Chapter 14: XIV: Joy, Grief, and FestivityNotes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
XIV: Joy, Grief, and Festivity
XIV: Joy, Grief, and Festivity
He was home, and his wars were over, for now. With old Wyl dead, he had no reason to tarry in Dorne, not when winter was near and he had a son, a living one this time, not taken by the perfidy of a vulture.
He rode ahead of the host, eager to see his wife and son. And at last he was home, with his family and not in battle, shedding blood and fearing death.
When he took his son in his arms the first time, he could not hide his joy. With the boy held tightly in one arm he pushed his wife closer and gave her a kiss right in the courtyard.
They were interrupted by the impatient septon Allard, speaking of ill omens and urging haste.
"My prince, the boy should have been named in his seventh day in sight of the Seven, and that day has long since passed. Your wife had tarried since the day of his birth, waiting for your return, but I ask of you to proceed with it in haste, so the boy may live with the blessing of the Seven. Considering the many ills that plague the newborn, I believe this would be most wise."
Aerys conceded to him, though the ceremony could not be so hastily arranged – the septon had to ready his candles and crystals, so Aerys was able to proceed to freshen himself from the road before it.
Alone with his wife, they spoke of sadder things. "I sent you word of it, Aelinor, but I must tell you again how deeply I grieve for your grandfather. I rode ahead of his bones, for they were yet to be readied by the Silent Sisters, but your uncles ride as honour guard with his remains, and when they shall reach Summerhall we shall ride together to Parchments to lay him to his rest."
The septon returned soon, to ask for a name.
Aerys and Aelinor turned towards each other. "Have you thought of a name?," was the question doubly asked.
Aelinor was silent, so Aerys spoke first. "Every father desires for a son named after him, but there are fairer names than mine. It would be expected for a son to name his child after his father or mother out of respect, but I would rather name him for your grandsire, for he fought and fell by my side.
"Although I would be most joyous for the little one to be known as Erich," said Aelinor, "we are of the blood of the dragon, and our son should have a Valyrian name, dearest."
"Then let it be so. Let us call him Daeron and may the realm judge for itself for which one we have named him, but they will certainly be wrong.
"And there you have it, septon. Daeron Targaryen, our son, and may the gods bless him sevenfold."
The joyous event of the naming was soon to be followed by a sadder one, the funerals of Lord Penrose, whose bones they escorted to Parchments, were they were met by Lord Ronnel Penrose, his wife, and their children.
It was an affair of grief, but in its aftermath, there was talk of happier things, but also of matters more serious. The lady Penrose – the princess Elaena, was more adept at talk of politics than her husband and it was she who broached the subject with Aerys.
It did not start with such, for they spoke of lighter things at first, though with a shadow of something more.
"For whom you have named the boy," she asked, "for my brother or for your own father?"
"For neither, dearest aunt," said Aerys, laughing. "People forget that Daerons were not only kings. My son is first of a new generation of Targaryens born with Hightower blood, and I had thought to name him for the Daring, the worthiest of all the three scions of our house with the blood of Oldtown coursing through their veins."
"Speaking of your father, you have given him no small amount of grief, boy. It is good that winter had come, lest you would have made a greater mess of things. Now the snows shall fall, and by spring slights shall be forgotten and perhaps peace shall bloom."
"That is a hope that might yet prove false, aunt," said the prince of Summerhall in a curt tone. "We may have peace in spring, but yet I fear for summer."
His aunt narrowed her eyes. "Do not tell me you intend to renew your feud when winter passes? Cease your folly, child! Your father has made peace, however shaky, between Blackwood and Bracken, and if you defy him again, you shall have his undivided attention. You may think him too merciful, too eager to please others, but there is a harshness hidden deep inside him, and to wake that would bode ill for you."
"Me, aunt? I have had enough of war. I wish for peace and harmony and domestic harmony at Summerhall. But there are vipers and traitors in my father's court. Did not Fireball utter words unsightly to be spoken before a king when he was denied the white cloak? He is a bitter man, and bitterness begets treacherous thoughts. He whispers in my uncle Daemon's ears, and that poison, I fear, shall bring fruit – men spread rumours that would leave them without a head if spoken aloud."
" But while treachery keeps brewing in the court, and elsewhere, my father did turn a blind ear to my warnings. I told him he should have had Daemon cast away from the realm – his kin in Tyrosh would have assured him a comfortable life. He did not listen, then as always - too keen on keeping his father's promises to a bastard held more dearly than the trueborn."
"You do your father an injustice," said the lady Penrose. "For your father listens to you when you speak reason. I and my husband are to escort your brother Maekar to White Harbor in the spring, so he shall be betrothed to Lord Manderly's daughter, the granddaughter of the Old Wolf. Through that marriage he shall be bound to Manderly, Stark, and Blackwood – a wise counsel that your father heeded."
"As for Blackfyre – your father does not stand so stable on his throne as kings that came before him. To judge a man guilty before he even has committed his treason, would not be looked upon kindly by the lords of the realm. Daemon must be suffered, and if he proves false – then he shall have his punishment."
"Oh, but I fear that I am a prophet preaching to the winds, and my voice is not heard in the sounds of the storm. I fear that whatever foul treason brews now shall only fester in winter, and, with the changing of the seasons, shall be greater a conspiracy that would wound the realm greatly."
"But in that at least, I am not listened too. The marcher lords have ceased their mutterings, most of them. For I have given them reason to cast away their displeasure. But perhaps I should keep silent and let all traitors prove themselves false – and then let treachery be cut away, from root to stem. It would be better than to be left to fester and poison the realm."
Once they were back at Summerhall and winter and snow reigned, Aerys gladly spent his days with his wife and son, their happy little family, and with his work, as he set to ink down half-forgotten tales of another world – to be read to his sons and daughters when they entered the age for it.
Yet gloom persisted in the household, the winter sun shining pale and dimming the joy in men's heart. As master of his domain, it fell to Aerys to see to the happiness of those of his household.
It was for that reason Aelinor one morning entered the great hall only to find servants bringing inside a fir tree, so tall and grand it reached the ceiling, under the instructions of her husband. Intrigued, she asked of it.
"Oh, my dearest," said Aerys as he came to kiss her, "my mind was idle, and I gave thought to a festival to bring joy to this dreary time. The tree shall be decked with ornaments – I have already commissioned them: garlands and bejewelled globes and fine carvings, and a seven-pointed gilded star right on top to honour the gods."
"But that is not all," he said, while, with hands intertwined, he guided her through the hall. "Beneath the tree there shall be gifts for all the children of the servants, of the household, and even of the town. There are men crafting wooden toys and cloth puppets in great numbers, so that no child shall be left without."
"I have given orders that enough food would be readied and cooked so all the household might attend the feast, and when it ends, the children of Summerton might come and receive their gifts and sweet treats, each in their turn."
And so it was. The servants were astounded at their Prince's plans, but when the time of the feast came, they trickled shyly in the hall, feasting at tables were they once only saw men of greater birth feast. They nibbled at it at first, then devoured the courses that were better than their usual fare, and ate, and drank, and sung songs of joy.
When the feast ended, a great horde of children came in from the town, each in their turn coming before Aerys, sat in a chair beneath the tree, handed them the desired toy, while his wife served, with a smile, sweet pastries and confectioneries and other such things. Aerys, with silver lock and silver beard, clad in a red doublet, cut quite the striking figure.
Aerys was no fool. When the festivities ended, he gave word to septon Allard, as he preached of the Prince's act of generosity and charity, a gift given in hope that the winter shall be short. When the people of the town returned to their homes, they spoke at length of it, and as word passed through the mouths of traveling merchants, his landed knights gave feast in their turn, less luxurious, for they were not prince, but the tree with its ornaments was present in every hall. Those of lesser means were more thriftly with the gifts they gave, claiming that only children that had behaved were worthy of such.
And when the spring came, tales of this spread even further away.