"Do not hesitate. Act, or you will find yourself drowning in what-ifs."
Aemon was dead.
The Silent Sisters had taken his body away, to prepare him for the funerary rites. He would lay in state in the sept, either in the Red Keep or in the larger sept in the city, while a knight stood vigil. My duty, I had already decided. And then, in the morning, he would be given to the flames. Who would have the honor was yet undecided, but a candidate would reveal themselves before too long, I was certain.
But those were a problem for later. In the now, meanwhile, I was back in my quarters trying to scour myself clean with a basin of fresh water and a tough rag. Truth be told, there was not much to clean. The fight had been short, not nearly enough to elicit much of a sweat. I had not been injured, and I had not gotten dunked in a puddle of mud.
Though I had not exerted myself, it could not be denied that I had just had a fight. After a fight, you cleaned yourself. It was simple logic.
"Vaegon, are you certain you are well?" My friends had followed me after the fight, refusing to leave my side, having been there from the moment I had risen from my brother's side, gauntlets slick with blood. The rest of the Small Council had dispersed, but I had let them go without comment. If it were to prove problematic, the three of us still formed a comfortable majority.
"As well as can be expected," I said, my voice remaining admirably steady as my body went through its familiar motions. "I killed my own brother, Braxton. And now I need to tell my mother, my sisters, my brother's widow, and my brother's daughter that I have invited the vengeance of the Seven upon myself."
"You are scouring the skin from your flesh," Braxton pointed out. A look down revealed the truth behind that statement, as my skin was covered in an angry and irritated red. Said skin chose that moment to make its displeasure known, a burning not-quite-pain spreading across my chest, shoulders, and arms. That should not have come as a surprise; I was using a rather rough rag.
"I will recover," I said simply, scraping away another whisper-thin layer of sweat and a few flecks of dirt.
"You mean you will lash out blindly and refuse to slow down or stop until Maegelle returns you to your senses," Corlys observed.
"Aye," I admitted. That was how I handled situations like this. Better to act than be forced to react. "But until then, measures need to be taken to ensure that this catastrophe remains limited."
"I do not like the sound of that," Braxton commented.
"I do not like the look of that," Corlys added, gesturing roughly toward me. "That is not the look of a man about to make good decisions."
Given my track record, it was a valid observation.
"I am merely considering what must be done," I said. "With my brother's death, the succession will be called into question, and I cannot allow that to happen. No matter what, my niece must not be denied her birthright."
"When has anything ever good come of that train of thought?" Corlys asked.
"Very little," I admitted. "And I am unlikely to shift that trend."
"Ominous," Braxton said. "Dare I ask for more details?"
"The regent will have a lot of influence in succession," I pointed out, finally satisfied with my current state of cleanliness. Patting myself dry, I continued. "With the death of my brother, a new regent is needed."
"Meaning you." Corlys drew the obvious conclusion.
"Vaegon taking power voluntarily?" Braxton asked. "That is certainly a big change, but I do not see how that will reinforce any trends."
"If I take over the regency, I will rule in my father's name until either he recovers or my niece comes of age," I explained. "If I rule well and make the realm noticeably better, people will question the wisdom of naming someone else my father's heir. If I rule poorly and make the realm noticeably worse, people will question the wisdom of Targaryen rule."
"Ah," Braxton said oh so eloquently. "An impossible challenge for you: mediocrity."
"I can arrange the precise details later," I said, carefully donning my usual white garb with black and blue decorations. "But I need to act. Mother and Father must be informed."
"And the regency secured," Corlys added.
"And the regency secured," I confirmed, buckling on my sword belt. "Come with me, brothers. I need to see this done before the enormity of my crimes fully sinks in."
They shared a meaningful glance at my words but fell in beside me as I marched out. It was not a particularly long walk to my parent's apartments, but it felt longer than it had in the past. Servants seemed to walk a bit further away. Guards shifted at my approach. And the heartbeat hammering in my ears was not helping things.
Of course, I was about to give the worst news a son could give his parents. If this had come easily to me, I would have had far greater concerns.
As we arrived at my parents' apartments, there were two knights standing guard by the door. Two knights instead of the usual one.
"Ser Joffrey," I addressed the most senior member of the Kingsguard that guarded the door to the royal apartments. The knight had once been part of the Warrior's Sons, a holy warrior in service of the Seven. "I need you to find Princess Rhaenys and Lady Jocelyn and bring them here. The princesses Saera, Daella, and Viserra as well. I will inform my other sisters Alyssa and Maegelle on my own time."
"It will be done, Your Grace." Ser Joffrey Doggett did not waste further words, instead marching further into Maegor's Holdfast.
Maegor… how alike to my great uncle was I becoming? Big dragon, skill at arms, kinslaying... it was a blessedly short list. Unlike him, fortunately, I still had my faith. And I had Maegelle. I had my children and I had my friends. So long as they stood beside me, I could rest easy knowing that there was a limit to how far I could have fallen. No, I was safe from becoming another Maegor.
For now.
I turned to the Lord Commander standing guard. "May we enter?" I asked.
"You may," he allowed. No part of him betrayed any emotion, any reaction, to allowing the murderer of a future king access to the current king. But, as he stepped aside and, with him facing away from me, I swore I heard him speak again, his words a soft whisper. "I'm sorry."
I pushed the door aside, and my friends followed immediately behind me.
"Mother," I said in greeting. She looked up from her needlework, embroidering a small patch of silk. A repeating pattern of dragons and seahorses crossed its surface. A gift for Daella, most likely. Something small, delicate, and lovely. Very fitting.
Off to the side, seated on a couch facing the hearth which blazed along merrily, sat Father. He looked as bad as he had the last time I had seen him. Which, in all fairness, was better than expected. I had been half expecting him to waste away before my eyes.
Make no mistake, this was not the man who radiated kingship when clad only in riding leathers. This was a hollow shell of a man with disheveled hair, wrinkled clothes, and sunken cheeks. The only way someone might know him as king was from the crown sitting on his head. He was not about to die, but he was far removed from his prime. But he was alive. Surviving, yes, but not living.
"Vaegon," Mother greeted me. "Corlys and Braxton, too. To what do I owe the honor of this visit? Unless this is a social call?"
"Mother, it's about…" I was not able to even say that much without my voice breaking. A reassuring hand came to rest on my shoulder at that moment. Looking back, I saw Corlys giving a reassuring smile. Though our relationship had started as mere business associates, as a convenient source of coin and as an agent for my schemes, we had grown since then. I took a deep breath to gather my thoughts before speaking. "… I will be taking over the regency."
"Did something happen to Aemon?" Mother asked, cocking her head. "He has not visited in some time. Did the burden of the regency become too much for him?"
In a manner of speaking, it had.
"The matter of my inns and my bank," I said. I did not want to directly answer the question, not yet. Just to spare her the pain for a few more moments. "Do you remember?"
"Of course," she said, smiling warmly. "Your father was so proud when he learned what you had done, and how long you managed to keep that a secret from him. Such a clever idea- he really wanted to know what you would do next. I do not know what it has to do with the regency, but... mayhaps you could tell us about it some more?"
There was a sadness to the request, an unspoken hope that it might help Father out of his stupor.
"Did Aemon know?" I asked. There was nothing to be gained from asking, but I still had to know. Had Aemon been acting from a position of what he deemed to be justified? Or had he been merely looking for an excuse to get rid of me?
"I never thought-" Mother stopped herself, her eyes narrowing. "What do you mean by 'did' he know?"
"Aemon accused me of treason," I said softly. "He cited the bank, the inns, and the towers. He did not believe when I said Father knew of it for some time."
"Vaegon, please tell me you did not do what I think you did," Mother said, pleaded, all but begged.
"I told him to retract his accusations, told him that Father knew," I said, my voice hitching for a moment before I reasserted control. The breakdown could wait. I needed to get this done first. "He refused. The trial by combat was this morning."
"No…" The embroidered patch of silk fell to the ground, forgotten.
"Your Grace, Vaegon gave His Grace the Prince Regent every opportunity to recant his accusations, for several days," Braxton said. "During the trial, he was repeatedly offered the chance to yield."
"No… no no no…" Mother's eyes, usually a warm and loving blue, became unrecognizable as tears began to spill out of them. I could feel my own throat tightening, the pressure behind my eyes building, as my body wanted to grieve.
"Mother," I said, my voice scratchy and eyes watery from tears begging to be freed. "I killed Aemon."
...
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