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“It is an insult,” the man hissed. “I knew that his Grace had a love for the smallfolk, and I could even accept that- that peasant for a Lord Commander in light of his service to the crown. But this is going too far. King Aegon has become too easily influenced by that man; action needs to be taken! He needs to be talked to!”
His companion looked anything but enthusiastic. “And what would you have us do, mhm? You know as well as I do that the king won’t listen to reason. He may as well love that hedge knight like a father– not to mention that any assassination attempts seemed rather unsuccessful.”
“Only because he assumed they were aimed at the king instead of himself. If he just didn’t see it coming, then—”
The elder shushed him with a wave of his hand. “Leave it, boy. You ought to learn that not all problems can be solved by the simple use of violence. Action shall be taken, but not by you. The king needs proper advisors to trust and a lesson on whom he should surround himself with. I will see to that he receives both myself.”
XXX
If there was one thing that Aegon hated about ruling, it was the endless boredom of it all. Many would fine it surprising, he knew, and yet it was still the truth. Being the king and ruling a realm was tedious work. A constant battle between small council sessions about wheat harvests or tax deliberations and pulling teeth with his noble lords about every little thing left him dreadfully glum. It made him want to refuse to leave his bed during certain days. He probably wouldn’t either if it weren’t for Betha’s insistent nagging.
He sighed, closing his eyes. His Ser had excused himself from today’s small council by virtue of some other duty Aegon had forgotten already. For what crime this was the punishment for, he did not know. Usually Ser Duncan made these things somewhat bearable with his occasional remark or joke. Now that he was gone, all Aegon could think to do was lament about when he’d finally get to leave. Or pray for something interesting to happen while he was there, so it didn’t feel like a total waste.
Alas, perhaps he should have chosen that last wish more carefully.
Just as they were about to move to some fishing disputes, the doors to the council chamber flew open. Wood and iron alike banged against the stone wall- the echoes of their impact announcing the arrival of one rather frazzled-looking man holding a piece of parchment in his hand.
“Your Grace!” The man half-yelled as he nearly ran towards them, only stopped by the guards around the room that seemed ready to jump in at any moment. “Your Grace! My deepest apologies– but I have something urgent to show you! It cannot possibly wait!”
It took him a while to recognise the man. He was of rather average height with greying brown hair. His clothes were grotesquely rich, as if he needed to show the world something. An ugly mud green mixed with brown and misplaced gold jewellery. Lord Abyford, his mind supplied, from a minor house sworn to the Baratheons. He acted as some sort of representative. But of whom? He didn’t remember Baratheon sending anyone, most certainly not after that disaster with his failed rebellion. He’d been rather cross with them after that still; usually his daughter did her best to mediate…so what could possibly be important enough for him to see fit to interrupt the small council..…
“Your Grace.” The lord repeated breathlessly, having come to a halt in front of the table. Aegon could see his Master of Ships readying to reprimand the other for bursting in like that, only for Lord Abyford to cut the protest short before he could even start. “I- I have made a horrible discovery! You have to see this!”
If he was trying to convince anyone of something with the constant use of his title, it wasn’t working.
The king raised an eyebrow. “It is quite alright, my friends.” He soothed the rest of his council who were ready to utter some choice words, “I shall entertain our unexpected guest. What is the matter?”
Lord Abyford quickly shoved towards him a yellow scroll of parchment. “It’s the Lord Commander! I- O- One of my guards has overheard Ser Duncan converse with a suspicious-looking person yesterday. They were whispering, and he could hear how it was obvious they were up to no good! My guard– he’s loyal to the crown and the law, Your Grace. But also stupid and daring! But thank the Seven still— you see, when he snuck into the Lord Commander’s quarters later- I know he should not have, believe me —he found this!”
He pointed towards the parchment Aegon had begun to unfurl and pass around the table.
“Oh, I could not believe it! But it’s the truth! Your own Lord Commander Ser Duncan is conspiring against you, Your Grace! He has thrown himself in with that Blackfyre lot and is planning to assassinate you! I- I am so sorry, for I knew how close you were. But once I understood I- I just couldn’t stand by! See his- Just read his letter where he pledges loyalty to the last pretenders! He needs to be executed immediately!”
Almost like the calm before a storm, there was a short moment of silence. It was as though time had frozen. No one moved, not the king nor his council nor even the guards, as if they needed to sit with the accusation before they could properly understand what had happened.
Then, beside him, his Master of Coin broke out hollering, utterly unable to stop himself or keep his composure. “I-I’m sorry, You Grace–” the man coughed out between bouts of laughter. Tears stung his eyes, and he had a hand pressed into his side. “It’s– It’s just the thought alone— Please– please excuse me..I– I think I–” Whatever he wanted to say was quickly cut off by another wave of snickers. Probably because the lord had made the fatal mistake of glimpsing some of the words written on the parchment.
Lord Abyford stared at him with open contempt. “This is no laughing matter, my Lord!” He reprimanded, “The Lord Commander is planning to betray his king! We must act quickly before something foul happens; I always knew it was a bad idea to trust a mere lowborn!”
The Master of Coin had to brace himself on the table to prevent himself from falling off his chair from laughter.
Aegon did not take any offence in it, not when he himself had to do his best to school his impression. He nodded toward his direction, “You are more than excused, my friend.” The other warbled a strained thank you as the king straightened himself back up. “ But I agree, this is a very serious matter. It seems I have made a great mistake, my lords. It is I who should apologise to you.”
Lord Abyfort bristled. “It is not your fault to have placed trust in the wrong man, you Gra-”
“It seems the people of my realm think me an idiot,” the King announced. “I must not have appeared very intelligent, seeing how they expect me to fall for such a….bold lie.”
“I do not lie, Your Grace!” It was interesting, Aegon thought, how quickly the man in front of him could shift tones. An edge of panic was creeping into his voice, no doubt. For good cause, though he did not know that yet. “I know it is hard to accept, but I assure you that what I am telling you is nothing but the truth!”
Luckily for him, Aegon’s Master of Whisperers was better at controlling his moods than his Master of Coin was. Even if it was just marginally. The man laid his hand flat on the table. “Do not be alarmed, Your Grace.” He insisted, “It is obvious that the current generation has become deficient in their skills. I keep on telling you this. But times have changed! The youth these days had no wits about them, let me tell you! When I was younger, our political intrigues were at least believable! We did our proper research and planning! Unlike the lot we have to deal with these days.” He shook his head and looked towards an increasingly confused and concerned Lord Abyford, “Lord Commander Ser Duncan planning to betray our king- and what would you like to tell us next!? That we are all pretty pink fairy creatures in tutus doing a dance!? Or that the sky has turned green and the grass has become blue!? This is a waste of time even for me! Truly, what has this world come to….”
“Perhaps a cause of brain damage!” the Grand Maester, ever concerned, jumped in. “Sometimes men become unusually dim after an injury to the head. It is a sensitive organ, our brain, and even just a slight bit of harm can do irreversible damage. Lord Abyford, have you hit your head sometimes in your past? During a tourney or an accident or anything such?”
“Grand Maester, I forbid myself for you to-”
“I will take that as a yes, then.” His Hand jumped in at that point. The other man quickly realised that his chances of being able to finish his sentence were becoming slimmer and slimmer. “We should have him seen to in that case. If it is an injury that caused this, we will need to prevent it, lest the Seven Kingdoms will become filled with people of a similar intelligence. I say we give out a general warning once we understand what the root issue is and prevent a problem before it can even develop.”
But the Master of Whisperers seemed not exactly convinced by his fellow councillor’s argument. “Ay, that may be the explanation for another man. This one though? This one is born that way! I can see it in his glassy eyes in fact. Whatever he had behind there, he mistreated it with wine and ideas of grandeur. Or he was simply born as such from the start. It takes a special kind of simple to have such ideas, let me tell you. Not many men have it.”
His Master of Ships sighed. “It pains me to say this, but I must agree. Not that I would ever use this knowledge to harm you, Your Grace, but even I could forge a better letter. Just look at the phrases he used. From my devotion, you can infer my loyalty, for that is the measure of it or Rest be assured that there is nothing more important to me than your satisfaction, and that as such, any satisfaction you feel is satisfaction to feel of my very own? The mere thought of disloyatly crossing the Lord Commander’s mind would have been absurd enough on its own already. But anyone with functioning eyes would know that good Ser Duncan could never have penned this letter. Forgive me for mentioning him; I know you were not close, but what would Bloodraven say to see such a botched attempt at framing someone? The art of political intrigue has fallen on sad times.”
“Bloodraven would say nothing,” Aegon responded. “He always was of the quieter type. Not to mention that he has greater issues at the Wall.”
“The day Ser Duncan manages to pen a letter so eloquently,” the Master of Whisperers groused, “Is the day I myself will go to the Wall. Which means this dimwit could not even bother to steal other writings of the man to emulate his own way of doing it!”
“B-But my lord, I only—”
Aegon grabbed the parchment from where it had lain upon the desk and threw it into the flames. “The Wall is where you’ll be going after all of this is over, Lord Abyford,” he told him seriously. “Guards, take him away to the dungeons. See to it that someone investigates this…I dare not even call it a proper plot. Investigate this incident!”
“Isn’t the punishment for trying to trick the king execution? Not to mention that he tried to incriminate an innocent man, your Lord Commander no less.” His Master of Laws asked.
The king shrugged. “He stopped me from dying of boredom.”