Chapter Text
He’d been in the Maegor’s passages again, walking in the dark in gloom to avoid another encounter with Aegon’s hangers-on. It was just as he’d passed the little prince’s quarters, when he’d stopped to check that the boy was sleeping alright, that he noticed something wrong.
There was a figure standing over the prince’s crib, dark clothes almost blending in with the gloom of the night. Arlan didn’t hesitate to throw himself into the room, tackling the stranger away from their place near his sworn child. He threw the figure, a man, to the ground, and could see something shiny fall from his hand and roll under the crib as Arlan drew his blade to the intruder’s throat, the man’s hand reached for a dagger tucked into his belt, and Arlan didn’t hesitate to bring his arm down, cutting a line across his throat. Aemon and Ser Terrence threw open the main door only a second later, pausing to see the scene in front of them.
“Arlan, what happened?” He didn’t take his eyes off the man, even as he could hear little Baelor wake up and start crying at the noise.
“I don’t know. I came to check in the prince and saw this man standing over him.” The one in question was gurgling, hands came up to clutch his throat as blood poured from the wound.
Ser Toyne moved to take a step forward, and Arlan flinched, shifting slightly to put himself between Baelor and the two Kingsguards.
“…Arlan. Leave this to us. Go take Baelor to his parents, tell them what just happened.” Aemon’s voice was soft, and it soothed him enough to melt some of the fear that had him locked in place.
The knight didn’t bother cleaning his blade before he sheathed it, grateful that at least his clothing was unsoiled as he picked up Baelor, letting the boy throw his little arms around his neck as he stepped over the corpse and into the hallway. He walked quickly, keeping the boy tucked close to his chest and soothing his hiccuping cries as he headed to Daeron’s quarters. Arlan banged on the door, loudly, ignoring the concerned look of Robyn as the man guarded the entrance to their Prince’s room.
“Arlan, why is Baelor with you?” Robyn asked, but a shake of the head silenced the man, who looked down in concern to see the drying tear-tracks on Baelor’s cheeks.
It didn’t take long for Daeron to open the door, and he slipped past his friend quickly, relaxing just a little more when he saw Myriah in the bed, tying up her robe over her naked body. He could see the swell of her belly through the heavy fabric, and it made him clutch Baelor even closer, until the boy squired and the knight forced himself to loosen his hold. He’s safe, he’s with us, I didn’t let anything hurt him.
“Arlan, what in hells happened?” Daeron looked startled, more scared by whatever expression was on his face than by his sudden, loud arrival.
“Someone broke into Baelor’s room, we fought, and I killed him, but I think he meant to poison the boy. There was a glass vial in his hand.”
Daeron froze at that, and Myriah went pale. Arlan didn’t resist as Baelor was pulled from his grasp, Daeron bringing their firstborn son back to where Myriah sat so they could both hold him close. Arlan let Robyn grab him by the elbow, leading him to a chair in front of the hearth, taking his shaking hands between warm, calloused palms.
“Did anything else happen?” his sworn brother asked quietly.
“Not that I know. Aemon and Ser Toryne heard the noise and rushed in. They ordered me to take Baelor here as quickly as possible.”
They all sit in silence for a while, jumping at any sound. Arlan sets himself by the far wall, watching the door to the secret passage while Robyn guards the main entrance. He could see Daeron and Myriah sitting close to each other. Daeron had taken his sword from where it had been displayed over the hearth and placed it close by, where he could grab it if needed.
They all threw themselves out of their seats at the sound of a knock at the door, the three knights quickly putting themselves in front of Myriah while she moved to the farthest point of the room from the door, using her shawl to cover Baelor as best she could while the toddler squirmed in her arms, trying to pull the covering off so he could see the commotion.
They relaxed slightly when they heard a familiar voice from the other side.
“Are you all well?” Ser Toyne called from the other side. Robyn crept forward, unlatching the lock and letting the hardwood door creak open. At a quick glance, the man was fine, not a hair out of place, though there was a weary look on his face.”
“We’re fine, but nobody has yet come to tell us whether the castle is safe, or what exactly happened at all. Is that what you are here for, Ser? Where is Aemon?” Daeron addressed the man, still not entirely relaxed.
“Not quite, Ser. I’m only here to fetch Ser Arlan. He’s being summoned to explain his part in all of this, and until we’ve figured out what exactly happened, it has been asked that your Graces remain here with Ser Robyn to guard you.” he turns to look at Arlan.
“You’re expected in the Tower of the Hand, Ser. I’ll stay and guard the other side of the door while you are away.”
Arlan gave the man a wary look, but knew there was no point in arguing with King Viserys. He spared a glance back at his lovers one last time before slipping out the door, pulling it shut behind him.
The trip to the tower was peaceful, it seemed their harrowing evening hadn’t affected anyone else, nor spread to the rest of the household. Arlan kept himself calm as he walked by the servants still bustling around the keep, though they all treaded quietly on account of the late hour.
The two guards standing at attention in front of the entrance to the Small Hall didn’t bother greeting him, one stepping to the side while the other opened the door for him. He didn’t realize the man standing by the table wasn’t Viserys until the door had been pulled shut behind him.
“Prince Aegon,” Arlan says, tone noticeably clipped despite his attempt to hide the sudden spike of adrenaline in his body. His eyes flicked to Aemon, who was standing guard behind the prince, though he could not tell anything from the man’s expression.
“I hear you foiled an attempt on my grandson’s life, Ser Stone.” Aegon stepped towards him, from where the man had been leaning against a chair. He stopped a few paces short of Arlan, hust a hair too far from him to swing at with a sword.
“I do have to express my concern, though. What reason did you have to enter a Prince’s bedchambers so late at night? friend of a prince or not, it’s dreadfully inappropriate, is it not?” Aegon’s voice is dripping with false concern.
“Nevertheless, I'm sure your punishment will be mild, seeing as you did your best to save the boy. Did he suffer at all?”
Arlan freezes, unsure “…no ser.”
Something flickers in his eyes. “Small mercies for that, I suppose, that the poison killed him quickly.”
Arlan’s hand crept up to the pommel of his sword. The glass vial in the stranger's hand. He hadn't had time to open it.
He looked to Aemon for a brief moment, there was confusion in the man’s eyes, twined with fear. Arlan shook his head at his teacher, subtly, and the man relaxed.
“Has anyone been by to check the prince’s quarters to see how the man might've gotten in?” Arlan let his voice drop to a near whisper, feigning grief. He saw the spark of glee flare up in Aegon's eyes.
“I'm afraid not. It would be best for us all if we kept this matter quiet for now. It is sad enough to lose a member of the family, but worse if we allow it to show we were weak enough to let it happen. I've had his room sealed, we'll call it a sudden illness and have some trusted men begin investigating tomorrow morning.”
“If the room is sealed, Your Grace, and no Maester has crossed the threshold...” Arlan’s voice lost its whisper, ringing sharp against the stone walls. “...then how do you know it was poison?” Aegon’s smug smile faltered. His heavy jaw tightened, the glee in his eyes instantly turning to stone.
Arlan took a step forward, gripping his sword tighter as Aegon took a step back.
“What did you think would happen? You would kill the boy? That we would be too stupid in our grief to question it? That we wouldn’t hunt down everyone responsible and kill them like the dogs they are?”
“You failed Aegon. But don’t think that will save you, you craven, bottom-feeding wretch.”
Aegon took another step back, bumping into the council table as he did. The walking parasite noticed he’d been cornered, and his fear turned into bluster.
“Try and lay a hand on me, I dare you. Your master is duty-bound to strike you down if you so much as draw a sword at me. And wouldn’t that be tidy? He either kills you here, or I have all of you executed for conspiring to kill poor little Baelor.”
“So tragic, how Prince Daeron’s own cohort turned on him. They must’ve known something awful.”
“Fuck you. Nobody would believe it, we are loyal.”
“And you think that helps you? I know what kind of disgraceful things you three do to each other. Ser Aemon and Baelor must have taught you three well, didn’t they?” Arlan flinched at that, eyes darting to Aemon, whose expression broke through his usually calm demeanor. He looked sick, and terrified.
“So what is it then? Keep your mouth shut? Lose your head? Or all four of you can burn as heretics while that Dornish whore and her spawn watch.”
His hand trembled as he lowered it from his weapon. “How do I know you won’t try this again if I stay quiet?”
“What do I get as assurance that you won’t try this again?”
“I'll allow Daeron and his wife to take up residence at Dragonstone, unmolested.” Fucking coward. No matter what he did now, Aemon had to tell Viserys what his pissant of a son tried to do, and he’s trying to cover his ass. Viserys would have him watched… but Daeron would be under scrutiny too. At least if they took residence in Dragonstone, there would have been fewer, friendlier eyes. Aegon’s whoring had quickly rooted hatred in the hearts of the smallfolk and servant on the isle, though their cohort’s own mischief had endeared them in turn.
Arlan opened his mouth to reply, but the gutter-prince continued talking.
“But you cannot go with them. You've seen enough already, and I won't have to run around underfoot again. If you want them safe, you will leave King's Landing and don't come back.”
…
He’d no choice in it, did he? He could have trusted Viserys to protect Daeron’s life, but he would have just as soon killed the rest of them to preserve the family’s reputation. Daeron would lose
all of them if Arlan didn’t leave.
He stared at Argon hatefully, wanting more than anything to drop his sword to the ground and tear the man to pieces with his bare hands.
“I’ll give you until tomorrow to make your choice and be gone, or else I’ll tell the King everything. Even if I go down, he’ll ruin all of you as well.”
He stayed silent as Aegon walked past him and left the council room. He could feel himself trembling as he stood there.
What is he going to do?
He jumped when he felt an armored hand touch his shoulder, startling him from his thoughts.
“Arlan,” Aemon’s voice was just a whisper.
“… I’m sorry I didn’t catch it myself. I’m sorry i can’t do anything to'-”
“Don’t apologize, Ser. There’s nobody to blame but Prince Aegon.” He managed to choke out the words, and hoped it was enough to placate his teacher.
The hand on his shoulder tightened for a moment, an attempt at comfort.
“You will need to move quickly. I worry that lingering too long might give him the opportunity to plan something else”
Arlan nodded, feeling detached from everything. But following Aemon’s orders is simple, comforting. He’s trusted the man with his life for so long he can barely remember what it was like not to have his protection. Gods, how am i going to do this?
“I need you to give me your sword.”
And suddenly he felt like he’d been slapped. He’d tried to step back and break Aemon’s hold on his shoulder, but the man wouldn’t budge.
“You’re going along with him, then? Rubbing salt in the wound by exiling me as well?”
“Please, you need to'-” He’d thrashed, feeling the hard edges of his master’s gauntlet dig into his skin.
“No. No. It’s not right. You can’t do that to me, please-”
“Arlan! Fucking listen to me.” Aemon lunged forward and clamped his hand around the back of his neck, forcing Arlan to look up at him. “I’m not banishing you. And I won’t let anyone hurt you, or the others.”
He sighed, “I need you to trust me, son. Give me your sword, go pack your things, then spend the rest of the night with your lovers, don’t tell them anything.” He let Arlan go, and the younger man numbly followed the dragonknight’s instructions, unlatching his sword belt and handing it over.
“Do not leave the city until I’ve placed this back in your hands, even if you need to hide out in the city. Wait for me, understood.”
“Yes, Ser.”
— — — —
He did exactly as Aemon told him, packing away what he knew he could fit into his traveling packs, leaving behind anything that wouldn’t fit, and swapped his black-and-red bannerman’s garb for the roughspun tunic and breeches that he wore when he used to sneak out of the castle for a break.
When he returned to Daeron’s room, using the secret passages, he could see Daeron and Myriah still curled up in bed with Baelor, Robyn sitting with them but more alert. They had drug the heavy wooden chair and one of Daeron’s storage chests, in front of the entryway into his quarters.
“Arlan, why are you dressed like that? Are you heading somewhere?” Myriah spoke up, worry in her voice as she rested her hand over her stomach.
“Not until dawn, but then I’ll be leaving the city for a while. I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” Daeron tensed up at this, looking like he was ready to argue, before Arlan cut him off, “Please, Daeron. If we fight, let it be tomorrow. I just want to rest.”
They all stayed quiet for a moment before Baelor’s confused fussing set them in motion again. Arlan kicked his shoes off and let himself be pulled into bed, Baelor placed in his arms again, head tucked to his shoulder. Daeron and Myriah were to his right, pressed close together, and Myriah’s hand reached over Daeron’s body to rest against one of his arms. Robyn didn’t join him, he’d never been the type for close contact, but he scraped the other seat away from the fireplace over to the bed, setting it to Arlan’s left and kicking his feet up onto the top of the covers, right over one of his legs.
Robyn handed him a storybook from Daeron’s side table, some damaged old thing that was new when he’d first gifted it to Baelor, but was already worn with use from how much the boy loved it. He flipped open the last page they had stopped at, the night before, and started reading to the boy about questing heroes, the Green Knight, and the beautiful witch. Baelor falls asleep quickly, soothed despite the terrifying night he’d had, and the rest of them follow suit, one by one, until Arlan puts the book down.
It doesn’t take him long to fall asleep, either, the lull of the fireplace and the steady breaths of his family sending him into peaceful darkness.
— — — —
He left the castle the next morning, despite Daeron’s arguing.
Despite Myriah’s pleading.
Despite Robyn trying to physically force him to stay, barring the door, using his height against him.
For once, in all the years Arlan knew them, he didn’t relent. He gave them their goodbyes, kisses pressed to soft lips, tasting like saltwater, before giving Baelor one last hug, telling the boy to be good for his parents. The lad looked confused, too young to understand anything other than the warm comfort of a hug, not matching the sad expression on everyone else’s faces.
— — — —
Aemon was waiting for him in his room when it came time to leave. His head was bowed, shoulders hunched with exhaustion, and Arlan’s sword resting across his knees.
He handed it to Arlan wordlessly, waiting for him to buckle his belt across his hips before he pulled him into an all-encompassing, crushing hug, and didn’t let go until they had both stopped shaking.
Riding his horse out past the walls of the castle was easy, he didn’t spare a glance behind him.
Riding down the road towards the gate of the Gods was harder, his hands started shaking, and he had to fight his own mind to keep from turning back around.
He could feel tears running down his face by the time King’s Landing faded into the distance, breath coming out as short, choked gasps, but he still did not turn the horse around.
They are safe, they have each other, I cannot let anything hurt them.