Chapter 64: I Choose Politics

"The least bad option is, unfortunately, still bad."​

Our return to the Red Keep was a touch earlier than I would have liked.

My original plan for the little excursion into the city had gone beyond merely tearing out what remained of the Dornish menace. There was a grand sept atop the Hill of Visenya, one I frequented whenever I could, and whose septon I needed to ask for advice. Just... just for peace. Mental peace, reassurances from the Seven.

I had also planned on buying up the ruined houses to put up more high-capacity apartments. There was no sense in letting a tragedy go to waste if I could use it to help reduce the crowding of the city and the size of the slums. And make a tidy profit, too. Not that I had much use for the coin, but there was no sense in wondering how I was going to spend coin I was not going to earn.

No, there was nothing to do but return to the Red Keep to take care of more important business. Business that affected the safety of the city and the realm at large. Business that my dear brother had horridly neglected. Then again, it had only been a day. Mayhaps he really had been busy.

Or mayhaps he was just delaying to get me to go along with his plans to put a regency in place. However noble his goals, a regency was a regency. But if it meant bringing at least some peace to the city... well, I could be persuaded. Even if the idea was pure foolishness.

"Groat for your thoughts?" Martyn asked me as we made our way into the depths of the Red Keep, towards the Small Council Chambers.

"Several," I admitted. "But my brother's interesting priorities are taking pride of place."

"You disapprove?" Desmond asked from my left, opposite Martyn.

"You saw what the city is devolving into," I answered. "The common folk are tearing apart any even remotely Dornish, despite never having been to Dorne itself. And my brother is busy with his own designs instead of appointing a replacement to head the City Watch. The City Watch which is explicitly within his domain."

"So there's an opening?" Martyn asked as we neared the chambers. A single knight of the Kingsguard stood guard outside, one I easily identified as Ser Pate from his leaner frame and the spear he carried. Contrary to the way things usually went, however, Ser Pate immediately switched to a guard position the instant he saw us. The point of his spear dropped to point at us, and the shield covered the knight's body.

The attacks had left their marks on all, even if they had not been wounded.

"Halt," the order came, and the three of us complied. For a moment, I was back in the shoes of my youthful self, having been caught in whatever mischief I had thought would be a good idea in previous moments. "Identify yourselves."

"Prince Vaegon Targaryen, third son of His Grace King Jaehaerys," I said without hesitation, doffing the great helm I had been wearing. No matter Baelon's fate, or the fate of my oldest brother who had never lived, I was the third son. That was how I had lived, and that was how I would continue to live. "With me are Sers Martyn Mooton and Desmond Darry, heirs to their respective lordships and captains of the City Watch of King's Landing."

"Your Grace, you may enter," the knight said, not having moved from the spot. "The others will leave."

"I am expected then?" I asked.

"You do not come to this section of the Red Keep except on business," Ser Pate explained. "And you are frustratingly tenacious. I am very capable of recognizing patterns, Your Grace. Enter. Ser Martyn, Ser Desmond, I must ask you to leave."

"As you wish, Ser," Desmond said with a sigh before turning to me. "I'll see you in the morning, then?"

"For training and to break our fast," I confirmed. "You too, Martyn. I can keep myself safe."

"If you say so." Martyn hesitated by my side a bit longer than Desmond, but he left all the same.

And then, I was alone with the knight of the Kingsguard. Clad in white armor, the same as I, only mine was ornamented with the dancing dragons of black and blue. Only then did the knight lower his spear, returning to the posture of a patient sentry, a step beside the door.

"Enter, Your Grace," Ser Pate said. "And good luck."

Well, that was ominous.

"Is that a warning?" I asked, still approaching the door to the chambers. Because truly, how bad could it be?

"They have been arguing for some time now," he answered. "With no answers and no one to break the tie."

Fantastic. Just what I needed: interrupting an argument between the men who arguably managed the realm with yet more bad news. Then again, when had an obviously bad idea ever stopped me?

Unable to find an answer, I pushed open the door, and the murmuring behind the solid oak doors became a shouting match.

"Lord Tyrell, would you see reason?" My brother's familiar voice would have nearly struck me deaf were I not used to the Cannibal roaring at into my face on a regular basis. "We need this regency. We cannot end this war otherwise!"

"We do not have the authority!" Lord Tyrell, the man whose wife had adjusted my knowledge of economics to the standards of Westeros, did not hesitate to shout back. The fact that the other party was the heir presumptive to the Seven Kingdoms did not seem to matter to him. "The Small Council advises and carries out the king's wishes. We do not rule the Kingdom in his place!"

Grand Maester Elysar, by contrast, looked as though he wanted to be anywhere else. Or rather, in his smut-filled personal library instead of trying to mediate a conflict between the last two proper lords of the Small Council.

"Are we done shouting?" I asked as soon as the door slammed shut behind me. "Because we have greater problems than who will take control of the realm."

"Vaegon, excellent," Aemon greeted me, all but collapsing back into his seat. Lord Tyrell did likewise, with a fraction more restraint. Even so, all that did was reinforce how empty the room was. The king's seat was vacant, as was the Hand of the King's, the Master of Ships, the Master of Whisperers, and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard's. All good men, all dead. All in need of replacement by a king who would not rule. "Have you reconsidered my proposal?"

"It is idiotic," I said, walking on without a care in the world until reaching the foot of the table which dominated the room. The table with only three men, one of whom was supposed to abstain from rulership beyond advising even more than the other two. "And there are more important problems."

"What is more important than the future of the realm?" Aemon countered.

"You are focusing on larger problems that might occur over smaller problems that are occurring," I said. "Ignoring the sword swinging towards your throat in favor of the boulder flying over our heads."

"Feeling like a singer, are we?" Aemon asked, his voice thick with mockery. Anger surged in my veins at the tone. Had he forgotten why his nose had been rebuilt by a maester? Had he forgotten why his smile was now marked with silver? Did he really believe mockery to be the wisest use of his breath? As quickly as it came, however, I forced down the anger. He had been arguing for who knows how long by that point, after all. I could allow some lapses in his courtesy. "Or will you actually tell me what is wrong?"

"The people of the city are killing anyone remotely Dornish," I said. "Despite never having been to Dorne, they are making up for the lack of knowledge with enthusiasm. And love for exterior decorating. Have you any idea how many diseases are spread by rotting corpses?"

"Directly or indirectly?" Elysar asked. Blessedly, the man shrunk in on himself and held his tongue after I turned my glare on him.

"And how do you expect me to handle the situation?" Aemon asked. "I am busy trying to keep the realm together."

"Busy inciting rebellion, more like," the master of coin in-name-only muttered, but I paid him no mind.

"By doing your duty," I pointed out. "The city watch has no commander, and the captains cannot handle matters outside of their jurisdiction. Appoint a new commander before you play politics."

"This is more important," he insisted.

"It may well be," I allowed. "But this is a problem you can solve without arguing fruitlessly."

"We could solve it faster if Grand Maester Elysar would pick a side," Aemon muttered, earning a long-suffering sigh from the man wearing a chain of service.

"And I will once again tell you, Your Grace, that I have sworn an oath to only ever advise, never rule," the Grand Maester said, his voice suggesting that he was, in fact, quite horribly bored. Not horribly surprising, all things considered. "And that goes beyond the expectation that we only advise and not rule as members of the Small Council."

"So you have too few members to come to an official decision, but have no way of increasing your numbers without breaching your oaths." I observed. "And now the Small Council is so deadlocked that the Master of Laws is incapable of carrying out his duties while the city all but burns around us all. Excellent, truly excellent for the state of the realm. There is no way this can spell disaster for us."

Of all the things I had to save my family from, it just had to be politics.

"Which is why I am trying to convince your brother to wait, Your Grace," Lord Tyrell said. "Once the king recovers, he can fill the vacancies and none of us need break our oaths. Until then, we can maintain the Seven Kingdoms perfectly well."

"Until action of any kind needs to be taken," Aemon interjected. And now it was my turn to sigh deeply. "Like in a war, say. Good thing we don't have one of those on our hands."

I just wanted the city to not be strewn with guts. Was that too much to ask? Was I going to have stick my head into politics just to keep the city halfway safe and moderately clean?

Yes, yes I was.

"Aemon has my support," I said at last, as bluntly as possible.

"What?" Lord Tyrell was incredulous.

"What?" Aemon even more so.

"If it gets you to stop arguing and to actually keep the realm safe, my brother has my support," I repeated. If I supported Lord Tyrell, nothing would happen until Father recovered, and Aemon was arrogant enough to just dismiss my suggestion. That was all well and good, but there were serious problems at the bottom of the hill that could easily spill out of control. So as much as it pained me, Aemon… was right.

In this specific situation given the lack of better alternatives presenting themselves after less than five seconds of thought.

Unless I wanted to take control of the City Watch, of course. But that would not have been right. Better Desmond or Martyn take that position as commander. They had actually worked towards it and knew how things worked.

Besides, I did not want to have control of the closest thing to an army within the walls of King's Landing if I lost my temper. That happened all too easily and frequently recently.

"Now do you see?" Aemon asked, turning to Lord Tyrell. "If even my brother agrees with me, then clearly there is some merit to the idea."

"You only have my support because I do not trust myself with the alternative," I cautioned my brother. "Just make sure the realm does not burn to the ground."

There, that should take care of it. For now.

Now why was Aemon handing me a box?

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