GOT : All Left Behind

It made no sense, not when my area of expertise was already covered by the Master of Coin. A man who yet lived. More importantly, a man whose wife yet lived. "It is not my place to be there."

"Mayhaps," he allowed. "But your presence would still be appreciated."

...

Well, that was suspicious.

"What are you planning?" I asked, suspicion clear in my voice. I was

"Vaegon," Maegelle chided me, jabbing me with her elbow. "At least try to be polite."

"No, no, it's..." Aemon began, only for his words to falter. He sighed deeply, seemingly gathering himself, quickly setting me on edge. What was there that could make him nervous? He had gone to war, had participated in tourneys, had tamed the second-angriest dragon alive. What did he have to fear from asking me?

Oh, this was not going to be pleasant, I already knew.

"You have seen Father. He doesn't eat, barely speaks, hasn't even moved from the couch where he sat down this morning," he said at last, his voice carrying a tone I couldn't quite place. Sadness? Despair? Resignation? Whatever it was, my brother seemed hesitant to speak the plain truth. "He cannot rule in his current state. The small council must do what he cannot."

Yes, I did not like where this was going.

"It has been a day, Aemon," I reminded him, making my way through the halls of Maegor's Holdfast. Now, in the aftermath of the attacks, men at arms and knights sworn to House Targaryen patrolled the halls. Thankfully, that order of mine had yet to be overruled. Hopefully, these men could be trusted to keep what they heard to themselves. It was ever so difficult to get bribes reimbursed by Lady Tyrell. "Our father will recover soon enough. We do not need a regency."

"We are at war, brother," he insisted, stubbornly keeping pace. "Father is unable to rule, Alyssa and Maegelle are too far into their pregnancy to ride their dragons, the Kingsguard only has three members, and half the small council is dead. We must take action."

"I was under the impression that we were winning the war," Maegelle chimed in, easily keeping pace with us. "Unless the realm has suddenly lost half of its armies to freak accidents?"

"Maegelle speaks the truth," I said. "We hold the largest towns and settlements in Dorne, as well as the major rivers and the coastlines. Given time, the Dornish will sue for peace. We need only wait until Father recovers."

"We should press the advantage. We need to show the realm that we are unafraid and undaunted by these attacks," Aemon argued. "And to do that, we need to ensure the small council can govern in our absence. Do remember that we only have half of a council. What if the Dornish sue for peace before Father recovers? How will we win this war?"

"Father will recover," I repeated. "We do not need to resort to extreme measures. In the worst case, we can drag out negotiations."

"Are you so averse to responsibility?" Aemon asked, bringing me to a halt and whirling to face him. Averse to responsibility? Me? I had done nothing but take responsibility! Everything from the state of the city to the future of our family to ending the Dornish threat I had willingly taken upon my shoulders! And he wished to lecture me? "All I am asking is that you help me help the realm. Are you really going to ignore your duty?"

"Do not lecture me on duty," I growled to the heir with a single child. The smaller man. The weaker man. Before I had a chance to vocalize what we both knew, a soft touch on my arm returned me to my senses.

Maegelle was there for me.

"This talk of regency… It is premature, Aemon," I managed to hiss out once the rage subsided. "Action without wisdom is not better than a fool's caper. Surely you remember that much from your lessons."

Or from the study sessions I continued to host. If he had bothered to attend them.

"I will take it into consideration." Aemon chose that moment to walk away, no doubt to try and convince either Elysar or Lord Tyrell of the merits of his idea. I made no move to stop him. Who was I to stop him? I had given him my recommendation, and he was free to ignore it.

With a mental shrug, I made to continue on my way to the stables to meet with the men who would accompany me into the city, only for a delicate hand to take my arm with an unusually firm grip. Looking over, it was Maegelle, any trace of good humor on her face replaced with concern.

"What was that?" she asked, her tone careful.

"He was being foolish," I answered. The man needed to have the obvious pointed out to it at times. While I was little better, that did not mean I had to give him free rein to make stupid mistakes.

"You looked like you were about to flatten his nose again," she said, and my mind stopped for a moment. I... I had been angry, certainly, but not... My mind reeled as a soft hand grabbed my cheek, a reassuring warmth keeping my thoughts from spiraling out of control.

"You looked much the same when we were with Father. With the Cannibal's eyes. Tell me what's wrong, Vaegon. Please."

...

"I think the common folk did our duty for us." Martyn Mooton rode beside me, armored just as heavily as I was. No part of his apparel suggested that he was an officer of the city watch, I suppose that was the point. This was not to be the work of the men of the city, no, this was to be the work of knights and nobles. This was our duty: avenging ourselves.

A shame that the smallfolk had not been so accommodating.

Before us on an empty street lined with shops only a few years old was yet another ruined body. The head had been caved with a paving stone, and ragged strips of flesh were all that remained of the body below the chest. Some of the entrails remained, wet lumps of flesh that were strewn about the street. A length of what I might have initially expected to be rope, but upon closer inspection knew to be anything but, had been draped indelicately across a balcony.

Further back along the same street, the body we had passed earlier had been in a similar state of disassembly. As had the many dozens we had passed before.

Though the means of it brought the taste of bile to my tongue, I did not lament their ends, only that it had been taken out of my hands.

They would have done the same to us.

"You did not know about this, did you?" I asked my friends. From my left, barely audible above the sound of boots and hooves on stone, I heard Desmond Darry shake his head before he spoke.

"We only hear from our men," he answered. "And Fleabottom is calm, save for the usual violence beyond your stacks. There was nothing like… this."

My stacks. What some of the people were starting to call my residential towers. It was impressive what creating a residential council would do for alleviating some of the conflicts between renters. Well, either that or keeping very large and angry-looking men on my payroll as guards and enforcers.

"The surrounding areas were much the same," Martyn added. "Quiet neighborhoods with not a mention of a lynching, Dornish or otherwise."

"The commander did not mention anything?" I asked.

"There is no commander," Desmond pointed out. "Lord Redwyne took his leave with his father's body this morning. And His Grace Prince Aemon has not seen fit to mention a replacement."

Of course not. No doubt he was busy trying to save the realm in his own foolish way by dooming all of us. That was his prerogative as heir, after all. But I would need to take steps to ensure things did not go too poorly. My singers would need to spread some tales, it seemed.

"I will speak with him when we return." For a man so willing to take action, he had been uncharacteristically slow with this. The city watch was part of his domain, after all, however indirectly.

"See if you can't get him to keep the smallfolk from doing our duty for us. A shame, that. It would have been good to join in."

It was hard to fault them for their desire for vengeance. Even now, after seeing evidence of what other people had done with animalistic fury when I had delayed for even a single day since the attacks, my blood raged not at the brutality of the attacks but at the fact that I had been denied my vengeance.

"I would have made it quicker," was all I said. "Easier work for the Silent Sisters that way."

"Actually, where are the Sisters?" Martyn asked. "It's not like them to leave corpses to rot in the streets. Let alone so many."

"Corpses take more than a day to rot, Martyn," Desmond pointed out, now sitting quite a lot straighter in his saddle. A hand drifted to his sword, trusting his horse to follow the others without his input. "Though the Sisterhood does usually work quickly. For them to not even be out in the streets is concerning."

In other words, something was keeping the servants of the Seven indoors. Threats, most likely. And if there was something willing and able to threaten the clergy, they would not hesitate to threaten us.

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