4

78 AC

The Spring Prince

Baelon sat in the royal box, watching the knights joust. The arrogance and pride of these men were remarkable. Baelon recognized that he, too, was an arrogant warrior, but he was self-aware enough to acknowledge that he had never been in a real war or faced a life-or-death battle. In fact, for almost thirty years, the realm had known peace, with only minor skirmishes with the Dornish to disturb it. According to the old knights Baelon had spoken with, men had forgotten the horrors of bloodshed and were now itching for a fight. As his king once said, a bored mind is the devil's workshop.

This was the last day of the tourney, and Baelon was looking forward to its conclusion. The court had been in turmoil ever since Aemon whipped the Grand Maester for suggesting harm to his bastard son. The lords who followed the Seven were uncertain whether to protest Aemon's actions or support him as it was the king's will. Aemon, as usual, was the epitome of a charming, responsible prince. He influenced lords, captivated ladies, and, as the king had said ten years ago, was the innocent boy who had fallen into the wiles of northern beauty and magic. Even now, the court and lords believed whatever version of events suited their preferences. For some, Aemon was the tragic hero who lost his first true love and later rose from the ashes of debauchery and sadness, redeemed by his destined true love, Jocelyn Baratheon. For others, he was the gullible prince they needed, having been proven fallible even by a poor, uncivilized northern bastard. Whatever the version, Aemon was the hero, and the nobles loved that he was the crown prince.

Baelon was pleased that his spies had successfully spread rumors of Aemon's strong defense of his son against punishment. Even Aemon's word-for-word threat had been circulated, though Baelon believed most people thought it was only uttered under duress. The nobles could only see the charming prince, not the hidden madness ready to be unleashed in a moment of rage. Baelon had personally warned three lords who insulted the Stark girl about the consequences if his brother heard of it. Though sternly reprimanded, he doubted they truly believed such a threat could come from Aemon, who was so charismatic and friendly.

Baelon had been closely watching the Baratheons and the Stormlords. They had entered King's Landing with joy and pride but were now seething behind the scenes. They were frustrated beyond belief at Aemon's declaration in the small council and enraged by rumors that Aemon said he would fight against the king if ordered to harm Daemon. Baelon had personally diverted Aemon from overhearing anything from those lords many times, and he was glad the tourney would be over after tonight's feast. He missed spending time with his beloved Alyssa and caring for her during her pregnancy.

Over the last two weeks, Baelon often wondered why the king was indulging Aemon so much. More than anyone, the king knew how volatile Aemon was, and the carefully woven story spread by their agents was the only reason the realm didn't suspect madness in his elder brother. Even though the king had never mentioned bringing his bastard grandson south, Baelon knew the king was unhappy that such an intelligent child couldn't be nurtured for the betterment of House Targaryen and the Iron Throne. The king, above all, valued competence, and the child showed great potential. Even before all this, the king had for some reason been very interested in his first grandson. Baelon knew the king would continue to indulge Aemon until he showed any incompetence. The only explanation for the king's indulgence was that he didn't want to give voice to the rumors of madness in the crown prince, which could be used by the Faith against the Targaryens due to their hatred of incest. If such rumors arose, it would weaken the Doctrine of Exceptionalism that the king had forced out of the Faith in his younger days.

Baelon knew that even as the rider of Vhagar, had he ever dared to utter a threat against the Bronze Fury, even in jest, his punishment would have been truly painful. Baelon was the only one truly thankful that the king chose to dismiss Aemon's threat like an older dragon indulging its drakes in play-fighting. He wasn't sure whether, even with Vhagar, they could beat the Old King. He was almost certain that the king had some hidden magical tricks to disrupt rogue dragon riders that he had not yet taught him in their lessons.

Baelon snapped out of his thoughts and clapped as Prince Aemon won the final joust and crowned his wife as the Queen of Love and Beauty. Baelon was sure that if Rhaenys were present, she would have been the one crowned, for all his faults, Aemon loved fiercely. Baelon was already preparing himself to play the role of the stern uncle, ensuring that her father's spoiling would not lead to a useless, spoiled brat of an heiress.

Baelon bowed to the King, seated at the center of the Royal Box, signaling his intention to leave and accompany Aemon to their chambers. He reached Aemon just as his brother had changed from his armor into casual clothes, preparing to head to the Red Keep. The procession was getting ready so that the people could admire their beloved Crown Prince.

Aemon looked at him as Baelon approached. "Baelon, join me in the procession. Let the smallfolk see and admire their dashing princes."

"Of course, my prince," Baelon replied. "I will join you, but don't blame me later for taking away the cheers and admiration of the people as I am more handsome and dashing than you, brother. And congratulations on your well-deserved win. Jocelyn will be happy after the events of two weeks ago."

Aemon frowned and sighed tiredly. "Aye, you have the right of it. I really practiced hard last moon to make it up to her. It is not possible for me to do nothing when my Lyarra is insulted."

"You don't have to explain it to me, brother. I understand. If anyone insulted Alyssa, there would be blood."

The procession started as they mounted their horses and began waving and smiling at the crowd. Baelon rode side by side with his brother throughout the entire procession. He noticed the same admiration from the smallfolk as he had seen from the nobles. Aemon was beloved by the people of King's Landing. He had spent more gold in the two years he had returned heartbroken from the North than in the previous eight combined. The drunken fights, horse racing, bets, and even taking a four-year-old child to greet Caraxes were the stuff of legends among the smallfolk. Aemon had found an outlet for his violence on the criminals during those two years, especially anyone who hurt a woman. People still praised the kind prince who saved them. They also empathized with his loss of a young love to childbirth, as many of them had experienced the pain of losing loved ones in childbirth. Many of the smallfolk even agreed with Aemon's hatred for his child, as they valued a living, working woman more than a babe in need of care.

Finally, it was over, and they entered the Red Keep. After leaving their horses with the stable keepers, they retreated to Maegor's Holdfast to freshen up and prepare for the feast later.

Baelon stood with his brother, discussing changes in the Citadel with Lord Lannister after the feast and the first dance. Aemon had started the dance with Jocelyn as the celebration was for their child, and later others joined in. Baelon had danced with Alyssa, his mother, and his sisters. The lords were getting drunk on wine, and the sounds of chatter and laughter filled the air. Baelon and Aemon stood to the side, watching the merrymaking, when Lord Lannister joined them for the discussion.

The lords were not happy that House Targaryen had withdrawn its payment to the maesters, but they were pleased that they could now dismiss maesters and request another or send their preferred loyal family members to be trained. They stood near a pillar of the great hall while the dance continued in the middle of the hall to rousing music.

The Stormlords were near the next pillar, talking among themselves. Baelon observed them and, with his lip-reading skills, understood they were complaining but couldn't identify the topic. Baelon was sure they wouldn't be foolish enough to insult Aemon's paramour in this public setting and on such a happy occasion.

Lord Lannister left them, bowing, and Aemon cursed. "That prideful cat."

Aemon's unwelcoming face made the approaching lords turn away.

"Brother, control your annoyance. He will be your Warden of the West and a loyal subject," Baelon tried to appease.

Aemon sighed. "Aye, you have the right of it. This is a night of celebration. Let's go to the high table and invite our little sisters, Saera and Viserra, for a dance before Mother loses her temper with them. They look bored, and that is dangerous."

Baelon grinned and nodded. Both started to walk toward the high table, passing near the Stormlords. They moved along the edge of the dance floor and near the pillars to avoid disturbing the dancers.

As they walked, Baelon heard a lord saying, "I am telling you now, Lord Baratheon, you had better ensure your brother-in-law never brings the bastard to the south. He is a threat to Princess Rhaenys and your sister. This is our chance to have a Baratheon Queen—our chance to have a woman of the Stormlands ruling the entire Seven Kingdoms. The first to do so, from a native of this land and not of Valyria. But the Crown Prince insults her and the Stormlands with his strong defense of the boy. The love the prince has for his son is clear, as he himself whipped the maester who suggested punishing him."

Baelon knew that if he heard the broken speech through the noise, Aemon could hear it too. He cursed the gods—after weeks of work to keep Aemon from hearing such words, everything was now ruined at the last minute. Baelon looked at Aemon and saw darkness entering his eyes as his hand tightened on the Valyrian steel knife of the Heir, one of the only public weapons allowed in the hall before the King, other than Kingsguard's swords and his own Dark Sister. Their walking speed had slowed, and Aemon was listening carefully, trying to catch every word. Baelon looked at the lord to see who it was and to hear more.

It was Lord Connington, the second most powerful lord of the Stormlands after House Baratheon.

The dance was at its climax, and the applause was imminent. Aemon Targaryen put a hand on Baelon Targaryen's shoulder to stop him from making any noise and moved to the shadows at the edge of the walls.

The broken speech continued, "Do you actually believe a 10-year-old boy could come up with such trickery? Or are the northern lords such stupid barbarians that they couldn't think of it for years? I don't know what to believe. Lord Baratheon, surely you will be made Hand after Prince Aemon ascends. It is the least he could do after the years of insults to you and the Stormlands—"

The dance ended, and the audience applauded, making it too noisy for Baelon to hear anything.

"—the prince values his paramour's culture more. I heard it was he who suggested he should whip the maester—a crown prince following a barbarian culture that should be rooted out of the civilized world. It has been 10 years since the bastard died, and Lady Jocelyn is one of the most beautiful ladies in the realm. I wonder how much more beautiful the Stark bitch looked—"

The applause and songs stopped, and a sudden silence enveloped Baelon and Aemon. They could hear Lord Connington's speech very clearly, even louder than before as he raised his voice due to the clapping.

"—THAT THE PRINCE STILL LOVES HIS BASTARD GIRL'S MEMORY OR WHAT MAGIC THE WHORE ENSNARED THE PRINCE WITH FOR HIM TO EVEN LOVE THE BASTARD CHILD LEFT BEHIND."

Baelon closed his eyes in absolute failure for a moment, then opened them. He was Baelon Targaryen, and he would be there for his brother now.

Aemon rushed at Lord Connington, his hand on the heir's Valyrian steel dagger. A punch echoed as Aemon's fist smashed into the lord's lower back, sending him crashing into another lord, both of them falling to the ground. The other Stormlords were enraged, and many even raised their hands to attack but stopped when they saw it was the Crown Prince.

The next song started playing in the background as Aemon drew Dark Sister from Baelon's hip. Baelon had reattached the sword after the initial round of dancing. Seeing the famed sword of Visenya, which was hungry for blood, the Stormlords began protesting. Baelon could see the commotion was attracting attention when Aemon took out his Valyrian steel dagger with his left hand and clashed the blades together. The distinctive piercing sound of Valyrian steel meeting Valyrian steel echoed, and the music stopped abruptly. Before the clamor could rise, his brother roared,

"Silence!"

Aemon moved toward Lord Connington, who, seeing the prince, fell to his knees, yelling apologies. Aemon returned Dark Sister to Baelon and, holding the knife, walked in front of the kneeling lord.

"You will lose your tongue now," Aemon's cold whisper cut through the silence in the hall.

Then Lord Boremund Baratheon stepped in front of the kneeling lord, trying to placate the prince, and the Stormlords also yelled apologies. The crowd had already gathered around them when the king's order came.

"Silence! What is the meaning of this? Come stand before me and I will settle this."

The crowd retreated, and Baelon, along with Aemon and the Stormlords, walked to the center. The King was sitting in a raised throne-like chair. Aemon bowed, and Lord Connington went to his knees.

"Your Grace, Lord Connington has disobeyed my order, and he will lose his tongue now as I promised," Aemon said.

Baelon saw Lord Connington looking at Lord Boremund, pleading. He saw his half-uncle sighing and gathering his thoughts.

"Your Grace, please forgive Lord Connington on behalf of me. He was deep in his cups, and he has already apologized on his knees. Moreover, no one saw the Crown Prince nearby, and Lord Connington was loose with his wits," Lord Baratheon pleaded with a bow.

King Jaehaerys looked at the lords and his son Aemon. Even before the King replied, Baelon knew the answer.

"I am not the one to forgive. My heir, the Crown Prince, the Hand of the King, has issued an order to the realm as his right, which only I can rescind, and I have not done so. Hence, the order is binding on everyone. He has used his power to make an order and declared the punishment if it is disobeyed. He is the one now who has the responsibility to forgive or punish," the King finished sternly.

The Baratheon lord fidgeted and turned towards his brother. Baelon wondered whether Lord Baratheon will next turn to their familial relation to get forgiveness for his principal bannerman.

"Prince Aemon, please forgive my foolish bannerman. I am your brother-in-law and uncle; please do it as a favor for me," Lord Baratheon requested.

Prince Aemon looked at his uncle and replied in a cold voice, "I can't forgive Lord Connington's words. He insulted me inside my own home. I cannot forgive and forget, and it's my responsibility to carry out the threat I issued."

Lord Baratheon sighed in defeat but tried one last time and bowed to the King. "My King, we didn't know Prince Aemon was near. The prince's order was not to insult him in his presence. How could Lord Connington be liable when he didn't see or know the prince was within hearing distance? This is injustice, Your Grace. Please disallow the punishment, as the order has been followed to the letter."

Baelon sighed as he saw his uncle making another mistake. He could see that his king and brother, previously only annoyed at their relative, were now turning angry. This was the consequence of not voiding the Starks' contract and not punishing harshly for creative reading of the law. Baelon knew that his uncle was in for a humiliation and that punishment would be swift so that no other lord would attempt their own interpretation of the Law. The fact that it was even the King's own half-brother who attempted such a move had enraged the King, and Baelon knew that the King would establish the fact that no one is equal to his immediate blood, the members of House Targaryen.

"Boremund, my brother," the King started amicably, "I don't understand one thing. Why are you still defending your bannerman when he has also insulted House Baratheon? You should be grateful that my son, your brother-in-law, is ordering swift punishment."

Lord Baratheon and the entire viewing court sputtered in confusion.

"What? I don't understand, Your Grace. He was complaining about bastards and nothing else. The origin of my house's founder being a bastard is only a rumor. There was no insult aimed at me," Lord Baratheon replied, trying to remain polite.

"Ah, Brother," the King began, "it seems that your father, my stepfather, actually achieved his foolish goal to distance from the royal family. When the people of the realm were trying to be as close to Aegon the Dragon as possible, your father was ashamed of his grandfather Orys Baratheon being the bastard brother of the Conqueror and tried to destroy any mention of my great uncle as the brother of the Conqueror. Rogar, being my appointed Protector of the Realm and Hand of the King during my minority, allowed him to do so and turn it into a rumor. Even though he was ashamed of the connection between the royal family and Orys, Rogar wanted to be close to the throne, so he married my mother for a secure reign in the Stormlands. I thought that he would have at least taught his heir the truth and confirmed their origins, but it seems that my assumption was wrong. Even though his own grandson was a prideful fool who couldn't bear the supposed shame, House Targaryen has not forgotten its most loyal relative and supporter. House Targaryen has honored Orys by making him Hand of the King, Master of War, and by giving him a queen for a wife and a kingdom as dowry. We will always reward loyalty and service beyond belief."

Lord Boremund was speechless and bowed his head. "Your Grace, I apologize for my continued defense of my bannerman. It seems that he also insulted my illustrious great-grandfather."

"It is not a problem, Brother," the King replied with a smirk. "Even though you have withdrawn the last defense, I will pass judgment on the point you have raised. Let no one ever say House Targaryen has rejected someone justice. Even if the order was to never insult them in Aemon's presence, Lord Connington insulted my grandson and his mother under my roof after eating my food and drinking my wine, where we are celebrating the birth of said grandson's half-sister. More than that, he disrespected Prince Aemon by ignoring his orders. Aemon has every right to carry out the punishment. If anyone still believes that this is not justice, then I have a simple solution for your worries: you can use your right to Trial by Combat, and I am sure Dark Sister is thirsty as ever. You may continue, Crown Prince."

Aemon nodded, and even before he could reach his hands out to grab the tongue with his left, Lord Connington grabbed a knife from a nearby guard and cut out his own tongue. The guard moved to stop the bleeding and started escorting the man out. As soon as they left the hall, the court began murmuring to themselves.

The King saw everyone else leaving and turned to his sons, saying, "Children, enough excitement for the day. This is a feast for the family, so return to your duties and let the minstrels play."

The King then got up and left, followed by Baelon, Aemon, and the lords. Lord Baratheon gave his half-brother a hug and left the hall.