C7

"You have my thanks," Viserys told his Hand after they had been seated across from one another atop their dais, the king's chair beneath them and the high table between them. "I am glad you are safe."

Jarlon looked grave as he replied. "It has been an eventful voyage, Your Grace. My men had thought we should put back into port long before now, but I have insisted on our continuing on. Now I wonder whether we have done right. This is a terrible place, Your Majesty..."

Viserys waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense! The city lies within a stone's throw of the river and close to the sea; it sits above a vast natural harbor... a city built upon a rock could scarcely be worse placed. If anything, its location makes it more defensible than any other in Westeros, for it commands all approaches... yet somehow your own councilmen have managed to find fault with it nonetheless." His gaze drifted over the maps spread out around the high table, all of which showed the same thing... that the city did lie upon a rock, a dangerous and difficult-to-defend promontory overlooking a wide bay; yet in spite of its precarious position it stood tall and proud and seemingly impregnable. "We can see that the island fortress is quite large... and it appears to be surrounded by a moat that stretches deep into the ground. We know nothing of what lurks beneath those waters, but that may prove no matter, for this is no ordinary castle. It was built by the Mad King himself, and there were tales of the things that lived within those walls, as the tale-bearers used to call them. You recall, Jarlon?"

"Yes," the Hand said slowly, recalling the stories as well. He had heard such tales as a boy, and even seen some of the creatures that were supposed to haunt the Haunted Tower. Dragons and wights and giants, he recalled... yet none of it seemed to trouble him nearly so much now as it had in his youth. A boy might fear ghosts or monsters, but an adult must take account of more mundane dangers, for there was no telling where they might lead.

"Aye," Viserys went on, "there was one who dared enter these lands, one who dared stand against the Mad King... and his name was Robert Baratheon." Again he lifted his hands, palms outward, as if pleading for understanding. "He was a knight, though no lordling, born with only the dregs of noble blood that flowed in his veins, and yet he loved his realm and dreamed of making it great... so he sought the power that would allow him to do that, and he found it in the service of Aerys. So it was that Robert took up arms in defense of his king, and when that turned out to be a vain endeavor, he seized upon a different dream: that of ruling the Seven Kingdoms himself. It is said that he had designs upon you when he first began to stir, for he claimed to be your trueborn son... but when that proved to be false, when he learned of your existence in secret, he abandoned that claim in favor of claiming the throne itself. It was the same with Lysa Tarry and Cersei Lannister; they were once part of his plot to overthrow his king, until they were revealed and turned away from court with scorn and shame. Even so, some still believe in the truth of their claims... and I have heard that this new queen has a child, as well... so there remains a possibility of some other claimant emerging from her womb. All this makes me nervous, Jarlon. How does your council propose to deal with the threat of usurpers? For surely such plots exist wherever we go, even here at the heart of our own realm..."

His voice trailed off into silence as the meaning behind those words sank in. "My lords," he whispered softly, "we have a problem."

Doran Martell sighed as he listened to his brother speak. He could feel the unease radiating from him, hear the way his jaw clamped shut whenever he closed his eyes. Daenerys Targaryen had given her pledge freely enough, without hesitation or reserve, and now her Hand was sounding less than happy about it... which hardly boded well. Doran glanced over at his sister as she sat listening to their brother, a frown creasing her brow.

Daario Naharis leaned forward across the table. "Do not let the king worry you, Your Majesty," he urged. "If he had any doubts he would have had you strung up by now."

That drew a chuckle from Grey Worm and a smile from Doreah, but not from Viserys. The laughter died quickly as he resumed speaking.

"As it is, he fears that you and my sweet niece will end up in a lovers' quarrel. He says he trusts Daenerys, but cannot abide the notion of her marrying a foreign whore. He seems to think that marriage should be restricted to kings and queens only... yet he knows little of the world outside these walls."

Greyworm frowned, thinking it through carefully. "Perhaps we should tell him that Daenerys is freeborn as well as bastardy?"

"Freeborn?" Viserys snapped back as Daenerys's handmaid gave a soft moan of alarm. "What nonsense are you spouting now?"

"Her mother was a common fisher girl," he explained patiently. "She married Ser Cortnay Penrose when they were both sixteen, and soon afterward gave birth to Princess Rhaella. When Rhaegar Targaryen wed Lyanna Stark and took their daughter as his bride, Prince Rhaegar's grandfather the king stripped Rhaegar of his titles and cast him out of court, declaring him the man who raped his grandson's bride and siring bastard children on his wife's side of the family. Thus the line descended to Daenerys, and her father and brothers were banished with her, while her two older sisters remained in the south, under Queen Elia's care."

Prince Doran shook his head as he considered the tale. "So she was raised in isolation. Perhaps that explains why she thinks too much for her own good... but how could she ever be truly wild? She was reared amidst luxury... the finest clothing, silk carpets, fine wines and rare foods..." He shrugged. "And yet she grew into a beautiful young woman, wise beyond her years, full of charm... I doubt anyone could grow fond of someone like that."

"Yet many did," Viserys mused aloud. "Many fell in love with her despite her beauty... and she herself fell for a handsome prince who was sworn to another, one whose bloodline runs true through the generations. They say he loves her dearly as well, and that he means to give her a crown of her very own someday, a crown made from the skulls of her enemies, but even if he fails to bring down the Targaryens, he has already won her heart." He smiled sadly. "There was never a prettier face upon the green earth... but I do not think he sees the same in her. As for the rest of us... we fear that the time has come to break our vow and seek out our rightful king."

Daenerys nodded slowly. "I understand the sentiment, but we cannot afford to wait around on the shore. Our fleet needs repairs, and supplies... the Unsullied need training before they are unleashed upon their foes, and they require weapons and armor, not to mention mounts suitable for riding. We must strike swiftly, before the Dothraki become bored and restless, and begin raiding again, or else the fighting will continue all winter, every year, and all the while the ironmen will gather strength and numbers. The best course of action is to march east, and attack from the rear. There is no sense waiting for the winds to shift when they can be changed by blowing harder, is there? That is the advice my uncle gave me, when he sent me forth upon my quest..."

"Your Grace," Viserys said sharply, "this talk is treason. You must forget your vows... we must act now."

Doran rose to his feet as he saw Daenerys reaching for the dagger that hung beside her seat. Her hand was shaking so badly that it took her several tries to draw the weapon free, and by then the others had moved quickly to seize hold of the king and the queen, restraining them with desperate haste.

"Calm yourselves," Lord Renly commanded, "or this room will empty faster than the wind blows out a candle... and the last flame will burn out long before the night is done." With a single nod, the queen and the king obeyed him, settling back into their seats. The tension eased somewhat, although everyone remained tense and watchful, staring at one another as if each might be plotting betrayal.

Only Prince Doran seemed unconcerned as he returned his chair to its upright position. He leaned forward across the table as he spoke quietly. "The winds may blow in any direction, my friends... but they will always return. We cannot change that; yet they also carry news... whether it be word of battle or rumor of war." He sighed as he looked around at them all. "We must decide which is which... which is which is which."

Viserys nodded slowly as he studied the faces of those assembled in front of him, searching for signs of deceit or madness or despair... all three in turn. "Aye... the winds have brought tidings indeed..." He turned back toward his brother as a faint grin came over his face. "You see... it has been decided."

Renly stared at his younger brother in disbelief. "Decided what?"

"That the Targaryens shall rule Westeros once more!" Viserys laughed joyously as he clasped hands with his brother and sister. "It will be a great day when the Starks rise against the Lannisters and ride north to reclaim Winterfell! Oh, it was glorious when we drove Robert from his throne, even though it cost us dear, but that was a victory won in the field, in open combat, after long bloody months of campaigning. This one will come at last in the quiet halls of power, where no blade cuts so deep. Yes, that is the way of things..."

He reached out to pat Prince Doran's arm in farewell... but the man pulled away in disgust.

"Have you lost your mind, boy?" he cried angrily. "How dare you speak to me thus?"

Doran Martell stood and stepped away from the table so that he could glare at the prince with undisguised contempt.

"Are you deaf to reason, boy? Or blind? Do you imagine that I would consent to sit at your side while you conspired to betray the realm? Are you so mad that you do not see that this is not our way? Is our House so bereft of honor that we would set aside our vows and make common cause with traitors and heretics... so that they might steal away what was ours in trust... and in blood?!"

"Enough," Viserys insisted, rising from his seat as well. The other nobles seated around the table began to get up as well. "Leave us, leave us all. Go, find somewhere warm and dry, and keep each other company. If you wish to weep for a fallen friend, there are tears enough left in all of us. But stay gone until dawn comes, lest you witness a new sunrise on a world without us."

The guests bowed deeply as Viserys dismissed them. His brothers and nephews departed first, their heads lowered as they filed out through the door. Then followed Lady Olenna and her daughters, weeping openly as she embraced her eldest granddaughter. The remaining members of the nobility and courtiers hurriedly withdrew, taking their leave as discreetly and speedily as possible. Only Prince Doran lingered behind, standing silently next to his uncle as the sun slipped above the horizon, casting a red glow across the walls and ceiling.

"Is something wrong?" Viserys asked finally, when it became apparent that he intended to remain where he was. The king's tone was curious rather than accusing. He sounded as if he genuinely wanted to know what had caused his nephew to react so violently.

Doran sighed heavily, rubbing a weary hand along his jaw as he struggled with an answer that refused to come readily. "No, sire," he said softly, "nothing is wrong." He straightened up suddenly as a thought struck him, and he glanced up at the windows above, where moonlight filtered in through a gap between the curtains. "In truth... perhaps everything is."

His uncle frowned. "What are you talking about? Surely your anger is misplaced."

"Perhaps," Doran agreed, "but my concern lies elsewhere, far from here. I cannot say why... but for reasons unbeknownst to me, the gods seem intent upon sending a message." He gestured upward. "Look... look there, and listen."

They were standing beneath one of the tall window casements, and Doran could hear the muffled voices of his fellow lords below, murmuring amongst themselves about the evening's events. It did not take them long to discover a few candles burning near the roof, but neither the flames nor the smoke were visible from within. A breeze stirred faintly, as if seeking to clear some unseen obstruction, but that only served to accentuate the strange silence that surrounded them. Yet the sounds grew louder all the same: soft sobbing from the distant corners of the room, as if many people shared a secret sorrow; the scrape of chairs being moved back to allow passage, echoing hollowly off the walls; soft footsteps approaching, and then falling silent as someone passed by... only to repeat itself moments later, as if the person walked past the spot repeatedly...

"Someone's coming," Doran warned quietly, glancing nervously back toward the doorway. For an instant he glimpsed motion outside as someone approached the window, yet no sooner did he focus his eyes on it than the figure vanished into shadow. "Wait here," he told his uncle firmly as he drew his sword from its scabbard. "If I am forced to call upon you for aid, you must flee immediately... do not linger..." He swallowed hard, steeling himself for whatever might lie ahead. "I will be back soon."

As he strode across the hall, leaving Lord Renly alone in the wake of the king and queen, he heard the sound of heavy footfalls approaching... but the steps continued onward even when he was well beyond earshot, fading away in the distance, until they too faded altogether. He quickened his pace, hurrying down the stairs two at a time. When he reached the bottom, he found the other lords gathered together in small knots, speaking in low tones and looking everywhere except at the door leading outside. None of them seemed aware that anyone else existed in the castle save themselves; their minds appeared focused inward, on whatever thoughts lay buried deep inside their chests. Each one wore a worried expression upon their brows, as if each were struggling with their own private demons...

When Lord Rahl noticed him entering the chamber, he nodded curtly and broke apart from his companions, moving over to offer his condolences.

"My lord... I fear the worst for Joffrey... and for Myrcella as well..."

"So do I," Doran replied grimly, "and I fear for myself as well." He hesitated momentarily before adding, "Yet I must ask for your counsel."

Rahl looked troubled by his words. "Do you mean to betray us?"

"Never!" Doran shook his head emphatically. "Far from it! Your counsel was wise when it led us to join the fight at King's Landing, and it remains sage now that we have returned home. But I believe that our true enemy lies farther west than Pyke or Dorne. My heart tells me that the Seven Kingdoms are in danger from a threat that transcends borders and kingdoms... that threatens all of us."

Lord Rahl frowned in puzzlement, uncertain how much he should reveal in light of the delicate situation facing the kingdom. After a moment's consideration he shrugged, and nodded grudgingly. "Very well... I have already made certain arrangements to ensure that the king's enemies are dealt with swiftly and surely... but what of the rest of it?"

Doran smiled wryly. "It seems that my father knew more than he cared to tell us. There is more than one way for a traitor to die... but the methods depend largely upon whom they intend to kill."