Chapter Text
Summerhall continues to freeze in the depths of winter, and Maekar is slowly coming to consider the merits of smothering Aegon with a pillow.
Aegon had never done well being cooped up, and for all that Summerhall is a spacious castle, Aegon still insists on behaving like a beast trapped in a cage too small for its size. And he has taken to making this everyone else's problem. Peaceful evenings in the solar, had in recent weeks devolved into the veritable chaos he now faces as Rhae and Dealla bicker over the choice of story for the evening, and Aegon tosses a ball for The Mutt to fetch, and when that doesn’t work he takes to tossing the ball at Daeron’s head instead, purely for the sake of amusing himself.
There’s a headache brewing behind his eyes, and Maekar considers sending them all to bed early, but decides against doing this for he doesn’t have the energy to argue with them all about it. So he closes his eyes and presses his fingertips to each temple, and attempts in vain to massage away the growing pains that linger there.
And with his eyes closed, he is thus startled when a warm weight lands upon his lap. Eyes shooting open he finds that The Mutt has come to sit at his side, and has apparently decided that resting his head on Maekar’s lap is a good idea.
It is not a good idea of course. And Maekar’s lip curls back in a sneer as he prepares to snarl and snap at the dog.
And yet the dog does not recoil in fear, rather it gazes up at him with rather too much intelligence in its blueblueblue eyes. It stays precisely where it is, head resting in Maekar’s lap, its huge body pressed up against Maekar's legs.
Maekar despises the dog of course, but the great big beast is warm. The Mutt gives off heat like a furnace, and Maekar, cold despite the fact that the solar is well heated, appreciates the added warmth. And when he reaches down to knot his fingers in the red-gold fur at The Mutt’s neck, he comes to understand just why his children enjoy doing the very same thing.
It’s soothing, dragging his fingers through the soft fur. He combs the fur, and scratches beneath the pale blue silk ribbon that The Mutt is wearing as a collar today, and feels the knot in his chest loosen as The Mutt huffs in an appreciative manner.
The solar may as well have fallen silent for how much of the noise Maekar actually pays attention to, he is rather too focused on The Mutt to pay attention to the ongoing bickering, and by the time he once again becomes aware of his surroundings, Daeron has managed to wrangle Aegon under control by pulling his younger brother against his side, and he had snatched the storybook from Daella, deciding himself which story should be read, and reading it aloud to them.
The Mutt doesn’t move for the rest of the evening, remaining still as a statue as Maekar strokes The Mutt’s ears, which he discovers are actually remarkably soft to the touch. By the time Maekar sends the children to bed the brewing pain behind his eyes has settled to a manageable level, and Maekar, loathed though his is to show even a scrap of appreciation for The Mutt, does reach out and pat its head, and were a dog capable of emoting as humans do, Maekar might say that the expression on its face could be construed as happiness.
But Maekar brushes aside such a fanciful notion and takes himself off to bed, ignoring the way The Mutt's eyes follow him, as The Mutt pads after him down the hallway.
The next letter he receives from Baelor features the remark that Maekar had forgotten to complain about The Mutt in his own last letter. Maekar’s response to this, of course, is to open his own new letter with the words ‘fuck you’ followed by three entire pages of complaints about The Mutt.
Baelor’s following letter declares that he, and Jena, and their parents had laughed heartily at Maekar's denial of his affection for The Mutt, and Maekar promptly gives up on convincing his brother and his parents of his earnest hatred for The Mutt, clearly none of them can see reason even after reading three pages of very valid excuses to hate The Mutt.
-
Spring cannot come soon enough in Maekars opinion, and after a bitterly cold winter, Spring begins with near endless rain, but a thankfully abating cold. Still, the torrential downpour is not enough to put his children off from exercising their new-found freedom, as they are once again allowed to roam with supervision away from the palace.
The Mutt, which even moons after coming to live in the palace still lingers at Aegon's heels, often follows his children into the torrential downpour on their adventures, and for the three moons that it takes for the rains to run themselves dry, the palace more often than not smells of wet dog.
Maekar grumbles about this endlessly, to the point that his children, his guards, and his servants have all given up on keeping up the pretence that they are at least listening to Maekar when he complains. He does however continue to complain loudly, despite knowing in his bones that not a single soul is listening to him.
But eventually the rains do run dry, and the smell of wet dog stops lingering in the hallway, and Maekar finds other things to grumble about.
The days grow warmer, though only slightly, but the nights remain freezing, and Maekar, though still strong and healthy, is no longer a young man, and he can feel the cold as it makes his bones ache in a most intolerable manner. And every time the cold draws too close, Maekar is forced to remember The Mutt, and how the beasts bulk gives off heat like a furnace. And thus Maekar does not perhaps order The Mutt away as often or as forcefully as he should. Rather he tolerates it, when it sits beside his chair at the dinner table, or when it hovers beside him in the training yard, or when it lays its head in Maekar’s lap in the solar.
The dog serves as a moving furnace, that’s all.
And perhaps, now and again, on those days when his anger runs hot and nothing else seems to calm him, Maekar will reach for The Mutt, to stroke over its head, to rub one of the velvety soft ears between his fingers.
For its part The Mutt does not appear to be upset about being used as a convenient furnace, nor does it complain about the way Maekar strokes its ears or scratches at its neck. It has even grown remarkably adept at knowing when Maekar is about to reach for it, often materialising at Maekar’s side before it has even been summoned. If Maekar is standing The Mutt comes to press against his side, and if Maekar is sitting The Mutt sits too and lays its head on Maekar’s lap.
For all that this undoubtedly amuses his children, and his servants, and his guards, at the very least all of them have the good sense not to say anything to Maekar. Doubtless they gossip behind his back, but they have the decency not to do it to his face.
Not even his children comment when one afternoon The Mutt chooses to press close to his side as he faces down local petitioners who have come to seek the wisdom of their lord, rather than joining Aegon in the training yard, or Daella and Rhae on their afternoon ride.
And Maekar is silently, and only inside his own head, never aloud, never aloud, grateful for The Mutt’s companionship. Petition days often leave him drained and frustrated, and he reaches unthinkingly for The Mutt, stroking at one of its ears. It is in such a position that one of the palace guards finds him, the guard sweating and panting and out of breath.
“Your Grace, you must come quick, it’s your daughters - ” then the guard cuts off and coughs over his next breath, and Maekar is left startled and anxious at the non-information given.
“Out with it man - what’s happened?” Maekar demands, his hand dropping away from The Mutt, “what’s happened to my girls.”
Eventually the guard stops coughing long enough to say, “they were ambushed on their ride, a guard returned with Princess Daella, but - ”
Maekar does not linger long enough to find out what the man means to say after the word ‘but’, and he marches from the room, all but running towards the courtyard, The Mutt quick on his heels.
And there in the courtyard he comes face to face with a dreaded nightmare.
Daella is there, living and breathing and all but hysterical as she throws herself into his arms, babbling at breakneck speed. And he clings to his eldest daughter, glancing desperately around the yard in the hopes that he was wrong, and that Rhae is here, simply hiding from his sight to amuse herself. But Maekar has never been so lucky as that, and he is forced to reckon with the fact that his youngest daughter, his youngest child, is ambushed and lost in the woods, maybe even lost forever.
His ears ring, but he forces the feeling aside, forcing himself to focus as his gaze turns upon the guard that had returned with Daella. More often than not they ride out with their riding instructor, and a guard each. And yet only Daella and her guard have returned.
Her guard, thankfully, has been in Maekar’s service long enough to know that babbling apologies and excuses will get them nowhere. Rather he delivers his report in sharp clipped tones.
“We’d ridden out to the west today, and had just turned the ride around to return to Summerhall. We were ambushed, five men on horses. They shot the riding instructor. I broke away, urged Princess Daella to safety. For a time Princess Rhae and her guard were following behind making haste back towards the castle.”
Maekar’s heart sinks with every word spoken.
“But they were still shooting at myself and the other guard. I believe he fell to an arrow, and Princess Rhae was only riding her pony.”
At this point the guard trails off, though Maekar did not need him to continue. He could piece together the truth well enough by himself.
Rhae’s pony was a docile creature, but growing old. It would tire quickly. And if Rhae had no guard to guide her she would have been liable to fall behind.
“They were shooting at you?” Maekar asked, “at the girls too?”
“No,” the guard answered in that same clipped tone, “only at us. I don’t think they meant to injure the princesses. It was a co-ordinated attack, your grace, like as not they intended to take the girls for ransom.”
And Maekar felt instantly nauseous. His girl, his sweet precious innocent girl, was lost in the woods, the afternoon had already given way to dusk. Lost in the woods in the dark, more than likely in the hands of bandits.
Terror, fear for the safety of his little girl, had him ordering a servant to have his horse saddled, he would go after her himself. It was only the wisdom of his longest serving guard, a man who had long been captain of the forces station at the castle, that gave Maekar pause.
“Night is drawing close, your grace,” his most trusted man says, “it’s not safe to ride out alone.”
Even affection for his most loyal man, does not make that man immune from Maekar’s fearful wrath.
“My daughter - you fucking dolt - my daughter is out there - ”
“I know, your grace,” the man says, hands held aloft, “but it’s still dangerous to ride out alone, especially if there are bandits in the area. Let me put together a proper search party, it will be safer for a group than for a man alone.”
The man speaks sense, the dark is fast coming, the cold with it too, and riding anywhere in such condition is dangerous, even without the threat of bandits. Maekar is a renowned warrior, but even he will struggle to hold his own alone against a larger group.
Maekar nods sharply, and clutches Daella tighter against him.
“I’ll get my daughter settled,” Maekar says, his voice sounding distant to his own ears, “and you will put together a search party. You have three hours.”
Were Maekar less desperate he would be able to leave the matter until morning; searching will always be easier in the morning light, and they now have less than an hour of light left before the night draws in around them. But Maekar is desperate, and he will search through the night, no matter how dangerous.
“Send out scouts now, though,” Maekar tags on, as he turns toward the castle with Daella in his arms, “whilst there is still some light.”
He does not linger to see if his orders have been followed. Rather he carries his daughter to the maesters chambers, insisting that the man check his daughter over, despite the fact that she denies any and all injuries.
Once Maekar is properly convinced that Daella is telling the truth, he gathers up the rest of his children, and explains in none too gentle a manner that Rhae is missing, and that he intends to ride out and find her.
Aegon is shaken, and Daeron, too drunk to be of any help currently, appears to be taking deep breathes and pinching his side, as though attempting to sober himself up enough to be even remotely helpful.
He tells the children that they are to remain in the palace under guard until he returns, and that tonight is no time for playing games, they are to behave themselves for one night only, or so help him Gods he’ll do the work of the bandits and smother them all himself.
As he turns to leave, he hears Aegon ask, reedy voice tinged with concern, “where's Duncan?”
It is only at that point that Maekar becomes cognisant of the fact that he hasn’t seen hide nor hair of The Mutt in some time. Right when he needs The Mutt most, when he needs the comforting heat, and soft fur to sink his fingers into, The Mutt finally decides to make itself scarce.
Fuck it.
Fuck the bandits.
Fuck this whole Gods damned night.
And more than anything, fuck The Mutt.
Fuck that little beast for abandoning Maekar when he needs it nearby the most.
With no Mutt on hand to help calm him, Maekar paces and rages and undoubtedly scares a number of the newer guards as he waits for the search party to be ready.
He paces a trail into the courtyard, and cranes his neck towards the gate waiting for a sign of the scouts, for word of his precious daughter, for a miracle as he desperately needs some luck.
He armours up, and arms himself. And when the search party takes yet more time to adequately form, he once again considers riding out alone. Discipline and good sense prevail in the end, but it is a close fight, and Maekar returns to pacing the courtyard, feeling like a beast trapped in a too small cage.
He is precisely two seconds away from bellowing in his anger, and ordering the search party out of the gate no matter how unprepared they may be. And yet before he can order such thing there is a cry from above.
“Raise the gate,” comes a cry, And the portcullis, which separates the courtyard from the road leading up to it, lifts to admit the approaching figure. Maekar half expects to see the scouts return with news of his daughter, with any sign of life. And what he sees makes him blink hard in an attempt to clear his vision, for his eyes must surely be playing tricks on him.
For Rhae rides through the gate, riding on the back of The fucking Mutt, clinging to its fur.
He bellows his daughters name, running forward, his armour clanking at the movement, and he watches in amazement as she stumbles down from the back of her improbable steed, as she stumbles forward into his arms. She is not a figment of his fear-struck imagination, and is rather his living, breathing, flesh and blood daughter.
Her clothes are ragged, and there’s a blossoming bruise on her cheek, and her hands are bound in front of her by rough rope. And she falls into his arms begging for a maester. Thankfully one of the guards who had been stationed in the courtyard runs full tilt for the palace entrance, shouting for a maester without having to be instructed. And Maekar pulls back, pulling a dagger from his belt to cut away the rope, examining her wrists with critical eyes once the ropes have fallen away.
Her wrists, tiny and delicate in his rough hands, have been rubbed raw by the rope, the skin angry and red and bleeding. And yet when the maester comes running from the palace, she bats him away, quickly growing hysterical.
“No,” she cries, voice growing higher and reedier which each word spoken, “no, no, no. Not for me. For Duncan.”
And Maekar leans back utterly baffled.
He does not have time to express that bafflement before she continues with the histrionics.
“No, no, no! He needs your help, not me!” She cries at the maester, great big tears rolling down her cheeks now, though she certainly hadn’t been crying when she had ridden through the gates, “stop. He needs you! They shot him! They shot him and he’s going to die!”
And when none of that works she resorts to the tried and true method of bellowing in anger, and beating away the maester with her tiny fists.
It is only at that point that Maekar steps in, catching her fists and drawing her close.
She looks up at him with wide lilac eyes, just like her mothers, silver tears rolling down her cheeks.
She begs, voice raw, “Please Kepa, you have to help. He saved me and they shot him. And he’s going to die.”
Her pleas trails off with a wail. And Maekar allows himself to look away from his daughter, and he glances towards The Mutt, who had come to sit, and appeared to be swaying in place. The light in the courtyard is dim, lit only by braziers dotted here and there. And The Mutt appears strange in the flickering light. There is a dark stain arounds its mouth, a stain about which Maekar has a sinking feeling. And there is a similar dark stain at The Mutts right shoulder, a darkened patch which had spread down towards its paw.
The maester, having clearly come to understand that he would not get anywhere near Rhae, if he did not help The Mutt first, approaches the beast slowly.
“He was shot, you said?”
And Rhae nods tearfully, “he went after the mean men, and one of them shot him in the shoulder. The long bit snapped, I think. But the pointy bit’s still in there. And he ran here with me on his back. And he’s going to die.”
Maekar, despite Rhae’s insistence, does not actually believe that The Mutt will die. It’s swaying and clearly exhausted, but doesn’t appear to be actively dying.
Maekar changes his mind on this opinion precisely three minutes later. The maester had herded the dog, still able to stand under its own power, in the direction of the maesters chambers, the best place to treat the wounded beast. And along one of the torch-lit passageways leading there, The Mutt had swayed worryingly before listing into the wall. Having made impact with the wall, The Mutt proceeded to slump to the floor, lying still without so much as a twitch.
This only serves to reignite Rhae’s hysterics, and Maekar is forced to summon no fewer than four men to help lift the beast and carry it the rest of the way to the maesters chambers. Maekar is left standing in the corridor, his distraught daughter clutched tight in his arms, and his ears ringing from her cries, exhaustion and worry and overwhelm making his head grow light.
The world around him starts to spin, and his ears ring, and he is saved only by the appearance of the girls nursemaid, reaching to take Rhae from his arms. But having only just gotten her back he’s reluctant to let go, even as the world around him continues to spin.
Rhae too, seems reluctant to be separated from her father, her little arms curling tight around his neck.
“Now, princess,” the nursemaid tuts, “we’ve to get you clean and warm before you take ill. I’d thought to get you cleaned up in the maesters chambers so you could watch over Duncan, but if you’d prefer to stay here in the corridor that’s fine too I suppose.”
Rhae seems to take all of five seconds to consider the statement, before she starts wriggling in an attempt to free herself from his arms. Ever so gently the nursemaid pries his youngest child from his arms, and trots off down the corridor, following on the heels of makeshift stretcher which had carried The Mutt.
After the chaos of the courtyard, and his daughters ringing cries, the quiet of the passageway is near eerie. And in need of stable support to keep him upright until the world stops spinning Maekar leans heavily against the wall, and attempts somewhat fruitlessly to get his thundering heart under control.
Rhae is home.
He’d held her in his arms; had felt the weight of her arms around his neck, and had stroked her soft hair, and had heard her voice, trembling but still strong.
She was safe.
She was safe.
She was safe.
He repeated the sentiment in his own mind, attempting to convince himself of this.
She was safe.
He’d held her in his arms, and had seen with his own eyes that the worst of her injuries was a bruised cheek and a little rope burn. She would heal from these things, and there wouldn’t even be a scar to tell stories about.
She was safe.
She was safe, and in near hysterics, for the sake of The fucking Mutt.
And Maekar inhales a shuddering breath at the memory of the beast.
He’d thought it a mere illusion, the product of a fear-struck mind, seeing his sweet little princess riding the hound like a pony. But he hadn’t imagined it. The Mutt had come running through the gates, Rhae atop his back, and it became clear that The Mutt had run through the night, grievously injured, to bring Rhae home, refusing to stop, to rest, until she was safely back in her father’s arms.
His hands tremble just the slightest amount, and he clenches them into fists in an attempt to stop it, his mind fixating inexorably on the suspicious dark stain around The Mutts mouth, a match for the stain dripping down The Mutt’s right fore-paw. Gradually his hands slow in their trembling, though his gut clenches at the implications of The Mutts filthy maw. Clearly the rescue had necessitated some violence, the evidence of such lingering on The Mutt.
With a few more deep breaths the world once more stands still, and Maekar manages to push himself back onto his own two feet, frowning at the clanking sound produced by his armour.
A moment later, an attendant materialises from thin air, as though he had been hiding around a corner waiting for Maekar to stop panicking. Not for the first time, Maekar is thankful for the discretion of his staff. The attendant remains quiet, silently helping him to remove his armour, until he’s left standing in the passageway in only trousers and boots and a wooden tunic.
Now that he is no longer clinking in such an irritating manner, Maekar marches onwards towards the maesters chambers, not bothering to knock when he gets there, rather he pushes the door open entering as he pleases, as was his due as the prince of Summerhall.
What he finds is The Mutt laid out in front of the fireplace, the maester crouching over the beast, a small blade in hand, and his daughter, curled in a large armchair near the fire, hiding behind her hands in an attempt to keep from her eyes the view of the maester about to cut the arrowhead from The Mutts shoulder.
Maekar is grateful for the nursemaid, kneeling at Rhae’s feet, for helping to shield his daughter from the sight, some things so young a girl simply does not need to see. Maekar, however, does not look away. His eyes remain fixed on The Mutt, as the maester cuts out the offending arrowhead, and The Mutt doesn’t so much as twitch. Nor does it acknowledge the maester as he threads a needle and begins to stitch up the hastily cleaned wound. The Mutt’s stillness is disconcerting unto the extreme.
All too soon the deed is done, and the wound bandaged carefully, and Maekar looks to the maester for a report.
The maester washes his hands carefully, and Maekar stands beside him, speaking in a low tone so as not to be overheard by his daughter.
The maester looks at him long and hard, considering Maekar’s enquiry as to the health of the hound.
“I’ve removed the arrowhead,” the maester says carefully, “and the wound is cleaned and stitched. Providing that the wound doesn’t fester, I would expect Duncan to recover. I don’t rightly know a good deal about healing animals, it may be that even healed he may struggle to walk again, to bear weight on the injured limb, but he is a hardy beast. I am hopeful he’ll recover, and recover well.”
It’s a good thing that he has these reassurances from the maester, for a moment later the rest of his brood currently in residence at Summerhall, come spilling through the door, shouting over one another. Apparently the news had reached them of Rhae’s return.
Aegon runs straight for The Mutt, and Daella runs for Rhae, and then having confirmed that her sister is safe and in once piece, follows on Aegon’s heels and stumbles to her knees at his side. Daeron meanwhile chokes out a cry and leans against the wall, no longer able to support himself on his own two feet.
And it is only Maekar’s quick reassurances, backed up by the word of the maester, that saves the rest of his brood from joining their youngest sister in hysterics.
Even so, Daella looks decidedly teary-eyed as she strokes The Mutt’s ears, and Aegon lies down and curls close to The Mutt's back, arms reaching out to sink into the red-gold fur of the dogs side, keeping his hands carefully away from the bandaged wound. Daeron, however, had slid to the floor, and half sat and half lay against the wall, muttering nonsense to himself.
And Maekar can do little but stand in the middle of the room and watch as his children cry over The Mutt.
It takes a good long while and many many reassurances for the children to quiet. And even more assurances, and then a number of threats for the children to return to their own beds. Aegon had pleaded to be able to sleep on the cold stone floor of the maesters chambers, determined to sleep besides The Mutt. In the end he had to be carted off by one of the guards. Maekar had been able to hear his shouts from half way down the corridor.
Daeron, mostly done muttering to himself, staggers to his feet and staggers to the door, no doubt going to find himself a drink. Maekar is far far too tired to stop him or redirect him in any way.
Daella meanwhile proves herself to be his lovely sensible daughter. She strokes The Mutt’s ears, and leans down to press a kiss to The Mutt’s head, and then stands and goes to return to her room, ordering in a regal tone, that she is to be informed the moment there is an update on The Mutt’s health.
Once Rhae has been suitably warmed, and had been reassured that The Mutt would likely live, her nursemaid had managed to wrangle her back to her own room to be bathed properly. And Maekar half expects her to remain there and sleep, and yet only a short time later Rhae returns, a blanket clutched in her tiny fist, the end of it trailing behind her, her damp silver hair pulled back into a loose braid.
In hindsight he ought not be surprised by this behaviour, and yet in the moment he startles where he is sat in the armchair which Rhae had vacated.
Rhae stands in the doorway and meets his gaze dead on and refuses to look repentant. Instead she strides forward with all the dignity that a seven year old girl can muster, and comes to stand besides the armchair, staring with solemn eyes down at The Mutt.
Maekar, not content to let her remain standing on the cold flagstones of the floor, reaches out to pull her close, drawing her into his lap. She acquiesces without a fight, settling quickly and snuggling against his chest, settling the blanket over her lap.
She says nothing, and silence draws out in the maesters chambers, silent but for the sounds of the rooms residents breathing.
“What happened?” Maekar asks, and for a while longer Rhae remains silent, eyes fixed upon The Mutt.
Eventually she heaves a great sigh, certainly too great a sigh for one so young, and then she deigns to speak, her words are mumbled.
“We were out riding.”
Maekar resists the urge to point out that he already knew this.
“They came out of the woods, the mean men.”
Maekar had known this already, having been told already by Daella’s guard.
“And they shot at the guards. Did Eric make it back?”
Rhae’s voice trembles, and Maekar shakes his head sharply, and Rhae’s breath hitches, mourning the loss of the guard she had known since birth. When she continues her voice is wet with tears.
“My pony went too slow to keep up with Daella. And the mean men got me.”
And there’s a pressure building in his throat, making his breathing laboured, though he fights to keep it even, if only to remain steadfast for his daughter.
“They hurt my pony. And one of them hit me. And they tied my wrists. And they put me on the horse with one of the men. And they didn’t stop even when I cried.”
Maekar wishes the scouts godspeed in returning to Summerhall with news of these ‘mean men’, for he so longs to have a direction in which to direct his wrath.
“It got dark,” Rhae said, voice growing smaller, “and it got scarier. I think even the mean men were scared because of the dark and the rain. And they stopped. They built a fire, but they didn’t let me close. I was so cold.”
And Maekar pulls her closer, wrapping the blanket tighter around her. She ought never to be cold, ought never to feel hunger, or pain, or fear. Indeed what good is it being a prince, with wealth and prestige and power if he cannot guarantee these things for his family?
“And then Duncan came out of the dark, and then the mean men were really scared.”
And for all that this is a horrific story, Maekar can’t help but be amused by the glee in his daughters voice. She had been terrified and alone, and her beloved guardian had run through the night to get to her. And she’d had the privilege of seeing her guardian right the wrongs that had been done to her.
Maekar wished with every fibre of his being that his daughter had not needed to experience such fear. And yet he can’t help but to be pleased, even just a little, that she’d had her vengeance, her vindication. So few ever got such a thing after being wronged.
“All the men were screaming. But then Duncan made them quiet. And one of them shot him. But it didn’t stop Duncan, not for a second.”
And it is perhaps a testament to The Mutt’s strength and determination and affection for Rhae, for a single arrow was enough to fell most men if the shot was well placed. That The Mutt could take such a wound and keep going was nothing short of impressive.
“And when they were all quiet, he came to get me. I didn’t want to get on his back, he was hurt already and I didn’t want to hurt him more. But he nudged me until I did. And he ran home.”
And once more his daughters voice had taken on a teary, wet quality. Rhae was perhaps the most mischievous of all of his children, but she had the softest heart too. And Maekar knew that the idea of hurting The Mutt, when it was already hurt, truly broke her heart.
“He saved me.” Rhae said, “Duncan saved me.”
And it struck Maekar then, that it was perhaps cruel of him to continue to refer to Duncan as The Mutt, when he had done so much keep his family safe. Still, he swallowed back the guilt and swore to be kinder to the dog. To be kinder to Duncan. Surely that was the least of what Duncan deserved.
Rhae didn’t have anything to say after that. She just sighed and snuggled closer in his lap, closing her eyes.
Good sense told him that he ought to stand and return her to her bed. To tuck her in safely, and to take himself off to his own bed. And yet he remained frozen in his armchair, and didn’t move until dawn broke several hours later. Rather he stayed in his seat, and held his daughter close, and watched as Duncan slept on, the rise and fall of his side, the only sign that he still lived.
For the three days and three nights that follow that harrowing night, Duncan barely twitches, and the palace seems to hold its breath. His children are melancholy. His servants are melancholy. His guards are melancholy. Maekar himself is melancholy.
His children had abandoned their lessons to sit in the maesters chambers, watching Duncan breathe. And neither Maekar nor any of his children’s teachers had the heart to reprimand them for doing so.
On the second day the scouts return with their reports. And the reports align well with that Rhae had already told him, and yet the scouts tell a more worrying story, for they have the ability to look upon the evidence with adult eyes and to see things that Rhae was yet too young to see.
They’d found Rhae’s sweet little pony slain, and a mess of tracks leading away from the grim scene. And when they’d followed the tracks to their conclusion they’d found a veritable massacre.
A campfire and five spooked horses still leashed to nearby trees. Four men slain, their throats torn out. And one man yet living, though missing a hand and delirious from loss of blood. The scouts had packed up the camp and had returned to Summerhall with the men, both living and dead, and every item they’d found at the camp along with them, all brought back to Summerhall for Maekar to examine at his leisure.
And so Maekar had had the chance to witness with his own eyes exactly what a Bear Island Hound was capable of, when forced to defend their charges.
He’d seen a good number of dead bodies in his years, a natural side effect of having fought in a number of battles. And somehow he’d never before seen a throat gored in quite the same way as he did the day the scouts returned.
Four full grown men, eyes blank in death, and their throats torn wide open, their clothing soaked with blood, dried into dark reddish-brown patches.
And it is a punch to the gut to realise not only just what violence a Bear Island Hound was capable of, but also to realise exactly how much self control Duncan had, and how much affection he bore for Maekar’s brood, that he had never touched any of them with that same violence.
Indeed in the entire time that Duncan had resided at Summerhall, Maekar had only ever seen him displeased the once, when Aerion had gone to scare Aegon. And even then Duncan had barked loud and had stood firm between the brothers, and yet he had done nothing more than that. Certainly nothing to suggest that he was capable of killing a grown man, of killing multiple grown men.
Duncan had always been the very picture of patience with his children, long suffering though the dog must be with their antics.
The one man left living, eyes feverish with fear and bloodloss, was confined to the cells. And though Maekar was in a vengeful mood, he ordered the maester to see to the rogue. For though he wished the bastard dead, he wanted him alive enough to answer some questions first.
And then all that was left was for Maekar to examine the paraphernalia that the scouts brought back form the camp. Bed rolls, and food, and a number of weapons. And most telling of all, a scroll of paper, marked with a black dragon.
His hands had trembled as he held it in his hands, visions of Redgrass flashing before his eyes.
And in his turmoil he hardly had the focus to put it all together. Rather he piled the evidence atop the desk in his solar. And he half stalked and half stumbled back to the maesters chambers, where the found the room blissfully empty save for Duncan. No doubt his children had been called away for the midday meal, though they would not stay gone for long, Maekar was thankful for the quiet of the room.
Uncaring of dust or wrinkled trousers Maekar knelt beside Duncan.
“You will not die,” Maekar says, half command and half plea, laying a hand atop Duncan’s head, “you will wake, and I will see to it that you live the rest of your life in peace and comfort.”
And this vow he means to keep.
In the months that Duncan had resided in the castle, he had saved Rhae from a potential Blackfyre plot, and Aegon from the wrath of Aerion, and Daeron from his dreams. And Maekar from the cold and from his own anger. And Maekar owes him a debt, for Duncan had done all of this for nothing more than what amounted to table scraps. And this was a mistake that must be corrected.
Maekar would see to it that Duncan will be given the choicest cuts of meat, and his own featherbed, and every luxury that Targaryen gold could afford to buy.
Content that his command had been made, and that it would be followed, for Duncan was nothing if not obedient and loyal, Maekar stands again and stalks from the maesters chambers, stalking towards the dining hall to find the rest of his family.
-
In the days that followed, Maekar came to accept that he would likely never know the full truth of the matter; Rhae would not speak further of the events, not to Maekar nor to any of her siblings, and the lone living man that the scouts had returned had survived the loss of his hand, though was seemingly too terrified to speak, despite possessing a working tongue.
The only other living witness was Duncan, and Duncan could never speak the truth of the matter unless the gods saw fit to intervene and to gift Duncan with a voice.
Maekar could get no answer from the lone living rogue, and he feared doing more to get answers from him, for he did not trust his own self control not to take things too far and to kill the man before he was able to get the answers.
In the end it was decided that once the rogue was fit to travel, Maekar would send him to the Red Keep along with the rest of the evidence, and Brynden could do his work to find the truth of the matter.
-
Finally on the fourth morning, Maekar had once again spent the evening sleeping in the armchair in the maesters quarters, and was woken by Aegon’s cheerful cries, veritable crows of victory.
He blinked blearily in the dawn light streaming through the window, and found himself staring down at Duncan, only to realise that Duncan was staring right back at hime with his too intelligent blueblueblue eyes. And though he was not a man given to sentimentality he felt almost like crying in relief.
For days he’d been bracing himself for Duncan’s death, and had feared being forced to face the challenge of keeping his household together in the wake of the loss. And for the first time in days he has hope. Duncan lives, and he has woken, and the fragile balance of sanity in Summerhall grows a touch more stable.