Chapter Text
"One of us will die and the hedge knight will prevail."
Despite Daeron mumbling the words in pain, they couldn't be clearer to Maekar's ears in that moment. His eldest, lying on the bed with his sweat covered face buried in the pillows, foot red from the punishment Maekar has just doled out, mumbled out the words in between pained moans.
"What are you saying, boy? Speak up."
"I've seen the same dream over and over again these five nights: A knight who I now know to be Ser Duncan has a dragon fall on him in a large meadow. He is left breathing whilst the dragon perishes. And now Aerion has dragged three dragons in front of Ser Duncan to be slaughtered." Daeron says twisting on the bed and trembling slightly, his face screws as the embroidered beads of the bed cover scratches his tender feet. "I know you think me a drunk and a coward."
Maekar breaks eye contact as he is faced with the earnest face of his troubled child. He never knows how to communicate with Daeron, his heir, a boy that slipped out of his fingers the minute those 7-damned dreams invaded his sleeps.
"I sincerely doubt he will be able to find 6 other knights to fight for his cause, let alone prevail in the trial." He ends up saying, his eyes not straying from the fire as his back is to the bed. "And don't place the sole fucking blame on your brothers shoulders alone, t'is your claim that he kidnapped Egg, might I remind you, Daeron?"
To that, the boy has nothing to say. Silence stretches to an uncomfortable degree between them, straining where it had frayed with Dyanna's loss. She always knew how to soothe Daeron, always managed to pry the drink from his hand and words from his lips. The only sound Maekar manages to draw out of his son is the pained hiss as he pulls his boots back on. He hears the clinking of the door handle. There is a pregnant pause as the door doesn't shut as expected.
"I don't care to die at dawn, father." Daeron nearly whispers. "I don't care to see you die either."
The sting of hearing Aerion excluded hurts Maekar in a way he has not expected. He knows that there is no love lost between his sons, he isn't blind. Aerion's constant antagonizing doesn't start or end with servants or puppeteers after all. However, hearing it is a whole another thing, he can't fathom ever being uncaring about his own brothers' potential deaths. Sure, he isn't as close with Rhaegal or Aerys, but he still loves them. And then there is Baelor, of course. There have been many close calls as Baelor rode beside him, the hammer and the anvil, as they barely escaped death together. In each of those instances, his heart pounded with terror as the thought of losing his brother gripped his mind. And here is Daeron, caring naught about whether Aerion lived or died.
It is these troubling thoughts that carry him towards Baelor's chambers. Ser Donnel gives him a nod as he knocks on the door. "Your grace, Prince Maekar is here."
"Come on in, brother."
It is a familiar sight that greets Maekar: Baelor sitting behind a desk, reading with an expression that gives away the weight that has made itself a nest upon his shoulders. All the finery that Baelor allowed on his person has been taken off, only a night shirt and breeches remaining. "What brings you here at this hour, brother? Hopefully no other matter that requires our attention."
It is left unsaid but it is clear as day what he means: matter regarding your children. Maekar scowls. "Aerion is in his rooms, so hopefully we'll make it to dawn without any further incidents." He says, sprawling on one of the chairs with a grunt. "It is just something that Daeron said, it is giving me a fucking headache."
Baelor remains silent, his mismatched eyes making him feel as though he is a boy of seven once again, calling on his older brother for help.
"He says he dreamt of the trial for the past week. Saw a dragon dying and the hedge knight surviving."
The crackling of the fire accompanies the raised eyebrows of his brother, his hand stilling on the page in front of him. "Could he be making up such a thing to avoid the trial?"
"There is always that chance..." Maekar says, throwing his head back and rubbing his face tiredly. "It is times like these that make me curse the Stranger for taking Dyanna."
"She did have a better grasp on discipline with the boys." Baelor says, earning a glare. "Forgive me, brother, for not praising your parenting skills in this particular situation."
"What would you have me fucking do? Call Daeron a liar for the kidnapping claim? Scold Aerion in front of those vultures? I might want to give the boy a whipping over his reckless actions but at this point, he has made it into a matter of Targaryen honor."
"This could have been avoided if you had ordered Aerion to stay behind as I suggested." Baelor says, getting up and facing the hearth behind the desk. "You know why we are here, brother. You are not a stupid man. You know why we must show our faces, remind those who would get even the smidgen of an idea of joining the next Blackfyre attempt that we are the rightful rulers of this kingdom: the stable, the trustworthy, and worth serving rulers. Not fickle princes unable to keep their own families under control."
Despite Baelor's voice being as calm as a lake's surface, the chastising words feel as though Maekar is being dipped into said lake. "I fucking know that. He would have followed us here regardless, or worse stay behind and do a lot fucking worse without our presence keeping him in check."
"Cease with your cursing, Maekar." He snapped, turning towards him suddenly. "This is how you keep him in check? If Valarr were to-"
"Oh, don't you compare your two little saints to Aerion!" Maekar snapped back. "We should have called you Baelor the Blessed for the easiest hand dealt as a sire."
"It is no coincidence or blessing, brother. It is constant attention and teaching that Valarr and Matarys hasn't killed any cats, drank themselves to near-death, ran away or laced their family with love potions." Baelor says, the one violet eye daring him to object to the accusations. "I hate to intervene with your family, you are a grown man after all. However, I would expect you to reflect upon what has transpired here in your decisions as a father going forward."
There is a moment of silence as Maekar stews in his fury, knowing that he doesn't have any defense in this. Baelor sighs, the weight resettling on his shoulders as he leans his back to the wall. "Say he is telling the truth about the dream." He starts, his gaze once again drawn to the flames. "Do you think you can convince Aerion to withdraw his claim?"
"That boy would sooner geld himself than take his claim back." Maekar says, leaning on the wall next to Baelor. "Besides, it would make us look weak. The crown walking back a claim against a nobody hedge knight? Even if Aerion was wrong to strike the puppeteer girl, all those Lords will walk away from this thinking that anybody can get away unharmed after putting their hands on us."
"You do see how this is disastrous either way, brother, don't you? There is no good look for us here: The hedge knight fails to find enough knights, the crown ends up having used an obscure precedent to punish a poor knight without even giving him a chance to fight back properly. The trial happens and he loses, the smallfolk see us bullying a hedge knight with the full force of the crown for protecting the innocent." He says, emphasizing each scenario with a digit, his rings glinting with the firelight. "He wins and the crown looks weaker than ever, losing to a hedge knight with no connections, making the Blackfyre's seem a more likely winner in our next inevitable battle. You have met the knight, even a few moments with the man and you can see how good he is, how striking his looks, his stature is. People will surely make a hero out of such a fine knight, regardless of the outcome of the trial, and villains out of us. And now you're saying that he is likely to kill a prince? I can already hear the songs they'll sing. People will rally behind him and that will make him the likely target of a Blackfyre, they'll court him and get him on their side."
"Then what do you suggest that I do? Ignore Daeron's dream? Disown my son? Leave him to face the half-giant by himself?" Maekar says, voice giving away how tired he is. "He is still my boy, brother."
"I do not know." Baelor admits with yet another sigh. "Ignoring Dreamers is exactly the opposite of what our ancestors did to survive the Doom."
The Ashford-orange drapes around Baelor's bed mocks the princes with its happy hue as the two try to think their way out of the corner they have been trapped in. By now, most of the tourney must have heard about the incident if not the impending trial of the seven. They couldn't just get rid of it without there being questions raised.
"Perhaps I can talk to Ser Duncan. Ask him to confess to the crimes and let him take the black without Aerion present to object." Baelor says, rubbing his temples. "I don't expect the man to agree but I can scarce think of any other alternatives."
"And if he doesn't accept that?"
"Then we will have to see the validity of Daeron's dream, I reckon."
"I'm doomed to some kind of hell, I know. Likely one without wine." Hearing the resignation in his nephews voice as he listens in on their conversation from the shadows sends a shiver down Baelor's spine, clenching his stomach. He's familiar with the dread that takes over his senses whenever lives are at stake, yet the feeling never became easier to brave. His nephew seems to be honest in his warnings, bothering to come all this way out of the castle to tell Ser Duncan about it. Had he wanted to ask the knight to spare him and his father, perhaps? Would his nephew wish for his brothers death, just as Egg had? Could Baelor even fault the boy?
As he followed the hedge knight into the half destroyed tent he assumes belonged to the puppeteers, he notes the slump of his shoulders, the walk of a man aware of the Stranger lurking around the corner.
"Ser Duncan."
As Baelor removes his hood, the knight startles and turns around, worry etched even further into the handsome lines of his face since Baelor last saw him merely hours ago.
"Your grace."
"I'm sorry to startle you, ser. It was not my intention to do so. I came to talk to you, if you will hear me out, knight to knight, without politics between us." Baelor says, standing beneath the intact parts of the pavilion, rain cascading between them as if to punish the ground.
"Of course, your grace, but forgive me, I can't see what more can be said this night." Ser Duncan says, his eyes avoiding Baelor's, there is as much frustration in them as there is exhaustion.
"My nephew relayed to you his dream, if I am not mistaken." A flash of lightning lights up the pavilion enough for Baelor to see just how miserable of a state his family has forced the honorable knight into: soaking wet and terrified. "I hope to avoid that future with your help, if you'll allow it."
"What choice do I have here, your grace? You said it yourself, it is either this or I lose my hand and my foot. Seven knows I won't last long after that." The knight says, looking into Baelor's eyes directly this time. Just as it had in the castle, the eye contact twists his insides a certain way, reminding him of a knight long gone, not just in stature but in character as well.
"What would you have me do, Baelor? Ignore the plight of the innocent and the needy?"
"If you plead guilty to me right now, I can let you take the black with your honor in tact. You can rise there, the realm would be honored to have a good man such as yourself serving up north." Thunder follows his words, the Warrior chastising him for even daring to suggest the idea.
"The wall? With all the rapists, thieves and murderers for defending the innocent?" Ser Duncan says, taking a disbelieving step towards Baelor. Perhaps the knight can see the grimace that has settled upon his face without his leave at his own audacious ask. Baelor knows that if he were in the hedge knight's place, he would never accept the deal, but Baelor has to try. He has to try to bring his family back to their king in one piece. "Is this what a knight gets for following his oaths?"
There is nothing Baelor can say to that, rain beats down on Ser Duncan as he looks up at the knight with his mouth in a taut line. "Forgive me, ser. I am... aware of the enormity of my ask. I only wished to make the option known had you wished to choose it." He ends up saying after a few seconds. "I do not fault you for taking offense but I had to try, as an uncle and a brother."
"Ser Duncan?" A voice interrupts them from behind. A burly man stands outside of the pavilion, prompting Baelor to draw his hood up.
"You are a good man, ser. And the realm needs good men." Baelor says, walking away from the knight.
This time, it is Valarr who comes to his chambers with a troubled look an hour before dawn.
"What brings you here at this hour, Valarr?" Baelor asks as his son sits on one of the chairs with a sigh.
"Father... I know you say we must show our cousins grace and we must put our differences aside to protect one another but... I overheard Aerion planning something dishonorable and it does not sit right with me." Valarr says, his eyes tight at the corners, both of them undoubtedly remembering every instance Valarr tried to address the troubling behavior Aerion displayed whenever the two families met. Baelor had to turn a blind eye each time, encroaching on his brothers authority over his family had seemed improper. Although his boy is now a married man, he still doesn't understand the difficulty of having to hold your tongue in regards to the way your brother raises his offspring. "He was talking to Ser Steffon Fossaway, the knight agreed to announce that he would switch to Aerion's side moments before the trial as to leave Ser Duncan without a seventh in exchange for lordship. Apparently Aegon managed to find five other knights to side with the hedge knight but they are unaware of this trickery."
Baelor grits his teeth, averting his eyes from Valarr. Whenever he feels rage in front of his sons, he tries his best to reign it in, be the example they deserve and calmly deal with the issue at hand but the earlier echoes of his past rise within his mind once more.
"Your grace, we have captured Ser Water. He confessed that he had been promised a holding if he delivered Ser Myrion to Quentyn Ball."
"That is indeed dishonorable, you are right in your feelings." Baelor says as calmly as he can manage. "Your cousin... is a difficult boy. I know you are critical of my inaction when it comes to him but I can not discipline Aerion more than your uncle can discipline you without my leave."
"I just can't sit by and watch a good knight die and let Aerion walk away without consequences once again." Valarr says, letting that familiar flash of anger flare up. "He thinks just because he has the seven-damned silver locks he can get away with being Maegor-reborn."
Baelor frowns after hearing that, he knows that the talk of their looks couldn't have escaped his sons but hearing the resentment that has grown in his son is upsetting to say the least. "It is not just that Valarr, don't let idle court chatter poison your mind. He is the second son of a fourth son, he has room in his lack of responsibilities and prospects to find the audacity to act cruel and without thinking."
"He thinks alright, it is just all monstrous and dishonorable thoughts that he conjures up." Valarr says with a huff, softening Baelor for a second as he is reminded of the boy he had once been, complaining to his father just the same. "I feel an obligation to do something about this, at least give the hedge knight a chance to succeed but I don't even know if there is enough time."
It comes together in Baelor's mind just then, the solution to all his problems, both moral and political, albeit dangerous to his person. "If you'll lend me your armor, I will take his side as the seventh."
Valarr gets a comical look in his eyes, the mismatched pair wide in their surprise. "Are you serious?"
It is sort of the only way out of this tangled web of interests, oaths and moral obligations that Baelor can see, no matter how clumsy or dangerous it will be. Not only will he have a chance to save Ser Duncan, he can perhaps ease the past and present guilts that have festered in his heart. Perhaps by doing right by a true knight this time, gods will take pity on him and remove the ache from his soul.
This way the trial will also cease to appear as though the crown is squashing down a hedge knight for keeping his oaths as there will be dragons on both sides. He knows that this will cast Maekar's branch of the family as the villains but he can't be expected to save his brother from every ditch the man has dug for himself. As the heir, there are times he needs to think of the crown first. Hopefully, he thinks, Maekar will forgive me.
"Quite serious. I see no other way out. Even I can't order any random knight to fight in a trial that might cost them their life, especially since Maekar ordered the Kingsguard to fight for Aerion." Baelor says, getting up properly and going behind a screen to change into his armor compatible clothes.
"I can do it, seeing as the armor already fits me." Valarr says, even without seeing his face, Baelor can sense his dread. His boy has never been the best at martial skills, thus seeing him brave the thought of facing his uncle, three white cloaks and his admittedly a lot more deadly cousin makes Baelor's heart beat with pride.
"I will not risk you by putting you against battle-tested warriors or Aerion. Regardless of skill, the boy has no regard for life unlike you. He wouldn't hesitate to hurt you if you were in his path the way you would avoid shedding the blood of your kin." Baelor says as he pulls his trousers on, he deliberately avoids mentioning that a member of their house will most likely die in the trial. "I must bear the responsibility regardless for my hand in letting the boy carry on as such. I should've sat Maekar down earlier and intervened. We can't afford the perception of our house to be what Aerion acts like."
"But father, I can't just sit idly by like a craven fool as you ride in my armor."
"My decision is final. I do not wish for any harm to come to you. Allow your sire that ease of mind." He steps out from behind the screen, facing his son with a confident stride and a hand on his shoulder. "Now, will you deny your father your armor?"
Valarr doesn't lose the unease apparent on his face even as his squires hurriedly try to fit each piece of the armor to the much larger body of Baelor, loosening straps and sending each other worried looks as the gaps between plates sit larger on him than the true owner of the armor. After Baelor puts on the helm, Valarr's frown deepens further. "It looks too tight." He says, knocking on the back of Baelor's head, only to hear back a worrying lack of clang but a full thunk. "You need a better helm, father."
"I will be fine." Baelor says, checking his armor one last time. Valarr stops him with a hard look.
"No. Allow your son the ease of mind and wear a proper helm. Please." He says, worrying his lip between his teeth. "Let me ask cousin Manfred for his helm, it would fit better."
Baelor sighs as he hears the crowd gather with an anxious anxiety outside. "Very well. I will ride out now as to not doom Ser Duncan through my tardiness, so you will need to bring it to the field as soon as possible."
"Has courage deserted the noble houses of Westeros? Are there no true knights among you?"
It is perhaps the sentiment itself that makes Baelor's chest pound with a nostalgic feeling or the color of Ser Duncan's eyes which remind him of another long gone. He does not know. Baelor puts it all aside as he proclaims "I will take Ser Duncan's side." to the cheering of smallfolk and highborn alike.