Interlude: The Conciliator

"If you must strike a man, ensure he will not be able to strike you in turn."

It had been long years since Jaehaerys had last felt anywhere close to this amount of rage. Not when Gaemon had died in the cradle, not when his little Daenerys had died from the Shivers, not when his first babe had been stillborn. Those had been tragedies, tragedies he could have blamed on Elysar or on the Septas of Maidenpool, tragedies had left him numb with grief, but they had not made him want to boil the seas with Vermithor.

Hells, the last time had felt his blood screaming for death and fire had been Rogar's foolishness of forgetting which of the two had been King and who had been the Hand. Even then, it was the threat to his beloved Alysanne that had provoked the anger that had consumed his uncle.

Jaehaerys had been young then. He had believed it a lapse in self-control, an unfortunate consequence of his youth. Something he had outgrown in the decades since.

But as he neared King's Landing in the wake of his son's murder, that same rage was still roaring in his veins, demanding he turn around and reduce the sands of Dorne to glass. Even Vermithor, that usually calm beast, felt tense and wound up, sharing his anger and desire to inform the Dornish of the true meaning of Fire and Blood.

Even as Vermithor landed with his usual grace in the stables of the Red Keep, even as his hands undid the chains binding him to his saddle, even as he stormed through the Red Keep towards the Small Council Chambers, his thoughts were elsewhere. His heart wanted fire and blood, justice for his murdered son.

His mind knew he had no such luxury.

His mind knew what happened when a king allowed himself to be ruled by anger.

It was why he was back home instead of reducing Sunspear to the molten pile of rubble it so richly deserved to be. It was why Aemon was at Storm's End to marshal the rest of the Stormlands. They both needed a moment to cool their heads, a moment to collect themselves so justice would be thorough and complete.

One did not win a war by simply being angrier than one's enemy.

"Your Grace." Jaehaerys did not even realize he had made it to the Small Council Chambers until Ser Pate greeted him. One of his oldest companions, the man was, by his side in every crisis he had faced since the earliest days as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. A good friend, though one near as old as himself.

The doors swung open on well-oiled hinges, revealing the Small Council in session. Argument died off as they noticed their king, each of his loyal councilors rising to their feet, his beloved Alysanne the first among them. He signaled them to sit, never once breaking his stride.

"Send a raven to the wardens," Jaehaerys declared without preamble as he walked towards his seat. He paid no mind to the tapestries on the walls or the fine rugs covering the floors or the stacks of parchment piled on the table. He did not take a seat, choosing instead to stand at the head of the table. "Have them gather their men for war."

"Your Grace?" Elysar's face betrayed his confusion, his brow wrinkling. "I thought there was an agreement with the Dornish lords to not invade in exchange for…"

"Hang the agreement," he snarled, cutting off the Grand Maester. "Send the ravens."

"Was the information not true?" Barth asked, his seat on Jaehaerys' right. His friend did not share Elysar's confusion, his features far softer with concern. "Did the Dornish prove false?"

If only.

His distaste must have shown on his face. Seeing his sweet Alysanne's eyes widen in realization, the rage which had begun to quiet in his veins began to scream once more.

"Where is Aemon?" she asked softly, folding her hands in her lap, trying to disguise their trembling. Her voice, however, betrayed no such weakness. There was no hint of anything like that in his iron tones. "And Baelon? And Vaegon? Where are our sons, Jaehaerys?"

"Aemon is at Storm's End, aiding his good-brother in preparing for war," he said, the rage only intensifying at the sight of his wife's worry. The Dornish murdering his son had only been the start. Now they forced him to tear out his beloved wife's heart. "Vaegon is aiding Lord Yronwood in a rebellion. And Baelon…"

He had no desire to say it.

He did not want to say the words.

But he had a duty.

"Dead?" Elysar supplied, and the king's gaze whipped around to bore into the Grand Maester's skull. To his credit, the man paled and shrunk down in his seat, his chains of many metals rattling like a prisoner's fetters. Good.

"Murdered," he corrected, his anger beginning to spill into his words. He balled his fists, his riding gloves creaking ominously as he forced his temper down, forced his temper to obey him. "Murdered in an attack meant to herald an invasion of my realm."

Alysanne's hands, so carefully folded in her lap, rose to her face. Her eyes widened further, shining with tears threatening to run down her cheeks, her grief threatening to overcome decades of experience in schooling her features.

Jaehaerys' heart ached at the sight, only briefly interrupting the boiling anger in his blood before it returned twice as insistent. As if he needed further incentive to turn the deserts to glass.

"We will be completing the Conquest, then?" Lord Redwyne asked, his voice thick with barely disguised relish. Unlike Elysar, who had the grace to shrink into his seat when Jaehaerys had made his displeasure clear, Redwyne just looked confused when he was scrutinized by his gaze.

"I will not be rewarding the Dornish with a place in the realm my grandsire forged for the murder of my son," Jaehaerys said, enunciating each word with painstaking care. This time, his master of ships realized the folly of his question. To see a man so far past his youth flush with shame might have spurred a genial laugh from him, were this any other day.

Silence reigned in the chambers.

It was Alysanne who broke the silence. A bare minute since she had been informed of their darling second son's fate, the grief had given way to iron. Her eyes were still red, still damp with tears that demanded to be shed, but her voice held steady.

"Alyssa must be told." Her voice was low, quiet, but her tone was steady and free of the wavering he would have expected. She always did surprise him with her strength. Why would this most terrible day be any different?

"She will. By both of us." They both had to. He would never foist so great a burden onto merely one of them. Besides, Alyssa would have need of both of their support in the coming weeks. And time was something he most certainly did not lack. "After we are done here."

He returned his attention to the rest of his counselors. Most of them looked serious enough about the matter, though lord Redwyne still seemed lost to his shame. More seriously, Elysar had yet to dip his quill.

"Elysar, will you be sending the ravens or not?" he asked pointedly.

"O-of course, Your Grace." That seemed to focus the Grand Maester's attention, and he quickly began to scribble on some appropriately sized parchments, but not before shooting a glance at Barth.

The septon did not speak immediately. His brows wrinkled for a few seconds, clearly deep in thought, before he raised his voice.

"Your Grace, you know this will not be done quickly, yes?" Barth asked. "Many months for the lords to gather their men?"

"True." The wait for his lords to raise the men needed for war, the wait for the Crownlands to levy the needed men and supplies for an extended campaign, would grate. The very idea that he would need to wait to bring justice to bear on the Martells galled him, but there was nothing for it. It was how things were done. "But the Stormlands will only need another month. And the Ironborn are perpetually ready for war. They will serve as a vanguard."

Especially because their own fleets were already in a position to move men to Dorne.

"A vanguard for what?" Barth asked. "If this is not a conquest, then why are we going to war?"

Truly, the most important question. Why would untold thousand be forced to endure what he and Alysanne were going through now? What goal could justify the horrors he would choose to unleash upon the world?

"I am going to break Dorne," Jaehaerys answered softly, his blood screaming for more. Not merely to break, to sunder, to shatter. To annihilate! To bury beneath the sands! But no. He had to keep in control. Besides, Vaegon was already hard at work fulfilling this new goal. "Where there is one kingdom, I shall make a hundred."

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