RICHARD
If King's Landing mourned its dead former city watch commander, Richard would never have known it. To the knight it seemed like every other day in the capitol, with all the usual crowds; gold cloaks in their heavy mail, bakers' boys selling tarts and breads and pies, whores leaning out of windows with their bodices half unlaced, gutters redolent of night-soil. They passed a juggler spinning knives through the air to the delight of a throng of drunken soldiers and small children.
Richard and Bryce attracted nary a second glance as they rode down the crowded streets, not even those who walked close by. How can they not smell the head? He wondered with amazement. It seemed that he had not been able to rid himself of Stokeworth's rotting stench even after he smothered the severed head under several layers.
They made their way through to the Red Keep with little to no trouble just as the sun was lowering on the horizon, Richard's face well known among the guards and they gave a respectful nod. Once their horses had been seen to, Richard and Bryce made their way in through the throng of courtiers. Amidst the dozens of noblemen and women he caught sight of a white cloak and suddenly Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard was standing before him, wrinkles starting to form around the corners of his kindly eyes as he smiled.
"Ser Richard, I am glad to see you back at last." The Dornishman shone so fine and pure in his white scales and silk that Richard felt a tattered and uncouth thing by contrast.
Richard bowed slightly. "Ser Lewyn, I have done as the King has bid of me and wish to present my proof before the court."
Martell's dark eyes scanned the sack that Bryce was holding. There was an unreadable look on his face, yet he gave the slightest of nods before gesturing for them to follow him through the crowd of people. He was no longer in his prime, and the wounds he suffered at the Trident had severely limited his mobility, but the Knight still managed to hold himself with a level of pride that Richard found endearing.
"The king is not attending court today," the Dornishman informed them. "But I'm sure the Lord Hand will receive you just the same."
Richard hummed an agreement and tried to ignore all the eyes that fell upon him as he slowly made his way towards the looming mass of swords that Aegon the Conqueror had forged as his throne. Jon Connington could not have looked more uncomfortable sitting atop the collection of barbed steel, and his expression was not made any better by the courtiers who stood before him asking him some petty thing or another.
They stood there for a time as yet another minor lordling came and made some case over a land dispute, Richard's eyes never leaving the Hand as the man considered his judgement. Connington was a good man in his own way, dutiful to what was required of him and just when it came to most things. Richard could find few issues with such a man holding power. Though his devotion to Rhaegar is nigh fanatical…..
Once the matter had been resolved, the Lord of Griffin's Roost gestured for Richard to come forward. "So you have returned to us alive Ser, with good tidings I hope?"
"I do my lord," he replied, doing his best to stifle his distaste as he took the sack from Bryce. He stepped forwards and upended it and Stokeworth's head dropped onto the marble floor of the throne room with a hollow clonking. It rolled awkwardly; leaving an uneven trail of bloody smears and came to a rest, face up so that its slack eyes gazed just above the Iron Throne. "The criminal Manly Stokeworth is dead."
To his credit, Lord Connington did not bat an eye. "And so he is," the Hand of the King rose from his spiked seat and made his way down the steps and across the marble floor, casually sidestepping the head. He finally came to a halt a pace away. "Ser Richard," he announced loudly, clasping the knight's shoulders. "You have helped deliver the king's justice and put an end to a vile murderer. The crown thanks your for your service."
"It was my honour," Richard lied. "I live to serve his grace."
Jon suddenly pulled him into an embrace then. It was a short thing that was meant to invoke a sense of joy among the others watching, yet when the Hand spoke, it was in a hushed and serious tone. "Rhaegar wants to see you."
Ser Gerold and Ser Jaime stood by the door to the King's solar, eyes watching for danger. Both greeted Richard with a smile. "It is good to see you back from your journey; we worried that you might befall some trouble, Ser, His grace will be glad to see you." Jaime told him as he held open the door.
King Rhaegar Targaryen was seated beneath the window, writing out something with a fervent intensity. His desk was littered with ancient books and dusty scrolls. He raised his eyes at the sound of the latch. "Richard."
"Your Grace," the knight said with a bow. "You wanted to see me."
Rhaegar smiled at him, a sad wistful sort of smile. He had a strong face, with hair like spun silver that curled in ringlets and fell down into lilac eyes. Even seated, he was tall. And slender. He wore a doublet of simple crimson and over that he wore melancholy like a cloak. Candlelight flickered in his eyes, and his hands locked together neatly. "You were successful?" he asked, without moving.
"Yes, your grace." He replied solemnly. "I brought him back to the capitol."
"Alive?"
Richard felt a pang of guilt and shame. "He would not listen to reason."
"Well," said the king, gesturing for Richard to take a seat. "That is quite a shame. Did he say anything before….he died?"
"Ravings," Richard said. "Mostly nonsense about the kingdoms, about you planning to bring doom upon us all." He sighed. "He just wouldn't listen, no matter what I said he would not back down. I did not want to kill him."
His hands unfolded and rested on the carved wooden arms of his chair. He nodded, but the wistful expression remained. "But you did," he said quietly. "You went against your morals to do something that you knew was for the greater good." His eyes strayed to Richard's hands. "You've bloodied yourself in my name, I will not forget that."
Richard forced a grin, hoping it would catch on to the king. "Wine heals all wounds."
"Not all wounds," he said evenly. "I visit some of the old battlefields sometimes, with my Kingsguard at my side, trying to relive those days. Thousands of good men died in that war, a war that was in part of my own making. I try to imagine all of that grief and suffering, I try to take it all on myself. Like a weight that needs to be carried." His eyes, endless in their grief met his own. "I know that I have not suffered nearly enough."
"Your father was also to blame," Richard pointed out. "The war was more his doing than yours."
Rhaegar winced at the mention of Mad Aerys. "My father was….a beast. He was mad and cruel and an utter monster by the end. Rhaenys….she used to be frightened of him, and who wouldn't be? I felt frightened of him at times." He considered for a moment before letting out a tired sigh. "But for all that he did and all that he was….he never chose to become monster, there was even a time when I loved him."
"For all the strife that war caused, you have also healed the land greatly." Richard reminded the king, wishing desperately that something that could make his old friend smile again. "The commonfolk love you, and I don't think the crown has known such stability. Even the Iron Bank is mostly content after the latest repayment…" he struggled for a moment. "Your own House is doing much better than it has in almost half a century."
The king waved an impatient hand. "The commonfolk also loved my father if you'll recall and I needed quite a bit of borrowing to pay back those damned Braavosi, now I am in a different sort of debt. But it is one no less dangerous…." His gaze wondered out to the window and all the city that lay beyond, he was searching for something it seemed. "And my family, oh Richard, if only you knew. For all the love I bare them, I cannot trust them."
"Your Grace, that cannot be true!" he was startled by the thought. "Your siblings love your dearly, I have seen so with mine own eyes."
"My brother looks up to me," he agreed. His voice still sounded sad. "But his head is full of air. He has too much of our father in him for any real support beyond adoration. Daenerys has the potential to be as valuable to the realm as her namesake was all those centuries ago, but she is hardly more than a babe." He frowned. "My mother has kept them at Dragonstone for far too long."
Richard bit his lip, determined to prove his old friend wrong. "You have a loving wife, three children. Surely they are of some comfort."
There was hesitation on his face, but that soon gave way to the slightest of smiles. "Rhaenys is smarter than most adults by half; I've seen her at her lessons with the Maesters. I know that she'll make a fine queen one day, Queen Alysanne come again mayhaps. And Aegon, by the Gods Richard I have not seen someone with more energy, and the other children adore him. With the right guidance he could do great things….he will do great things." His smile fell downwards and the air of hopelessness overcame him again. "I have tried to do right by Elia. I think….I do love her in my own way, but she is holding me back from doing what I must. We all have a duty to the realm and she cannot give me anymore children. It is destined that the Aegon has his Visenya."
Richard found he could no longer hold his tongue. "Your Grace, forgive me for saying this, but the queen is unhappy because you make her feel unhappy, for your own reasons. I don't even understand it myself."
"You wouldn't," the king replied softly. "And I don't expect you to Richard. I only ask that you trust me as you once did, back when I was a knight and you my squire. I am only a man and I make mistakes, but in this matter Richard I need you to give me your faith. The realm will prosper, in time you will see that."
What is he talking about? A horrible thought crept into Richard's head. He means to take another bride, just like the Stark girl. Desperation made him speak. "Whatever dream or song this notion has come from your grace, surely it is not worth fighting another war? Prince Doran would not take any insult to his sister lightly."
Rhaegar stared down at his hands, he suddenly looked tired. "Prince Doran is a reasonable man above all, he would not needlessly throw Dornish blood away over hurt feelings." His lilac eyes met Richard's. "Did you not tell me that if I spared Stannis Baratheon that I would incite another rebellion? Yet the man has kept the peace for five years and lived within the law."
Yes, but only because you hold his little brother hostage.Richard knew the Baratheons, and the look on Stannis' gaunt face the day they informed him of his brother's defeat had not been a reassuring one. Yet Rhaegar did not wish to kill his kin if he could avoid it and so the man continued on as Lord of Storm's End.
"The Martells are not Stannis Baratheon," he tried to remind the king. "If you take another bride, one way or another the seven kingdoms will bleed and all your hard work these last years will have been for nothing."
Rhaegar frowned deeply at that, and for a moment Richard found that he could not meet those sad eyes any longer. The King's voice was soft and calm, but the anger was still evident. "These lordlings merely stand in the way of the realm's salvation, Richard, if they want a war then be it on their heads."
The knight couldn't help but gasp. "May the Gods have mercy…."
"It is fate that governs us Richard, not the Gods," he replied coldly. "And it is fate that we must abide."
I have lost, he realized. He felt his shoulders sink and he slumped in his chair. "Why did you call me here, Your Grace, if you did not want my council?"
Rhaegar regarded him for a moment before sitting back in his chair, he brought his hands together again in cold contemplation. "I have a task for you."
With a tired sigh the knight gave a nod. "Aye, as ever, I am your man."
"I need you to go to Casterly Rock."