Aelor met his father’s eyes, no mean feat considering Aerys’ eyes were barely recognizable as human anymore.
They reminded Aelor more of a cornered predator than a King.
“I took the liberty of calling my banners days ago, Your Grace.”
…
Aerys’ eyes filled with rage and he leaned forward in his throne of twisted iron.
“I did not command that.
You are my son, you follow my commands!”
No, you didn’t command that.
You only abused your prized dogs and expected them to never bite.
“Yes, father, as always.
I merely intended to have my men ready to serve you quicker, so you need not wait for them to arrive.” This seemed to appease the King somewhat, for Aerys leaned back on his throne.
Aelor wished to bring this meeting to a close as quickly as possible, and with that goal in mind he wasted no time with preamble.
“I hear we are at war.
With your leave, I beg permission to gather the men of Lord Bywater and march on the Stormlands with them combined to my own strength.”
Aerys nearly snarled.
“He serves me .”
“Yes, Your Grace, as do I.
I only wish to bring these traitors to heel, for the glory of King Aerys and House Targaryen.”
“I have already sent out missives labeling Lords Arryn, Stark and Baratheon traitors,” rambled the old voice belonging to the even older Lord Owen Mayweather.
Aelor had never cared for the man; he was amiable enough, it was true, but the replacement of Tywin Lannister as Hand of the King was about as useful as nipples on a breastplate.
“Yes my lord, and done nothing else,” Aelor snapped, causing the elderly Hand to furrow his brow in insult.
Good.
Be insulted; the Seven know you can’t do anything else.
Aelor turned his attention back to his father.
“Father I beg you, allow me to end this war.
Let them sing of the praises of King Aerys, of how he ended a war before it could truly begin.”
Aerys stared at his second son for a long time, Aelor meeting it.
When he finally spoke, he thrust a gnarled, scarred finger towards Aelor, his talon of a nail angling down.
The King’s tone was suspicious, untrusting…
mad .
“You wish to make the people love you more than they do me!”
I could be an ugly, imbecilic dwarf and still manage that without much difficulty, father.
“I do not, Your Grace.
You are the King.
I only intend to help you solidify and protect your kingdom.”
He held his tongue however; he would do his family, broken as it was, no good dead, and Aelor knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that his father’s mind had regressed to the point that he would willfully kill his own son.
When King Aerys spoke again he rose, bringing the other courtiers to their feet as well.
Aelor had paid them no mind; lickspittles each and every one, focused only on increasing their positions by flattering their King with praises they didn’t mean.
Aelor cared for none of them.
“Go.”
The single word was both permission and dismissal, and Aelor wasted no time in exiting.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
Ser Manfred Darke, Lord Harte and Lord Rykker awaited him outside the main hall, Aelor having left Ser Barristan in charge of his forces outside the city.
The Dragon Prince had feared that, upon seeing the white of his armor, the King would demand Ser Barristan remain in King’s Landing.
Aelor refused to risk that possibility; he was a deadly warrior, a truth he prided himself on and strove to maintain, but Ser Barristan had experience of war Aelor knew he would need in the coming conflict.
“Send a rider to Lord Bywater.
His force will be ready to march by the time I reach the Kingswood.
From there we march on Bronzegate.” Lord Harte hastened to obey, always diligent and timely when given orders, striding away quickly towards the courtyard where he had left his palfrey.
“I take it the King has approved of your plan then, my lord,” Rykker mused.
“That didn’t take long.”
“Is it unholy for a man to dread the company of his own father?
If so, the Seven must surely despise me.
I ascertained permission as quickly as I could and left.
Time is, after all, of the essence.”
“When do we leave?”
“By nightfall.
See to the preparations, Ren.
Strong shield.”
“Stronger sword,” Lord Rykker replied before he strode confidently in the same direction Lord Harte had just gone.
“Manfred,” Aelor spoke to the boulder beside him, “with me.” The big man dutifully fell into step behind his liege lord, following as the Targaryen prince strode deeper into the Red Keep.
The biggest obstacle has been removed, at least for the time being, thought Aelor Targaryen as he hastened through the castle where he had been born and raised.
Now I just have a war to win.
Rhaenys looked more and more like her mother.
The toddler was still forming words, and she babbled unintelligibly but happily to the doll he had brought for her.
Aelor couldn’t help but smile down at her from the doorway, knowing that the tiny Princess would grow into a beauty that rivaled even Ashara Dayne, who was holding another of the dolls Aelor had made gifts to the girl, playing along.
The tiny princess had her uncle wrapped around her tiny olive-toned fingers, and the entire Red Keep knew it.
Aelor didn’t care.
He would fight and die for that child.
Thanks to both her father and his, he very well might.
“You can go in, you know.” Elia appeared beside him, tiny Aegon resting soundly in her arms.
The Targaryen Prince grinned at the sleeping baby that reminded him so much of his brother.
“I know, but I can’t stay long.
We march for the Stormlands tonight.
I had Ashara give her the doll; she certainly seems to like it.”
Elia Martell laughed.
“Of course she did.
She always does love presents.” Elia offered the infant snoozing in her arms to Aelor, but he shook his head reluctantly.
“I had best not.
My men are already being roused and are preparing to march; I must join them.
I was only waiting for you.” Elia furled her brow in confusion.
“Ser Manfred,” Aelor called quietly.
The big man stepped around the corner, face impassive even as he bowed to the beautiful woman before him.
Elia raised an eyebrow, looking to Aelor for explanation.
“Princess Elia, this is Ser Manfred Darke.
He is uncouth and savagely mean, but he is as loyal a man as I have ever met, and a good friend to me.” Aelor looked the Dornishwoman full in the face, his dark violet eyes peering into her nearly black ones.
“I am leaving him here with you, as your sworn shield.
I will miss him on the battlefield, but his business here is much more important, though I pray to the Mother he never needs to go about it.
The numbers against us are great, and my father’s madness grows worse.
If King’s Landing is to fall, you and the children will be in the gravest danger of all, if not from the rebels than from the King himself.”
Elia didn’t like this talk of her greatest fear being realized, especially coming from the man with whom her best hope of preventing it lay.
“King’s Landing is well defended, her gates—”
“Breachable,” Aelor cut in gently.
“If that is to happen, Ser Manfred has been tasked with getting you and the children as well as my mother and Viserys out of the city.
He has never failed me before and I know he will not in this.
If the time comes, you must do exactly as he says, if not for yourself than for Rhaenys and Aegon.” The Dragon of Duskendale held the Delicate Spear’s eyes for a long moment, face set in grim seriousness.
“Do you understand, goodsister?”
Elia could only nod, fear for her children and for the young Targaryen in front of her making it nearly impossible to speak.
Aelor dropped his gaze to the baby in her arms, his grim face breaking into a sad smile for just an instant before he abruptly turned and strode away, offering no parting words nor waiting to receive any.
Elia could only watch him go for the second time that day, wondering if it might be the last time she ever saw him.
Ser Manfred Darke spoke as Aelor rounded a corner and disappeared, the knight’s voice nearly as ugly as his face.
“I am here to serve, Princess.”
Elia nodded absently.
“Let us pray you never have to, Ser Manfred.” The Dornish Princess turned and entered the room where her daughter played oblivious in the way only children could be to the dangers she was now in.
“Let us pray hard.”
…