Blimey* thought baby Cregan, studying his uncle with interest. *Now there's a man who's seen some things. And judging by that expression, none of them were particularly pleasant.*
"Sister," Aurelius said, his voice rough as mountain stone. He stopped abruptly when his eyes fell on the child in Ashara's arms, and for a moment, his expression transformed completely-wonder, joy, and something that might have been relief warring across his features. "By the Seven, Ashara, he's... he's perfect."
"He is, isn't he?" Ashara's smile was radiant, though her eyes remained watchful. "Aurelius, meet your nephew, Cregan Stark. Cregan, this storm-blown creature is your Uncle Aurelius. Try not to judge him too harshly-he's usually much more presentable."
Aurelius moved closer, his steps suddenly careful, as if approaching something fragile and precious. "He has your eyes," he said softly, reaching out to gently touch the baby's tiny fist. "And Brandon's features. He's going to be heartbreaker, this one."
"Oh, wonderful," Harwyn muttered from across the room. "Another Dayne to charm their way through the Seven Kingdoms leaving broken hearts and political complications in their wake. Just what the realm needs."
"Careful, Harwyn," Aurelius said without taking his eyes off his nephew. "I'm still your lord, and I'm having an emotional moment. Don't ruin it with your relentless pessimism."
"Wouldn't dream of it, my lord. Though I should point out that if you're planning to hover over that child like a mother hen, you might want to wash the road dust off first. Just a thought."
Oh, I like this old bastard* thought baby Cregan with amusement. *Reminds me of a grumpier, nore honest version of Snape. Though hopefully with less of the 'trying to murder me' tendencies.*
Ashara studied her brother's disheveled appearance with growing concern. "Aurelius, you look like you've ridden through seven hells and back again. What news from King's Landing? Please tell me you haven't been traveling for three days just to tell me Aerys has decided to collect taxes in the form of interpretive dance."
The moment the words left her mouth, she knew she'd made a mistake. Aurelius's face went carefully blank-the expression he wore when delivering particularly bad news to their vassals.
"Oh, bollocks," Harwyn said under his breath. "That's his 'someone important is dead' face.
Haven't seen that look since Lord Dayne passed."
Well, this should be interesting* mused baby Cregan. *Nothing like a bit of political drama to welcome me to the world. Though judging by Uncle Aurelius's expression, 'interesting' might be putting it mildly.*
"Ashara," Aurelius began, then stopped, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Seven Hells, how do I... There's no gentle way to say this."
"Then don't be gentle," Ashara said, her voice taking on that silk-over-steel quality that had once made Prince Rhaegar reassess his conversation strategy. "Whatever it is, just bloody say it. I'm not made of glass, brother."
Aurelius dropped to one knee beside her chair, and the formal gesture sent ice through Ashara's veins. "Sister, I bring word from the capital, but it's... God preserve us, it's the darkest of tidings."
"Just tell me," she said, instinctively tightening her hold on Cregan. "Please, Aurelius. The suspense is killing me more than whatever news you're carrying could."
"Brandon Stark is dead," Aurelius said, the words falling like stones into still water. "Executed by King Aerys's command, along with his father Lord Rickard."
The silence that followed was deafening. One of the midwives gasped, Maester Harwyn went white as chalk, and Ashara... Ashara went completely still, as if she'd been turned to marble.
Ah* thought baby Cregan with grim understanding. *So that's who Brandon was. My father. Who's apparently dead. Murdered, from the sound of it. Well, this is off to a brilliant start, isn't it?*
"No," Ashara whispered, the word barely audible. "No, you're lying. You have to be lying. Brandon was coming back, he promised-"
"I wish I were," Aurelius said quietly. "By all the gods, sister, I wish I were lying. But I saw the ravens myself, heard the accounts from three different sources. They're all saying the same thing."
"What happened?" Her voice was hollow, distant. "How did... what could Brandon have possibly done to warrant execution?"
Aurelius's jaw clenched. "He went to King's Landing to demand Prince Rhaegar return Lyanna Stark. Apparently stood in the throne room and called for the prince to 'come out and die' in front of half the court."
"Bloody hell, " Harwyn breathed. "In front of the Mad King? That's not justice, that's suicide with extra steps."
"Aerys called it treason," Aurelius continued. "Had them both arrested, then... then he made a spectacle of it. They say he burned Lord Rickard alive in his own armor, suspended over wildfire.
Made Brandon watch while he slowly cooked."
Ashara made a sound like a wounded animal.
"Then the king had Brandon placed in one of Qyburn's strangulation devices. Told him he could save his father if he could reach the sword placed just beyond his grasp. Every time Brandon struggled toward it, the device tightened around his throat."
Merlin's Beard* thought baby Cregan, his infant mind reeling. *These people are absolutely mental. And I thought Voldemort had issues with creative cruelty. This Aerys character makes the Dark Lord look like a reasonable negotiator.*
"That's not a king," Harwyn said with disgust. "That's a bloody monster wearing a crown."
"Both father and son died," Aurelius finished quietly. "Rickard from the flames, Brandon from the strangling. The king called it 'justice for their crimes against the crown."'
Ashara stared down at her son, tears finally beginning to fall. "Their crimes," she repeated, voice cracking.
"What crimes? Demanding justice for a kidnapped sister? Loving their family? When did
that become treason?"
"When the king went completely mad," Aurelius said bitterly. "Which, let's be honest, happened years ago. We've all just been pretending otherwise."
"So what happens now?" Ashara asked, though she sounded like she was speaking from very far away. "What happens to us? To him?" She looked down at Cregan, who gazed back with those impossibly knowing violet eyes.
Good question* mused baby Cregan. *I'm assuming 'live happily ever after' isn't really on the table at this point.*
"War," Aurelius said simply. "Ned Stark has called his banners. Robert Baratheon is raging like a storm given flesh-they say he's sworn to kill every Targaryen he can get his hands on. Jon Arryn has declared for them both. Half the realm is about to explode into open rebellion."
"And Dorne?" Ashara asked. "What does Prince Doran say to all this?"
"Officially? Nothing yet. Unofficially? He's waiting to see which way the wind blows before committing. Though I suspect our prince isn't overly fond of kings who burn fathers alive in front of their sons."
Harwyn snorted. "Shocking. Who could have predicted that Doran Martell wouldn't approve of creative torture methods?"
"The realm will bleed," Aurelius continued grimly. "This won't be some minor rebellion put down in a few months. This will be war such as we haven't seen since the Dance of Dragons. Families torn apart, kingdoms choosing sides, the whole bloody continent set afire."