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Summerhall - 207 A.C.
Maekar was going over Summerhall’s ledger at his desk. Dyanna’s investment in Dornish horses had paid off. They were selling the foals from her mix of Dornish sand horses and Stormland warhorses, to many houses. As a matter of fact, that year it wouldn’t have mattered if half the tenants failed to pay their taxes. Summerhall would’ve still made a revenue. Dyanna had always been the one good with business. Maekar was a good administrator, he’d make do with as little or as much riches as they had. But it had been Dyanna who had made Maekar’s stipend become disposable income.
Grief stabbed at his heart that she was not here to see it. He had barred Storm their stable hand from throwing away her intricate embossed saddle. Though he had also ordered him not to ever let him see it again.
He had received a raven from Aemon at The Citadel, it had been written in perfect High Valyrian. Looking at the opened letter, Maekar took his quill and wrote once again a missive to his father asking for Aegon to be allowed to return to Summerhall.
As Maekar walked to give the letter to the maester he realized his apartments seemed oddly quiet. He stopped at the door that would lead out to the other inhabitant of the keep’s quarters. Ser Edder stood guard.
“My apartments are oddly quiet,” Maekar commented.
“Yes, they are, Your Grace,” The man agreed stoically.
“Where are my children?” Maekar asked, for if his apartments were this quiet, it surely meant his children had vanished.
“Prince Aerion went fishing, Princess Daella is playing in the gardens with her maid, the septa and her guards,” Ser Edder said without looking at Maekar.
“And Princess Rhae?” Maekar asked again.
He would not even ask about his eldest, who could very well be passed out in the kitchen stairs and he wasn't in the mood to deal with that at the moment.
“Her nursemaid fell ill and Prince Daeron offered to watch over her,” Ser Edder explained quicker than he normally spoke.
Maekar pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Why,” Maekar took a pause, “wasn’t I informed?”
“Dunno, Your Grace,” Ser Edder said, shrugging, “I thought you knew until you asked,”
Maekar sighed and handed the carefully folded letter to Ser Edder.
“Take this letter to Maester Trytas and when Princess Daella and her retinue return, have Septa Brise,” He ordered and turned around without waiting for an answer.
“At once, Your Grace,” he heard Lord Edder call.
The nursery was empty.
“Fuck me!” he complained.
Maekar certainly did not run to Daeron’s rooms. As he stood outside the door, he hesitated. He was afraid of what he would find. He wouldn’t have been three years ago. But he was now and it had everything to do with his eldest son.
“Fuck me!”
He didn’t say it. Daeron hadn’t said it. Fuck him. Rhae had said it.
It was her childish, bell-like voice. Sounding as stern and dry as a four-year-old girl could sound. It had undeniably been Rhae. Any other parent would wonder where such a young princess had learned such profanities. Maekar didn’t need to wonder, he knew exactly where she had learned it. Any other parent would be scandalized. Maekar wasn’t, he was slightly amused. Dyanna would’ve been amused and pretended otherwise.
Slowly, carefully and - especially - silently, Maekar opened the door. He really wanted to catch Daeron’s reaction. The scene he found wasn’t what he had expected. He actually didn’t know what he had expected.
Daeron was asleep or rather, judging from the depth of his sleep, passed out drunk on the floor. He was covered by one of the capes Rhaegel had sent his nieces and nephews the day his namesake was born. Speaking of whom. Rhae had her dolls lined up standing using Daeron’s body to prop them up. Rhae was wearing one of the fabric armors. It was fraying and falling apart but the children refused for it to be thrown out. She held a small pillow under her arm. She was pacing back and forth in front of the dolls, shaking her head.
“Fuck me!” She repeated, “Stand up straight! If you slouch, the enemy kills us! And if they kill us, we die!”
Maekar cocked his head to the side. Solid logic.
She stops in front of a doll and leans in, the toy is starting to slip down Daeron’s side.
“You! Stand up. If you fall you will get a…” Rhae stopped, no doubt looking for a suitable punishment, “You’ll get no dessert with supper!”
Satisfied with herself she continued her play. Then she ran to the trunk with toys and grabbed a wooden toy. Maekar recognized it, he had bought it for Aegon and it had been left behind. Rhae placed the horse at the end of the line.
“That horse is lame!” She said with an accusing tilt of her chin.
“He’s a good boy, aren’t you?” She answered herself changing her tone, grabbing the last doll and turning it towards the wooden horse “You can ride to battle, boy.”
“Don’t speak to your horse. They only know the corn!” She continued in her stern voice.
“Pardon me,” she said in the other voice.
“No - no pardon - you will get… spanking…” Rhae admonished.
Then Daeron moved slightly in his sleep knocking the dolls down. Rhae sighed like she was six and fifty and not four, looking up at the ceiling in an expression Maekar found all too familiar.
“You cannot fall!” Rhae exclaimed “Idiots, if you fall we die! And the children die! Everyone dies!”
It was a bit dramatic. They were at peacetime. But Maekar supposed no one played toy soldiers to pretend to clean boots and swords. Carefully his black-haired girl returned the dolls to a standing position one by one. Daeron did not stir again.
“If you fall and you die, what am I supposed to tell your wives?” Rhae asked in a softer but still stern voice, “that their children have no father, because their father is - was - an idiot?”
Maekar nodded. Soldiers always could die, they didn’t need to. What was Rhae’s rank, he wondered. Maybe she was still Princess Rhae in her play pretend. After all, the doll with the horse had called her “Your Grace”.
When the dolls were all standing again, they were very crooked because Daeron’s shift made it impossible for her to arrange them in a straight line. The doll with the horse was no longer propped up against Daeron’s hip, but against his ass. Maybe Rhae would consider that enough punishment for his - her? - lame horse.
“You call that a shield wall? I saw better formations from… from…” Again the little girl struggled to find the proper word.
She paced two, three more times before she found it.
“My daughters!” She exclaimed “The little princesses would be better soldiers than you sorry lot!”
Then it dawned on Maekar. Rhae’s rank was Prince of Summerhall and Lord Commander of its armies. Rhae was playing at being him.
He felt so cold and so warm at the same time. It was such an odd feeling that he almost gasped and interrupted her. If she was playing at being him, then she admired him. His children were known for getting into fights to avoid being saddled with the role of the villain. But she shouldn't be imitating him. She should be imitating her mother. But she had no memory to mold herself after. She molded herself after him. Playing at being a nagging curmudgeon instead of a smart lady.
“Now we fucking march!”
The profanity brought him back to the room. Rhae was now dragging the dolls one after the other in formation. Maekar’s feet carried him to her. He almost laughed at the surprise on her mismatched eyes when she turned to look at him. Before she could speak, Maekar sank down next to her.
“Soldiers do not drag their feet,” he whispered, picking up a doll and making it walk like he made his childhood toys walk.
When was the last time he played with his children?
“And they hold the line,” he said, picking another doll with his free hand and making it march after the other.
“If they break, we…” Rhae searched for a fitting punishment to offer her father, “we…”
“We force them back into lines,” Maekar explained, “The commanders atop of horses ride on the sides to guide them”
Once you were marching into battle, you could not really punish the troops. They wouldn’t fight well if they were whipped or improperly fed.
“We force the bastards with horses!” Rhae repeated, moving the wooden horse to ‘ride’ alongside the dolls.
“Why don’t we go play in my rooms? I’m sure there is a box with toy soldiers there,” Maekar offered his littlest princess.
“Yes!” Rhae said, jumping into his arms.
Maekar looked at Daeron and stood up.
“Should we wake him?” Maekar asked, picking Rhae up.
“No, peka,” Rhae said softly, “He had a very bad dream last night - that’s why we were practicing - we need to defend him,”
“From what?”
“The cold,” Rhae answered solemnly.
“The cold?” Maekar repeated, confused. It was summer.
“Daeron dreamed. A white old dragon was joined by a winged wolf in the snow. There was another dragon, surrounded by grass. And the cold came for them,”
Rhae sounded worried.
“It was just a nightmare, Rhae,” Maekar assured, caressing her messy hair.
He’d have to have a talk with Daeron about frightening the younglings with his nightmares.
“You really think you’d be better than my men?” Maekar asked, walking out the door with Rhae perched on his hip.
“I don’t know…” Rhae said, leaning her head against his shoulder, “I don’t think I could pick up a mace or a sword,”
Maekar hummed in response.
“But maybe a bow!” Rhae exclaimed excitedly.
“Oh, no,” Maekar grunted, “You're better than an archer!”
Summerhall - 219 A.C.
It was the first time since he had come back that he had gone down to the training yard. It wasn’t that he was undisciplined. He knew he should have been training. That it would help with his grief. But broken ribs and a broken ankle tended to keep you out of training for a while. Especially out of training with a mace.
He didn’t even walk to the stands, he had a chair fetched and placed at an angle where he could see but not be seen. He had spotted Rhae and Lady Kiera sitting in the stands. And they would surely fuss over him. And yes, he was grieving and injured, but he was no poor old man. He had just ridden into battle and won.
At the moment Aegon was training with Ser Duncan. A few feet away Aerion was sparring with one of those Lorathi sellswords he had brought over with him. Daeron was… somewhere in the palace. Ser Durran was surely in the nursery with his son, grief had kept him in Daella’s apartments. Ser Edder was the only company he’d accept.
Maekar sighed and studied his children’s form. Aerion and Aegon were fine swordsmen. Both were slim and quick. Completely different fighters than him, but competent. Aerion might even be better than Baelor had been. Aegon was holding his own, but Maekar knew that was a real battle, there was no way Aegon would beat the knight.
But there was something in the way his children and Ser Duncan were fighting. They were looking to tire themselves out. Not necessarily keep form. But to push their body so far, their mind couldn’t keep up. Make their muscles ache so badly that it eclipsed the ache of their heart. Maekar had done it. He still did it. He would keep doing it until his body gave up on him.
Maekar’s eyes shot to the ladies in the stands, clad in black. Unable to beat each other out of their grief. Lady Kiera, who had lost two children, and a husband. Spent long stretches of time in the nursery staring at the babe and crying. Daenora remained inside, much like Durran, apart from the family as much as she could. Rhae had quietly filled every practical role Daella had fulfilled ever since their mother had died. Granted she had the same grace as her father, but the same efficiency. Managing both Summerhall - with Kiera’s help - and Dragonstone. Sometimes, when Maekar couldn’t sleep he could see her ride at dawn. She rode as if she was racing someone. She always was back by the time the family broke their fast.
He supposed it was her equivalent of beating or being beaten by another knight.
She was a lady already. A strong one at that. He’d hate to part with her.
He refused to think of that at the moment and returned his eyes back to his sons.
Aegon managed to push Ser Duncan back. He’d thrown dirt in his face. A foul. It was a move that would get him disqualified on any tourney or any exhibition duel. But would keep him alive in any real battle. So Maekar didn’t mind. It seemed the former hedge knight didn’t either. Then Aegon used his shield to hit Duncan behind the knee, sending him stumbling backwards.
Maekar didn't even have time to enjoy his son’s cleverness, because Duncan crashed into Aerion’s back. There is no universe where that would end with both men simply standing up, dusting themselves off and going on with their sparring partners. Maybe the lowborn man would allow it, but not Aerion.
Indeed, Aerion would not.
He pushed Duncan away, before the man could even turn to apologize. Aerion stood and hissed something at Duncan and spit at the ground next to the man’s head. Maekar held his breath. Duncan exhaled, and stood up shaking his head. As the bigger man turned his back on the prince, Aerion pushed him. Duncan stopped and started to turn his head to say something, but he couldn’t have gotten even a full word out before Aerion’s fist collided with his jaw.
Ser Duncan managed to raise his other hand to stop the second blow. But it was useless. Aerion would not stop. It was obvious to anyone with eyes that the bigger man was just defending himself. While Aerion was raining rage down upon him.
Maekar pushed through his aching ribs and his throbbing ankle to stand, he grabbed the cane he was being forced to use. He’d put it to good use now. Before he could take a third step towards the training yard Daeron ran past him. Stirring a memory long lost. Had he been watching as well? Maekar had not noticed. Then as Daeron approached, Rhae flew from the stands and grabbed the bucket of water from the ground and splashed it all over her brother and his victim. Like they were two fighting dogs.
It was as undignified as effective.
The men stood up and Rhae quickly got in the middle.
Aerion looked ready to strike his sister, he even raised his hand. Maekar started walking faster despite the pain. Daeron got in between his siblings, while Rhae threw the bucket down next to Aerion, puffing out her chest, as if she was daring him to strike her. Daeron pushed Aerion away. And Ser Duncan kneeled to pick up his sword and walk away. Aegon stared from a distance, glaring daggers into his older brother.
“What a knight you are!” Daeron screamed for everyone to hear, “raping innocent princesses!”
Ser Duncan whipped around.
“Say that again!” he roared, trying to sidestep Rhae and Daeron.
Fuck the broken bones, Maekar was ready to break into a sprint.
Rhae snapped her head towards the knight, her mismatched eyes hard as iron.
“If steel is drawn I will not intervene for your sake again!” she warned through her teeth.
Daeron turned and put a hand on Duncan’s chest and the other on his brother’s, his face exhausted, as if that would stop the men if they decided to go at it again. Duncan and Rhae stared each other down. The Princess won quickly and Ser Duncan walked away back towards Aegon, who looked slightly disappointed that the giant man had not beaten his brother. Again.
Maekar stopped and leaned against the stand structures as Daeron and Rhae dragged Aerion past him into the palace. They didn’t seem to notice him. Too preoccupied with managing the situation. Lady Kiera did, she walked towards him and offered to accompany him back inside.
Maekar and his good-daughter managed to catch up to his children when they were climbing the steps towards the private quarters of Summerhall. Daeron was leaning against the railing a couple steps behind Aerion and Rhae was taking full advantage of being higher up on the stairs to stare her second oldest brother in the eye.
They could hear them quarrelling. Maekar quietly told Kiera to stop.
“You are a terrible person, Aerion,” Rhae hissed, “You insist on proving it again and again. Burdening father more and more. Causing him further grief!”
“Why did you step in then?” Aerion snapped, “Egg’s brute could certainly beat me,”
“Because, whether we enjoy it or not, you are our brother,” Rhae said, sounding offended he had even doubted she would’ve intervened.
“You intervened in his favour, you said it yourself,” Aerion accused.
“You are a prince - we all are. You are grieving Ella - we all are,” Rhae started, sternly, “It doesn’t give any of us the right to go around throwing slander recklessly,”
“Either that bastard raped our sister…” Aerion said with calculated coldness, “Or I slandered him and she was a slut,”
A moment of silence.
Lady Kiera looked at Maekar. Should we intervene? Her eyes asked.
Crack.
Rhae backhanded Aerion. With all her strength. Hard enough to make him go down a step and Daeron to stand up straight and stare at his youngest sibling in - maybe - awe.
Maekar shook his head. Rhae had it handled.
“You have no idea what you are talking about,” Rhae gasped, even from the distance Maekar could tell she had unshed tears in her eyes.
“And you do?” Aerion said, slowly turning back to look at her.
“Yes, because I actually fucking spoke to Daella,” She answered, her voice carefully steady.
Rhae took a step down, for her eyes to be even with Aerion’s again. The same dare from before in her teary eyes.
“You may hate him if you must. You may not dishonor yourself. Or Daella,” She sounded threatening.
No one moved again for a moment. Then Rhae’s head turned to Daeron.
“What are you staring at? Get him out of my sight!” She ordered as if it was the obvious course of action.
Summerhall’s heir hurried to drag his brother away, as if the order was issued by Maekar himself and not his youngest sister. Barely a woman grown.
The moment Daeron and Aerion crossed the corner of the stairs and Rhae thought she was alone, she sat down on the stairs and began sobbing. Again Kiera’s eyes asked him if they should intervene.
“She’d hate witnesses,” Maekar whispered and turned to go towards the drawing room on the ground floor.
Later that evening after supper Maekar summoned Rhae to his solar. She dropped onto the chair across from him, with her arms crossed and a frown on her face.
“How are you faring?” she asked, though it sounded like she was about to snap something at him.
Maekar grunted.
“Broken bones don’t heal as fast after thirty,” He commented.
Rhae’s frown turned to worry for a second, before she quickly schooled it back into a frown.
Maekar looked around struggling to find a topic of conversation that would not lead back to their grief.
“Look, if you are going to scold me for this morning, get on with it,”
“I wasn’t,” Maekar grunted, “I just wanted to spend some time with you, is that so unbelievable?"
Rhae looked at him with suspicion. Then she leaned back and relaxed.
“I am fascinating,” she said, relaxing onto her chair.
“Don’t push it,” Maekar said, but he couldn't hide his smile, “Pour us some wine, won’t you?”
Eventually Maekar didn’t need to find a topic of conversation. Rhae did. She made him recount his most stupid fights with his brothers… And how many of them had he won… If he were a less proud man he would’ve said that all but one of his fights with brothers had been stupid and petty. But he wasn’t, over thirty decades later he still considered some of them to have been very important. Also he liked to paint himself as a great warrior in his daughter’s eyes, so he mostly recounted fights against Aerys. Though he had one once, before he got sent to Dorne, won a fight against Baelor. He had bitten him admittedly, but he had made his point.
Later when his cheeks hurt from smiling, he finally asked.
“Why did you do it?”
He didn’t need to explain what it was.
“Because Aerion is our responsibility," Rhae said matter of factly.
“He’s not. He’s not yours, he’s mine,” Maekar sighed.
“He’s ours,” Rhae insisted and Maekar recognized himself beaten.
“A bucket of water? Truly?” Rhae shrugged as if saying: it worked, didn’t it?