Chapter 35: A Short Reach Is No State for a Hand (The Storm) (II)
Court that day ended to the fatalistic bemusement of the condemned, the sputtering apoplexy of the holy, and a general state of bewilderment from all other ends.
A fine day's work!
Now, first thing's first: annoy Tywin!
"Tywin!" Steffon crowed on entering the solar of the Hand of the King. "Old friend! You old mouser!"
"Steffon. What are you doing."
"I am hugging my friend!" Steffon bellowed in Tywin's ear because the uptight arse always cringed so beautifully. "Don't think I missed those looks, you cantankerous shite!" He rubbed his cheek into the man's goldilocks a few times just to tangle them in his beard. Then he snuck a kiss to the man's crown before pulling away, because Tywin's mama didn't live long enough to do that job and, by all the Gods, he'd either fill that void or the look on goldilocks' face will kill him. One way or the other, he always had his way!
Ah, friendship! The duty that never ends!
Tywin beat a most dignified retreat behind his massive mahogany desk.
What a sad day! You should never retreat in the face of true love!
"You are far too jolly after what all transpired."
"And you're still a fucking dandy." Steffon needed only glance around the office to prove his point. Gods, his green livery clashed with Tywin's décor something fierce. Even the gold stag embroidered on his tunic didn't fit the rest of the gold and red. With how fancy everything was in the Red Keep, you could almost forget the city just outside was an utter cesspool of disease where more people died than were born because they only ate bread and cheese.
"I'd almost believe that was a deflection if I hadn't just seen you exhibit the same lack of subtlety as ever. Your skill in double speak is even more atrocious than before."
"I'm deferring judgment!" Steffon ignored the barb. Maesters being cunts? Hightower being Hightower? Child buggering septons that he'd murder with his bare hands wherever he found them? Bah! "I didn't come here for any of that."
"You should be ashamed of that display in the hall."
"Never."
There was silence between them, and not entirely of the comfortable kind. Not that silences involving Tywin Lannister could ever be comfortable, the man was as prickly as an eldmother's tongue on a good day. This was pricklier than usual though. But wait, that was a good sign! If the man hadn't grown new barbs after finding out his maester was a traitorous cunt that might or might not have done despicable things to his wife and children, now that would be a problem!
Steffon inspected the other man. "You've been working yourself to distraction, haven't you? That's not right! You should let yourself grieve first! Otherwise you'll just make shit decisions!"
"Do I look grief-stricken to you?"
"No, that's my point!"
"My ability to make decisions is unimpaired, I assure you."
"I'd take you at your word if you hadn't told me yourself to never do that. Constantly. For the entirety of the Ninepenny war."
Tywin said nothing, pulling a parchment to read instead.
"You're determined to make this awkward, aren't you?" Steffon did not hide his amusement. "You really think you can do me one better? Really?"
Tywin sighed in his chair and pinched his nosebridge. "Must you be so exhausting?"
"That you tire of me so quickly only shows how exhausting everything is in the rest of your life! That's my point!"
"That's not a point, it's an opinion." The other man affected his well-honed impression of a stone. "Are you done?"
"Of course not!"
"I thought as much. As per usual, you will not be satisfied until you've driven me to wonder why I even suffer you."
"Oh please. If you didn't have me, you'd have no joy in your life at all!"
Tywin's return look could easily be described in words, but Steffon decided to be gracious and spare him the humbling. This once. "Don't give me that look," Steffon said instead. "You know you love me."
"What I am is approaching the point where I wonder why I still haven't had you assassinated."
"Because you love me."
"Steffon…" Tywin Lannister sighed in that condescending way of Tywin Lannister when he was being condescending without wanting to admit to himself he was being condescending because he didn't want to acknowledge he wasn't allowed to be condescending to his peers lest he face the reality that there were such things as peers instead of everyone else in the world being mere sheep to be lorded over. The cunt.
Unfortunately for the prickly lion, he didn't get to vent his misaimed condescension because that was when Ser Jonothor Darry of the Kingsguard arrived. Came with orders to lead Steffon to a private audience with the king at his pleasure.
That was always double speak for 'right now' so of course Steffon disregarded it entirely and bid Darry to wait while he sent his former castellan to fetch Maester Cressen. The proud Ser Harbert looked like he wanted to protest being made a dogsbody but held his tongue. As well he should! Ser Arsehole was still in the kennels for being such a shit to his boy. Honestly, that poor bird had barely healed! Of course a few weeks wouldn't be enough to train it!
Gods, with uncles like this, who needs in-laws?
"So, my Lord Hand! Any advice?"
"… King Aerys is his father's son," Tywin reluctantly deigned to enlighten him. "And his father was his father's son before him."
"Why thank you, Lord Lannister, that tells me a whole lot of dog shit. Now pull the other one."
"Don't try to force his Grace to love you."
"What!?" Steffon roared. "Don't be ridiculous, I'd never do that!"
"You've been trying just that this whole time," Tywin said, reaching for his wine goblet.
"Don't be ridiculous. Love is like a fart. If you have to force it, it's probably just crap anyway!"
Bugger didn't spittake, the uptight arse. All these years and still not one success. Oh well, one day.
One day!
The walk to the King's chambers was long and solemn. Very long and solemn. They had to leave the Tower of the Hand, cross over to the far end of Maegor's Holdfast, and navigate around and up several staircases and corridors before they reached their destination. Once there, the other Kingsguard on watch denied Cressen entry. Oh well, nothing to it then!
He put his hands on the maester's small, bony shoulders and smiled. "Wait here. It'll be alright."
Cressen didn't look reassured.
As usual, no one believed him when it counted. It was like people up to his most trusted were incapable of understanding the simple truth that that he'd never said a lie in his life.
Lord Steffon of the House Baratheon was ushered into the sight of Aerys Targaryen standing near a desk and staring at a candle flame in what he knew weren't his normal apartments. Both because he'd been in them before, and because the present ones had no windows.
There, finally, was the king. Tall, haggard, platinum-haired, and wearing the fakest look of scorn as if it could hide that he was more nervous than a cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
When the door closed with the solid thunk of freshly oiled hinges, Steffon struck.
He stormed towards the man, pulled his dagger –
"Wha-GUARDS!"
- went to his knees, laid the blade at the king's feet and raised his folded hands just as the door slammed open.
Steffon kept his head bowed and waited.
"… Guard," Aerys finally rasped, sounding shook. "… A chair for my guest."
There was a brief pause, then the sound of armored feet and the closing of the door. Steffon stayed as he was until the man returned with the seat and left again.
Aerys took Steffon's hands in his own. Slowly. Hesitatingly. "… Rise, my lord."
Steffon stood and loomed over the king in the dimness. It seemed as though it was closer to midnight than midday, such was the sparseness of the light in that well-appointed, awful place. Neither of them remarked on the room being already furnished with a lounge and four different chairs.
Aerys had his eyes averted and made to back away, so Steffon took his hands in his own instead, stopping him in his tracks. "Stark's raven and then nothing. Hours going up and down Storm's End asking questions of my son and my household. Days spent verifying my maester's loyalty. Weeks of ravens flying between Storm's End and every childless lord and widower that could serve as interim castellan, and who had a maester that could be spared in Cressen's stead. And yet I'd have dropped it all instantly if you'd just called for me. Instead, I had to learn of things from hearsay. From rumors. Sailors at the docks, Aerys, why didn't you call for me?"
"I needn't explain myself to you!" The king hissed, pulling away. "You have no claim to the thoughts of your king. You are but the Crown's servant. Remember that!"
"As you say," Steffon nodded. "I'll spare you my mind and see to my friend's wellbeing instead, if my king's leave still stands?"
Aerys bit back several things he wanted to say, looked away with something that could have been either spite or shame, and backed away until he fell in the nearest, biggest chair.
Steffon stood in the near-darkness and waited.
"… It stands."
"I'm glad." Steffon walked forward and forewent any seating, going instead to one knee before the other man. He watched him for a while. Waited for the man to grow comfortable with him so close. Even with how tall Aerys was, Steffon still stood as tall as his chin and twice as broad. When Aerys didn't look like he was about to bolt anymore, he reached into a belt pouch and began pulling out grooming tools one after another, setting them on the ground over his handkerchief. He was no fucking dandy, thank you very much, but that didn't change the fact that looking as good as he did was hard work!
Steffon picked up the comb and began working on the end of Aerys' long beard. "My friend seems to have suffered some small injuries to his person due to the nature of his work. I would bring in my healer to tend to him. Will my king allow it?"
The beard felt almost like silk. Figured that even the longest and thickest Targaryen beard would feel smoother than a woman's hair.
"…Do you vouch for him?"
"With my life."
"… Why?"
Steffon snorted. "Because dear old dad was too optimistic, that's why!" Silky or not, that there beard was right tangled. "Turns out old Cressen was suspicious of certain Citadel rats since before he even made it out of there. Going to my father with his concerns was the first thing he did. Unfortunately, he didn't really have any real evidence and my father dismissed his worries. Can't even blame the old man, ancestors hold him, who would have ever believed the maesters were up to no good?"
"Who indeed?" Aerys asked bitterly.
Steffon continued grooming the king, knowing that forgetfulness was the last thing he should worry about when it came to Aerys Targaryen.
"If your maester proves treacherous, your head will roll right along his."
"As you say."
Cressen was ushered in. The old maester looked rather harassed and a tad less well kept than earlier, but he mastered himself quickly and went to inspect the king as fastidiously as always.
Steffon worked with Cressen to help the king bare himself down to the waist. Then he resumed combing the royal beard while Cressen poked, prodded and wiped at the royal arms and back with his cloths and tinctures.
"The old cuts have scabbed and I've cleaned the latest wounds, your Grace," Cressen said when Steffon was just about done smoothing out the royal whiskers. "But I can see some signs of potential infection. I can apply boiled wine or Myrish Fire, but it works best on skin freshly washed."
"We'll have a bath drawn up," Steffon said blithely. "That is, if my king approves?"
"… I'll allow it."
Steffon smiled gladly and squeezed the king's hands in thanks, then stood, went to retrieve his knife, came back and began to inspect the royal nails. A murder weapon wasn't what he'd usually use for this, but this time it might be warranted. Them dragons grew some right gnarly claws when they let themselves go.
He spent the time it took the servants to draw a bath cutting back the nails, cutting them even further with his small field shears, then polishing them with his nail file. Aerys was looking at him fairly strangely by the end. Steffon beamed. "Never leave home without it!"
"… You are ridiculous."
"And handsome! I would like to get my friend cleaned up now, if my king allows?"
The look Aerys gave him… Steffon couldn't see it well in the darkness, but his raw voice made it unnecessary regardless. "… I'll allow it."
He helped the king undress and get into the bath, then sat on a chair next to him to wash his hair while Cressen bathed him and fussed over the man's arms and back, keeping a running tally of every nick and scrape and what he was doing to each. Steffon let the maester's words wash over him as he cleaned the royal scalp, making sure to go slow and steady to give the good maester all the time he needed to carefully clean and treat all the cuts, new and old.
When he was done, Steffon helped the king out of the tub, led him to the lounge and held his hands while Cressen applied his treatments and bandages. Aerys closed his eyes and grit his teeth when the Myrish Fire had its turn, but said nothing. Only gripped Steffon's hands tight while waiting for the pain to go away.
"I believe we are done," Cressen said finally, wiping his hands with a cloth and beginning to pack his supplies back in the kit. Normally he'd have them spread in pockets all over his person, but Steffon had made him dress like a regular servant until things died down. Fortunately, winter meant the man was able to wear a scarf on the ride over, so that no one need see the chain around his neck. "I will need to check on the gauze and bandages every morning and evening for the next two or three days, but the chance of infection is as remote as it can be now."
"I'll decide that. Leave us."
"Of course, Your Grace." Cressen nodded to the king, then to Steffon and left.
Steffon helped Aerys dress in fresh clothing and went to work on combing the royal hair. He made a show of doing one last inspection of the royal beard and hands as well. He manfully refrained from criticising the king's dainty fingers. No proper warrior's hands, these. He bent the knee and took the king's hands in his own again instead, watching his face in the deepening darkness. "When did you last rest? Truly rest?"
What could be seen of the king's face in that gloom was like a sneer of disgust twisted upon itself. The light cast by the lone candle played sinisterly over it. His shadow on the wall looked like a beasts biting its own neck.
When the silence broke again, it was Aerys that did it, though he spoke so lowly that Steffon didn't understand a word.
"I have no idea what you just said."
"…I didn't want you to see me like this."
"Oh." Oh. "Alright then."
"Nothing is alright!" Aerys barked before gritting his teeth against whatever else was about to come out. "You asked me earlier why I didn't call for you." Even that whispered admission seemed to pain the man. "That's why."
"Begging Your Grace's pardon, that's a shit reason."
The noise that churned its way out of Aerys' throat was so bizarre that Steffon only belatedly recognized it as laughter.
"How easily you judge!" The king pushed his hands away, stood and retreated from him. "How easily you judge your king. But then why wouldn't you? Why wouldn't it come easily to you? You, who never failed when it counted?"
"Well, you got me there." Steffon stood as well.
Aerys seemed taken aback by his easy answer.
"What?" The Storm Lord felt a tad peeved himself now. "Self-deprecation isn't a virtue and self-awareness isn't a sin."
"Why are you here, Steffon?"
"Because you're my friend and I love you."
The twisted noise that scratched its way from the king's throat was no laughter at all.
Not for the first time, Steffon Baratheon wondered at the backwards thinking of most of mankind. If you know you're good, morally consistent and at least moderately intelligent, didn't it naturally follow that you're probably better suited to speak sense than most everyone else? Who the hell decided that the right answer couldn't also be the easy one?
"What do you know of love?" Aerys rasped, biting at his fist. "What can you know of love? You, who never had to work for it. You, who finds it so easy to love everyone before you even meet." Aerys covered his eyes with a hand. "You, who are so terribly easy to love."
"Ah!" Steffon realized. "You're jealous of me!"
The words rung lugubriously in the ensuing stillness of the air.
"… Am I?"
"I guess so," Steffon shrugged, ambling closer. "I forgive you."
Aerys' breath hitched.
"I forgive you for disregarding my feelings too. Leaving me to wait and worry for so long, honestly!"
"AND WHO ARE YOU TO FORGIVE ME!?" Aerys suddenly roared, turning and lashing out only to hit his hand on Steffon's shoulder. The king grunted in pain and stumbled away but for Steffon's firm hands catching him, but the gates to whatever inner hell this was were already open wide. "Who are you to forgive me? Do you even know what you're saying? You think what I want is forgiveness!? You speak to me like I'm the one with sin!? How dare you!? What of the wrongs done upon me!? My father is dead! My daughter, dead! My sons, dead! Murdered, every one of them! Murdered for no reason than envy! And you have the gall to come here, professing forgiveness for some imagined slights of mine! Think yourself exempt from punishment!? My own Grand Maester poisoned my children and I burned him! That bitch that last presumed to share my bed, I had her tortured! Tortured and killed like she deserved, her and all her wretched blood! I burned them! I burned them all! Don't you dare claim to be beyond reproach! You think you're the first so deluded? You think Tywin didn't claim the same? He came professing loyalty when he was already off trying his best to take advantage of all these crimes against me! I'll-"
"Do you really fuck your kingsguard?"
The noise trying to squirm its way out of the king was like a hare being eaten alive.
"Because there's this rumor that I just made up, see, that the real reason you keep them around is 'cuz you like them bent over with their round, muscular arses up in the air so you can have your way with their strong, firm buttocks in all their hairy glory when your member goes and-"
King Aerys Targaryen burst into the harshest, loudest, most hysterical laughter to ever come out of the throat of a king. Then he lost all strength and collapsed where he stood, falling to his knees in Steffon's arms who let himself fall too, gathering the king close as the laughter gave way to fat, ugly sobs that rose and fell and burst like pus from a wound, spilling out into the dark like poison without end.
The last candle burned low, then lower and then didn't burn anymore at all.
The poison flowed and flowed for long after, spilling out into the world until the only madness left was of grief, tattered and hollow.
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