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CaveLeather
The throne room was quiet again.
Gerold, Lewyn, and Oswell were released from the dungeons but placed under soft house arrest inside the Red Keep. Jon Darry escorted the three white cloaks down the corridor when they ran straight into Maester Aemon. The old man wasn't alone—Jaehaerys walked at his side, and Oberyn Martell strolled along with them.
"Uncle Lewyn?" Oberyn said, surprised. "You're out?"
Lewyn opened his mouth, then closed it. There was nothing to say.
Oberyn glanced at Jon Darry, silently asking if he could speak. Jon looked back toward the throne room. Maester Aemon gave a small nod, granting the Kingsguard a brief moment.
Oberyn kept it simple. "Aerys called the Great Council. My brother Doran couldn't come, so I'm here to represent House Martell—and to see Elia."
Lewyn stayed silent. What was there to say? Dorne had backed Rhaegar. Lewyn had been the bridge between Rhaegar and the Martells. Their alliance had been tight.
Then Lyanna Stark happened.
Rhaegar had abandoned everything, taken Lyanna to Lys, and left both Dorne and Lewyn betrayed.
Lewyn watched Daeron grow stronger every day and felt powerless.
That was the whole Martell family right now.
Rhaegar had betrayed them, tossed aside Elia and his duties, and chosen Lyanna and a bastard. It was like watching a second "Small" Duncan Targaryen—except Duncan had at least been unmarried and had formally given up his claim. Rhaegar still hadn't given anyone a clean answer.
"No word from Rhaegar yet," Oberyn said flatly. "Looks like you shouldn't hold out hope."
He spread his hands. "Targaryens are all mad. Even the so-called perfect Rhaegar Targaryen."
Jon Darry's brow tightened. "Watch your tongue, Martell."
"Sorry," Oberyn said with a crooked smile. "I only meant Rhaegar. No offense to the rest of you."
He turned to Maester Aemon and gave a respectful gesture. "I won't keep you. I'm here to see Prince Daeron."
The old maester nodded politely and led Jaehaerys into the throne room.
Daeron sat on the Iron Throne, one arm resting on the blades. He looked up as the three entered.
Maester Aemon spoke first. "I've sent ravens to Oldtown. The Citadel and the High Septon have been informed of the Great Council. They should be making their arrangements."
Daeron asked, "Will they agree?"
"I can't say for certain," Aemon replied carefully, "but the Citadel has always answered my requests. I still carry some weight there. As for the current High Septon… he's greedy and not very bright. Between your father's name and your dragons, I doubt he'll cause trouble."
Daeron gave a small nod. The Citadel was just a scholarly institution; it wouldn't openly defy the Iron Throne. The Faith of the Seven had been toothless since Jaehaerys's "Holy Accord." Even the Mad King's reputation alone would keep the High Septon in line.
"What brings you here, Jaehaerys?" Daeron asked, thinking his little brother had come to watch.
Maester Aemon answered for him. "Jaehaerys is old enough to start learning. I'm keeping him at my side so he can see how these things work."
Jaehaerys nodded hard. He wanted to be useful to the family, and this was the perfect time to start.
Daeron approved with a smile, then turned his gaze to the only outsider. "Oberyn Martell. I don't remember summoning you."
He had never liked the man. A red viper with fangs.
Oberyn studied Daeron openly. "I just visited my sister. Since I'm here for the Great Council, I thought I should meet the man who called it. Seems only polite, doesn't it?"
Daeron's eyes narrowed as he took in the change in Oberyn. The man was younger than when they first met, but he carried himself differently now—less reckless, more calculating. Even the beard made him look steadier. The sellsword life in Essos had sharpened him into something quieter and more dangerous.
Daeron kept his tone flat. "You've seen me. Anything else?"
Oberyn pulled a crumpled letter from his sleeve and handed it to Maester Aemon, who passed it to Jaehaerys to carry up the steps.
"Rhaegar's letter," Oberyn said.
Daeron took the folded parchment. The seal was cracked, the paper wrinkled like it had been clenched and unclenched a dozen times. He broke it open and read in silence.
When he finished, his expression hadn't changed. Only a faint trace of disappointment lingered in his eyes.
"Good brother Rhaegar," he murmured, "your letters always arrive one step too late."
He folded the letter carefully. "I'll present this at the Great Council. I'll handle his requests as I see fit."
Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "Even the part about reviving the old Valyrian custom of multiple wives?"
"That's not your concern," Daeron said coldly.
Oberyn let it drop and moved on. "Rhaegar married Lyanna Stark in Lys. He won't be coming back to live with my sister. I ask that you allow Elia and Rhaenys to return to Dorne. That is her home. She would be happier there."
"Out of the question," Daeron said before anyone else could speak.
Maester Aemon's old eyes sharpened. "Elia may visit Sunspear as a guest—nothing more. Rhaenys is a princess of the royal blood. She belongs in King's Landing, raised among Targaryens, not raised to think of herself as a Martell."
Oberyn frowned. "Without a father's guidance, Rhaenys will have an incomplete childhood. She's a girl. She needs to be taught strength and self-reliance."
"You mean defiance, don't you?" Jaehaerys cut in, unable to stay quiet.
Oberyn looked at the ten-year-old prince with interest. "You're Aerys's third son, yes? Ten years old already?"
Jaehaerys was exactly ten, tall for his age, with the clean, handsome features of both parents—less melancholic than Rhaegar, less radiant than Daeron, but still strikingly good-looking.
He dodged the question and fired back, "You want to take Rhaenys away because you're after her dragon blood?"
"Jaehaerys," Daeron snapped. "Enough."
Some things you thought. You didn't say them out loud.
Jaehaerys clamped his mouth shut and looked down.
Oberyn studied both brothers for a moment, then turned back to the throne. "Dornishmen do not covet a little girl's blood. We don't bully children."
Maester Aemon shook his head. "I would like to believe you, but Rhaenys is a member of the royal family. It is safer for her to remain here, under our direct protection, than to gamble on House Martell's goodwill."
"Can you truly protect her?" Oberyn asked.
"Of course," the old maester answered.
Oberyn's gaze slid back to Daeron on the Iron Throne.
Daeron looked bored. "Whatever House Martell can do, House Targaryen will do better."
Oberyn's lips twitched. He had what he came for. "Remember those words, Daeron Targaryen."
He turned and left without another word.
Daeron shook his head once the door closed. Next time I see that viper, I'm going to beat the smug out of him.
He turned to his great-uncle. "I'll come find you later so we can go over the exact procedure for the Great Council."
"Whenever you wish," Maester Aemon said calmly.
Jaehaerys still looked a little dazed. "Brother… wasn't Oberyn's request a bit much?"
Daeron patted his shoulder as he stepped down from the throne. "Pay attention and learn. Not everything is said out loud."
Later that evening, just as Daeron was about to leave the throne room, the door opened again.
Melisandre walked in wearing loose red robes. She wasted no time.
"I am crafting protective amulets. I will need special gems as materials."
"Which kind?" Daeron asked.
"All of them," she answered. "And spares, if possible."
Daeron took out three stones of each type—red, yellow, green, amethyst, aquamarine, emerald—and placed them in a small box for her.
"I will bring the finished amulets as soon as they are ready," she said, turning toward the door.
The door opened before she reached it.
Maester Aemon stood there with Jaehaerys at his side, the boy carrying a stack of scrolls.
Melisandre's gaze passed over the elderly maester and settled on the young prince. She inhaled slowly, eyes half-lidded.
"Pure dragon blood," she murmured, "burning with raw fire magic."
Jaehaerys took an instinctive half-step back.
Is this woman a creep? he thought.
"No need to be afraid," Melisandre said with a soft laugh. "I only meant that you have the gift of a sorcerer."
She glanced back at Daeron. "Though I suspect certain people would not approve."
Daeron waved her off. "Take the gems and go."
Melisandre smiled, bowed, and slipped out.