Chapter 66: I Quite Literally Asked for This

"Blood of my blood, you are never alone. So long as you draw breath, never forget this."​

There were few sounds quite as satisfying as that of children at work. At least, if one considered work to be the act of what was, effectively, beating the daylights out of one another with wooden swords. Regardless of age. Or sex.

But most certainly not regardless of protective equipment. There would be no crippling of relatives (or Dornish acting the part of relatives) while I was around to supervise! Was it hypocritical? Of course not! I was learning. And there was little The Crone loved moved than learning.

And that meant that I was back to doing the thing I had been doing for so much of this life, and a beloved portion of the previous one: teaching. Instructing. Imparting upon the next generation how to properly bring down an opponent in glorious melee.

"Girl." Daenelle Dayne was the eldest of the children gathered in the yard under my care. She was… clumsy. Inexperienced, like she had never held a sword before in her life. This was, of course, false. She had joined us in the yard for some time now, several times before Aemon had offered me the Hand-ship some three days past. But compared to the others, she was still woefully inexperienced. "Show me your guard."

It should not have surprised me. Stoney Dornish was almost indistinguishable from the mix of Andal and First Men culture that was mainland Westerosi, save for a few Rhoynish touches. The more egalitarian approach to combat was more limited among them than among the more Rhoynish, it seemed.

"Y-yes…" Even through the helmet that covered her head and prevented me from seeing her face, I could tell that she was nervous, tense. Afraid. The signs were obvious in the stiff motions, like she was actively controlling every aspect of how she moved instead of letting the body move as it wanted.

As she stood with sword and shield held in an imitation of the stance I had shown her, had shown all of the children of my friends and family, I could readily detect the flaws.

"That is 'Yes Ser,' Danelle," I reminded her, sinking to my knees, and the girl's form sagged. "No, don't move. Just because you made a mistake does not mean you should stop. Compensate, don't restart."

It was easier, now. When we were both clad in protective gear, when we were both in a place I felt at my best across lifetimes, when I was doing what I had at times felt like I had been meant to do, there was no fear. There was no guilt. Only a man and his student. A student whose fear was not quite so easy to see.

"Yes Ser," she repeated.

"Good," I said, reaching out to rearrange her fingers. "Your grip is wrong. A sword is not a hammer. Move your thumb along the spine of the blade and treat it like a particularly lethal quill. Or a very long knife."

My hands retreated, and the girl's grip remained as I had left it.

"Good, good," I said. "Now, relax." As expected, her arms dropped, and the guard all but evaporated. "Back into your guard." This time, her guard was much improved, and I felt a smile grow on my face. Not that she could see it. "Good. Now, get back to it and give those targets some good strikes." I nodded toward the straw-filled mannequin she had been striking. The girl gave a nod and set to work, leaving me casting about for the next person in need of lessons.

Not the twins, they were going at it with the gusto of small children being given sticks and permission to beat one another with them. They would keep for a while, until they learned that the basics I had shown them were not enough and would try something new. It would be a learning experience for all involved.

Turning from them, I focused on someone who most certainly needed some guidance: Viserys. My dear nephew was beating at a mannequin of his own with an impressive fury. It was quite the sight; I would have expected him to lose his voice with how much he was shouting. Or better yet, for him to run out of steam and anger.

I could not allow this to continue.

The boy did not notice my approach, continuing his onslaught on the poor innocent straw-filled figure. That was another warning sign. Had I waited too long? Had I allowed this anger to fester?

It did not matter. I would at least try.

Viserys' wooden sword came down on the target once more, but never reached it. The boy's arm strained for several long moments, trying to push through to just hit the target, before realizing that someone had dared block his attack. Or rather, had dared grab his sword and hold it in place.

That someone being me.

But he did not lower his weapon. After all, I had not told him to. He did not freeze. After all, he had done nothing wrong as far as he knew. He just waited for me to tell him what he was doing wrong.

"That is enough, Viserys," I said gently. Now he froze.

"I'm sorry," he said, seemingly on reflex, but this earned him no reprieve.

"If you already know not to do something, then why do you continue to do it?" I asked, not expecting a response.

"Because… I don't… it's just…" the boy searched for words, searched for an explanation, but faltered after each attempt.

"You're angry," I said. "Blindingly so. And you're letting it take control."

The boy said nothing.

Was it hypocritical for me to point it out despite my own lackluster record of keeping my own temper in check? Mayhaps. Did that make me something of an expert in spotting the signs in others? Mayhaps not, but it gave me an advantage.

"Viserys, there is nothing wrong with being angry," I said patiently. "In the moment, it can feel quite good. Like nothing can stop you. Like you can break whatever stands in your way."

At that, my nephew whipped his head around, finally letting his weapon arm sag down, the wooden sword hitting the dusty ground. Oh, there it was: the sudden realization that others knew exactly what you were going through.

"How did you…"

"I know anger quite well, Viserys," I reassured him. "But I do not want to see that in the training yard. If you make a habit of it, you will only associate fighting with anger, and I will not tolerate that. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, uncle Vaeg…" Viserys muttered.

"That's 'yes Ser,' while you're in the yard, Viserys," I said, delivering his helmet a light tap. "Now, go join your cousins. You're a bit older, so two-on-one will make for a good bit of exercise. Should be a bit more fun than going at it alone."

With that, my nephew hurried off towards Aerion and Aerea. If the excitement in his gait was any indication, then this might yet become a positive interaction.

Still, with many children in the yard, there was always more work to do.

"Your Grace." As I was showing Desmond's son how to properly strike with his shield, a task which mostly involved being very patiently telling the boy to strike with the edge instead of the face, a vaguely familiar voice interrupted me. Vaguely familiar, as all messengers within the Red Keep were. But low levels of familiarity were not enough. "The Small Council requests your presence."

Meaning my brother.

If this was a real messenger. Fortunately, we had contingencies in place after the attack on the wedding a few days ago.

"By whose authority?" I asked, keenly aware that I was entirely unarmed. Well, save for a shield. And while that was more than enough to kill one man dressed for court, it would hardly be enough to protect the children from a group of assassins. Still, I trusted that they would run if I told them to.

"His Grace Prince Aemon cites salmon and eggs, Your Grace," the messenger said, and I quickly relaxed. That had been the agreed sign for the day. This truly was a messenger instead of a Dornish agent. "If you would follow me?"

"Children, continue your training," I instructed my charges, my family and family-in-all-but-name. "If you have questions, Ser Vernon Vance will be able to help you. Someone will come to collect you in time for your lessons."

My final words of wisdom having been delivered, I followed the messenger. Despite knowing that he was the genuine article, I was still careful in how I walked. Corners were taken broadly, crowds were given a wide berth. Paranoia? Almost certainly. Did it keep a knife out of my side? Judging by the lack of holes through my kidneys and lungs, I was tempted to say yes.

Regardless of the wisdom of my paranoia, I was delivered to the Small Council chambers without incident. And the chambers were as empty as I had last seen them. The Master of Coin, Master of Laws, and Grand Maester were all present. The remaining seats, however, were all vacant.

"Vaegon, excellent!" Aemon greeted me from his seat as Master of Laws. "Then we can begin."

"Can we?" I asked. "Are the others not coming?"

"The others…" Aemon trailed off, but Lord Tyrell quickly took over.

"We were unable to fill the other positions, Your Grace," Lord Tyrell explained.

"They couldn't agree, more like," Elysar elaborated.

"It has been three days," I pointed out. "How have you not solved this problem? Have you at least handled some of the more pressing business? Like the vacancy in leading the City Watch?"

"That is…" Again, Aemon found himself unable to answer at first. Fortunately, he managed to find the words after a moment. "That appointment is one for which I am willing to take input."

A political bargaining chip then. Lovely.

"Which is why it is all the more important that you are here, Your Grace," Lord Tyrell said with a sigh. "Mayhaps we can fill our ranks and get something done."

"Fine then," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. Would it have been too much to ask to just give me some tasks to handle? An administration to streamline? A bureaucracy to mold? The Seven were playing a cruel prank. "Which position is most important?"

"Do not get them started," Elysar warned.

"You cannot even decide on that?" I asked incredulously.

"We are split on the matter," Aemon allowed.

Oh, would you look at that, it was time to handle this problem with all the finesse and subtlety of a hammer to the face. I glanced at the first empty seat at the table, two seats to the right of me, right next to my brother.

"Whose seat is that beside you, Aemon?" I asked calmly.

"The Master of Ships."

"Then let's start with that," I suggested.

"Gladly," Aemon agreed. Oh good, not even five minutes, and I was already accidentally taking sides. Mayhaps I should have volunteered for a less partisan role, after all. Too late for that, now. If the only way was forwards, then forwards I would go.

"Corlys." He was the obvious choice. While he did introduce problems of his own, those could be resolved.

"Lord Velaryon?" Lord Tyrell asked, scrunching his eyebrows. "Simply because he is your good-brother does not mean he is the best choice for the position."

"He is loyal, knows ships better than any other lord in the realm, has a large fleet, and plenty of coin to expand ours," I countered. "What more could we ask?"

"Someone less ambitious, mayhaps," the Master of Coin suggested. "Lord Hightower, mayhaps? He has always been a loyal vassal."

Oh joy, another man of the Reach. Just what this council needed.

"By that logic, Lord Lannister would be just as good, or Lord Greyjoy, were he not still gallivanting across Essos," Aemon helpfully chimed in. "But Lord Corlys knows ships and how to use them to earn gold instead of digging it out of the ground or other people's bodies. I second the nomination."

That had been… unexpectedly painless. No doubt that would change in the future, now that I had dared to even consider that thought.

"What of the Master of Whisperers?" I asked, earning me a panicked look from Elysar a mere heartbeat before the shouting began.

This was my life now, wasn't it?

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