Chapter Text
AEMOND
Another week passed. Though he was free of the sling, Maester Gerardys still made Aemond wear the damned brace.
“Another week is needed before I will be happy with you wielding a sword.” He said.
“My wrist feels fine. I can hold a needle with it well enough.”
“Ah, but a sword and a needle are very different things. No, it’s always best not to strain yourself even if you think everything is fine.”
The man was a pleasant-faced beta. His scent gave nothing away but Aemond saw in his eyes that he did not think Aemond should be wielding a sword in any condition. It made Aemond want to punch him, even if it meant damaging his wrist further.
At that moment, Rhaena interceded, “Maester Gerardys, perhaps, you can attend my sister now. Baela asked me to send you to her when you’re finished with Aemond.”
“Of course, my lady.” With a bow, Maester Gerardys hurried away. Aemond was left to pick up the cloak he was mending and stitch in sulky silence. Rhaena didn’t speak to him but she did extend a little wave of mellow pine scent towards him.
“I’m sorry. Once you’ve finished that cloak, I’ll let you start your guard duties, no matter what Gerardys says.”
Aemond doubted that promise but, with nothing else on offer, he had to take it. With a respectful bow of the head, he returned to his work.
Two cloaks in as many weeks. How does Rhaena manage to damage so many?
The hem had come undone and had been mended badly. Aemond had to unpick the remains of the uneven stitches before he could make his own, more even ones.
He heard a little hiss of pain and saw Lady Senelle sucking her finger. A hoop of embroidery lay abandoned on her lap. It was meant to be a shield with her family’s crest of red crabs across a white field. The crabs looked more like fat spiders with stunted legs and the threads hung in loose loops. All it would need was a slight tug to pull them loose.
I think I know who mended this last time. There really must be a dearth of alpha ladies in the Crownlands if the daughter of a prince has to accept such a cack-handed lady-in-waiting.
A few minutes later, Rhaena left to use the privy. In that time, the laundress came with her freshly washed dresses. She left before any of the other ladies noticed her and was long gone by the time Lady Prudence started unfolding them.
“Oh! They’ve given us Lady Baela’s dress again!” Lady Prudence Rosby groaned. She plucked up a red velvet dress with swirling flame-like silver embroidery from the pile.
“I swear, that head scullery maid is going blind.” Lady Dalla Staunton sighed, “Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena may be twins but their clothes are as different as ink and iron.”
“Aemond,” Lady Prudence said in that over-sweet way saved only for him, “would you mind taking this to Lady Baela’s chambers and tell her ladies they might have received some of Lady Rhaena’s things? You can carry a dress with one hand, can’t you?”
Aemond put down his stitching and said his most polite tone, “Very well, Lady Prudence. Let me just put this away.”
As he turned away, he heard Lady Prudence mutter, “Yes, yes, in your time, then," but only under her breath as Rhaena returned in that moment.
Aemond bit his lip to stop himself snapping. He crossed the room to the garderobe. He made to place the cloak on a free hook - but a warning feeling in his gut told him to halt.
In that moment, he remembered lessons with Aegon when they were children. He remembered the times when Aegon, realising he could never exceed his brother, had sabotaged Aemond’s work to drag Aemond’s performance down to match his. It never worked. Their tutor could easily spot Aegon’s sloppy attempts at forgery.
But these ladies might be better at covering their tracks. Just as Lady Smallwood had been when Aemond had found his stitching work ruined when he’d gone out to use the privy. He could never prove she had done but he and Alysanne knew. He could still hear her gloating reprimands that ‘having one eye is no excuse for such clumsy work’.
In the Red Keep, he did not have Alysanne to empty the contents of a chamber pot on her head in retaliation. Nor would he get away with it if he did it himself. Lady Dalla could not yet be relied on to defend him either. She might have forced Lady Prudence to be civil but he couldn’t trust her to actively prevent any underhanded trickery.
He spotted a chest of smallclothes at his feet. In a moment, he’d folded the cloak up, opened the chest and stuffed it under the pile of white underclothes. The chest didn’t close easily with that done but it was enough. Hopefully, any spiteful ladies might not think to look in there.
He took Baela’s dress from Lady Prudence and even gave her a little bow before he left.
In theory, it was only a short walk. But that short walk involved walking past Princess Rhaenys as she walked by her attendants. Court ladies, Aemond could have handled. Rhaenys, however, was not someone he was willing to tangle with. Especially since she seemed to be in a bad mood already.
So, he bobbed his head just as a respectful attendant should as she passed. In doing so, he looked down at Baela’s dress in his arms - and noticed a pale patch on the skirt.
He turned around and approached a nearby window. The sun shone in brilliant golden rays that morning. So, when Aemond brought the gown to the window, he could clearly see where the colour had been leeched out. It was clear from the smell alone that the lye soap had been used too liberally.
And, they used it right on the front of the skirt too. There’s no hiding it. Baela may blame me for that and there’s no chance I can wash it out now. Damn it, what were they thinking? She’ll likely never wear this again anyway. I might have known this was another trap.
Aemond was about to move away, thinking of how he could pre-emptivly stain the dress and avoid the worst - and then he looked again.
The stain is below the bodice - near her abdomen or…or, just below. What an embarrassing place to spill something. Or, was it her moon blood?
Aemond checked to make sure there were no courtiers about. Then, he brought the dress up to his nose and sniffed. At first, nothing but the stink of lye filled his nose. But, when that faded, something sharp and metallic emerged like a fox from its hole.
It is blood. Does she bleed that heavily? She must get through many gowns if so.
Something in Aemond jabbed at him with every step. No lady bled this much every moon. Perhaps, it had come on her unawares when she had no rags to hand. But it was too much even for that. And, there was something else about that blood smell disquieted him.
He reached Baela’s chambers, trying to resist the urge to sniff it again. He was just about to knock when the door opened and Baela emerged. She started with a small gasp. Then, she glowered at him like she wanted to throw a punch at him.
And, she can hit hard. Aemond remembered.
She wore a flowery perfume but her honey omega scent pushed through it. It turned dark and rotten as she snapped, “What do you want?”
“I come to return your dress, my lady. It was brought to Lady Rhaena’s chambers by mistake. If you may have received some of Lady Rhaena’s clothes in error too, I shall be glad to take them.”
Baela’s face was an open book. Her eyes widened and her scent gave a fizz as if Aemond held out a poisonous spider. She snatched the proffered dress and threw it backwards into her chambers without looking. She turned away without a word of thanks and stormed out with her attendants in tow. Aemond had to jump out of the way to avoid her and the small army of omega ladies behind her.
Aemond just got a glimpse of the dress crumpled on the chamber floor before Baela’s guard shut the door. Not liking the curious look the beta guard gave him, he turned his steps back to Rhaena’s chambers. With every step, the mystery gnawed at him like woodworm through old furniture. Even after he found his stitching untouched and returned to work, he still couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Baela wore scent. He remembered, Her natural scent would be pleasant enough as an omega. Why would she need to wear scent on top of it? None of the other ladies wear it. Not unless they are about to go into heat…but I don’t think Baela is close to her heat.
All the pieces lay before him like a shattered vase. They all fit together somehow but he couldn’t see which way to position them. He couldn’t see which piece fit with which or even if the pieces belonged in this mystery.
The overly-cleaned dress…the scent…the blood…
“Ah!” Aemond gasped. He had been so busy trying to piece it all together that he misjudged the needle position and it slid under his fingernail.
“What is it?” Lady Dalla asked at once.
“Nothing.” Aemond inspected his finger. Not much blood seeped out but it still stung like hell, “Just jabbed myself with the needle.”
He looked back to his stitching - and noticed he’d gone wrong a few stitches back. Letting out an annoyed sigh, he started unpicking it. He had just got back to the beginning when he felt movement on his blind side. He looked round and saw a little pot of green salve sitting beside him. And Lady Dalla sat close to him, presenting her back to him and playing a lively tune on her flute.
Aemond reached down and sniffed the pot. Sure enough, it was the same healing salve the Blackwood maester used on his training cuts. When he dabbed a little on his bleeding finger, it stung just the same and left a strong woody scent. But, the bleeding did stop and he could move his finger without it aching.
He put the lid back on the salve and left it where he’d found it. He turned back to his stitching and let his nose tell him when Lady Dalla approached and retrieved it.
As she did, her scent drifted towards him. More milky than it had been and sweeter too. It still wasn’t enough to cloak the scent of rot, though. Perhaps, when she was further along, her scent would settle. Settle, yes, but never fully lose the bitterness of her loss.
Aemond heard Senelle approaching. Then, something aggressively floral hit his nose.
“Gods be good, Senelle, how much scent did you put on this morning?” Lady Dalla asked.
“Sorry, the perfume bottle spilled all over my wrists.” Senelle tried to say. However, she spoke so fast that it sounded like just one word - “Sorrytheperfumebottlespilledallovermwrists.”
“Are you trying to say the perfume bottle spilled?” Lady Prudence snapped, “Enunciate, girl!”
Aemond suppressed his smile. At least, Lady Prudence’s sharp tongue wasn’t just reserved for him. And, really, Senelle did deserve a bit of mockery. She smelled so sweet that she could have easily been mistaken for an omega.
Then, two pieces snapped into place.
Wearing strong scent can conceal a natural scent. So, it can conceal both the sweet and the rot.
If Baela is wearing scent, she wants to conceal her scent. And, her scent might reveal that…
#
Rhaena sent Aemond to ‘fetch a book’ from the godswood the next day. Aemond almost ran to the empty godswood and found Luke waiting for him in his usual place among the leaves.
“Are you alright? I heard they were making you do drudge work. Baela said - ”
“It was only taking a misplaced dress to Baela.” Aemond reassured him. The smell of meat pie and blackberry pastries was enough to persuade himself to put off the big question for a moment. He dug into the beef pie and let Luke talk about how Jace and Baela still weren’t talking to him.
“…and, I had to spend the whole evening with Lord Redwyne and apologise for calling him Lord Sour Grapes. As if everyone hadn’t been calling him that behind his back! Thank the gods they’re all leaving tomorrow. There’s just, well, Lord Bracken left. He’s not going to leave until the Blackwoods arrive. He doesn’t want to miss the fun.” He said it like he spat out poison.
A swooping sensation hit Aemond in the stomach. The Blackwoods’ trial - how could he have forgotten? In a few days, Lord Blackwood and Alysanne would be here. Lord Blackwood would be well aware of the scheme now. His honour wouldn’t let Alysanne face any punishment. He would take it all on himself.
“Sorry.” Luke wrapped an arm around Aemond and drew him into a one-armed hug, “I tried to tell Grandsire not to punish them but he just told me to leave him. He threatened to stop me from attending the trial and I know I have to. Someone has to speak up for them. Someone has to stop Lord Amos getting the satisfaction of watching them be punished.”
“Luke,” Aemond said, “you don’t have to keep putting yourself in front of Lord Corlys like this. You really will be sent away if you keep this up and, then, where will I be?”
Luke crumbled the remaining pie crust in his fingers in frustration, “I wish we were all back at Driftmark. Things are better there. Father’s not as unreasonable as Grandsire. Maybe, I can persuade Grandsire that Rhaena and I should move our households back to High Tide.”
“Maybe.” Aemond said. Privately, the idea of returning to the place where he lost his eye sent a chill down his spine. But, Luke was right. It would be a better place for them. It would have fewer prying eyes and fewer scornful nobles, anyway.
They moved on to the blackberry pastries. Aemond thought they were made better at Raventree Hall. The tarts were made with ground almonds and other things that made them sweeter but, he decided not to say so. Not when thinking of Raventree Hall brought more dread than happiness.
The treats could not overcome the bitter taste in Aemond’s mouth. He decided it was time, at last, to introduce the big question.
“Luke…do you know if Baela has lost a babe?”
Luke’s head sprang off Aemond’s shoulder, his mouth open with shock, “What? I didn’t even know she was with child! Where did you hear this?”
Saying all his suspicions aloud didn’t make them seem any more believable. Aemond started to wish he had kept it to himself. Luke, however, absorbed it with a solemn face.
“You know…now, that I think about it, she was meant to come to Driftmark for a visit…about a month before the tourney…but, then, she couldn’t come because she came down with a fever. At least…the message said it was a fever…you don’t think that it was actually because she lost a babe, do you? Why wouldn’t Jace tell the truth if that was so?”
“He’s afraid of looking weak.” Aemond said. He knew he risked much by speaking so openly to anyone but Luke but someone had to say it, “Everyone close to the throne is. If I may speak plainly, Jace’s claim to the throne is not as secure as everyone wants it to be. Not while I and my siblings live. He needs an heir to secure his claim. If it got about that Baela miscarried, some may take it as an ill omen. Especially when Aegon had no trouble carrying his babes to term. So…if it happened so early in the pregnancy that no one knew until the miscarriage…perhaps, everyone thought it best not to even announce it.”
Luke looked grave and shook his head, “Poor Baela. To go through all that and then have to pretend it never happened. This fucking court! Everybody makes everybody miserable and for what? The world’s most uncomfortable chair and the right to make everyone more miserable?”
“If only everyone saw things as clearly.” Aemond sighed, “Maybe, people wouldn’t want the Crown so much.”
He extended some comforting pheromones toward Luke.
He’s an imbecile but a kind imbecile. He’ll be a popular Lord, even if he isn’t a good one.
“There is more.” Aemond reached into his tunic, “It seems their fears about Jace’s stability are well-placed.” He showed Luke the slip of paper, “I found this under my pillow the other night. A maid likely put it there but they must have been paid by someone. Do you know the hand?”
Luke took the slip of paper and stared hard at it, “Your mother? But, I thought she was a silent sister. Who would harm a silent sister?”
“Someone who wants to put a former queen back on the throne.” Aemond suggested.
“Oh.” Luke’s eyes widened, “Oh, gods. That’s probably a lot of people, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. It could be any of Lord Corlys’ enemies. Are you sure you don’t recognise the handwriting?”
“Positive.”
“Well, you should keep it. I don’t want to be caught with something so treacherous.”
“Yes. Of course! I’ll keep it safe. And, I’ll keep an eye out to see if I recognise the handwriting later. Oh!” He gasped, “Maybe, I could start writing those letters of apology to the lords Grandsire keeps pestering me about. That’d be a good way to get every lord’s writing.”
Aemond gifted him a smile, “Well, well, they say an unlit candle clock can be right once a day. You do have something close to a brain after all. You say you have to write letters of apology? For the tourney, I suppose?”
“Yes.” Luke nodded, wiping away the scowl at Aemond’s jibe, “Grandsire’s making me apologise to the lords for letting you compete and then for snubbing their daughters. I’ve been putting it off but, well, this is the best pretext we have for getting everyone’s handwriting, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is. That’s very clever.” Aemond couldn’t help but ruffle his curly hair like a child.
#
LUCERYS
Spending time with Aemond was fast becoming the only thing he had to look forward to. He and Rhaena were the only people being kind to him. Jace still glared at him with fury and refused to talk to him at meals. Joffrey imitated his oldest brother, even though he didn’t understand why. Baela didn’t look as angry but she wouldn’t attempt to smooth things over. Corlys and Daemon were both furious and never lost an opportunity to let him know it.
If only Laenor hadn’t been called back to Driftmark. Then, at least, he would have him to back him.
“It’s clear he has skill and he has behaved well so far.” Laenor had said the night before he had to leave, “But, I’m afraid skill and good behaviour aren’t enough. That won’t make your mother come back to life nor will it undo decades’ worth of festering wounds. Believe me, there were times when I thought the punishment on Alicent’s children was unfair, especially after the uprising, but there’s nothing we can do about it without hurting Jace, Joffrey or you. These are just the hard choices we have to make, I’m afraid.”
Luke met Aemond as often as Rhaena could arrange it. He had thought themselves clever to arrange meeting Aemond in the godswood where the big weirwood tree could shelter them.
He really should have realised that Mysaria would know about that hiding place. That she was just biding her time and waiting for the right moment to strike.
Luke had just finished writing his fifth letter of apology. It was just as the ink was drying that he realised he had accidentally called Lord Penrose’s daughter ‘Lady Lucky’ rather than ‘Lady Lucinda’. With a groan, he screwed up the ruined letter and began another.
A knock interrupted just as he dipped his quill back in the ink, “Lady Mysaria to see you, my Prince.” The guard told him.
Luke shot up from the desk in time to see Mysaria gliding into the room. Her white dress and cloak covered her from neck to toe, hiding her slender frame from the chin down. Her sharp dark eyes settled upon him after one quick scan of the room and she pinned him with a stare.
“Forgive the interruption, my Prince,” She said in her careful, enunciated tones, “but I feel bound to approach you about all the time you are spending with Aemond Rivers.”
“What of it?” Luke asked, pretending not to care and knowing Mysaria wouldn’t be fooled for a minute.
“You spend many hours with him in the godswood several times a week. You seem to find this time quite…enjoyable.”
“My brother and grandsire aren’t speaking to me.” Luke snapped, “I’d find the company of anyone willing to speak to me enjoyable.”
“A good thing that I want to speak to you, then, if you are truly so lonely that the company of a traitor is preferable.” Mysaria said in the same voice a spider would use to a fly buzzing close to the web, “But, you aren’t just speaking to him because you have no other choice, are you not? You like him.” She didn’t say it with any teasing, just as a matter of fact.
Luke kept his mouth shut. He couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t make him look a bigger fool.
“You picked the place for meeting well. You do well to wear scent-dampening clothes too but everyone has noticed you carrying a picnic basket to the godswood every other day. Everyone knows you have a lover. It is only by my intervention that no one knows who.”
“I didn’t ask for your intervention.”
“A mistress of whispers serves the realm and the realm is best served if no one knows that the future Lord of the Tides is carrying on with a hated traitor to the crown.”
Luke scowled. Then, he remembered what Aemond said about the danger of whispers and how Jace’s place was not as secure as anyone wanted it to be.
“We’re not carrying on.” He admitted, “We’re just talking. And, we have a picnic. That’s not a scandal, is it?”
“Very much so. And, if you don’t want to have to write even more letters of apology and accept even more squires, you might do well to accept a little proposal I have for you.”
Luke folded his arms, “This is blackmail.”
“This is my duty. I personally could not care less who you have picnics with. I am merely telling you what would happen if Lord Corlys found out. Or, rather, when. All I can do is delay things. Gossip has a habit of slipping the net no matter what I do. We might as well get some benefit out of it before it does. May I sit?”
With great reluctance, Luke gestured to one of the chairs by the fireplace. Mysaria settled herself into it and, at last, pushed her cloak aside to reveal her small, dainty hands.
“I want to know what Aemond has told you about himself. I have been monitoring him and his siblings, of course, but I did not know he would come here. I would dearly like to know where the gap in my intelligence is.”
“You’ve been spying on him all this time!” Luke snapped, “And, all his siblings too? And - and his mother?” He added on a sudden thought.
Mysaria gave him a searching look at his sudden change of tone but only said, “Of course. Anyone looking to raise rebellion would use them as a figurehead. As we saw in the previous rebellion.”
“And, where are they all now?” Luke asked.
Mysaria gave a half shrug, “Where they are supposed to be. Unlike Aemond. Tell me, how did he come to be so proficient at jousting? I knew he practiced swordsmanship in front of the lord’s son and grandson to embarrass Samwell but I did not know he was practicing with jousting.”
Luke considered this question hard, “You’re not going to tell anyone else, are you? You’re not going to use this against him?”
Mysaria considered her answer, “I want to know because I have male omega contacts who want to know. They are curious as to how a male omega can best a male alpha.”
“You know other male omegas?”
“I know other male omegas who would like to be as good as him. And may do much for this information.”
“You can’t.” Luke frowned, “Every male omega I’ve heard off ends up joining the Faith.”
“Just because you haven’t heard of many male omegas presenting does not mean they do not exist. This increased hatred of male omegas urges some families to cover up any inconvenient presentation. I know of many beta knight who is, in fact, an omega hiding in plain sight. Unless they are to marry, who needs to know whether they hide a cunny in their breeches?”
Her lips quirked into a crooked smile at the sight of Luke’s widened eyes.
“I said before I serve the realm, not Lord Corlys or Daemon. I do not like this separation of alpha and omega in the court and the way male omegas are shut up in septs or pushed into brothels - yes, that happens to lowborn omegas who cannot conceal what they are - and I would like to see them treated with more respect.”
Luke still felt on shaky ground with Mysaria but this idea looked good. So, he gave Mysaria a sketch of what Aemond had told him about creeping into the armoury at night, sneaking practice sessions in the woods during hunts and Alysanne’s plot to have Aemond take the Blackwood knight’s place in the lists.
“This is all useful.” Mysaria nodded, “I shall be sure to tell my agents to be more diligent in their duties. If they missed this, they may have missed worse. Now, tell me, has Aemond been approached by anyone wishing to draw him into treason?”
Luke saw the cracks in the ice before him. Just when he thought things were steady, it all became precarious again, “Ser Adrian Tarbeck approached him at the ball. He didn’t say anything about a plot but he said many people thought he’d been treated unfairly.”
Mysaria nodded, face blank, “Not surprising, considering how close the Tarbecks are to the Lannisters. But, there is something else?”
The note burned a hole in Luke’s pocket. At last, as the silence stretched on and his mind failed him, Luke said, “He found this under his pillow. He hasn’t told anyone else and he doesn’t know who wrote it. And he’s afraid of telling anyone. Daemon might use it as proof of treason.”
Mysaria nodded, accepting the note and scanning it, “A wise precaution. Daemon pesters Lord Corlys about it as much as Ser Amos protests about the Blackwoods.” Then, her smile widened, “And, I will consider this test passed.”
Luke blinked, “What?”
“It was I who arranged to have that note placed under his pillow. There was only one way to know for sure if he could be trusted and that was putting him to the test. I suppose it was too much to expect him to take this directly to me. He should, however, be more guarded with his tongue around you. You clearly cannot keep a secret as well as he.”
That statement left a hot, mortified ache like infection in a wound.
“Still, it is good that he did not make this public and that he brought it to you, who has his best interests at heart. He shows good judgment as well as discretion. Very good indeed. Pass on my compliments next time you see him.
“And tell him,” Mysaria added before Luke’s temper got the better of him, “that any notes he receives after this one are not a test. They should be passed on to you or me directly so I can investigate. And, I do believe there will be more notes and veiled invitations to treachery.”
“What are you going to do to him if there are more notes?” Luke demanded, “What will you do when it’s not a test?”
“Nothing so long as he cooperates. He is in a good position to catch treachery and I want to keep it that way.”
When Luke still looked doubtful, she went on, “The Bazanne family of Lys have made their home in a storm-tossed part of the island. Lightning strikes that region frequently and has destroyed many a high manse. Do you know how the Bazanne family avoids any damage to their manse? They installed a tall metal rod at the top of their tallest tower that leads down to the ground. The lightning strikes the rod instead of the building and channels the power to the ground where it cannot do any harm. Aemond is a lightning rod for treacherous plots and I intend to make sure none of it strikes the Crown.
“And, if Aemond needs a little more persuading of my intentions, I have this little morsel which he may use when the Blackwoods arrive for their trial.”
She drew out a small folded piece of paper sealed with wax.
“Don’t open it yourself. Only Aemond’s eye must see it. It’s a very valuable secret and I don’t want people incapable of keeping them to see.”
Luke scowled but pocketed it all the same.
“Just…just make sure the Blackwoods don’t get punished too much. And that Aemond is safe. Can you do that?”
“I can do what I can do.”