Chapter Text
289 AL, Braavos.
"Keep your feet apart," Arthur said, pointing at his feet. "But not too wide, or you will be too slow when you need to move again."
Jaehaerys copied his stance, his hands gripping the wooden sword tightly. The boy looked up and firmed his lips.
"Now turn your feet straight, like this," Arthur said and demonstrated for the boy.
"Show me an overhead swing."
The boy brought the sword high and swung it down, parallel to his feet. It was not bad, but there was still time.
"Now swing it sideways."
The boy swung the sword to the left and lost his balance, and fell on his right side.
"Does it hurt?"
"A bit."
"Good. Remember the pain, you will not make the mistake again." When the boy stood back up, his tears held back by sheer will. "Why did you fall?" Arthur asked
"My feet?"
Arthur nodded. "The way your feet are planted, and the way you move them, is your footing. It is what keeps you standing."
"Like the roots of a tree?" Jaehaerys asked.
Arthur smiled. "Exactly. But a tree has hundreds of roots that keep it standing against winds from every direction. You do not have hundreds of feet, do you?"
"No, Arthur, I have only two!" The boy laughed, the sound bright. So unlike Rhaegar.
"Then you must keep moving your feet to keep standing. Because as long as you are standing – "
"– I will be alive! I remember that."
"Good. Now repeat after me."
It went on, again and again – until the boy could barely hold the sword anymore. There were a few scratches and bruises, but they would all help the boy survive, and survive better than his father had.
"Will we train tomorrow?" Jaehaerys asked.
"Do you want to?"
"I don't want to," the boy said. "But I need to be strong, like you and Ser Oswell. Not weak like Vis – "
"Remember, Jaehaerys, he is your king. You must not speak ill of His Grace." Do not give the madman a reason to kill you, boy.
"But it is true, you know how he whines everytime you beat him in a spar," Jaehaerys said.
"So be it. You have to be careful around him, Jaehaerys. Never speak of him unless you are alone with me. Is that understood?"
The boy looked down and nodded. Arthur sighed and picked him up, immediately bringing a smile to the little face. You mean more to me than you are to them, child, Arthur thought, but never spoke such words. Do not make me lose you too.
Not that Viserys was capable of such cruelty. Not yet. One day, he would be, of that, Arthur had little doubt. For now, they were all children, with more enemies than they deserved.
"I only say this because you must be loyal to your brother. He is your elder, and it is your duty to obey him."
"He said I was weak, Arthur, that I was not his real brother–"
"What did he say?"
"That I was not his brother, but a bastard. What does that mean, Arthur?" Jaehaerys seemed scared.
Arthur pushed his anger down with a deep breath. "You will understand when you are older. For now, he is just being mean to you."
"Like he is to Dany?"
The other ghost haunting us old fools in white cloaks...
"What did he say to her?"
"That she killed our mother when she was born – "
That little shitstain. Viserys was old enough to know better than to speak of such things, he was no longer eight.
It had been the Queen's wish that Jaehaerys be raised as her own child, a twin to Daenerys. That way, it would be one less mark against a child of House Targaryen.
Viserys had been too old to be fooled by the lie, and too young to understand its necessity.
Arthur wished he could tell Jaehaerys the truth. There were many things Jaehaerys needed to know, but was too young to understand. One misplaced word to a servant and the usurper himself would sail east to kill them all. By all accounts, Baratheon's hate for Rhaegar had only grown, and if word were to reach the western shores that a son of Rhaegar lived, no Free City would stop the man – except, of course, Braavos.
" – but we were born at the same time. How is she the one who did it? I don't think she did it, not truly – " the boy went on, but Arthur did not pay it much mind. If he did, he would join Jaime Lannister at his pedestal. I am no kingslayer.
"Queen Rhaella loved you two very much," Arthur said, recalling the final months on Dragonstone as the queen had held the last of her grandchildren, not letting the maids or her ladies touch Jaehaerys. "She loved you very much, Jaehaerys, always remember that, you and Daenerys both."
"I know," Jaehaerys said, his head resting on Arthur's shoulder. "You never lie."
Arthur was glad the boy could not see the tears in his eyes. What will I do when a mad child orders his brother's son killed? Or when the new queen's family thinks Rhaegar's son a threat to be silenced?
Blood would spill that day, and Arthur no longer trusted himself to know whose.
"Ser Willem will not live past the fortnight," Ser Gerold said.
Willem Darry had been sick for over a year. Only the man's stubbornness to serve the last of Targaryens had kept him alive for months.
"We cannot send his bones home," Whent said. "I wouldn't want you to send mine back either. Tully has us Whents and Darrys begging for scraps. I trusted my brother, but Lady Whent lost too much in the war. Darry even more, reduced to landed knights."
Desperate men cannot be trusted, Arthur recalled what Gerold had said everytime Viserys had asked to be taken back to the Seven Kingdoms. What are we, if not desperate men?
Gerold nodded. Age had caught up to the old man. "Another dishonor upon our names."
"What is one more? We have already reduced the King to an exile," Whent said. "And I bet there will be many more in the days to come. We have not even begun to plan for the King's return."
"Name it what it is, Oswell," Arthur said. "A conquest – one with no dragons, no fleet, and no army. I would never trust Oberyn, but his brother would declare for us if we give him what he wants."
"You say we accept their offer?" Oswell asked. "I grew up nowhere near the marches, but even a savage Northman would know better than that!"
"Better than what, Whent?" Arthur said clenched teeth. "To trust a Dornishman?"
"You know that was not what I meant, Arthur," Whent said, his voice rarely ever so soft and without bite. "And it was not I, nor Ser Gerold who taught His Grace the kind words he spoke to Prince Oberyn."
Oberyn Martell had come to Braavos, claiming every courtesan he came across. Someone –and it burned inside Arthur that he did not know who – had told Martell where to find the Targaryens.
Upon meeting the prince, Viserys had spoken without care. The kind words, as Oswell put it, had nearly sent Oberyn running back to Dorne. Arthur could only imagine what the snake would have done had he known the son of Lyanna Stark lived beneath the same roof.
"Viserys spent too many years beside Aerys," Whent continued. "We know what Aerys was."
"King Aerys is dead, let him have the peace he could not have in life," Gerold said. "I knew him before he lost himself. And I have to admit, not even he was as far gone as Viserys."
"It is the incest that brings madness in them, the Seven know it well," Whent said. "Madness, and weakness."
"Maybe so. But we have our vows," Gerold said. "And they do not end until the day we die."
Arthur wondered, in moments where hope seemed utterly lost to their cause, that Gerold wished that death came for him. While not a cheerful man by any stretch of that word, Gerold had not been dull either.
"We have a better King." the words had left Arthur's mouth before he realised it.
"The bastard?" Gerold said, his eyes hard and unblinking. "I will not have another Criston Cole among my men, Arthur. Is that understood?"
Arthur nodded.
"Is that understood?" Gerold repeated.
"Yes, Lord Commander."
I am a coward. Forgive me, old friend.
For long moments, they drank their water in silence.
"There was news from home," Gerold said. Born to the ancient family of Oldtown, the Lord Commander was the only one still in contact with his family. "My nephew believes Robert is king now, in spirit as well as name."
Was that not clear, Gerold? Arthur wanted to ask. Robert Baratheon had been king for over five years. Arthur knew there were not many houses waiting for the Targaryens to return, let alone hatching plots to raise the dragon banner above their keeps.
Robert Baratheon – or the men behind him, if one knew the boar of a man – had turned most of their enemies into allies. Tyrells were eager to please the usurper, as were the scattered houses that had fought for the Targaryens. Even the Martells had sheathed their swords, chosing not to fight what they thought a lost cause. I know Doran Martell better than that, Arthur thought, the cripple sees no benefit in supporting House Targaryen until his blood can sit the Iron throne.
Gerold continued "– Balon Greyjoy cowered, his last son a hostage."
"If the realm marched behind Baratheon, then we have not a chance until he is dead," Arthur said. "There is no army, no fleet, no power that can defeat the Seven Kingdoms – not when they are united under Baratheon."
Gerold huffed. "There lies our solution, Arthur. Not even with the Dornish beside us can we take on the rest, but if the Seven Kingdoms are divided, then we do have a chance."
"I did not know the realm was a piece of pie that could be cut up with a knife," Oswell said.
Gerold chuckled, knowing no better way to deal with Oswell's sharp tongue than to just go along. "Not a knife, Oswell," he said. "What holds the realm together?"
"The bloody alliance they made before the rebellion, Gerold," Whent said.
"That was when the rebellion broke out," Gerold shook his head. "Now, it all stands on Baratheon's son by Stark's sister."
Stark's sister. Usurper's queen. Rhaegar's concubine. Those were the kind ones among the names they had for Lyanna Stark. A woman strong enough to give her son up so that he survives. Arthur had no love for Lyanna Stark, but she had his respect for that alone.
"Even if Baratheon dies, his son will inherit all the alliances he has," Oswell said.
"But the boy is all that stands between Tywin Lannister's grandson and the throne," Gerold finally said what Arthur had been dreading. Stannis Baratheon had wed Cersei Lannister, and Arthur knew the old lion would not be content till his grandson sat the throne.
"Then Tywin will wed his grandson to Robert Baratheon's daughter and bind the North and Stark to his cause. We cannot kill the boy, Gerold," Arthur said.
"I do not suggest we kill the boy, Arthur, Tywin will do it for us. All we need to do is make sure Stark knows when Lannister does it," Gerold said.
The vengeance buried deep in his heart soared at the thought. Let the rebels turn on their own.
"And if Tywin does not?" Arthur asked.
"Then we do it ourselves, and make sure the blame rests on Lannister," Whent said. "There are always plans, a thousand of them, Gerold. How do we carry this one out? We have no one we can trust back home. I'm no schemer, neither is Arthur."
"We are Kingsguard, not bloody court snakes," Arthur said. "All we should do is keep an eye on the realm – we have enough on our hands in protecting the children. If the gods will it, the realm will fall apart. With Lannister, Tyrell, Varys, Martell, and Arryn scheming, there is little chance war will not tear the realm apart once Robert is dead. We have not the means to sow divide. If it happens, it happens. Meanwhile, we do what we can here in the Free Cities."
"Aye," Oswell said. "The realm would have made a foul pie anyway. Can you imagine, all that shit..."
Arthur laughed, despite the weight on his mind.
294 AL, Braavos
"And how much does the purple silk cost?" Jaehaerys asked the seller in the Braavosi dialect of Valyrian.
The shop was fairly large, and a crowd always formed on the street before noon. Arthur had chosen the shop for the crowd, and the safety in being one of hundreds. It was one of the hundreds of such shops between the Ragman's Harbour and the Long Canal.
"Twenty-five gold titans for a bolt," the seller said, not even bothering to look away from the parchment in his hands.
Twenty-five gold coins was too much, Arthur had come to understand. Even a price of a hundred gold dragons would not have surprised him in the Seven Kingdoms. But this was Braavos, silk was cheap, and the purple dye cheaper still, produced from the snails that grew on the isles around Braavos.
"Come, uncle," Jaehaerys called Arthur to follow him, a story they told the locals, and only if asked. "I am sure we will find someone cheaper in the market above the Purple Harbour," the boy said.
The seller, having heard it, looked up at them, knowing what Jaehaerys meant. "You are willing to walk across the city for a bolt of silk?" The man's eyes narrowed at Jaehaerys' silver hair, no doubt assumed them to be lyseni.
"Not for the silk, but for honest men of trade," Jaehaerys said, not bothering to turn back.
"One....two.....three....four," the boy whispered, counting their steps as they walked away from the shop.
"....five....six...."
"Hold, lyseni!" They heard from the seller. "I will come down to twenty."
Arthur smiled. Jaehaerys would make a fine Master of Coin, or even a Hand to Viserys.
"Fifteen!" Jaehaerys said, not moving from their spot. "We will take two bolts."
The seller thought for a moment, "Seventeen!"
"Sixteen!"
"Done!" The man waved them back, already packing the delicate material in waxed canvas, and tied the package up with a cotton thread.
Jaehaerys accepted it with a smile, and Arthur paid the man his gold. "For the clean wrapping," the boy said and handed the man a silver coin.
The seller smiled. "Thank you, little man, and come again. You will remember the shop, eh?"
"We might," Jaehaerys said.
Arthur placed his arm on the boy's shoulder and led him away from the markets, towards the other side of the Sweetwater, where their humble home was.
"You! Halt, lyseni!" Arthur heard someone shout before they were away from the fabric shop.
Arthur kept his arm around the boy, the other at the dagger at the back of his belt, hidden by his cloak. A well dressed man walked towards them, another behind him, trying not to be seen as guarding the first.
The man – clearly a wealthy merchant – reached them and paused, seeing Arthur's hand at his back. "I mean no harm," he said, and raised his hand to stop his own guard.
"Can we help?" Arthur asked, pushing Jaehaerys to stand behind him.
"At the moment, I think not," the man said. "In a few years, perhaps," he said, stepping forward to with an open hand.
They shook hands.
"I am Tormo," the man said. "Of the House of Fregar."
This was no common merchant, he realised. "Magister," Arthur bowed. "How may I be of service?" In truth, Arthur wished he had not stopped – no, that would have seemed even more suspicious.
Fregar laughed. "Oh, I ask for nothing from you. I merely wished to speak, no more."
"I cannot imagine we have anything to speak, Magister, I am merely a sellsword."
"Let us not waste time, Ser," Fregar said, his voice very low, but this time in the common tongue of the Seven Kingdoms.
Arthur's blood froze at the though of being discovered. None but the Sealord were aware of their presence in the city. How did this man find us, let alone recognise us?
"It is not safe to speak in the open," Arthur said. "I hope you understand."
Fregar nodded. "I have a boathouse just below the next bridge. No one can listen us there."
Arthur understood. It was just as important for Fregar that they not be seen together.
They walked to the bridge, Arthur and Jaehaerys ahead of Fregar and his man. Below the bridge was the said boathouse, an old and well kept vessel. Arthur peeked inside the small craft, and seeing it empty, took Jaehaerys inside. Fregar followed later.
"What do you wish to speak of, Magister?"
"Please, call me Tormo. Braavos is not your Seven Kingdoms. Titles mean little here, even less to me."
"Very well, Tormo," Arthur said. "How did you find us? And what do you want?"
"An accident, if you can believe it," Fregar said. "I have a few shops beneath the Ragman's Harbour that are mine – like the one you bought silk earlier from."
Arthur prayed he did not show his growing unease. "As you can understand, Tormo, this is highly unusual. There are too many threats to the lives I guard. Forgive me if I do not easily trust."
Tormo nodded, a sad smile on his face. He looked to Jaehaerys, who had kept quiet. "Quite the bargain you struck with Orleno back there, not an easy feat, and I have known him for years now."
"You asked him to agree to the low price, did you not?" Jaehaerys asked, eyes narrowed.
Fregar smirked. "What if I did?"
Jaehaerys allowed a small smile. "Then you do want something from us, though you deflect everytime you are asked."
Gods, the boy had tricked a bloody Keyholder! That, or Fregar had let himself be tricked.
Fregar smiled in approval. "What did I tell you, Relio? The boy is special," the magister said to his guard.
"I shall come to the point, Ser....?"
" – Erwin," Arthur used the name they had decided upon. "Erwin Sand."
Fregar likely knew it was not his true name, but let it be. "Ser Sand, now, I only wish to offer my help. I have enough resources to ensure your comfort, and that of the rest of your companions. I can guess what you plan to do in a few years, and I would like the opportunity to provide for aid at such a time – financial aid. You are aware of the resources that my family commands, I presume?" There was no hint of conceit, merely facts.
Arthur knew the politics of Braavos was not as simple. "I am also aware of the aspirations of your family, Magister Fregar."
Tormo waved his hand. "This will remain between us, I assure you. No one shall hear of it, especially Ferrego Antaryon. I have plans, yes. But none that are near in the future. Antaryon has no children – none that he would wish to claim as his own, at least. His nephews are unsuited for politics, both of them. I will have few rivals when the time comes, and none who can challenge me. Your cause could be helped greatly with me as a friend."
"What do you ask in return?" Arthur asked. Fregar hardly lacked for rivals. It would not do to add to the already long list of enemies House Targaryen already had.
"It is too early to discuss that, I think," Fregar said. "Fear not Ser, I shall not ask for your King to take my kin as his wife and queen – I have no children of mine own. My wife is too old to bear children, and I have no wish to take another. Though I do wish for – " the magister took a breath, rising from his seat. "That does not matter now. I will not contact you again for some time, but my people will. Please, do not hesitate to ask – anything, short of the moon and stars."
"Pray this doesn't endanger us further, Magister," Arthur said. "If assasins from across the Narrow Sea should find us, well, I am a superstitious man. I will blame some of the men in this city, you do not wish to be among them."
"I understand, Ser Arthur," Fregar said, seemingly unmoved by the threat.
Arthur and Jaehaerys walked back to their home in silence. Once inside, "Magister Fregar seemed nice," Jaehaerys said.
"Just because he praised you does not mean he had good intentions," Arthur said.
"I know, Arthur. I say things Viserys wants to hear to keep him happy. It is not so different."
Why do I see a king where everyone else sees only a bastard?
Just as they crossed the courtyard with the fruit trees, a flash of blue and silver rushed towards Jaehaerys.
"Dany!" Jaehaerys said as the two rolled on the soft grass. The boy handed over the gift.
Despite knowing the truth of Jaehaerys' birth, the two had remained close.
The princess tore open the canvas and gasped when she saw the bright purple silk. Arthur remembered Queen Rhaella in the colour, and the princess was her very image if Gerold remembered as well as he claimed.
"I would never forget your name-day, Dany," Jaehaerys said.
"Thank you, little brother," Daenerys said, patting Jaehaerys on the head.
"I'm older! And you wait a few years, I will be taller than Viserys. Arthur says my father was taller than even him!"
Rhaegar had not begun training until he had been five and ten, but Arthur had put a sword and a lance in Jaehaerys' hands before he was five. There was little doubt Jaehaerys would grow into a fearsome warrior. All that remained was to teach the boy to lead men into battle.
If only Viserys did not fear the son of his brother.
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