid to begin with. 

If I was going down, I was going to throw my sister’s supporters onto the bonfire with me. 

Based on the untapped anger in my cousin, she had her own suspicions to begin with. Why wouldn’t she? She’s been married for thirty-seven years. All I did was throw a match onto the kindling. 

I went to Eustace’s services. Septon Eustace wasn’t there, Septon Godry was. 

The morning’s service heavily featured the Book of the Smith. The paraphrased words, ‘He reaps that which he sows, no more and no less,’ stuck with me. 

I found more comfort in the statues than in his speeches, no offense to him meant. I lit a candle to each of the Seven to ask for their protection for my wife, my children, my brothers, and myself. 

I didn’t ask for wisdom, as there was no wisdom left to be had. I’m to fight the Rogue Prince. 

After them, I took the rest of the morning and afternoon to play with the twins. I belonged with them. I lost track of how many silly games, tea parties, and ‘maester lessons’ they begged from me. 

They were four. Not old enough to understand what could happen to me in less than twenty four hours. 

The handmaidens were better at acting than I was, they were all smiles. Genuine smiles at that, for they took as much enjoyment in the twins’ giggling as the twins themselves.

I was never a good actor. At a few points during the day, when Jaehaera made her knights ‘duel,’ I had to stop and excuse myself for a minute or two. 

They didn’t deserve to see tears well up in their father’s eyes. That’d make them cry, and they didn’t need to cry, they were four. The handmaidens knew and said nothing. The twins came first. 

In her games, Morghul -the stuffed plush dragon- came out of nowhere and ‘made the bad knight go away.’ I could do with some of Morghul’s courage right about now. 

A man in black livery came while I was reading her the story of Florian and Jonquil. It was midway into the afternoon for us grown-ups. For her, it was a long day of running around, she was tired, she wanted to go to sleep. Jaehaerys had already been put to bed. He’d never had the energy she had. Maelor was Maelor, and slept most of the day to begin with. 

“The Princess of Dragonstone summons you to her chambers,” the man said at the door. 

What now? I couldn’t refuse her royal command, father had given her his rights, and now she’s going to use them to tear me away from this. This. I went back to Jaehaera, who was trying her absolute hardest to stay awake, tossing and turning every other second. 

“I must go now,” I said as I pushed her tangles out of the way and tucked her in. “Your aunt wants me.”

She scrunched up her forehead. “Read me the rest of Florian ‘morrow?”

I kissed her between the eyes and she giggled. “Of course, my little dragon. I will read the rest of the tales of Florian on the morrow.” 

“Your Grace, the Princess.”

I swiveled around faster than I thought possible. “Get out of my room, you bastard. I heard you the first time. Tell her I’m coming.” 

He wasn’t some thug, he was a boy no older than Roxton, and I’d made him pale. 

He took his leave before I could apologize, not that I would apologize.

“You’ve been very patient all day,” I sat down next to her. “How about you read to me?” I passed her the book.

She squealed with excitement. Her reading needed lots and lots and lots of work, and she passed out before she could get to the bottom of the first page. 

I kissed her forehead and tucked her in. I did the same with Jaehaerys, who was deep in sleep, and Maelor, who was burbling as he played in his crib. 

The heir to the Seven Kingdoms received me in her old chambers, in a red silk gown, cut so low it was barely worth wearing, with her hair undone and free-flowing. Joining her was a face branded into my memory. Essie, of the mint green eyes. She was lying back on the Princess’ bed in a translucent silk gown, one that left nothing to the imagination. In addition to her was a Dornishwoman, the only one in the room wearing something remotely modest, an orange dress that hid most of her form. 

If she wanted me on a knife’s edge from when I first saw them, it would have worked, had she not done this before. You scheming whore, I didn’t forget what you did yesterday. I had no animosity towards the brothel whore, she was a woman of easy smiles. No, this was the doing of the royal whore.

“Your Grace,” I went to one knee, as was custom. 

“Rise, rise! Come and take a seat!” She patted the comforter-covered sedan chair next to her. 

“You brought me here to sit and feast with you? Begging Your Grace’s pardons-” not really, go take a sword and find shove it up the hole Laenor never did, “-I would rather sup with my children.”

She groaned dramatically and the two ladies to her sides sighed. 

“I understand why you wanted to bed Essie,” at a flick of the wrist, the woman in question climbed off the bed and sat down where I was supposed to. “She’s got firmness in all the right places. The years have done you well, my lady.”

Lady Essie blushed.  

Go on, commit infidelity here, in sight of the walls and the Clubfoot in them. “Your Grace,” I took a fortifying breath, “I don’t much care if the woman is made of curves. My lusts are for my wife and my wife alone.”

The Princess sat up and gave me a… worrying look. “Are they now?”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Does she need me to play a game? I’ll play a game.  “I long to see my wife again. There is no maiden half as comely as her.” 

She exhaled slowly and gave me a lopsided grin. “It’s true, Essie, Syl. My sister Helaena is beautiful. Sadly, she’s half-Andal,” the half-Andal clicked her tongue. “She has it in her head that she must stay bound to her husband until death. In doing so, she has missed out on very comely… treats.” 

The two women giggled like they were half their age. Who’s playing who, sister? I wonder. 

I was going to put that to the test. “Comely treats? However do you mean?”

The Princess groaned melodramatically. “Oh, do ignore his playfulness. My brother and I may each wish to fight over the Iron Throne, but there is one thing we can agree on. Life is for living. Come here, Syl.” 

The Dornishwoman stepped over to the Princess. The Princess looped an arm around her and pulled her into a deep, noisy, kiss. 

The two separated, the royal red-faced, the lowborn only slightly disheveled. 

“This is the life!” the Princess yelled. 

“Your Grace, my wife is faithful.” Something you are most definitely not. By the way, thanks for fornicating in front of these walls, they’ll be happy to see it. 

“Your wife is beautiful… and simple in the head, for missing out on such wonderful delicacies.” She thrust a finger at me. “Come here, Aegon. I won’t tell her and neither will you.” 

Go there and what, give your husband horns? That’ll go well for both of us. “Princess, this is not Dragonstone. You cannot force me to bed you.” 

The Princess slapped her leg and laughed.

The two women watched from the side. 

“You believe I force myself on them?” she barked, more amused than anything. 

Now that you’ve spilled the secrets, you drunkard, I do wonder. “What is it that you do?”

“Don’t listen to your mother and her whispers. It is a custom!” she yelled, apparently needing to remind herself that it was, in fact, a custom. 

“What custom? Forgive me, sister, my evil Andal mother and her evil Faith have corrupted my pure Valyrian mind. If only I had your stable upbringing and an uncle as kindhearted as yours to help me learn the truth.” 

The Princess was too busy smecking the Dornishwoman to make out anything beyond the word ‘custom.’ 

I watched the two play a game of sheath grinding. It involved exactly what it sounded like. I would’ve drank the entire flagon she had out had I not feared it being poisoned. I wouldn’t and didn’t put it past her uncle-cousin-husband, through her father, her mother, and marriage. 

Some time after enjoying her delicacies, the Princess remembered I was still there, and drunkenly divulged the rest of her ‘custom.’ “The lowborn on Dragonstone have long since given their maidenheads to the lord and lady of the castle. It is a blessing from Balerion if they get with child.” 

Clubfoot, are you hearing this? Please tell me you are. We need to get her drunk more often. I’d be dying of laughter if I wasn’t faced with dying of stab wounds tomorrow. 

“Do you still take this right?”

“Right?” She swatted at nothing as the Dornishwoman sat on her lap, lacing her fingers through my sister’s hair. “This is no ‘right.’ It is a blessing.” 

Of course it is. A teenage girl taking a journey to a demonic castle, being escorted into its depths, and then, ahem, enjoyed, by the lord and lady. What a wonderful blessing. 

“Are there any such women you know of who are blessed?”

“You want to taste them yourself?” she sultrily asked. “Fear not, Prince Aegon, I understand. It’s in your blood. You need to taste them.” She smacked the Dornishwoman’s rear, the signal for her to get off. “Come to Dragonstone, brother, there are many fine maidens there, each comelier than the last.”  

You moron. If only you’d picked one of those men to saddle you nightly for years on end, I’d have no evidence to prove your first three boys were renowned for their strength. The ‘blood’ had me thinking. “My sister bears as much blood as I. Why is it that she has never felt these urges?” It’s not that I wanted to throw Helaena into the jaws of the dragon. The dragon here was eating her own tail without any outside help. 

“Helaena, Meraxes bless her, has ever been… taught wrong.”

“How is she taught wrong? We were married at four-and-ten and three-and-ten.” I would have been nauseous, had I not already been after watching a royal digging around inside a lowborn’s smallclothes while the latter very clearly had as much interest in the Princess as I did. 

“I have heard of your marital bed. I must say, it is disappointing.” 

Why thanks, its disappointment can only be matched by your track record of faithfulness. I felt like lying, because, why in all the seven hells not? I was staring at the drunk-happy heir to the Seven Kingdoms, who, as I was trying to produce a comeback, slipped her dress off to let the Dornishwoman pretend to be a babe. 

I’ve got it! “I burned all the mountain clansmen. It made my loins…” loin-y?, “...inflamed. I made love to the Princess while the dragons… flew around in circles… above us. Out on a field. In the daytime. In the forest.” Seven, please, lightning bolt, please. 

“Has your sister learned any other way of lovemaking?”

I’m sorry? ‘Other way?’ What is this, a political allegiance? “Your Grace?” 

The Princess closed her eyes and shook her head. “This is why she must taste delicacies. She only knows the one way to be bedded.”

“Which is?”

She didn’t realize that I was inexperienced, because, as aforementioned, the Dornishwoman was frantically licking at her chest. By the by, I had nothing against my elder sister vaguely resembling a tub of melted ice cream. Perhaps if she hadn’t spent the last fifteen years of her life being bedded by her uncle and her sworn sword, she may have found time to go for a walk. 

“The Andal way. She’s forced to lie on her back and she can’t use her hands for anything!” She turned to the Dornishwoman. “Can you girls imagine? All you do is lie on your back, your husband never touches you anywhere. All he does is thrust into you until he’s spent! Then he leaves!” 

The two paid-for servants echoed their master’s lamentations. 

I hadn’t the slightest idea what positions were used in the conception of the twins or Maelor. The former would make me sick to think about, and the latter… I didn’t care. If we’re playing a game, might as well. “Yes, Your Grace. My beloved wife and I engage in boring Andal lovemaking, just as the Faith of the Seven teaches.”  

I was going to willfully ignore that the Book of the Maiden said that married women were required to enjoy their acts of childrearing, and that hundreds of years of septas with nothing better to do with their days wrote whole treatises on the hundreds of ways for husband and wife to pleasure one another. They didn’t call it ‘the lord’s kiss’ because it was against the law. 

I gave her a few minutes to gorge herself on her delicacies. Much fluid was exchanged between the highborn of Dragonstone and the baseborn from Dorne. 

I waited until she was about to, finish, to yank the Dornishwoman off her. “Princess, why did you summon me?”

The Princess looked like she was going to kill me then and there. Understandable. I interrupted her servant’s consumption of her special button. To her credit, she kept some control of herself, and laughed. “To enjoy yourself, Aegon!” She half-heartedly waved at the other whore, seated behind her. “Essie’s all yours.”

I glanced at the woman in question while saying “Is she now?”

“Yes! I just have two requests.” 

Let me guess, have my sister-wife commit infidelity in a brothel, and commit infidelity in a brothel. “Yes?” 

She sat up, not bothering to find the clothes that’d pooled on the floor. If this was her when drunk, when faced with her archenemy, I felt bad for her sons. They’re all going to be messed up in the head, aren’t they? Watching their mother go around feasting on the locals. “Aegon, they’re both easy.” 

“Yes?” I helped her up, regretting it immediately. I was mostly sure her shoulder was covered in sweat. I needed a bath and a volcano back to back after touching it. “Yes, Princess?” 

“One-” she held up one finger, “-you must yield on the morrow. Yield, and admit you had a bastard. You have naught to be afraid of. You are a dragon, a dragon takes what he wants!”

I’m going to take your head, and not in a euphemistic way. Can I do that? I locked my jaw. “What else?”

“You must bring your dragons to help in my war for the Stepstones.”

Huh. Now this may make everything worth it. I sat down on what I was pretty certain was a pool of bodily fluids, that was how far I was willing to go to hear this. “Your war for the Stepstones?” 

She sat on the edge of the sedan-chair. To my immense surprise, she didn’t have the Dornishwoman get on her knees and continue pleasuring her with one of her extremities. “My consort and I will not allow the Triarchy’s conquests to go unchecked. The realm is threatened. We are to fly to the Stepstones. To those willing to submit, we will welcome them into the King’s Peace. To those not-” she gripped my hand, “-remember our house words, brother.” 

I tried my best to detach my hand from hers.  “I remember that I needed to go take a bath. In the Narrow Sea.” Now.

She refused to let go. “No, you don’t. Will you join us?” 

I hadn’t even agreed. “This war for the Stepstones… when does it begin?” 

“As soon as your trial ends, brother.” 

The true plot has been revealed. “Why my trial?”

She gave me the best answer she could come up with in the moment, having realized she said too much. “It is to be a gathering of lords. Blacks and Greens, we must set aside our quarrels to burn the Triarchy for good and all.” 

Like you’ll ever set aside your hatred of my mother. “If father does not accept?”

“He will,” she avowed, hammering the comforter with her fist. “The lords will not stand for the Triarchy’s plotting and scheming.” 

What plotting? What scheming? I had a choice. Lie to her, that is to say, tell the truth, and watch her throw a temper tantrum when I don’t yield immediately, or tell her the truth, and watch her throw a temper tantrum in the present. 

I chose lying. “Yes, Your Grace, I will agree to your terms.” 

She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Good. Would you like to enjoy Essie?” She whistled and the whore strode over to join us. 

“I would like to enjoy my thoughts of my wife. With my hand.” I’d like to drown now, thanks. 

“Essie resembles her, that’s why you picked her out.” 

I did a double take of the whore. I didn’t see the correlation. Unless being a woman with hair in a shade of yellow equalled ‘resemblance,’ they weren’t anything alike. That’s all besides the matter at hand. Do I want to catch another flavor of pox? No, I have enough pain to begin with. “On the morrow, mayhaps,” I said, and hastily took my leave. 

“You’d leave a wet comely maiden here to go untasted?”

She’s not a maiden, she’s not comely, and she slowly sweating to death in her silks. “You can have her,” I japed. 

Silly me, japes are for normal people.

The Princess began making love to the woman I was being charged with infidelity with. 

Only in Westeros. 

I took no less than three full baths to get every last drop of my elder sister’s bedchamber out of my skin. I didn’t have my clothes burned, as, knowing my mother, she’d want them cleaned. 

I was in the middle of taking my dinner in my chambers, I absolutely wasn’t going to take them with my father, when the herald at the door informed me of a new guest. 

“His Grace, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon waits without, wishing an audience.” 

At this time of day? What, did my brother finally stab Lucerys in the eye? “He may enter.”

The Prince wore a doublet bearing his mother’s ridiculous arms. He had his brown hair pulled back into a topknot. 

He went to one knee. “Uncle.”

I waved him up. “Nephew, your visit is most welcome.” It wasn’t. “How may I assist you?” 

“I wish to apologize,” he began, remorsefully.  

‘I’m sorry for being a bastard.’ I waved him on. “Apologize? What for?”

“The prince and princess did not enjoy my company. I am sorry for making them cry.”

Prince and- “When were you with my twins?”

“Just now, Your Grace. They were out in the gardens. I thought I would surprise them.” 

“You jumped out of a bush and had half the Red Keep draw its swords on you.” The other half drew their swords on the first half. 

“No, I walked up to them. Lady Blount said that you let me play with them.”

“Lady Blount speaks truly. I did.” Truth be told I didn’t expect him to take up the offer. “What happened?”

“The book I bought for Prince Jaehaerys he hated. It was my grandfather’s records of his journeys. As for the Princess, I picked her up and let her ‘fly’ around. She cried.” 

He gave me more than enough to visualize the order of events. “You’re not supposed to run that quickly with her. Let her tug your brown hair and guide you. Sometimes she wants to ‘glide,’ sometimes she wants to ‘fly fast,’ so on.” 

“Yes…” he looked downcast, “...which is why I come to you now. I ask for your forgiveness. For both. Uncle.” 

“Look at me, my prince.” 

The Prince raised his head. 

His brown eyes were bloodshot.

What am I supposed to do? Punish a twelve year old? “I forgive you for not knowing. It is not I who you hurt. You should ask for the forgiveness of my twins.” 

“Lady Blount forbade it and ordered me to leave,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his head and averting his eyes. 

“Go to the sept and ask the Seven what would be proper penance then. They are four.”

“I understand, uncle. I will, uncle.”  

That settles it. Can I go back to sulking in front of my dinner?  “Was there anything else?”

“My step-father hates you, uncle.”

Tell me something I don’t know. I chuckled. “Aye, and? He hates me. I have little love for him.”

“He’s going to kill you on the morrow.” 

Oh. That… is something I didn’t know. I kept my calm. “Is he now?”

He nodded his head. “Yes, uncle.”

“Why did you apologize first?”

He looked at his feet, slowly shaking side to side. “My septon said you should always say sorry first.” 

This septon of yours and I need to have words. I owe him some thanks. “How… how do you know? About your step-father, and me.”

“I overheard him, uncle. He said he’d kill you for this, then the other man laughed.”

The innocence in his tone made me freeze up. ‘This.’ “Who was he talking to?”

“One of his friends.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, uncle. One of his champions.”

“What did he look like?”

“He was eight feet tall and wider than the door.” 

How many eight feet tall giants are there? “Prince Jacaerys.” 

“Uncle?” He raised his head. 

“Thank you. You have my leave.” 

He did not leave. “May Vhagar give strength to your arm on the morrow, uncle.”

That’s a curious syncretism. Adapt the gods’ names for the aspects. “Mine? Not your step-father?”

He scowled. “I hate my step-father.” 

“And you don’t hate me?” 

“Not as much.”

“Why do you hate your step-father?”

He clammed up. 

I’m going to take that as a sign to let him depart. “You have my leave, nephew.” 

He bowed, and left. 

I fell asleep in my chair, once again forgetting to go to services. 

I was woken up in the middle of the night, by none other than Aemond. The trial was in four hours.  

I washed, dabbling myself in those holy oils for what protection they could give, and broke my fast on a humble serving of beef and bread. The decadence wasn’t going to help me when dawn fell on the city. 

Edgarran and Titus arrived shortly after, to help me into my armor. 

I counted six total layers, from undergarments to battle armor. 

It was a gift for my twentieth nameday from Lord Ormund Hightower. 

A suit of full plate. Every piece, from pauldron to sabaton, was made of steel dyed emerald green, bordered and detailed in gold. To say it was heavy plate was the understatement of the century. The large pauldrons almost went up to my chin. The steel gauntlets had a dozen linked plates, for my wrists and each joint on my fingers. My waist was covered in a plate skirt -layered underneath the large cuirass- that fell past my thighs. The only places in my armor that weren’t covered in plate were my elbows, my underarms, my knees, and my groin. In those four places, the layer beneath, brass-gold scale armor, was exposed. 

The breastplate featured the three-headed dragon of Aegon the Conqueror, in gold, roaring at the viewer, not off to the left as with the traditional banner.

Over the breastplate went a surcoat depicting my personal sigil, the golden dragon quartered with the white tower. 

Atop my head, I would don a full closed greathelm with two thin slits for visors and a few holes peppered over my cheeks for air. I didn’t put it on, as inside it, it was claustrophobic, dark, disorienting, and sweltering. 

I did not pick out any cloaks or capes, for I had no need of communicating my position to my knights. 

I had the whole royal armory to choose weapons from. No choice was required.

Ser Cole rose early and came to my chambers. “Your Grace, may I offer the only arm to ever fell the Rogue Prince.” 

I cordially accepted his morningstar. It was a morningstar. No fanciful detailwork, no secret magical component, just a morningstar made by Rogar, the macesmith of Blackhaven. 

The boring normal mace was complemented by an ironwood heater shield featuring my personal dragon-and-tower. 

Five different daggers were strapped on, four made to get between the gaps in armor, the fifth to slice meat. 

As I dressed, so did my brother. A full suit of dark green plate armor, as his traditional night black armor would make the battle terribly confusing. His armor was of the same quality as mine. 

Where we differed was in the helmets. His closed greathelm was crowned by a pair of dragon horns, with a grandiose mane of red horsehair. 

He chose a longsword and a smaller heater shield, something about welcoming the rogue’s duel. 

I tied a bronze-hued ribbon around my shoulder, the runes for ‘We Remember’ drawn in black. 

He tied a rainbow cloth around his, a blessing from Septon Eustace. 

We each had a crystal dangling from our neck. The local legend -the Queen neither confirmed nor denied it- was that these were the crystals that hung over our cribs when we were born.

The verse that came into mind, ‘Every child carries the Light with them,’ from the Book of the Stranger. If there was ever a time to have some of that light, it was now. 

We had three hours until the duel was supposed to start. Aemond proposed a walk, citing the heat of all the heavy armor. I accepted, as I couldn’t bear to stand in my room or near the nursery. 

We walked the silent halls of the Red Keep. The few servants up at this time bowed and scurried out of the way. We were protected by gray cloaks, not the Kingsguard. Be it happenstance or luck or fate, the two of us ended up on top of Maegor’s Holdfast. 

The half-moon loomed high in the early morning sky. The reality of seeing it was not lost on me. By the time it sets, either I will be dead, or the Rogue Prince will. 

The Prince rested on the crenellations facing the quiet city. I rested my hands on the next one over. Rare in autumn, it was clear skies in all directions. 

“Dawn will always come,” the prince began in a quiet voice. 

I beg your pardon? “What?” 

“Dawn always wins over the darkness. Even the Long Night did not last forever,” he mused. 

I tried to stay polite. “The Long Night ended when the heroes of the age banded together to end it.” 

“But it ended,” he patted the crenel. “There are heroes out there, who will end this.” 

“This is darkness?” Is he talking about the nighttime? Our uncle? Our sister? “Which darkness?”

“The darkness that plagues the realm.” He waved half-heartedly off in seemingly random directions. “The darkness from Dragonstone.”

While I knew this was going to turn into a monologue, I was just weary enough to entertain it. If nothing else, it was banter. “Do you consider yourself a hero, brother?”

“No,” he growled. 

“Then what are you?”

“The Sapphire Prince.”

Of course you are. “And who is the Sapphire Prince?”  

“Galadon’s second son. The one who put the squishers to the sword and drove the children from their wood. The histories don’t remember him.” 

“Why not? He sounds quite heroic.” 

“No matter what he did, he could never outdo the Sun Prince.” 

“What was his fate?”

“He was killed by the giants. His lone eye had looked east for so long, he never saw the giants from the west.” 

I’m supposed to make sense of this bad poetry? “What was the fate of the Sun Prince?”

“He avenged his brother. His line would become the Evenstar.” 

Wait, this isn’t bad poetry? This is history? “The Sapphire Prince was of Tarth?” 

He nodded.

Sapphire Prince. Sapphire Isle. “If one of them is the Sun Prince, why isn’t the other the Moon Prince?”

“He lost his eye to the squishers, and put a chunk of sapphire in its stead.” 

“What will be your fate, then?”

He huffed. “Death. All men must die. The best men die killing squishers and giants.” 

I took a step back and turned to him. “Do you think you will die today, little brother?”

He peered at me from the corner of his remaining eye. “Do you, Sun Prince?” 

What in the idiocy? “Sun Prince?” 

He laid a hand on my shoulder. “You are the Sun Prince. Your armor is golden, your dragon is golden, you are the sun of the realm.” 

I’m so, so very confused.  “If I was the sun of the realm, why is father so…” I trailed off, arguing with someone of his… disposition… was difficult. 

“Father lives in darkness and whispers. He will have us go into a night that never ends.” 

“Will?”

“You see who the Whore of Dragonstone surrounds herself with,” he rasped. “Snakes and rogues and wyrms. What do you think they will do to the realm when they grow tired of father’s groaning?”

I barely understand where you’re going with this. “We have a battle to fight, Aemond.” 

“No. No. This does not end. This day is only the start. If we do not kill him, he will kill us.”

Yes… that’s… yes… that’s how these trials of seven work. “I understand.” 

“If we survive this day, I’m leaving King’s Landing.” 

“You?”

“How could I live in a keep that repaid the bravery of my brother and sister with treachery?” 

“You live here for the good of my babes. I could order you to,” I kept my voice nice and calm. 

“Take your children and go to Oldtown. They are safer there.” 

“Mother wants us-”

“Aegon.” He grabbed my shoulder. “Mother could not stop father from siding with the whore. What hope do your children have?” 

“I need to talk to Helaena.” I took a second to eye him from my corner. “You will not leave the city until she agrees, are we in agreement?”

He tipped his head slowly. “We are.”

A minute later, he was back to his monologuing. 

I stopped paying attention until he mentioned swords.

“The sword. The special sword. Where is it?” 

He tapped his new longsword’s pommel. “I threw it into Blackwater Bay.” 

“As you should.” It was the city spread out below me that reminded me of places I’d visited in it. It was a short leap from there to brothels. “Next time, you will throw your adultery into the Blackwater.”

“What?” he was aback. 

Oh let’s not play pretend here. “Aemond, you bed men’s wives.”

“I give them comfort,” he boasted, with that smarmy grin of his. “It’s not my fault they enjoy bedding me.”

“You are a whoremonger and the only reason anyone’s spreading their legs for you is because you ride Vhagar. What do you think they think will happen if they refuse you?” 

“I do not,” he pouted. 

I edged closer to him. “I don’t care if they’re paying you to bed them. It ends. Did you see what our sister has done to me?”

“You knew Essie.”

I couldn’t be bothered to say ‘so you know I’m guilty and you’re defending me anyway.’ We were far gone from that. Plus, there’s a far more relevant point to be had. “All the more reason for you to stop with the fishwives and sailor’s wives.” 

“Aegon. I don’t have a fine wife to flip onto her back and tumble whenever I feel like it.”

“Then get married. You are seven-and-ten, a man grown.” Much that I cringed to say that, that was the way of the Seven Kingdoms. Men and women were adults at sixteen. At least he’s not a battle-tested commander at the ripe old age of eleven. I'm coming for you, Benjicot. 

He breathed into his hands. “To who? Eldrane is five-and-ten. Johanne is three-and-ten.”

Hm. I have an idea. “Borros’ firstborn. The eldest of the Four Storms.”

“Cassandra? She’s three-and-ten.”

“Are you going to bed her on her wedding night?”

His remaining eye widened in bewilderment. “You just told me to get married to satisfy my needs.” 

I clapped him on the back. “Why don’t you try being a good husband, or a father. Between the twins and Maelor, my princely and lordly responsibilities aside, I barely have five minutes to lie with Helaena and talk about the day, let alone touch her in an intimate way.” Not that I would, I wouldn’t, but, one, he’s not marrying his sister, and two, I’m making a point. 

“I don’t want to be a father.” 

“And I don’t want to be Aegon Targaryen.” I shrugged. “There you are. One day, you’ll be a father.” 

“I don’t want to be a father, and I’m not marrying a girl who hasn’t flowered.”

“We are at something of a… difficulty, then. You cannot go around planting your sword in every sheath between Claw Isle and the Wendwater.” 

“What about Jeyne Arryn?”

“I’m sorry?” My confusion was genuine. 

“Jeyne Arryn. She’s not wed.” 

“Why would she want to wed someone like you?”

“I’m asking. I could wed her and we could share her favorites.” 

He really is a seventeen year old. “This is madness. You do not want to wed? I’m not grandfather, I can’t force you. But you will stop these dalliances.”

“What would you rather I do, Aegon?”

“Why don’t you ask Helaena?”

He was aghast. “I’d sooner fall on my sword than give my king horns.”

I palmed my face. “Not like that, you dullard. Ask her for her opinion.” She’s known you longer than I have.  

“She’d tell me to take some vow of celibacy until my betrothed comes of age.” 

“Mayhaps you should, then," I offered, only half in jest. 

“I don’t have a betrothed.”

Oh, don't give me any of that. You're made of money and fly the largest dragon in the realm. “Find one.” 

“Must I find one right now?” He surveyed the cityscape. “I can’t find any,” he regaled, thick with sarcasm. 

“Bugger yourself, One-Eye.” 

“I’m not a seahorse.”

So did our banter begin. It would last until the next peal of the bell, the changing of the guards, the tolling of two hours to remain. 

Septon Eustace held a vigil for the seven of us in the royal sept. “The Lord Consort of Dragonstone’s men refused to stand vigil,” he noted as Aemond and I arrived.

We were joined by the five others.

Unwin Peake, in full plate dyed orange and black, bearing a sword. 

Amos Bracken, in plate-and-mail, carrying a long horseman’s pick. 

Denys Reyne, in blood-red partial plate, carrying a longsword. 

Durwald Trant in full brigandine, carrying a longaxe and a set of throwing axes.  

Adrian Thorne in Crownlander plate-and-mail, carrying a shortsword. 

Each of them bore their houses’ heraldry on their surcoats and shields. None brought cloaks. 

Arneld Langward did not have to attend, as with Adrian’s assent, I had my seven. Langward would, as a result, avoid the impending bloodbath.

We seven drew our arms and laid them at the base of the statue. 

Septon Eustace raised his hand and started the prayer. “May the Father see you fight justly, may the Mother save your souls, may the Warrior give strength to your arms, may the Maid see you fight honorably, may the Smith harden your swords and shields, may the Crone give you wisdom, and may the Stranger see your deaths be swift.” 

We repeated the words to the letter. 

“Kneel, and receive the blessing of the Seven.”

We knelt. 

The blessing came in the form of holy water. He would dip his finger in the bowl of holy water. First he would touch our shoulders, right and left; then he would ‘draw’ the sign of the seven in our foreheads. 

We were blessed by order of age, not rank. Peake, Trant, Bracken, Reyne, Thorne, me, Aemond. 

He recited prayers to each of the Seven while we stood in silent vigil, knelt before the statue of the Warrior. As he would say time and time again, the Seven are one aspect, and each aspect has the Seven in it. 

With Eustace’s wonderful voice, an hour and a half flew by like ten minutes. 

The rising sun brought the verses to an end. 

I was the first one to rise. 

“Knights, to Prince Aemond! Prince Aemond, lead them out.” 

The Prince led them out, not sparing a second guess. 

I stayed behind for a minute. 

“You fear him, my child,” Eustace nailed it. 

“I do, septon.” 

He tapped my right shoulder with his crystal. “He is only a man, my child.” He tapped my left. “If you should perish, you will have a place in the seven heavens.”

“Will I? It will mean I am guilty.”

He scoffed. “It will mean you are guilty of having sired a bastard upon a woman, not guilty of being a rogue.” 

“What am I to do?”

He lowered his head in thought. “Think of your wife and your children, my prince. Do not let her bed grow cold, do not let them grow up without a father.” He peered at my pauldron. “Whose favor do you wear?”

“None. It is in honor of Rhea Royce.” 

“The Royces have lived for long before the Targaryens. Andals, too. May her runes shield you.” 

“I’d never thought a man of the Seven would honor a house that lived for long before the Andals.”

He let out a hacking cough. “A hundred years past, a man of the Seven would name you all abominations. My grandfather would kill you if he was here. Yet here you are, beseeching the Seven for their protection. The wisdom of the Crone, even I cannot know.” 

“Meaning?” I didn’t mean to be rude, but I lost track of his point.

He smiled. “In your darkness, you searched for a shield. The Mother reached down and gave you the runes of Royce. Royce’s runes are fearsome, just like the Mother’s wrath. The Mother did not say ‘these runes are old,’ she said ‘may these runes guard my child,’ for we are all the Mother’s children, and she loves us all.”

I kissed his ring, thanked him, and marched out to join my men. 

Seven red stallions, the finest of the Stone Hedge’s herd, awaited us, saddled and ready. I climbed on first. The other six soon followed. 

I was not a man for speeches, so I did not give one. “Let’s kill this rogue,” I said as I donned my helmet.

The six others cheered. 

The trial of seven, the first in nearly a century, would take place in the square beneath the walls of the Red Keep. 

In the songs and the stories, thousands would gather to watch the gods’ justice. 

On the 19th of the 7th moon in the 127th year since the Conquest, no more than a hundred commoners were present. There were more men-at-arms and guardsmen, all in father’s liveries, acting as a cordon than there were people to cordon off. 

The great square in front of the Red Keep was two hundred feet in length, and half that in width. More than enough space to have jousting. 

The skies were clear as the seven of us rode single-file through the gates, turning left to stop at our ‘end’ of the field, the northeast. 

There was an eeriness in the way the commoners had all begun singing hymns. Their singing started out a confusing mess. Within minutes, the voices had harmonized into one. 

Watching us from the top of the Red Keep’s walls were my father and his full small council, plus hangers-on. The Queen and the Princess couldn’t resist the opportunity to try outdoing one another in gowns. Next to the Princess, I spotted my cousin. My own children weren’t present, I’d expressly forbidden Lady Blount from attending. The lot of them were too high up to make out faces, nor did I bother.

The crowds parted and the hymns intensified. 

Seven men emerged on black destriers.

The leader wore a suit of Valyrian steel armor. His helmet had the distinct dragon’s head and ‘wings,’ with a fire-red mane flowing from its back. His shield depicted his wife’s arms, the dragon quartered with falcon and seahorse. Dark Sister hung from his waist. 

The other six dressed identically. Black breastplates, black chainmail, black leather boots, black half-helms, and short golden cloaks pinned with three-headed dragon brooches. 

Two were gigantic in height, one carried a falchion, the other a longsword of length with Reyne’s. 

The other four were of moderate height, and carried lances, swords, and dirks. 

“The rogue has brought his rogues,” Bracken growled. 

“We shall break them,” my brother boasted.

His sentiment was not shared. 

“He brought his best,” Lord Peake realized before the rest of us could, “men with no wins at tourney, nor melee.”

“They mean to take us unawares,” Trant said, running his hand over his axehead. 

“They are taking us unawares,” Peake snapped. 

“Prince Aegon, a word,” Bracken requested. 

I waved him on.

“They may be the finest rogues in the Seven Kingdoms. Their horses aren’t weaned on Blackwoods. Give me a lance, and I will put it through the eight footer.” 

The eight footer. I couldn’t as much as accept before Peake and Thorne were begging the same. 

I had a plan. “Bracken. Peake. You take the big ones. Reyne, Thorne, Trant, Targaryen, you have the other four.”

“And you, prince?” enquired Trant, his eyes still on his axe. 

“I will take my uncle. He is coming for me. Here I am,” I threw out my arms. 

The men murmured their prayers.

Peake was the first to pick up his war lance. “As Your Grace commands.” He saluted me. 

The rest fell in line, and did the same. 

They took their places in the column.

We took ours. Bracken and Peake lined up with the respective giants, Bracken the eight footer, Peake the seven. 

I lined up across the field with my uncle. 

I lost my orientation then on, for the helmet was extremely cramped and narrow. I couldn’t hear Eustace’s prayers over my own heartbeat. 

I gave my own prayers. 

For Helaena, Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor. For Aemond and Daeron. 

For all those who will suffer in the Dance.

For Rhea Royce. For Laena Velaryon. 

For the Realm’s Delight.

A horn sounded. 

Our lances fell, our horses took off. 

A suit of Valyrian steel galloped at me. 

His eyes. Look at his eyes. You want to spear him through his eyes, I heard Cole saying. 

I couldn’t make out his eyes. I aimed at his upper chest. 

He tossed his lance aside and drew Dark Sister. 

His upper chest. He is a man. His upper chest. I pointed my lance at his upper chest and couched it. 

My lance struck his chest. The iron end struck his armor and dissolved into dust. 

In a flash, his sword was swinging.

My stallion screamed out in pain and threw me off. 

The world spun… 

…until my back crashed into the muddy earth. It struck the ground hard enough to make me cry out. 

Looking down the lists first, I saw my horse. Dark Sister was planted in his neck. 

If Dark Sister is there, where is… 

I rolled out of the way as a horse galloped past. 

The dragon leaned over and ripped Dark Sister out, waving at the heavens to mock them. 

My adrenaline was up, and so was I. 

I raised the morningstar as the black destrier turned around. Dark Sister rose, catching the sunlight. 

The dragon kicked his destrier into a gallop. 

I stepped out of the way. 

Dark Sister swung past, aimless for half a second…

…until the dragon vaulted off his destrier and ran right at me. 

I caught Dark Sister’s high swing in my shield. Where the sword was one second, it wasn’t in the next. 

A blur came flying out of the right.

I ducked and avoided it.

I didn’t avoid the next, which took me in the head. 

It stunned me for five seconds or five years. 

I blinked, and I was on my back, facing the sky. 

The dragon blotted out the sky. 

“Would you like to yield, Oldtown?” Dark Sister asked me.  

Even without Velaryon’s warning, I rolled out of the stab. From the side, I spotted the blade driven into the earth. 

“Seems the steward’s whelp taught you a few tricks.” He kicked me in the head. 

I got to my field, raising my morningstar and shield. 

The dragon danced in front of me, waving Dark Sister in a blur. 

I tried to preempt where it was going, and failed.  

The blade knocked me in the head, and the dragon laughed. 

I fell to my knees, as if in prayer, only my arms were slumped at my sides. 

I hallucinated Helaena shouting at me from the sidelines.

Get up, Apple! Get up! Stop fighting fairly! 

I found my footing, and rose. To hell with fairness. 

I threw my morningstar at him. 

He managed to knock it out of the way…

...and in doing so, missed me. 

I threw all my weight at him, tackling him to the ground. 

I didn’t hear what he cursed out. 

I ripped his helmet off, closed my mailed gauntlet into a fist, and punched him in the jaw. 

He tried to move, to squirm, to kick, to reach for a knife, who could say? 

I headbutted him, steel on flesh. 

Now he was the stunned one. 

I drew my knife. 

I couldn’t make out what he was saying, his jaw was broken. “Why don’t we fix that?” I asked, then punched him in the jaw three more times. Royce, Velaryon, Targaryen. 

I pointed my special knife at him. 

“No, no, my beloved uncle. You’re not going to the seven hells this easily. No, you will live a nice long life. For the rest of your days, whenever you look upon yourself in the mirror, I want you to remember your Bronze Bitch.” 

He tried to grab my legs. Unfortunately for him, I learned from the best, and kneed him between the legs. 

I tapped the favor on my shoulder. “This is for Rhea Royce, you niecefucking rapist.” 

I put the knife to his forehead, and pressed it into his flesh. 

He began to scream. 

I’d finished carving the stud of House Royce when hands grabbed my shoulders. 

At first I swung at them, thinking them foes. They disarmed me and forced me to my knees. 

“King’s orders. The Prince yields his accusation, you have won.” That was the voice of Ser Cole. 

For his part, the Prince stopped moving. 

Only six men remained standing after the duel.

I, Aemond, Peake, Bracken and Thorne on my side, and my uncle on his.

Aemond’s head was left ringing. Peake and Bracken had cuts and bruises. Thorne had been maimed and passed out. 

I later learned of his six gold cloaks. 

Ser Luthor, the seven footer, Ser Gareth, and Ser Perkin commanded their own gates. 

Serjeants Harys and Elwood, and Bryce commanded companies of men. 

Bryce, Bloody Bryce, was the eight footer with the butcher’s falchion dangling from his waist.

Many tales would be told of who slew who and in what order that day. 

I would say I remembered what transpired after, I do not. 

The Princess of Dragonstone stormed off. Father congratulated me. Mother hugged me and thanked the Seven for my good fortunes. 

Why do I struggle to remember? 

That noon, I took my lunch in my chambers. Aemond joined me. 

I poured the two of us cups of what I had thought was wine. 

“Would you like any?” 

He raised his hand. “I cannot take wine, not with this.” He tapped the bandage around his head. 

“To the trial of seven,” I toasted, to nobody, for the only other person present was Aemond. 

I drank the wine. 

It wasn’t wine. 

By the time I’d come to that realization, my breathing, and reality itself, were slowing down. 

You whore, was my last thought before I collapsed. You wanted war so badly, you’d kill me for it. 

It wasn’t wine.

It was Tyroshi pear brandy, laced with something that wasn’t pear brandy. 

When I would next wake up, Westeros would be at war.