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bohemian-nights · 1 year ago

Text

What We May Mend (Chapter 1)

Word Count: ~6,908

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen × Laena Velaryon

Warnings: Difficult Childbirth; Attempted Suicide

Description: In the year 126 AC Lady Laena Velaryon survives her difficult in a foreign land surrounded by strangers. With a second chance to mend their fractured marriage she and her husband Prince Daemon Targaryen return to Westeros with their children in tow as chaos unfolds around them.

AN: Basically, no one is writing for them(which is a crime if you ask me). I’ve gotten multiple asks about them so here is my attempt at giving Laena the happy ending she deserved😊 Keeping that in mind, this is a multi-chaptered work based on show canon(which means physical descriptions including the lack of violet eyes among others will be left out). I'm planning around 5-7 chapters, but that may change 🐉

Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

Death was a foreign concept to her. As foreign as the Golden Empire of Yi Ti, whatever lay west of the Iron Isles, or even the wild plains of the barren North. Driftmark was a fortress of life. Neither melancholy nor illness plagued her childhood. Her parents had not been taken away before their time from battle nor sickness. Her brother, cousins, and uncle had been blessed with good health and fortune as well. There was laughter, adventure, and childish mischief to be found in abundance.

Lady Laena Velaryon had known that many girls could not count themselves half as lucky as herself. Not even her cousin Princess Rhaenyra whose mother had died before she had reached her fifteenth nameday, but the silver-haired cooper-skinned Velaryon girl had not given much thought to death. The stranger had rarely visited the isles' rocky shores and all but once entered the white stone walls of High Tide to call home its inhabitants. On that one occasion, Lady Jocelyn Baratheon had been enveloped in the stranger's embrace.

Laena was but five when her grandmother passed on to the realm beyond that of the living. ‘Twas on the eve of her sixth nameday. She could recall the tall once black-haired woman whose hair had turned gray in the final year of her life well enough at that moment when she was closer to the Stranger than death itself.

Age had not withered her regal continence nor rendered her unable to speak fondly of the early days of her elder half-brother's reign, the old king Jaehaerys, Laena’s grandfather though she could not recall, who had passed on a mere year past. True enough the Baratheon lady had never fully forgiven the man for his slight against Laena’s mother, but perhaps it was nostalgia that caused her to look upon those days with longing wistfulness. The world is always brighter when viewed from afar.

It was those early days that were happiest. That seemed as if the Old King's golden reign would stretch on for an age. That the fate of the blood of the dragon, the last dragonriders of old Valyria was assured at long last, but those days had turned sour. Leaving behind only the bitter taste of ruefulness on the tongue.

Jocelyn Baratheon was the last of the old lot. Her brother, Lord Baratheon, who was as fierce a defender of her daughter as she herself, had gone shortly after the Old King. Her beloved husband, the crown prince, the only man she had ever known, her Aemon, was taken before his time at the hands of vipers. She was to be his queen and yet he never wore his crown.

Her half-sister Good Queen Alysanne, her only sister, more a mother than a sister for she was the only mother she had ever known, she had died of woe long ago from all her heartache.

All were gone. She alone was what remained of them. Of a time that had faded away and lived on only in the memories of the few.

The once great Baratheon lady had grown weary at a court she no longer recognized. The faces had changed, but she had not. She had come to Driftmark to be among her family. The house of her mother who had given her life to bring her into this world would be her final resting place. Her refuge.

“You have his eyes.” She had given Laena a half smile as she lay in her bed wheezing. A frail hand the color and shape of bone reached up to touch her cheek. Her lady grandmother had caught a chill that she could not shake. The first time she had struck ill, Laena was told, since she was sick with the shivers as a wee girl an age ago. She had taken to reading to her every night while her mother braided her hair. Easing her mind while she slipped away from her flesh.

It had been peaceful when she finally passed on. Dying in her sleep. A look of contentment upon her pallid face when a serving girl found her the next morning. A natural end to a full life. It was Laenan’s mother's wails reverberating off the walls afterward that made it so sorrowful. She had taken to her own bed for the fortnight that followed. Her sobs drowned out the waves that crashed on the shore.

Not even her father's sweet temptations with little trinkets, a fool, and singers from all the seven kingdoms and across the Narrow Sea bring back light to her eyes. Not even his boisterous laughter or that of her uncle, the gossip of her aunt, or the gaggles of her cousins filled their halls, and soon enough the sea called with the waxing oh the moon for her father and he went with it. She and Laenor did their best to cheer their dear mother up in their father’s absence, but the stranger was a cruel foe. Their home became as quiet as a tomb for that short time.

Her mother only dared to venture out from chambers when Laenor had received a gash and sprained his ankle when he had done what all growing boys were prone to do. Sought for action where there was none in a castle that had fallen victim to the Stranger. “Get down from there, Laenor.” She had said running to a tree at the mouth of the cove. She had flown out of the castle like a bat fresh out of the seven hells. Her long silvery-gray hair once had been black trailing after her. Hazel irises widened with panic. A mother's fright, one Laena would know well in time.

“Come to me.” She had motioned him to climb down from the ledge where he had fallen to. “That's it, my love.” When Laenors leg had been set to right and her mother's fears abated that night, laughter returned to Hide Tide once more, and death remained an ever-present shadow looming in the background. Waiting for the moment to strike once more.

No matter how foreign the stranger may seem, Laena supposed her life was shaped by death. If her grandsire had not been killed before her grandsire had died her mother would be the queen. She may be heir to the Iron Throne or rather Laenor would and she would be his queen in the tradition of their Targaryen forbearers. Though the thought of that minor detail made her stomach roll even now.

Though she supposed whatever would’ve happened, whatever way the dice had landed if she were she would not be here right now. In a foreign distant land. Among strangers. Bleeding out upon white sheets. Her lifeblood steadily slipped away from her. As sure as the sands empty into the bottom of the hourglass. Grain by grain.

It was a strange experience. Laena could not see the stranger, but she felt him there in these humid chambers. Right there beside her. Over her shoulder. Breathing down the back of her neck. Causing the hairs on her damp neck to stick up and stand on their ends. Death clung like a second skin. Waiting for the pain to run its course and drain what was left of her before he called her back with him.

She had known pain before. A broken arm from falling off a tree. Climbing to see the last of her father's warships head off to the Stepstones. A cut upon her foot from Laenors first sword grazed the skin when she had dropped it, not realizing how heavy it would be to wield it. The cramps radiated out from her abdomen when she got her moon blood and was bedridden for the first night. A bruised rib when she made her maid lace her stays tight enough to show off her figure during the visit of a visiting Sealord and his son from Bravos who later be engaged to for a time. and the hundred times after that for each suitor that came to Driftmarks rocky shore all ending with one.

She had known the pains of the birthing bed well enough. Laena had taken to it twice now. The first time had been long and rather taxing. She labored for a day and a half. She had not thought she would make it lying there upon sweat soaked and the Gods know what else sheets, twisting herself into a ball, but then out came Baela. Her fearless girl. A little red squalling babe with a set of lungs upon her that alerted the whole manse of her arrival.

Rhaena’s labor had been quick. A mere two hours after her pains began did she pop out into the world. A tiny thing she was. Smaller than her sister, quieter too, but just as precious in the eyes of her young mother. Where her birth had been easier than Baela’s, what followed afterward had not.

Laena had bled for a fortnight straight. Apart from short jaunts to take a turn around the gardens she was regulated to the confines of her chambers for a moon. Much to her displeasure, she was too weak to feed her daughter from her own breast. A wet nurse had to be called for while she spent her days in bed.

The recovery had been a slow one, but she had recovered. She had become herself again, her girls blossomed, and the pain of the birthing bed had become a distant memory. This, however, was different.

The Stranger had visited with the night this time. Such pain he brought. Laena could feel him in her bones. Exhaustion seeped through every pore. As if every muscle in her body craved to give in. To give up. To meet the stranger who held his hand for him to join her in his cold embrace.

Never before had she felt so unlike herself. Tired. She was so very tired. She could no longer push. Been instructed not to push even if she could. Her legs were numb. Her silver curls painted to her clammy forehead with her own sweat.

Her eyes desperately wanted to shut. Calling for rest. A moment of respite. Her arms ached from holding herself up hunched over the bed. From the near-death grip of the midwives hand. Even lifting her fingers to inch up the bedpost for a tighter hold was a strain.

Laena burned with something she could not name. A foggy bog that she seeped into overpowering her, but some part of her kept her in a hazy state of half-dream half-wake. A candle flickering in the wind. The past and the present intertwined in its dimming glow.

She could hear the waves crashing back on coming in from the open window that had meant to cool her down. The room frayed. Faces came in and out of view. Switching between her mother's smile and the nurse's worried pallid face as she wiped the beads of sweat off her brow. Voices muffled and low as if they came from the other end of a cavernous tunnel and yet she kept a hold to the last shreds of her wit and strength. A tiny ember. The last snuff before the light went out.

“My brave girl.” She could make that out with startling clarity. It came from her princely husband. They stood huddled up in a half-shadowed corner of the chamber whispering to themselves, the healer having left her side. He was a swarthy man who sweat like a pig. If he did not open his mouth one would think he was Dornish. Laena was not particularly fond of him.

There was something in his person, in his manner of address which, how he always deferred to her husband which made her uneasy. She wished to be back within the safety and care that could be found at her father's house, surrounded by her cousins and aunts who would fuss over her, with her mother by her side who, or at least have a maester who knew her body better and would not act as if mere paranoia was the cause of her woe, but she had little choice in the manner of her present circumstances.

“The magister has healers who will take care of you Laena.” Daemon had replied when she confronted him in the library where he spent his days. Obsessing over their family's history twirling a glass of sweet wine from the magister's cellars in his hand.

It was a final plea, a desperate plea for she had asked him a dozen times before throughout this pregnancy where she felt her body weakening little by little with every passing day, but he dismissed her with his usual care. Placing a kiss on her belly as their babe greeted his father with a little kick before he went back to his reading. There was no room for argument. He was in one of his moods. He was always in a mood.

Her husband had replied to what the healer spoke in that absent-minded way of his. The way that reminded her his mind was a thousand leagues away. Across a narrow sea. To the alleyways, taverns, and well-tread roads that made up King’s Landing to his ailing brother, to the Iron Throne, or perhaps even his beloved niece. Laena could not tell. Not anymore. Mayhaps she never could.

Or mayhaps she had been the occupier of his attentions and affections at one point. Perhaps it had been she who evoked his passion. Before Baela when they had first wed? When he had whisked her away to this place from her home. Winning her hand away from the Braavosi Sealord's son with the plunge of Dark Sister through his skull. The excitement of it. He had always been one for the dramatics in the most spectacularly brutal fashion.

Basking in the glow of his victory. Claiming his prize. A bride of his own choosing. A Valyrian bride to wash the stain off his ill-favored union with Rhea Royce. The vale-bride that had been chosen for him. The bride he never wanted nor favored.

Her father, the great sea snake, was all too keen to give him her hand. To give him his prize for ridding him of an unfavorable match despite his dear wife’s protests. Despite the whispers that swarmed him. He killed my cousin. Blushed her to death. Budgeted her to beyond recognition He’s the devil.

Laena herself ignored their tales and dismissed her own mother's warnings. “He is charming, but charming men seldom make for good husbands, my sweet girl. Let us find you some lord who will make you laugh.”

She did not need some simpleton who would make her laugh. She had someone who made her feel more than that. She had someone who caused her belly to erupt with flutters when he threw a smile her way or his pale green eyes met dark ones.

He was not particularly handsome, his lips were too thin and his brow was hairless and prominent. His face was rather primal, but he was tall, his jaw strong, and there was something magnetic about him. Daemon Targaryen could command a room with a single glance. Why should she not want him? Why should she not have him?

She was Lady Laena Velaryon. She was the blood of old Valyria through and through. She came from not one, but two ancient and proud lines. Even her Baratheon blood was forged in the flames of Valyria. She was the dragonrider of the largest and oldest dragon in the known world. The last living vestige from the time of the conqueror.

The Rogue Prince wanted her. He had wanted her by his side. To be his wife. To bear his children. He saw who she was and he wanted her. They were the blood of old Valyria. Like called to like. They were made for each other. She was his match. She was his wife.

Wife was just a title she learned. She was so very naive then. Young and in love with the idea of him. An ideal was not enough nor was a title. It did not keep one warm at night. Comfort one when their heart aches. Or while they were bedridden with sickness.

No, Daemon Targaryen had not married her for such feelings of adoration and cherishment. He had married her for an empty title. For her name. Still, she liked to think that she had been enough for him. That she had been what he had wanted. That he had wanted her for more. That they had a chance the same as any other.

Mayhaps after Baela they still had hope? When he thought that she might give him the solace he looked for. The peace he craved. what he made no effort to hide.

She had given him a girl to be sure, but there would be more babes to follow. Her own mother had given her father a girl first then her brother came. Why should it not be the same for her?

She was still young and healthy. Had just celebrated her seventeenth name day. Daemon himself was in the prime of his life at six and thirty. There would be babes a plenty. “The next one shall be a boy husband.” He did not say anything. In fact, he seemed rather in awe of the tiny red-faced babe in his arms. Taking her little hand broken free from her swaddle to wrap around his pointer finger. Bringing the small fist up to his lips to place upon as he stared down at her, utterly entranced, but she knew.

When a letter from Kings Landing arrived announcing the birth of Jacaerys Velaryons she knew. She saw the light gone in his eyes. In how he did not let the wine in his cup go empty. She knew what she must do. What she must give him. It was a son he wanted. Just a son. A son and he would be happy. A son and they would be happy. She would give Daemon Targaryen his sons.

After she had almost given him his long-desired heir, but had only delivered another girl? Did she dare hope then? This one was more of a disappointment than the last for she was not even a dragonrider. Her egg withered in her cradle. Turned to stone. There was no use for the girl. For their sweet Rhaena.

What was one to do with two girls and no son in sight? No heir. Two girls. Ten years gone by and all she had given him was two girls. Every raven arrived from home a bitter reminder. Son after son. Year after year. A full life lived across the Narrow Sea. A life he was no party to. A son was not all he wanted.

How he burned those letters and stiffened at the mere mention of her name. At the suggestion that they return. Your brother would surely find you a position at court. Dismissing her words with a smile that did not reach his eyes and a swig of Pentos wine. Pouring over text and drinking himself to bed. Baela only managed to win his attention with her Valyrian or their rides. The better part of him. Rhaena was lucky if she got so much as a good night kiss from her dear kepa. Her failure.

Yes, wife was only a title. For there were some days he would not even come to her bed. Those days were better despite their loneliness. He was drunk when he climbed on top of her and put this babe in her. Pushing her into the bed. Pushing into her. One thrust. Two Three. In and out. She lost count. Merely trying to distract herself from the dull ache of the stretch.

“Forgive me.” He left her lying there as his seed slipped from her heat. Hastily throwing on his clothes as he scrambled out of the chamber. She did not see him until the next night at dinner. Having to sit through it with a smile that pulled at her mouth from its strain as he and the Magister discussed his son's return from Braavos. A handsome boy with a head of brown curls who was a mere two years Baela’s senior. He was apt to introduce them. Her husband could not seem more delighted by the prospect.

She did not make him content. She was not the wife he wished for. Her failures in the birthing bed proved that. Her failings to bring him his desires prove that. Laena Velaryon was a disappointment.

He could not even look at her. She lay in her deathbed, soiled, blood pouring from her at an alarming rate and he could only spare her half a glance before he moved it back to whatever it was that captured his attention on the stone floor underneath him. He did not notice her. Not even now.

Mayhaps he never had. Not really. Why turn his attention, his affections to her? She had never been what he wanted, only a thing he had settled for. She was always a thing that he was burdened with. What he had settled for. A prize, indeed. A consolation prize.

A Valyrian wife, but the wrong Valyrian wife. Children that were just Targaryen enough, but just as Velaryon in truth as they were Targaryen. A life of comfort and ease, but no action. Close, but not quite. Not what he truly wanted. Second choice. She was his second choice.

The Stranger mocked her with his silence. She could feel him and yet he said nothing. Just waiting. Waiting for her own body to give now the rest was gone. Now that she could not avoid it. Could he laugh? Mayhaps? Mayhaps not.

“We could pry open the womb.” He stuttered ever so slightly. Ringing that cloth covered in her blood and tears in his hand. She felt a chill run up her spine. The Stranger reached to hold out his hand. Waiting.” Try to remove the infant by way of the blade.”

“Would the mother survive it?” Her husband had turned his body away from her. He would never notice her. The healer shook his bowed head. A quiet no confirmation fell from his lips. It was he who looked as if he saw a ghost. Her life for her babes. If that. She knew how this tale would end.

No, she had never been what he wanted. She could not give him what he wanted. Second choice. She who had burdened him with her failings. With her inadequacies. She who could perhaps serve him better in death than she ever could in life. The cold reached her shoulder.

Would he notice if she slipped from the room? Into the night air? Just beyond the castle's walls? Made her way to Vhagar? Grabbed his hand? Ran into the Strangers embrace?

A dragonriders death. Or at least death at the hands of something which she loved. Something which did care for her. Something that did not which to only take from her.

Yes, that was preferable to this. Preferable to being carved like a stuffed pig. Served up for a grand feast. A feast worthy of a prince.

He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed when she pushed the maids away who tried to hold. She pulled herself up on shaky legs to make her way to the door of the chamber. He hadn’t noticed. A wide-eyed mousy girl shrieked a my lady when she slipped through the doorway. The others gawked with open mouths like a fish gasping for breath on land with horror. Not speaking a word at her retreating feverish figure hunched over, but he hadn’t noticed.

“Mother,” Laena thought she had heard. Thought she’d seen a little brown worried face peeking out of the nursery that she shared with her sister. Baela for she was too tall to be her sister. Their host had been gracious enough to offer them chambers of their own, but the girls were as thick as thieves. They could not be separated nor should they be.

She ignored that small voice. The call of a mother. She did not want to know if it was real or a figment of her clouded mind. A trick of her imagination conjured up by the Stranger. Prayed it was only a mirage.

Baela was asleep, warm in her bed. Dreaming of the trip her father had promised he would take her on the morrow. Riding on the back of Caraxes. Her dragon was too small to mount, but she already had a taste for the skies. “Faster kepa. Faster.” She’d say as she would cry with glee. The wind would whip around their faces as they dove and gilded through open blue causing her eyes to water with happy tears.

“Eglikta, nyke jaelagon naejot jikagon eglikta.” Higher, I want to go higher. Her Valyrian would be clunky, but she improving. Soon she’d be better than her mother. Would be better than her.

Laena hoped Daemon would keep to that promise. Perhaps he’d bring Rhaena along with them. The girls would need a distraction. Surely no one would fault him for providing them with one. He’d want to do it. He’d be relieved to be out. He was never one to be idle and she doubted that would change on account of her absence. He’d be free.

Of course, he’d have to mourn her propriety’s sake. For six moons, a year, a very long year, but any bit of freedom he’d have during this mourning he’d welcome. Relish in it. Yes, he’d take her riding tomorrow and the next day after.

That little voice did not follow her on her hobble down the corridor. Nor were her ears met with the little patter of bare feet other than her on stone. It seems the mother was kind enough to grant her one. Her babies were asleep safe in their beds. With not a care in the world.

With a shaky hand upon the banister, Laena turned the corner leaving the guest quarters towards the backstairs that the magister's servants use. It was safer that way. If anyone should come looking for her they’d think she’d use the ones. They’d look for her there. Not creeping around like a beggar woman.

No one followed her. No one looked for her. Not a single soul. There was some relief in that. If they had happened across her they would surely force her back. Back to that chamber. Back into that soiled bed. A lamb for slaughter.

She felt the chill upon leaving the warmth of the manse. It had not been a particularly cool day, but the nights in Pentos were cooled by a western breeze from the bay that bordered its shores. Cool enough to need a cloak of one we’re to venture out for a night stroll, but not Laena felt as if she had stumbled into winter.

Goosebumps erupting over her sticky bronze skin. Every step felt like she walked in water. Her legs felt like lead. She knew if she were to look down at her feet she’d be met with the sight of her lifeblood. If she were to stop she would collapse into the dirt and never get. Mayhaps she was not as careful as she thought for anyone could find her, but it would soon matter not.

She was close. So very close. Home. She was almost home. Away from here. Away from the cold. Away from the pain. Nothing could touch her. She would feel nothing. Not the sharp edge of the healer's blade that would pierce her belly. Not Daemon’s disappointment. Not her own longing for what she could never give. A life that would never be hers. With a kiss from her dragon's flame, it would all end.

It was only by the Stranger's hand that she made it to Vhagar. Stumbling over the pieces of gravel beneath her feet. The pain made her double over. Dropping to her knees. Bowing her head. Pleading. Begging her for release.To be free.

“Vhagar Dracarys. Dracarys. Dracarys. Dracarys. Dracarys.” She had croaked it out half a dozen times to the old dragon, but she would not move. Her voice grew weaker with every plea Threatened to give out. Already sore from screaming, she continued on. She saw no other way. Descending into tears, but tears did little to endear Vhagar to help her. Remaining as unmoved as ever.

Her mouth opened and closed over and over, but she made no move to bring forth fire. To end her riders' suffering. “Dracarys.” She would not move. Only fanning Laena’s damp face with hot dry air. Not a flame to be seen. No orange glow cast.

“Dracarys.” Another wave of pain came over her. It was hard to breathe through it. To force air through her lungs so that she may speak.

“Dracarys.” A whisper. A final plea. Yet she did nothing. Unbowing her head so that brown met golden red. She pleaded with her eyes for Laena had no voice left in her. Her gaze went soft. A lamb begging for the Shepherd to guide her. To save her from the wolves.

Pity was there. Reluctance too. A resistance to do as she was bid. Like a dog commanded to leave his wounded master on a hunt. but that pity had one out. Understanding. Just for a moment. She understood what she wanted.

Vhagar opened her ancient mouth to reveal an orange glow. A glow that burned her skin, feeling the heat making her sweater soon blister and peel if she were to keep at this distance, but that would be the last pain she would feel. For the glow would burn bright and engulf her in its fiery bite. Laena raised her head. Closing her eyes to meet the fire. Let me be free.

“Laena.” She heard his voice. In what would be her final moments left on this mortal plane it was his voice she heard. Carried across the dirt in the windless night. How cruel the Stranger was. He brought her here on her knees with pain shooting through her only to prolong her suffering. How he laughed at her expense. Stinging heat fading bit by bit. As if it had never been. The Stranger laughed indeed.

“No Vhagar.” The glow dimmed. It must have dimmed at the sound of her husband's panicked roar for Laena no longer felt its searing burn. She no longer could feel the brightness of light on her eyelids.

Her dragon had been released from her obligation. Given a choice. Vhagar came to with shame. Did a dragon have shame? Realization that what she was about to do was too rash? Too final? Too desperate. Nothing good ever came from desperation. Not even now while the Stranger made a joke of a dying woman.

The flap of wings reached her ears. With a gust of wind bringing back a chill to her bones. Vhagar deserted her. She was left alone with him.

Laena refused to open her eyes. Refused to see what had become of her. What was going to become of her. Mayhaps she could have tried to run, but she would not get very far. She did not think she could even pull herself to her feet much less hobble her way to wherever Vhagar had flown off to. It would be a crawl. A slow crawl. If that. Her lifeblood that left a steady trail from her womanhood painting her thighs crimson told her otherwise.

“You’re freezing Laena.” He wasted no time enveloping her in his arms. Tucking her carefully into his person. Placing an arm under her legs, the other bore the weight of her back while her head rested underneath his chin. Like a bride. Like how he had so very long ago. Her gown had been a lovely embroidered thing of white Myrish silk rather than the soiled nightgown she wore now. Not a single curl was out of place. Her silver mane shone in the candlelight. Her head had been crowned with a golden diadem. A single ruby placed at its center. She was a vision.

Daemon had refused the bedding ceremony that her uncle called for to carry her back to their chambers himself. Halfway along he had begun whispering something rather naughty into her virgin ears which caused her to burst into a fit of giggles as she was thrown over her groom's shoulder. There would be none of that now.

He must have been closer than she realized she decided. It’s the only way he reached her with such speed. He had no blanket nor cloak with him, but the heat coming off his person warmed her. He felt like a fire. Why was he so warm? Had he always been this warm? This solid?

She clung to him. Burying herself into his chest. Resting her silver curls into the pocket-marked skin of his neck that told the story of the man she loathed and loved. That he cradled their own babes into when they had been little things.

She did not wish to, but he was the only thing keeping her here. The only thing that was here. She longer felt the Stranger's ominous presence. His laughter in her head had left and had been replaced with a pounding in her head. There was only him now.

“What were you thinking?”I would've been free. I would have freed us both and then you would not have had to pretend as you do now. He was doing a good act of it.

“If you had left me. I would not be freezing.” Her voice was so very small. A murmur. A croak really. Hardly recognizable to her own ears. Did she really sound like that? Like an old woman? So very weak. If he had not placed her head near his ear would not have heard her.

“My darling.” He hadn’t called her that in a while. A long while. The last she had was on her twenty-fifth nameday. The night of her twenty-fifth name day. The last time they had truly made love. He had been sober. Gentle. Present.

He spoke her name with such reverence, whispered things into her ear which made her cheeks flush in heat with such tenderness. In the afterglow of their peaks, he had not pulled from her. They had simply laid their breathing each other in as he petted her. He made love with his words where his body had been spent and she savored every morsel of it, but she wouldn’t give too much thought to it now. Desperation caused one to speak falsities laced with honey.

Still, there was something, something in his voice, something thick and unsaid that caused her to open her eyes the slightest to meet his. Pulling herself from where she buried her head to find that they were glassy. Filled with unused tears. Threatening to spill from those green depths.

Laena had never seen him cry. Not once. Not even when she presented Baela to him. Her mother had said that her father could not stop crying when she had placed her in his outstretched arms, but not the Rogue Prince. Never Daemon Targaryen. It was shock , she decided. He was just in shock. She had shocked him.

“You’d be free of me. No healer’s blade required.” He’d be rid of her without another stain on his name. Without it weighing on his conscience. If he was even capable of feeling remorse through that dark haze of his.

“I won’t let them cut you Laena.” She laughed. Did she really mean so little to him? So little that he would not even give her the truth? Did he truly believe she was so naive? After being with him these ten years as his wife, that she knew nothing of him? Of how little his word meant when he gave it out so freely. When he spoke lies so freely from those pale lips. With his airs. His smirks. Mayhaps he believed his own versions of the truth. He had told so many of them. It must be hard to keep up with them, but she remembered.

“You will if it will give you the son you want.” It was men like him did. Proud men. Lords, princes, and kings alike. The need for an heir was too great to pass for men like them. ‘Twas what his brother had done. His wife’s life for a son, a babe who had only survived a night. His wife who he butchered for an heir that lived but a day.

Aemma Arryn had been no more with the swipe of a blade at the command of her husband. A command that left him plagued with guilt and regret and no proper heir to show for it. He had loved his wife, claimed to love her, and yet he murdered her all the same. All for a son. Such as men like him do.

A sharp pain ran through Laena’s abdomen. It had begun to dull before then. Distracted by her abandonment and the cold she felt in it, but that mind-numbing ache was a reminder that the worst was not over yet. That this fight was pointless. That him trying to save her, to make amends after ten years of misery was pointless. Daemon pulled her closer to his warmth, the lines upon his brow made all the more prominent with his worry, but it was no good.

She would still be dead by the end of it. Laena had found dying to be a rather exhausting business. There was no point in wasting any more breath on the matter. Her fate was inevitable.

“Take care of our girls or I shall haunt you.” Her last attempt at humor. Daemon did smile at it and Laena herself could find little amusement in it.

Her one regret. Leaving her girls alone in this world. It was selfish. To take her life so violently when she’d leave them behind. Without saying so much as a goodbye to them. It was heartless. To leave Daemon to pick up the pieces.

To explain to them what she had done. How does one explain that to a child? Why their mother would no longer be able to tuck them into bed at night. Why when they turned to find her smile they’d only find thin air. Why everything had changed in the blink of an eye.

Laena herself did not know what it was like to live without a mother. If RhaenysTargaryen had any faults it certainly did not lie with her mothering for she had always been there for her children. No septa, wetnurse, nor nanny could replace the comfort of a mother.

It was she who fretted over them when they were sick—staying up with them through the night wiping sweat from their brows, singing them lullabies, recounting stories of old to lull them to sleep. She who would kiss their bruises away. She who would listen to their woes without complaint. She who Laena could always depend upon. Only a raven need be sent and she would journey from the ends of the earth to her.

Her girls would be without that comfort, but they'd have her mother. That much she knew. Her mother would care for them as she had her and Laenor when they were little. That much Laena could take comfort in. They would not truly be alone. Just without her.

“You will take care of them yourself.” He must have lifted from the ground because the throbbing increased tenfold. With each step he took she could feel it moving through her. Shooting through her wave after wave. Her back, her belly, and her head were all burning. A stab here. A pinch there. She had thought she had known pain, known weakness, but this was all-consuming agony. She went limp in her husband’s hold.

He was with her, she knew he was holding her but he began to sound distant. The blood pounding in her head muffled his speech. It sounded as if they had journeyed into a dark cavern. She on one end of it, he on the other. His voice was a faint echo yet he would not cut that shallow cord of communication. “You will see them grow and have children of their own. You will not leave me. I will not let you leave me.”

At his last words, his voice broke with a choking sob. A hitch in his breath shook her. Something wet landed on the apple of her cheek. Making its way to her chapped lips. The taste of salt left a kiss upon them.

Mayhaps she had thought too cruelly of him. It was not every day that one witnessed their wife attempting to light herself on fire to escape them. Mayhaps there was sincerity. Something. Yes, something other than the darkness that resided in him.

“You’ll die old in your bed Laena. I promise you—” If he had made any other promises Laena did not know. The pain became too much for her to keep awake. Her eyes fluttered shut before they reached the manse.

Ao3 Link:

#daemon x laena #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #laena x daemon #laena velaryon #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x laena velaryon #bnhotdfic #I hope this is to everyone’s satisfaction 🤞🏽

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lionspawfic · 6 months ago

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House of the Draogn Timeline (Updated)

74 AC

The 7th day of the 7th month, Rhaenys Targaryen, is born to Lady Jocelyn Baratheon and Prince Aemon Targaryen.

77 AC

Viserys Targaryen is born to Princess Alyssa Targaryen and Prince Baelon Targaryen.

81 AC

Daemon Targaryen is born to Princess Alyssa Targaryen and Pince Baelon Targaryen.

82 AC

Aemma Arryn is born to Princess Daella Targaryen and Lord Rodrik Arryn. Daella dies in childbirth.

84 AC

Aegon Targaryen (SoB) is born to Princess Alyssa Targaryen and Prince Baelon Targaryen.

85 AC

Alyssa and Aegon (SoB) Targaryen die. The baby shortly before his first name day in the middle part of the year and Alyssa six months after the birth during the early part of the year.

91-92 | The Myrish Bloodbath

91 AC

The start of the Myrish Bloodbath.

92 AC

Aemon Targaryen, Rhaenys’s father and Prince of Dragonstone, dies on Tarth from a Myrish crossbow.

97 AC

Rhaenyra Targaryen is born to Lady Aemma Arryn and Prince Viserys Targaryen.

Alicent Hightower is born to Lady Alyrie Florent and Otto Hightower.

98 AC

Laenor Velaryon is born to Princess Rhaenys Targaryen and Lord Corlys Velaryon.

99 AC

Baelon Targaryen, father of Daemon and Viserys, becomes Hand of the King.

100 AC

Alysanne Targaryen, the Good Queen, dies

Addam and Alyn of Hull are born to Lord Corlys Velaryon and Marilda of Hull.*

Laena Velaryon are born to Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.

101 AC

Baelon the Brave dies of burst belly

Jaehaerys Targaryen, sends out word of his intent to hold a council of all the Lords of Westeros to settle the question of succession.

The Great Council takes place in Harrenhal and Viserys is chosen over fourteen other claims, including the main contender opposing him, that of his first cousin Rhaenys.

103 AC

Jaehaerys Targaryen, the Old King, the Conciliator, dies.

Viserys I Targaryen is crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms.

112 AC

The 9th Year of Viserys I Targaryen’s reign.

Daemon Targaryen (31) flirts with Rhaenyra (14) and gifts her a Valryian steel necklace.

Queen Aemma Targaryen dies in childbirth. Prince Baelon follows shortly.

The King announces Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen (14) will now be his heir and gathers the Lords of the Realm to swear loyalty to her.

Viserys Targaryen (35) announces his engagement to Alicent Hightower (15) after her and Rhaenyra's 15th birthdays pass.

Daemon joins Corlys's campaign in the Stepstones.

113 AC

They have a private ceremony as the realm is still mourning Queen Aemma.

Queen Alicent Hightower (16) confirms she is pregnant with King Viserys I Targaryen’s (36) child.

Alicent Hightower (16) gives birth to Aegon II Targaryen.

115 AC

Aegon's second name day.

Alicent convinces Viserys to send Daemon assistance.

Alicent Hightower (18) gives birth to Helaena Targaryen shortly after Aegon the Elder’s second name day.

Rhaenyra goes on her tour of the Seven Kingdoms and returns with two months left.

Daemon returns from the Stepstones.

Rhaenyra beds Criston Cole and Daemon is banished afterwards.

116 AC

Rhea Royce is murdered by her husband, Daemon Targaryen.

Laenor Velaryon (18) and Rhaenyra Targaryen (19) marry after the death of Laenor’s lover.

Daemon woos and marries Laena. She is pregnant either immediately before or shortly after.

Alicent Hightower (19) gives birth to Aemond Targaryen.

Rhaenyra Targaryen (19) gives birth to Jacaerys Velaryon. Allegedly the father is Laenor.

Laena Velaryon (16) gives birth to Baela Targaryen.

Alicent Hightower (19) gives birth to Daeron Targaryen.

118 AC

Rhaenyra Targaryen (21) gives birth to Lucerys Velaryon.

Laena Velaryon (18) gives birth to Rhaena Targaryen.

126 AC

Rhaenyra Targaryen (29) gives birth to Joffrey Velaryon.

Laena Velaryon (26) commits suicide by dragon fire after birthing complications.

Aemond Targaryen (10) loses an eye in a fight with Jacaerys (10), Baela (10), Lucerys (8), and Rhaena (8) and claims Vhagar at Laena’s funeral.

Laenor Velaryon is "murdered".

A new war in the Stepstones starts up.

128 AC

Aegon the Younger is born to Rhaenyra Targaryen and Daemon Targaryen.

Jaehaerys and Jaehaera are born to Helaena Targaryen (13) and Aegon the Elder (15).

130 AC

Viserys II Targaryen is born to Rhaenyra Targaryen and Daemon Targaryen.

132 AC

Lucerys defends his claim to Driftmark from (true) accusations of bastardom. Vaemond Velaryon, Corlys’s brother, is killed by Daemon for this in front of the entire Court.

Viserys I Targaryen dies at 46.

Aegon I Targaryen (19) is crowned as King of the Seven Kingdoms. Aegon the Elder is supported by: Dowager Queen Alicent Hightower (35), his sister-wife Quen Helaena (17), his brother Aemond (16), and his brother Daeron (16).

Rhaenyra Targaryen (35) is crowned as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Rhaenyra is supported by: Jacaerys (16), Lucerys (14), Baela (16), and Rhaena (14).

The Dance of the Dragons begins.

284 AC

Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen is born.

*This is an estimate based off the ages of the actors.

**Ages and year changes were made based off script notes.

#house of the dragon #it turns out per the script notes Aegon is only three years older #and he is only 19 during the start of the dance

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padfoot0216 · 2 years ago

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Okay but hear me out (I say this as if I’m about to say something completely normal, but I’m not. None of this is normal) TK and Carlos would both use Tik Tok. They would make POV videos except they are just real things that have happened to them. No one can tell if they are joking.

TK and Carlos’s Tik Tok adventures

- Carlos would start it. Something like “POV Your boyfriend almost set your kitchen on fire (he used to be a firefighter)” And it would show TK in the back trying to put out a very on fire pan.

- TK would retaliate by creating his own Tik Tok. “POV Your boyfriend fell down the stairs, and now you have to provide first aid” Showing Carlos sitting with and ice pack in his head and TK holding a first aid kid.

- They just become more unhinged after that. Everyone in the 126 follows them and so does the 118.

- POV Your boyfriend is in a coma after getting shot by a 10 year old ( TK in a hospital bed)

- POV your boyfriend is apparently just “your colleague” seriously TK

- POV your boyfriend brought a flesh eating lizard into your house and now your scared for your life (He says he wasn’t flesh eating but they found him inside a wound. So excuse me if I don’t believe him)

- The 126 each have their favorite videos

- Owen enjoys watching what his son gets up to but is also kind of concerned for his well being after seeing some of the videos

- POV your a former drug addict and your boyfriend brings drugs into the apartment (a bottle of Tylenol sits on the counter”. This is one one of the videos that concerns Owen.

- POV your boyfriend is crying because the lights were to loud (he swears he’s neurotypical)” Owen is once again concerned about his son

- Marjan enjoys the chaos of the videos.

- POV your dad and your boyfriends dad teamed up to stop an arsonist. They did catch him but now you don’t have a house (so many hoodie are gone) *pile of rubble in the background*

- POV your boyfriend won’t stop crying about his hoodies so now your spending your life savings at 3am to buy new ones

- Mateo is mostly confused and the more he watches the more confused he is

- POV your the bpd (note: try and tell me TK doesn’t have borderline personality disorder) boyfriend and your having a breakdown in the kitchen

- POV All you want to do is sleep but your boyfriend keeps talking about a couch

- Judd is genuinely concerned about both of their well beings

- POV your boyfriend just got kidnapped by a homocidal maniac but refuses to get therapy *carlos is crying in the background

- POV your boyfriend just went into a three day coma and now refuses to go to sleep (yes tk sleep is needed for human survival)

- Paul is entertained by it all

- POV your boyfriend is out with Cooper, whats so great about Cooper, I’m a cop Cooper

- POV A fight breaks out between the police and firefighters softball teams and your boyfriend won’t let you fight and steps in to fight for you (he tells them he’s a cop, it doesn’t work because they are also cops and have desks right next to them. He was invited to one of there childrens graduations. He apologizes to Brian his name was Grant)

- Nancy kind of wishes she never started following them

- POV you wake your boyfriend up at 2 am to tell him you want to write your will (he asks if the lizard is back, not sure why that’s the first thing that came to mind but ok)

- POV you were held captive by a lady who apparently loves the gays (she may want me dead but at least she’s not homophobic)

- Tommy just wants an explanation to it all

- POV Your boyfriend just became a paramedic and was kidnapped by a group of criminals (his dumbass tried to play hero and got knocked out)

- POV your boyfriend blames himself for the death of a criminal (it wasn’t his fault) and is now spending all of his time trying to solve the case (Grace is enabling him.) (I have the first aid kid on stand by)

- The 118 had there own questions and concerns, but the main one being how they know so much about their lives they just met them.

- POV Your boyfriend won’t stop talking about buddie and the couch theory. (Send help)

- POV Your boyfriend is crying because you wouldn’t stop talking about how we aren’t the main show (it’s because we’re in Texas)

Welp that’s it. I’m normal. I swear

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blankfairy · 3 months ago

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" you should stop you know you know you should, but nothing else can make you feel this good. "

As a bastard, Samsa has more in common with her master-at-arms than she does her lord father or lady aunt... or so she thinks. Dressed in chainmail instead of silk and handed a sword rather than a needle, Samsa's father, Albyn, brought her up as his heir. She enjoyed the privileges of a noble life, and indulged in the same dark sins as her ancestors, the bloodmages of Old Valyria.

Samsa hungered, as all her kin did. For love, recognition, or power, she did not know, but tried hard to sate it. She made fast friends with Aemond Targaryen when brought to King's Landing in 125 AC, and in 126 AC, when brought to Dragonstone, attempted to claim the Cannibal — she received a harsh burn and a broken leg for her troubles. Her hunger took her across the world to Asshai, where she deepened the breadth of her dark knowledge and worked up the courage to venture into Stygai.

Samsa returned to Westeros in 130 AC a dragonrider, and a beast changed.

Features in: All Things Devour (TBA)

Family Tree:

Other links: Character tag. Toyhouse. Pinterest. Spotify.

flaticon. template. artist.

#house of the dragon #house of the dragon oc #hotd oc #fyeahhotdocs #oc: samsa vesgar #fic: all things devour #this has just been sitting in the drafts

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decafdino · 1 year ago

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Get to know your fic authors

tagged by @lemonlyman-dot-com, thank you so much!

When did you post your first ever fanfic?

Good lord, some time in 2018 (I believe it was may)

First character(s) you wrote for:

Gavin Reed and Nines (Upgraded RK800) both are from Detroit: Become Human (which I uh.... orphaned from my account because my old fics gave me the ick)

Main character(s) you’re currently writing for:

Carlos Reyes, TK Strand

Character(s) you haven’t written about before but plan on writing about soon:

My blorbos continue to be TK and Carlos, but I really like writing Carlos & Gabriel because I think there's so much fic potential there

Fandom(s) you’re currently writing for:

9-1-1: Lone Star

Platonic pairing(s) you currently write for:

Carlos and the 126 (in particular Paul & Carlos)

Tarlos and their parents... just so much to unpack there and I love it

Romantic pairing(s) you currently write for:

Tarlos

Your top 3 tags on AO3 (if you post your works on AO3):

Whump, Kidnapping, Hurt Carlos Reyes

Your current platform where you post your works:

Ao3

Snippet of the wip you’re currently working on:

"So…you really don't come from the Wilds?"

TK forces a smile for what feels like the millionth time tonight. Around him, the town orchestra swells its sound, and men and women dance joyously across the ballroom. He'd prefer to be on the floor with the rest of them, most likely making a fool out of himself, rather than stay here and dodge question after question.

"I'm afraid not," he says.

"You're sure?" the woman, some special guest of the clergy, pushes. She has on a ridiculously large hat with the bright tail feather of some exotic bird sticking out.

"I believe one would know if one spent their childhood in a completely different realm." Carlos appears at his side, and TK's knees could buckle then and there in relief. He nods at the woman. "Lady Veronica," he says cordially.

She smiles, and it's all teeth. "Is that you, Sir Reyes? Oh, how long it's been."

"Yes, it has," he replies. He takes another step between her and TK, redirecting their conversation. "I see that you've been well."

"Your father simply goes on and on about you, you know? We're all so very happy for your opportunity to go on this little…" She looks him up and down, almost like a predator in disgust of its emaciated prey, "…excursion."

"Speaking of my father, he's been looking for you. He needs to discuss some dates with you and your husband." He's fully blocking her off from TK.

Thankfully, she seems delighted by the prospect of blabbing passive aggressively to the general, and it doesn't take much more coaxing to get her sauntering off. TK's shoulders fall. "I thought she'd never leave," he groans.

"Quite a character, isn't she?"

He smirks. "You two seem to have some history."

"She always suspected me of courting her son."

"And did you?" TK asks a little too quickly for someone trying to be as nonchalant as he is.

Carlos shrugs. "She never had any proof." He leans in and whispers, "and neither do you."

leaving an open tag for anyone that wants it! Tag me back please :)

#tarlos #911 lone star #tarlos fic #tk strand #carlos reyes #floggyfics #ask game

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darknight3904 · 7 months ago

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𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕽𝖆𝖈𝖊

ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ᴏᴄ! ᴛᴀʀɢᴀʀʏᴇɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ /ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴜɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀᴅʏ ʟᴀᴇɴᴀ ʜᴀꜱ ʙʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ʜᴇʀ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ. ɴᴇᴡ ᴅᴏᴏʀꜱ ᴏᴘᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴘʀɪɴᴄᴇ ᴀᴇᴍᴏɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴀᴅʏ ʀʜᴀᴇʟʟᴀ ᴀꜱ ɪᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ᴛᴏɢᴇᴛʜᴇʀ ʜᴀꜱ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜᴇᴅ ᴀ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ.

126 AC

It has been nearly half a year since Rhaella last saw Daemon. Her...father had flown back to Pentos with his family a fortnight after her name day. Most of his time in Kings Landing had been spent trying to gain her attention. Much to his dismay, she had ignored him and only spoken to him no more than four sentences at most. She stared at the dagger he had the blacksmith of the castle make.

"Valyrian steel. It was a gift from my father when I turned 11. I had the smith change the hilt to something more feminine. "

The once black hilt was now inlaid with gleaming sapphires all of different sizes. It had been a marvelous gift, if only the giver had been someone she actually liked. She had quietly murmured her thanks to him and then watched as he walked off to join his wife.

"If you don't like it, I'll take it." Aemond said

"You are mad if you think I'll give my Valyrian steel to you." She said

"I'm just saying...if you decide it is ugly, I will take good care of it." He shrugs

Rhaella sighs. Aemond had been getting rather bold. When she asked Edric he had said it was apart of what boys did when they grew up. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted Aemond to grow up. Sure, she was already a year older than him and his 10th name day had been many weeks ago. All she knew was that once you became old you had responsibilities. Responsibilities that would keep them from seeing each other daily the way they did now.

"I thought you wanted to practice your Valyrian? Isn't that why we are in the Godswood, because it is quiet?" Aemond asked

"We are in the Godswood because you complained my room was boring and yours too stuffy for studying." She reminded him

"Iykirī." Aemond says to her rising tone

Calm down

"I am calm, kirimvose." She says, a mocking tone dripping at the end of her sentence

Thank you

Aemond rolls his eyes and goes back to attempting to translate. Rhaella's eyes fall to the bright yellow wildflowers growing next to her. Aemond's hair catches her eye as it practically glitters in the sun. He has elected to leave it out of its normal half-up style and Rhaella has found it mesmerizing.

"You are staring again." He says

"Your hair looks amazing today." She compliments

"I need to cut it. It is annoying me." He says, his ears turning red at her praise

"I quite like long the longer hair on you." She says picking a flower

"You do?" Aemond asks

"Of course. It reminds me of my own. Not to mention I am sure ladies of the court will love it." She says

"I do not care what ladies of the court think of me." Aemond dismisses

"I am a lady of the court. Do you not care what I think?" She teases

"That is entirely different..." Aemond says

"It is not." She laughs

"It is." He says

The days in Kings Landing had grown repetitive for Rhaella. Rhaenrya's family had moved to Dragonstone three moons ago. Rhaella never understood why they had to leave, just that they did. She missed the ever-mischievous Jacaerys and Lucerys and the pranks they'd play on Aemond and even Aegon on occasion.

Now, her days were long, filled with lessons and needlework. After Rhaenrya had left Ser Harwin had returned to his home at Harrenhal after an issue with Ser Criston. Queen Alicent had elected to stop Rhaella's sword training and now she spent her days with Helaena hoping Aemond would come find her after his own training. Of course, the most shocking part of it all was Ser Harwin and his father's death in a terrible fire, Rhaella could hardly believe she'd never be able to see the muscly, curly-headed man again.

"My prince, My lady." A handmaiden interrupted their "studying", "The queen summons both of you to her chamber. It is urgent."

Rhaella was never entirely sure what to think of Queen Alicent. Sure, she was beautiful and graceful, and Rhaella liked her curly hair. But, her countenance had always been a bit drawn to her. Perhaps it was because she was Daemon's child. It was no secret that the queen did not like her husband's brother. Of course, Rhaella didn't even like the kings brother...

Driftmark was beautiful. Even the sadness of Lady Laena's death could not dampen the ocean's beauty. Seagull's voice's drowned out the voice of Vaemond Velaryon as he spoke of salt in Velaryon's blood.

Rhaella looked at Baela and Rhaena who were standing close to their grandmother. She felt a twinge of sadness as she watched her half-sisters cry, life without a mother was hard. She of course had no memories of her own but still, life would have been easier had Lady Rhea lived.

The solemnness of the whole ordeal was broken when Daemon laughed. Rhaella could not understand what might have been funny at this moment. Surely he was sad that his wife had died, along with what would have been their third child together.

Rhaella watched Daemon sip his wine. He was entirely alone, staring at the open water while many congregated and gave condolences to Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys. She supposed she should offer her sorrows to him, Queen Alicent said that it was the proper thing to say to those who have lost a loved one.

"Mother has engaged Aegon and Heleana," Aemond said, suddenly coming up to her

"I am aware. My handmaid told me a week ago." She said

"He does not even want her though." Aemond said

He seemed almost upset. Surely Aemond did not love Heleana like that...Edric had always said husbands and wives had different love than that of siblings.

"You wish to marry her?" Rhaella asked, ignoring the tightening in her stomach at the idea. She wasn't even sure why she felt like this, Aemond was free to marry whoever he wished, he was a prince.

"I would do my duty." Aemond said, " I just do not think Aegon deserves her."

Rhaella had to cover her mouth at his statement. As far as she was concerned Aegon didn't deserve any noble lady as a wife. Whispers of his activities flowed through the Red Keep like water.

"Do you want to walk along the coast line with me? I want to bring seashells home for my room." Aemond said

Rhaella wanted to accept, surely seashell hunting would be more enjoyable. Yet, she felt drawn to staying as he eyes fell on Baela who had an arm around her sister.

"Perhaps later." She said before walking away

"Lady Rhaella." Baela greeted, getting ready to stand

"Do not trouble yourself. I wanted to offer my sorrows and...prayers for your mother." Rhaella said awkwardly, she wished she was better at starting conversations. It had been over a year since she left the isolation of Runestone and yet her social skills were still subpar.

"Thank you," Baela said

Rhaena did not speak but offered a small, sad smile.

Cool wind pushes her hair off her shoulders and stings her skin. Aemond is staring at her from the spot she left him at. His face seems to beg her to come back, to save him from Aegon who is now talking his ears off.

"Have you spoken to our father?" Rhaena asked suddenly

She did not want to, not after the disastrous name day celebration.

"I have not." She said

"Perhaps she does not wish to speak to him, Rhaena." Baela scolded her sister

"I was just asking." Rhaena sighed

"I do not know how to speak to him. Anytime I look at him, it is like my throat closes up." Rhaella said sadly, "I don't think he likes me."

Many hours later, Rhaella is awoken by Baela above her, shaking her shoulders.

"It is the middle of the night." She groaned, scolding her younger half-sister, "We can speak of Daemon tomorrow."

"This isn't about Daemon." Jacaery's voice says

Rhaella wants to bury her head under the blankets and never return. They were only a few years younger than her, why were they all so annoying? All she wants is to sleep.

"Someone has stolen Vhagar!" Baela whispers

Vhagar? Her mother's dragon? Who could steal a beast like that?

She rolls out of bed, nearly tripping on her blankets while her cousins and half-sisters have already dashed out the door. Perhaps they'd be lucky and Vhagar had just chosen to go for a midnight flight, dragons were mysterious creatures to her.

Loud shouts were echoing as she ran after them. What could they possibly be doing? When she finally reaches the long hall where they had stopped her eyes widened. Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena were all kicking and punching Aemond of all people. Her closest friend was on his back with his arms protecting his face.

"What are you all doing?" She yelled, running to pull Jacaerys away

"He stole our mother's dragon!" Baela said pausing her kicking to point at Aemond

"She was mine to claim. Not yours!" Rhaena said

"As I said, you should have claimed her. She is mine now." Aemond said from his spot on the ground

Rhaella isn't sure what to think. She could barely wrap her head around what was happening. Aemond had claimed a dragon, and the biggest living one at that.

"Jace can find you a pig to ride," Aemond says mockingly to Rhaena

"Stop!" Rhaella yells when her half-sisters resume their hitting and Jace wiggles out of her arms to join them and his little brother.

It all happens so fast, Aemond who is bigger than everyone except her quickly overpowers their younger relatives. He throws Rhaena and Baela off him with ease and sends a hard punch to Jacaerys' face. It is only when the smallest, Lucerys has his neck being grasped by Aemond that her feet seem to work again.

"Aemond. Stop this madness," She commanded, pulling at his hand around the little boys neck that refused to budge

Despite her slight height advantage, Aemond was determined and Rhaella found herself unable to move him.

Perhaps it is the adrenaline of it all, claiming a dragon, being beaten by your cousins but, Aemond spares her no more than a hard gaze before taking his spare hand and punching her directly in the nose.

It is like she has forgotten every lesson Ser Hawin ever taught as warm blood flows freely down her face and into the dirt she landed in. Her eyes water from the suddeness of it all and perhaps the pain that came with the impact of his fist.

"You will die screaming in flames just as your father did. Bastards." Aemond says, holding a large rock over Lucery's head.

"My father is alive." He wails

"He doesn't know, does he, Lord Strong?" Aemond mocks, questioning their cousin's birthright.

Rhaella feels her heart drop to her feet when she sees Jace pull a small knife from its scabbard.

"Jace!" Baela calls

Rhaella's head turns as she looks at her half-sisters next to her. She grabs Baela's hand and squeezes tightly, ignoring how her nose bleeds. She wants to get up and stop them yet fear and dizziness from Aemond's hand keep her on the ground.

Aemond uses his size against Jace and raises the rock again, this time, meaning to being it down on his head. A handful of dust is thrown at her friend and a bit of it gets in her own eyes as pained screams fill the air. What has happened?

She rubs the dirt out of her eyes and sees Aemond on the ground clutching at his face. Deep red stains the dirt below him as he yells. Rhaella glances at the blade which is still clutched in Lucery's hand.

"Aemond!" She gasps, abandoning Baela to kneel next to him, "Aemond move your hand I cannot help you if you do not..."

Aemond's blood mixes with hers on her hands as she tries to look at the wound while he continues to wail. She moves his head into her lap and brushes away the silver hair that is sticking to his face and becoming slick with blood. Perhaps she could tear a bit of her night dress off to stop the bleeding. Then, she'd help him back to the castle and find a Maester.

"Cease this at once!" Ser Harrold's voice fills her ears, "Move away."

His arms lift her away from Aemond who is still clutching at his face. She cannot see what the wound looks like from behind Ser Harrold but she can hear his gasp.

"God's be good."

Aemond's eye is gone forever. Rhaella is sure of it as she watches Driftmark's Maester slowly stitch his skin together. Queen Alicent sits next to Aemond, holding his hand while he squirms each time the needle touches his skin.

"The eye is lost, Your Grace." the Maester confirms her suspicions.

"I will have answers as to what happened," Viserys says, clearly angry

Rhaella did not expect everyone to begin speaking at once. Rhaena and Baela are pointing and shouting at Aemond while Jace argues directly with Aemond despite Rhaenrya holding his arms. She isn't sure what to say, or if her voice will even be heard. Instead, she lets her eyes scan the room where they land on Daemon. Her father leans on the door and watches the scene unfold the way she is. His eyes meet hers and she can tell he is taking in her appearance. Surely she is still covered in blood from her nose, which has thankfully stopped its bleeding.

"Enough!" the king's voice silences everyone, "I want the truth."

"What more is there? Your son has been maimed," Alicent says, "Her sons are responsible. Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the fight, he meant to kill my son."

That was a lie, the blade was never Luke's and Rhaella was sure her cousins didn't mean to kill.

"My sons were attacked and forced to defend themselves." Rhaenrya says, stepping in front of her sons, "Vile insults were said about them."

"What insults?" Viserys tiredly asked

"The legitimacy of their birth," Rhaenrya said

The room fell silent as Rhaenrya addressed the rumors that had swirled around her family for so many years. Rhaella remembered the first time she had heard people muttering that Jace and Luke were bastards. Perhaps it was true, they looked nothing like Ser Laenor yet Rhaella did not see why it mattered. Laenor had always seemed like a wonderful father to them.

"He called us bastards," Jace said, stepping from behind Rhaenrya to address the king.

Rhaella peers around Alicent who is blocking her view of Aemond. She is surprised to see a small smirk on his lips.

"This is treason. My sons are in line for the Iron Throne. Aemond must be questioned to learn where he heard these words." Rhaenrya says.

"My son has lost an eye." Alicent says

"Aemond. Where did you hear these lies?" Viserys asks

A long pause ensues and her friend does not speak.

Only the crackle of the fire is heard as Aemond opens his mouth.

"It was Aegon."

Rhaella along with everyone else turns to stare at the older boy.

"Me?" He breathes, clearly not expecting to be involved in it all.

"Where did you hear of them?" Viserys asks, walking to him.

Aegon avoids eye contact with his father and stares ahead, a decision that didn't seem smart to Rhaella.

"Aegon! Tell me the truth of it!" Viserys suddenly yells making Rhaella jump

"We know father. Everyone knows...Just look at them." Aegon says slowly glancing over.

Rhaella looks at her younger cousins whose brown hair looks even darker than normal in the poorly lit room. The lack of the Valyrian features on their faces was plain as day.

"And you?"

Rhaella suddenly feels eyes on her.

"What did you see?" Viserys asks, walking towards her, cane thumping being the only noise.

"I...was a few moments behind Baela and Rhaena. When I arrived they were kicking and punching Prince Aemond who was on the ground." Rhaella says, trying not to stutter, "He pushed them all off and then insulted Jace and Luke, while holding a rock above their heads."

She glances around the room and finds Daemon staring at her, a look of interest is on his face as she continues.

"I tried to stop him from strangling Luke but, Aemond hit me and then the blade was brought out and he...was cut by one of my cousins." Rhaella says

"Lucerys cut him. He took my son's eye, Viserys." Alicent says

Viserys looks down at Rhaella who meets his eyes.

"This interminable fighting must cease! All of you!" Viserys suddenly yells, turning to face everyone once more, "We are family...make your apologies and show goodwill towards one another."

Surely that cannot be it? Rhaella cannot belive what is happening. She expected more, an insult like the one Aemond said was surely worth a punishment, not that she wanted to see him punished...she just knew what he said had been wrong, even if his eye was gone because of it.

"There is a debt to be paid." Alicent says

Rhaella looks at the queen. Tears are in her eyes yet Rhaella does not detect any sadness on her face.

"Do not allow temper to cloud your vision," Viserys says to his wife

The king begins to walk away as Alicent speaks again.

"If the king does not seek justice the queen will. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velyaron, he may choose which eye he can keep, a pleasure he did not give my son."

"You will do no such thing," Rhaenrya sharply says

Rhaella can feel her heart begin to race. The tension in the room is enough to drive anyone mad as the king turns around.

"Stay your hand." He orders

"You're sworn to me!" Alicent suddenly yells

"As your protector." Ser Criston reminds her.

"This matter is finished." Viserys says, "Anyone whose tongue questions Princess Rhaenrya's sons legitimacy shall have it removed."

Rhaella looks at Aemond who avoids her gaze, in turn looking at his hands which are caked in his own blood.

Chaos is the only word she could use to describe what happened next. In a flash, Alicent had grabbed the king's dagger and was grappling with Rhaenrya, all for Lucery's eye.

Rhaella stumbles back as Ser Harold rushes into the fray, barking orders at Ser Criston. Lucerys' loud screams are what reach her ears as Rhaenrya and Alicent have their exchange.

"Exhausting isn't it? Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness?" Rhaenrya's voice sends a chill down Rhaella's spine, "But now they see you as you are."

The blade makes a cut, swift and unforgiving, as Alicent and Rhaenrya quickly move away from each other. Rhaella gasps when she sees Rhaenrya's blood trickle onto the floor.

Aemond finally rises from his spot and he looks at her for just a second. His single eye is unreadable to her as he goes to his mother.

"It was a fair exchange." He says, "I may have lost an eye...but I gained a dragon."

Three days later:

Packing is never something she has enjoyed. Her handmaid helps her fold her clothes neatly as if the ship will not mess them up in their journey back to Kings Landing.

"Rhaella?" A voice calls followed by a knock

"Yes?" She answers "Come in."

Rhaena and Baela push her door open and enter her chamber.

"Our grandmother told us to come find you. She said we ought to ask and not her." Rhaena said

"Ask me what?" She asks

"Say it." Baela whispers

"You do it! I opened the door!" Rhaena said, jabbing an elbow at her twin

"That is hardly a reason-"

Baela is cut off by Rhaena speaking again and Rhaella wants to laugh at them, they are truly siblings. They quarrel the same way Jace and Luke do over food and toys.

"We wish for you to live with us. Our grandmother will be raising us and we want to know you, as a sister, not just a story our mother tells us before bedtime." Rhaena says

Rhaella is stunned. She never imagined having a real relationship with them, let alone living with them. It is truly all she has ever dreamed of, they are the closest kin she has, besides Daemon himself of course.

"What about our father...is he going to remain here?"

Rhaella does not want to interact with him regularly. How could she accept if he was always lurking in the halls?

"Our father will not remain here. We are unsure of his next move but he has already talked to us of staying here, at Driftmark." Baela says

"He may visit at times but...I believe he will be letting our grandmother raise us most of the time." Rhaena says

Rhaella cannot tell if they are sad by this prospect. Perhaps they are not close to Daemon either. Is anyone actually close to him?

"I would have to return to Kings Landing. Most of my things are there. And my...friend, Maester Edric. I want him to live with me. He has raised me as his own." Rhaella says

"Our grandparents have already set aside a room for him. Yours is next to his." Baela smiles

"You are both very kind, as are Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. Could you tell them I wish to think about it?" Rhaella asks

Baela and Rhaena leave with a nod of their heads, off to tell their grandparents.

"Should I continue packing, Lady Rhaella?" Her handmaid asks

"No, I will finish it myself. Thank you." Rhaella dismisses her, she has much to think about.

Aemond's face burns. Earlier, the Maester had given him milk of the poppy and rubbed strange-smelling cream where his eye once was. His awareness has dropped, he has bumped into countless things today and it was not even noon yet. They were set to return to Kings Landing today and he was going to get to fly home on Vhagar, instead of sitting next to his mother on the ship.

He hasn't seen Rhaella since the night he lost his eye, he refuesed her visits despite all that has happened. He feels guilty about how he struck her, after all her nose had bled so much. Aemond is still unsure of why he struck her. Was it the heat of the moment? Or had he truly meant it?

No. He'd never intentionally punch her, hurting his one friend in this world was not like him. He decides to write it off as an accident in his mind as his door opens.

"Mother."

"How are you feeling? Has the Measter given you milk of the poppy yet?" She asks

"I am fine." He says, deciding not to tell her how it feels

"Rhaella is going to remain here, at Driftmark." She says suddenly

"What?" He asks, stunned.

" I wanted her to return to her true home but your father would not have it. I asked Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys if they would look after her until she is of age to take Runestone and be married. They are already taking in your cousins. I believe it best that-"

"No!" Aemond shouts the chair toppled over as he quickly stands, "She is my friend. I want her to return with us to the Red Keep."

"I knew this attachment would be hard to break. I told your father that it was best to keep you separate and now look what it has done. You have only known her for a year and a half Aemond. And now, you have been maimed and will never be whole again." His mother says, her eyes fixed on his missing one.

"It was not her fault my eye is gone. She wasn't the one holding the blade!" Aemond argues, thinking back to Lucery's face as the blade cut him and how he struck her so that she was unable to get back up.

"Not her fault? Then why is it gone?" His mother stands to tower over him, "If it wasn't her fault she would have stopped Lucerys. Instead, she sat there while you were injured, permanently. "

The firmness of his mother's normally soft-spoken voice scares him, as does the firm grip she takes on his arms, slightly shaking him as she speaks again.

"She will never be on your side, on your brothers. The way she looks at Rhaenrya's bastards and Daemon, she has chosen where she belongs, even if she does not realize it yet. She will turn on you if you keep her close to your side. I am doing you a favor by removing her from your life."

Aemond shakes his head, unwilling to imagine what his mothers words are trying to create in his mind.

"Leave her here. Let the tides wash her away and your memories of her with them. One day, you will help your brother take his throne, and all will be right. She will become a problem if she remains at court with you.

Aemond looks upon his mother's face which is hardened with determination that he see what she has said to him. His face burns as he opens his mouth and turns his eye to look directly at her.

"You are wrong."

Sorry for the lack of a chapter yesterday. I went out to dinner and then completely forgot to post...oops. I will say, the cheeseburger I had was amazing.

My tumblr is acting weird as well and not letting me edit things. I'm going to fight my computer soon.

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viperixsworld · 7 months ago

Text

Born to die

━━ Benjicot Blackwood x oc

Chapther two: proposal

Year 126 A.C

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Benjicot Blackwood remembered little of his mother. He remembered slightly wavy, honey-coloured hair, and large, expressive eyes that he himself had inherited. He was six years old when she died. He remembered that she had a good heart, everyone at Raventree Hall adored her. Soldiers, servants, cooks, grooms, stable hands, all charmed by Lady Blackwood.

Ten years had passed since a terrible fever had taken her. Ben's father, Samwell Blackwood, Lord of Raventree Hall, wept by the bedside. It was the first and last time he had seen him cry. He was a good guy, respected by his men and vassals. Not so much by the neighbours, as one might say. The Brackens didn't like him much.

But then, the Brackens don't even respect themselves.

And neither did Ben.

The Well Tavern was a place frequented by men between the Red Fork and the Blue Fork. Both Bracken's and Blackwood's. The owner of this tavern, an old man with one eye and three golden teeth, had forbidden them to fight in his establishment.

There they were that spring night, Ben Blackwood and two of his loyal friends, Corvin and Jon. Both boys from Blackwood's house, both of whom he had known since he was born. His father considered him young to frequent such places, for it was not good for a young lord's reputation. But that did not detract from the fact that he did it anyway.

It was fun, the festive atmosphere and the drunken tales. Ben had had two pints, not enough to get him drunk, but enough to be amused by the nonsense a much drunker Corvin was spewing from his mouth.

"...and then the bloke said "but that's not where to put it" "cackled the young man.

The whole table erupted in laughter and banging. Ben slapped Jon on the back as he nearly choked on his beer. That brought more laughter to the Blackwood men's table. But the revelry ended as soon as the tavern doors burst open.

The place fell silent, the musicians abruptly gave way, and the men at the table turned their gazes to the doors.

Aeron Bracken and six men in golden colours and a red stallion. They seized a table and called the barkeeper, under the watchful eyes of the Blackwoods. The tension could be cut with a dagger, not even the best beer in the Arbor could lighten the mood.

Ben sipped his beer, one hand near his belt where he held a sword and another knife strapped to his back camouflaged in his clothes.

Then one of the Brackens bumped into a drunken Jon. The young stable boy was considerably small compared to the Bracken man, who stood there staring at him.

The two collided forehead to forehead, foot to foot. Ben rose from his seat, in an attempt to separate his friend from the Bracken bouncer.

"That's it! My friend and I go that way and you go this way".

"Are you scared, Blackwood?" teased Aeron.

"I don't feel like smashing your face in a tavern, Bracken," he replied, "We're leaving".

Aeron also stood up and unsheathed his sword, aiming it at Benjicot's back. Blackwood stood still. He had been told to stay away from fighting, to save his strength and momentum for his lessons and important battles to come, and not to waste them in taverns with childish brawls.

He took Jon by the shoulders, to take him to the table with his other friends and leave the dreaded tavern. The hour was late, tomorrow would be a new day and the alcohol was beginning to dampen morale.

"And little Benji comes running back to his mummy's skirts" mocked one of the Bracken boys "Oh wait!, that's right, his bitch of a mother has been in hell for years now, like all the Blackwood heathens".

His father was going to be very angry.

It took a second for the tavern to turn into a pitched battle. Grab what you can and hit the enemy with it. A classic Blackwood versus Bracken as usual since the age of the Heroes.

The offence against the late Lady Blackwood and the ancient gods could not be retaliated against by the lords of Raventree Hall. Jim, the landlord of the tavern, tried to calm the shouting match, trying to move the quarrel out of the establishment at least.

Corvin saw the disadvantage. There were seven of them against the three men from Blackwood House. The boy lifted Jon off the floor, kicking a drunk who had thrown himself on top of him.

"You go get the horses, I'll grab..."

A circle formed where the Brackens were previously seated. Shouts of fighting echoed off the stone walls. Jon looked at Corvin with concern. The latter nudged the former, indicating his previous order, as he reached for the young lord.

Ben was in the middle of the bloody circle. Straddling a Bracken, the one who had dared to speak ill of his mother, brutally beating his face, to the point that Corvin couldn't tell which of them it was.

After that beating, not even the bastard's mother could recognise him.

The boy tried to get Ben's attention, but his young lord seemed possessed by rage. Bracken blood splattered on his face, his gaze unfocused, his tongue between his teeth in an almost satisfied grimace.

"Ben! Oi! Come on, mate!"

Corvin grabbed his master by the shoulders, trying to lift him off the Bracken before he sent him to his false gods. Dodging a blow, Ben seemed to snap out of his reverie.

"Come on, let's get out of here, mate," Corvin pointed, guiding the boy towards the exit.

Outside, Jon was waiting with the horses. Once saddled, the three rode into the night along the road to Raventree Hall. They reached the entrance to the Blackwood ancestral home as the sun rose over the horizon.

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The sun was rising in the east and Lucrezcia had not slept a wink all night.

A ringing in her ears, the spring heat made her sweat, and her quarters in Oldtown were ugly to say the least.

Her only solace was the company of Lady Blackwood. Alyssane had accompanied them from Honeyholt to Oldtown on their quest to find a new master for their house. Along the way, she had advised her and told her all about her home.

The stories about the Riverlands had become a moment of peace amidst the relentless search for husbands. Between dates and teas, Aly and Lucrezcia would go out riding to clear their heads.

Her father had finally managed to get his wonderful horse from the island by boat. A dornish stallion with a black coat and white mane, as big as a carriage and as strong as a bull.

Lucrezcia had named him Maegor.

"... I thought all Riverlands practised the faith of the Seven," questioned Lucrezcia.

"The Blackwoods are an ancient house descended of the First Men. Family traditions state they ruled most of the wolfswood in the north before being driven south by the Kings of Winter from House Stark" replied Alyssane "Then Blackwood river kings claimed the mouth of the Blackwater Rush".

Everything she learned fascinated her.

She felt like a little girl, eager for knowledge, full of curiosity. The many septas she had had throughout her life had not focused on teaching her history. The basics, the Age of Heroes, Aegon's conquest, Maegor's wars of faith, Jahaerys's reign.

They never delved into other houses, let alone other kingdoms, or maybe they did, but Lucrezcia was more interested in ignoring them.

"My father says that the First Men were barbarians and do not accept true religion while worshipping false gods".

"That's rich coming from an Andal" said Aly.

"My mother was an Ironborn, actually" Lucrezcia said.

Alyssane listened carefully. It is true that the absence of a mother or lady of the house was noticeable. It was the father who chose the suitor, but it was the mother who instructed the daughters in the way of marriage. And the lack of maternal presence was very clear in Lucrezcia's attitude. Her manner and demeanour, Alyssane wondered if she had mastered a weapon of some kind, as she had with the bow.

"You don't talk about her much," Aly mentioned.

Lucrezcia seemed to tense up, as if she had spoken too much. Just because she thought a lot about her mother did not mean she wanted to talk about her. No one at home did. Her father seemed to have forgotten all trace of her. Livia was already married when she left, Patricia had barely stopped feeding at her mother's breast.

Olga could barely stand Lucrezcia, so she wasn't much of a support.

"She... she's gone" she murmured "Not that she was a very loving person, anyway...".

Alyssane didn't want to stretch the conversation any further, seeing the change in the young woman's attitude.

"She taught me how to ride though," Lucrezcia blurted out to the riverwoman's surprise. "She gave me the first puppy, it was a breed from the crown lands. We trained him together... his name is Vinn, after the vineyards".

"What a ridiculous name," laughed Black Aly.

Lucrezcia nudged her horse.

"I was eight! I thought it was original!"

They both laughed and Alyssane decided it was a good time to put her plan into action.

"You know, my nephew enjoys hunting too, though no more than his sword, damn him."

"You have a nephew?"

Bingo.

"Benjicot Blackwood, heir to Raventree Hall".

"Benjicot? Now that is a ridiculous name".

Now it was Aly who nudge her horse. A little bit stronger.

"I jest! I jest..." laughed Lucrezcia. A spike of curiosity tingled down her spine. "And what is he like?".

"He's just turned six and ten, he's as tall as the weirwood tree, the damn kid, and very strong. He's been in a few little battles, against bloody Brackens, at least," mentioned Aly "But between you and me, he's a nice kid, pretty shy to tell you the truth."

Blackwood could feel the curiosity shooting out of Lucrezcia's eyes.

"I could introduce you to him."

Lucrezcia shook her head, drawing out the little birds.

"And why would you do that?"

They had arrived at the Hightower stables in Oldtown. Alyssane unsaddled her horse and handed it to a groom, while Lucrezcia still watched her from the height Maegor provided.

"Take it as a favour, he's young and you may have more in common with him than with Daryl Florent".

Alyssane winked goodbye and left the young woman speechless. She watched her walk away towards the High Tower gates.

Lucrezcia's mind was soon racing.

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Ben's bloody nose was playing tricks on him. They still had no maester and had to make do with the healing wiles of Bessie, the cook and housekeeper.

The hall was tense with silence. Lord Samwell stood at the head of the table, while Ben sat at the other end, with Jon and Corvin on either side of him.

With the pain in his head from the blow, he struggled to distinguish his friends. Bess had given him a cloth with very cold water to bring down the swelling in his nose, the water dripping from which mixed with the blood in his nose. He felt iron in his mouth, and could not help the urge to spit.

Father was lecturing him, as well as his friends, who crestfallenly responded with "yes, my lord" and "sorry, my lord". All this while Ben tried to focus his eyes on his father.

"Tavern brawls, this is where it's come to" the man said "I didn't raise a drunken brawler, I raised a future lord, a warrior!" he slammed his hand on the table, startling Ben "You have responsibilities, and you don't fulfil them by getting into trouble.

"They were Brackens," Ben replied.

Samwell fell silent. His wrinkled eyes narrowed in his son's direction. The feud with the Brackens was centuries old, many barely remember the beginning of it. Each day of the other's life was a threat to the other. Grover Tully, Lord of Riverrun, their overlord, was old and his attempts at peace between the houses were faltering.

Any excuse was a good one for bloodshed.

And as things were going in the capital, war was coming.

And ravens and stallions would not fight for the same side.

Samwell was aware of this. But he knew he had time to prepare himself and his house for a war until the dragons decided to dance. And if he could keep the peace with Stone Hedge until then, so be it. For his son's life was worth more than any battle.

He was not so sure that son was aware of that.

"The winds change fast, my son. Someday you will realise that it pays more to protect your own than to fight with the enemy," said the Lord of Raventree. "We need a strong and secure future".

Corvin and Jon shared a look of intrigue at the direction of the conversation. Benjicot looked straight at his father.

"And you, my son, you shall settle down". Samwell pulled two parchments from his sleeve, one with a crimson seal, his own, and another with a purple seal that Ben did not recognise.

"Lads" the lord pointed to the two boys guarding his son. It was their cue to leave the father and son.

Both boys looked at each other and then saluted their master, to walk out the doors of the great hall.

Once alone, Ben pulled the wet cloth away from his face to listen to his father.

"Your aunt, Alyssane, has agreed with Lord Luther Redwyne on a very interesting proposition," he said. He stretched out the parchment of the unknown seal.

"Lord Luther Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor. One of the richest men in Westeros, offers the hand of his daughter, Lucrezcia Redwyne, with a dowry of six thousand gold dragons, two hundred of his men and a prolific trade agreement with the Isle of the Arbor" read Samwell.

"The hand... of his daughter" Ben repeated.

Ben's mind was faster than a dragon. His daughter's hand in marriage, he read the letter. Marriage. He was getting married. To a complete stranger. From another realm. Another faith. An unknown woman.

"Believe me, my boy" said the lord "This is a new beginning, for you and for..."

" They offer us men, for what purpose?" interrupted Ben.

"Gold and men bring security to a family," Samwell reminded him.

"Security against what? What's coming?".

Samwell put a hand on his son's shoulder, still seated.

"I want to see you happy, son. And I want grandchildren for my house that you won't beget in taverns."

"You think a woman will make me happy?"

"A wife ? Yes".

He patted his son on the back twice, before heading for the door of the great hall.

"You'll thank me one day".

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"I have made a decision".

Lucrezcia had entered without warning the temporary office that Lord Ormund had offered her father during his stay in Oldtown.

Luther was going over the trade accounts from the last full moon. He looked up from the numbers to find his third daughter. Lucrezcia looked dishevelled, in her silk dressing gown and Lys nightdress. Her dirty blonde hair was tangled in what had once been a braid.

"And what decision would that be?"

Lucrezcia held her head high. Late at night, the only thing illuminating the dingy office were the candles. The light from the High Tower kept her awake. Alyssane had not visited her since their talk in the gardens, busy with her initial task of finding a maester for her household.

She had reconsidered all her options. Men of the Reach, of the Westerlands, but what appealed to her most, Alyssane's proposal.

A man from the Riverlands, who had no respect for the faith of the Seven.

Would that anger her father enough?

"I will marry Benjicot Blackwood"

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tag list: @erysione @asteria33 @shifter-101 @drwho-ess @hotdxdragon @username199945 @nixtape-foryou @saturnssrings

#game of thrones #asoiaf fic #got fic #hotd #benjicot blackwood x oc #asoif/got #benjicot blackwood #benjicot blackwood x reader #got #house targaryen #benjicot blackwood... born to die #blackwood fic #ben blackwood x reader #bloody ben

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medeasgalpal · 2 years ago

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oh i’ve been looking into connections between Scottish and Appalachian folklore and I just found a fun one.

***

the story told in northeastern Tennessee goes like this: one day, a young man goes out to the field to see after his family’s cows. in the midst of the cows is a young woman he’s never seen before. the cows seem to like her, and of course, she’s the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. he invites her home and she’s fed and given a place to stay at the farm. she offers to take care of the cows in return, an offer that is gratefully accepted. the mysterious woman becomes a beloved member of the household and eventually the larger community. she becomes known for her lively dancing.

meanwhile, the young farmer is hyping himself up to ask her to marry him. once he finally works up the courage, he runs out to the field, looking for the girl. strangely, he doesn’t find her with the cows. he wanders further through the fields until they give way to forest. from the edge of the woods, he spots her. he calls out, but she doesn’t seem to notice him. there’s something strange about her. though her lips don’t move, there’s a song on the air. shadows are cast in a strange way, as if light was coming from further in the forest. her eyes are fixed in that direction. afraid, the young man leaps into the woods and grabs her shoulder. as he pulls her away, he catches a glimpse of her eyes, gone cold white. the music stops, the light fades. they return to the house.

the young woman never danced again after that day. she rarely spoke or smiled. no one ever found her in the woods again, but she would look off blankly towards the mountains. the young man got a job with the railroad and got married to a girl in town. once his parents passed away, the strange young woman kept the farm and the cows by herself.

***

I love this story for many reasons. it reminds me of Cowboy from Old Gods of Appalachia and the stories I grew up hearing about ghostly women hitchhiking who would disappear after you pick them up. but while I was reading about the more unusual Good Folks, I was surprised to hear that our cow loving spooky lady has a counterpart back in Scotland.

“The gruagach haunts the fields and pastures, and is usually seen as female, with the exception of Skye where the gruagach there is described as male. Either way, the name ‘gruagach‘ comes from the long hair, whether referring to male or female – the term itself means ‘long-haired one.’ In terms of referring to men, it was common at one time for those who were of free or high rank in Scotland to have long hair, and on Skye he is referred to as being tall, wearing the dress of a ‘bygone period’ and having long yellow hair.124

The sole remit of the gruagach is in looking after the herds of cattle. If offerings of milk are faithfully made to her (or him, if we’re talking about Skye), she will happily look after the cattle at night and ensure that no harm comes to them. The milk should be given to to the clach na gruagaich, ‘the gruagach stone’, which is often described as a stone with a hole of depression in it.

Carmichael tells us: “In making the oblation the woman intoned a rune:

A ghruagach, a ghruagach,

Cum suas mo spreidhe,

Cum sios an Guaigean,

Cum uap an Geige.Brownie/

Brownie,

Uphold my herds,

Keep down the ‘Guaigean,

’Keep from them the ‘Geige’.”125

This was done by the dairymaid on a weekly basis according to Reverend MacQueen, writing in 1774, every Sunday,126 and failure to do so would lead to disaster. On Skye, where the gruagach was seen as male, he was often blamed for the unfortunate circumstances of many an unwed mother, up until the late seventeenth century, at least.127″

it’s well known that the folklore of Appalachia is influenced by the Irish and Scottish settlers who wound up here, but I feel like it’s hard to find stories where that connection is as clearly seen as this one. I’m also obsessed with the idea of an Otherworldly being who just wants to take care of your cows. I was only really aware of the under-the-hill courtly sorts of Good Folk, but there’s many more. highly recommend checking out the Tairis site linked above, it’s got some really well-researched information about Scottish folk practices.

#i cant remember the name of the source for the story oops #but its somewhere in my libby history if need be #appalachia #good folk #folklore #ecology of the otherworld

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paperstorm · 2 years ago

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Lmao at that older rich lady being taken with Carlos. She was like why wouldn't you have a stalker, look at you!! And TK just casually strolling up to check everything is ok cuz he knows Carlos is big hit with the ladies and just wants to let them he's Gay and he's Mine 😂😍

I love that Carlos isn't even part of the 126 lmao they just put him in a suit and trotted him out because he's hot and charming and rich old ladies will want to pinch his cheeks and then give him money.

#911ls asks #pimpin' the fiancé for cancer i love it

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bohemian-nights · 1 year ago

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What We May We Mend (Chapter 4)

Word Count: ~19,019 (yes I know)

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Daemon Targaryen × Laena Velaryon

Warnings⚠️: Does Daemon Targaryen count as one? This chapter also gets a little steamy 😏

AN: Sorry for the delay, but it’s another huge chapter and the gang is all here so yay🌊

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 5, Chapter 6,

Her mother’s warning stuck with her for a spell. It was hard for it not to with everything that transpired around her. An impending doom. A strong current in the eye of a storm and she was caught in the undertow. She could hear voices. She could see land, she was not very far away from it, but she could not move.

Even if she could she had no way of escaping as the water surrounded her. Wishing to pull her down into its depths to what would surely be her doom She was caught swimming against that current until the sound of her husband's laugh pulled her out of the sea and back to the shore with a jolt. A strange feeling it was. For she had felt lost and even when one is found it is hard to forget the feeling of being lost.

He laughed. He actually laughed. Laena would not have thought anything of it had they been anywhere else, had it been any other time, about anyone else, but here, now, one this day, in front of everyone who mattered to them; this was wrong; even for him.

True enough, it was her uncle's words he laughed at. “Ours runs true. And ours must never thin.” Blood. Their blood. The ancient and noble blood of house Velaryon.The proud blood of old Valyria forged in fires the sea as house Targaryens through the sky. Just as pure. Just as deserving of the respect that a name from old Valyria could command. Fates intertwined. Where they ruled the skies they ruled the seas. Brothers bond in the only way they could be as the last vestiges of a great fallen empire. Save House Celtigar Laena supposed, but they had never been a particularly important house in their ancestral land or Westeros. Never been particularly close to House Targaryen either. Not in the way they were.

Salt ran through every Velaryon's blood, every Velaryon apart from three who were Velaryon in name only and their very Valyrian mother. Their very Valyrian mother Laena was currently doing her best to not meet the gaze of standing on the same rocky outcrop just to the right of them clutching her eldest sons closer. Yet the same could not be said of the Targaryen woman.

She felt the weight of her stare burning a hole into the side of her skull. Paranoia some would call it.

Paranoia directed at her good sister. She had to keep reminding herself that she was in fact her good sister and not just any woman, even though she was the same woman who haunted her so for what felt like its own not so little an eternity. She was the same woman who now stood in the flesh before her instead of a ghostly figment in her nightmares kept only at bay by the sea, but that sea was no more.

Lena knew she had not grown paranoid in the time that they had been standing on that rock. Her own mother had confirmed her suspicions when she kept glancing over at the younger Targaryen with a small frown lining her face. Her mother was never one for rudeness just for the sake of it. She was not impolite. One could never call Rhaenys Targaryen impolite without a reason. She most certainly would not take the time to be so here they were grieving. She would not have glanced Rhaenyra's way unless she had glanced at theirs first.

There was something to this feeling of being watched like prey, but it was a matter to be dealt with another time, even if that other time would be in a mere hour or two. When they were not here. When she did not feel the sea calling to her. The crashing of waves over laughter.

Mayhaps it was not the best idea to have Ser Vaemond give the eulogy for her brother. Daemion had volunteered himself, she and Laenor loved all their cousins just as much as the last, but he was their favorite.

“I would be happy to do it uncle,” he had told her father. Probably with an infectious smile gracing his long brown face to put them at ease. The matter had been pushed aside in all upheaval that had fallen over Driftmark’s shores and not settled until shortly before the morning they had arrived, but his own father unsurprisingly cut in. Dismissing the idea in its entirety by putting his own name forward.

“You need not trouble yourself Daemion. I shall do it.” As the elder, short of her own father taking up the task, his right was paramount. They could not refuse him. And so her uncle was given the honor of sending her brother off to his final resting place, oh and what a thing he made of it.

The Velaryon man simply could not help himself when it came to theatrics. It was truly what he was best at. He always had to make a statement, especially on matters which he did not approve of, Matters which he felt were a stain. He would not hold back his tongue. Not but that was no excuse for Daemon’s actions.

No excuse for that hearty chuckle that caused their guests, the likes of Otto Hightower and his own brother who were standing behind him, to look down on him as if he had gone mad. Laena imagined that the lord hand often looked at her husband as if he had no sense no matter if he was deserving of that look or not, but in this instance, her husband was most certainly not helping his case.

Daemon made no move to hide the smirk on his face or the glint in his pale green eyes. Not when her mother, whose bloodshot hazel eyes brimming with a mountain of unshed tears were set ablaze. Looking as if she wished to reach past Rhaena and push him towards the edge of the rocky outcrop they stood on top of into the sea below them. Nor when her father, who despite her husband's mercurial ways had always had a soft spot for the Targaryen prince, looked like he might join her mother in pushing him into the depths of the bay. The only one who looked pleased was Ser Vaemond. He continued on with his speech with a glow on his face for the success of his efforts.

“Kepa,” Baela gasped furrowing her dark brows up at her father. Twas the same tone and look she would use to chastise Aemon when he was placed in her lap by Rhaena after his feeding. She had burped the babe, Beth had taught her how, but the little dear would almost always let out an infinitesimal amount of spittle on her dress.

Ruining the garment much to her vexation, which did not help to endear him to her, except her brother was a babe. He could not help what he did. He did not know it was impolite; it just happened to come out. Her father, on the other hand, was certainly not a babe. He had full control over his actions. Daemon knew better and yet, he had laughed.

At that, his grin fell. He looked down at Baela to find disappointment in that little brown face that was so beloved to him and then backed up at her own identical one. He did not meet his eye, her gaze steady on what was her brother. That told him more than if she had met it.

She could see out from the corner of her eyes that those green eyes of his had softened. Try as she had not to cry she could help it. While he had not cared what Otto Hightower, her mother, or any of the other mourners thought of his actions, it seemed as if he cared for her opinion and Baela’s.

Mayhaps he had not even thought that the reaction would hurt her. After all, he was not laughing at her brother, not really. She had no real reason to be vexed with him, but he could see the pained look in her dark irises that she averted from his gaze.

Daemon bent down, taking her head between his hands and placing a kiss on the top of Baela’s silver locs. That apology seemed to satisfy their daughter. Going back to watching the proceedings with a somber expression. He meant to repeat the apology to the mother as he had the daughter. reached out to grab her unoccupied hand that was not warped onto Baela like a vine on the edge of a cliff. He managed to bring her wrist up to his lips to place what she was sure was an I’m sorry for behaving as an ass kiss upon the back of her bronze skin, but she snatched it out from his grasp, not caring who saw.

People would notice that she reminded herself, but he had already made a spectacle of them. A mockery and she did not wish to forgive him for it. To coddle him and allow him to go on as if he had done nothing. That it meant nothing that was what he wanted. To soothe his guilty conscience. She knew that is what he wanted when he reached for her. It was not entirely for her benefit. If it had been he would’ve held his tongue in the first place.

True enough, his laugh was not directed at her brother, he had no quarrel with the recently departed, but it indirectly was directed at her brother's shame. His inability to live up to the Velaryon name. His inability to secure their house. His legacy, another man’s. Her uncle had reminded friend and foe alike of that and Daemon had given it recognition with a laugh. He was his good-brother. His cousin. He should have thought about what others would think of it. What she would think of it? He should have known better. Her brother was being lowered into the sea before them. Right before her eyes. In that coffin.

She had not seen his body. No one would let her. It is for the best Laena. You would not want to see him that way. Better to picture him as he was sweet girl, but when she tried to picture him as Daemon suggested she could not. Nothing could come to mind except a black pit. Filled with the vastness of his absence.

He was not here, he would never be here. He was not her brother anymore. He was in the seas now. A pile of flesh and bones that would be swallowed by it. Becoming nothing more than food for whatever lived down there to gorge themselves upon.

A sob caught in her throat. She tried to scream, but she could not. Her hands went to wrap around her neck, clawing at it to force the sound out, but it did nothing. She choked. Her throat felt like it was burning. Struggling even to get breath to her lungs.

She was caught in the sea again. Everything that was, her parents' ashen faces, Daemon’s morose humor, Baela’s hand in hers, all gone. Faded away. As if she had been pushed off the rocky ledge into the sea. Drowning. She was drowning with Laenor, only she looked around, but he was not there. His coffin was nowhere in sight. Nothing was as she floated down. She could see nothing. The light from the surface dimmer the further down she went. The current was all there was. Dragging her down into the depths of the sea.

“Laena,” it was Daemon’s voice. It sounded as if he were an ocean away. Panicked. Trying to keep her here with him as if she really was drowning before him. Throwing out a line before it was too late she was lost to him to the tide. “Laena breathe.” He cupped her face in between his warm palms. They felt so warm, but she supposed anything that wasn't. The pads of those warm digits drew gentle circles into the apples of her cheeks.

She made note of that somehow beneath the darkness she was. His voice was so far away, but she could feel his touch no different than if she had not been drowning or what felt like she was drowning. Funny how that worked. “I’m right here. You are right here with me. Just breathe. Breathe for me Laena. I need you to breathe.” Breathe. Just breathe. How does one breathe when they are drowning?

“I’m drowning.” Where his voice sounded faint her own sounded a water-logged whisper from the depths of her mind. Had she said it aloud? Could anyone hear it?

She tried looking around and all she saw was the sea. She closed her eyelids with a flutter. Squeezing them shut so as not to see the darkness. It was easier this way. If she was still truly on that rocky outcrop with him and not wherever down wherever the current would take her, she had really made a spectacle of them. She supposed it didn't matter. Not when she could not breathe.

“Laena breath please just breathe. Please sweet girl. Please. Just breathe.” His voice broke and something in it broke her. Breaking through the haze. Forcing her to focus on the gentle ministrations of his fingers. Letting it lead her ashore and the water empty from her lungs.

She opened her eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just—“ Feel like a part of me sank with my brother. “I’m fine Daemon.” She was not with her brother. Not down at the bottom of the sea. She was on dry land. With Daemon holding her “I’m fine.” She said that more to herself than anyone in particular. She was fine. She was fine and she was—- being led out of the sun. Back toward the garden above them.

Back inside the safety of Hide Tides' white stone walls, but her feet were not moving. She was not vertical. No, she was being carried across the balcony. Carried by Daemon like a bride. The second time this way in a moon. An eerily familiar feeling of disquietude.

She suspected that this familiarity was the only thing on her husband's mind with the pace he set. How it could be she and not her brother they buried? If she were the one they mourned for. Would he collapse under his own grief as she had?

Laena shoved those unpleasant thoughts down. Focusing on what was here instead of what had happened or could have happened. She was not in danger. She was alive. Safe and whole. Daemon had to be reminded of that.

“Put me down.” He did not stop. He did not look at her. He did not even act as if he heard her. “Daemon I am fine. Put me down.” He slowed, but he still would not stop. He kept his eyes on the stone archway of the castle's garden entrance ahead.

“You need rest.” Laena blanched. Feeling dread digging a pit in her belly. Rest. Of all the words and phrases in the common tongue, those three which were repeated so often that they were branded into the back of her skull had become the most abhorrent to her ears.

Rest is what her father's maester had advised for her last night when he had come to check her over and again that morning while her mother and husband were fretting over her. Echoing the same sentiments as the magistrate's healer.

“You ought to get some rest, my lady.” He was sympathetic, but they almost had not let her go down to the shore and send Laenor off. Wanting her to watch from a safe distance from the window where her view of the proceedings would be partially obscured. It would be too much to see her brother so close in the state he was in.

Laena had written of their concern for overbearingness. Her husband’s need for control facilitated by maesters and healers should not be given into. She turned to her only ally. Just having managed to appeal to her mother's sensibilities.

A suggestion from Maester Croton was never an order that must be followed. If he had meant for her to stay in bed he would’ve ordered her to stay, but now Laena had proven the suggestion was more an order than she wished.

Mere sympathy from an old man who had grown sentimental and wished to appease the little girl who he had looked after over the years, administering whatever tincture to cure her of malaise, cleaning many scraps, and setting to right a bone or two, against his better judgments as a maester and healer. That lively girl was a hard one to say no to, but the girl was gone and the woman left in her place was a shadow of her.

She had become a frail bird in everyone’s eyes, one that at the slightest upset such as now would mean confinement. Regulated to sit and watch everyone go about their days while she sat languishing in her bed, waiting. Laena would be lucky now if Beth was so much as to stick up for her against the chorus of abnegation of her personal freedom that would surely follow this blunder.

Mayhaps she would have accepted the gravity of the maesters' suggestions and orders in reference to her prognosis for what they were, but she had been regulated to waiting long before the tumultuous business of Aemon’s birth. She had enough of that to last her a lifetime.

“Put me down Daemon or I shall scream,” She meant it. She was getting good at that. Meaning what she said. He had already caused a scene as had she. They already thought them mad. What would be the point of trying to preserve proprietary now?

He kept going though. Not believing her. One step. Two. Three. She screamed. Like a banshee. It was ear spluttering. It hurt her own ears and everyone who happened to be in the immediate vicinity, including Rhaenyra and her eldest son who was still glued to her side.

The pair got more than they bargained for when they took to following them. An earful more than they had bargained for as they stopped in their tracks. Flinging their arms up to cover their ears before fleeing the scene.

For the boy, Laena did feel some inkling of remorse for inflicting that small torment upon him, but the former did not feel very sorry for torturing her.

“By the Gods, put her down Daemon!” Her father barked out between gritted teeth. About ready to strangle him by the looks of it.

He was not one to take orders, but she had not left him much of a choice. Placing her gently on a nearby bench as he glared down at her. Laena wondered if he would have dropped her from where he stood on that bench if he did not have a very present audience that included a highly agitated Velaryon lord.

“Must you behave like a child?” All traces of concern had vanished from her husband's face. The faint worry lines deepened in aggravation. There was something about it that made her grin with laughter. Her laugh was not nearly as grating as her scream, but it was just as childish. It was petty. He did not like that.

“I thought you liked children.” He liked that less. Her mother's face blanched. Turning as white as a sheet. Baela who had held her not once let go of her hand since she had taken it before they came down that morning sported a frown.

It was her reaction that concerned Laena the most. Her expression should have mirrored her sister's naivety, but instead, it matched that of her grandfather who looked like he would have rather been anywhere else. The Velaryon lord cleared his throat. Shifting on the balls of his feet. He had only not left her side because was concerned for her health.

“I—I shall fetch Maester Croton.” Daemion, who had been a part of the crowd trailing them, stuttered out. The usually graceful man almost tripped over his long limbs as made his exit. He could have called over one of the servants and commanded him to find the maester of Driftmark, but she had made things rather awkward. She could not blame him for taking the opportunity to leave them. Even Rhaenyra who had been watching her since she entered the gates of Hide Tide was nowhere to be found. She had seemingly scampered off. Laena could not say she missed her presence.

Laena meant to lift herself up, she could not stand everyone crowding around her and treating her like an invalid. She rose from the bench. Had gotten to her feet and taken a step away from it when she caught sight of the sea. She would have collapsed on the ground had Daemon not wrapped an arm around her. Bringing her into his hold before turning her to face him as he raised his hairless brow and wore a smirk that said, I told you that you needed rest. He placed her back on the beach without saying a word. She sank into the cold stone with the weight of defeat upon her shoulders.

She was not fine or at least not fine enough to look at the sea without panicking and hurting herself. No, she could not be fine if something so insignificant sent her spiraling.

There would be no argument this time. She knew her husband would not wait for the maester. The man would come down from his chambers to find they had left. To bed, she would go with him carrying her off to their chambers. Mayhaps this time he would throw her over his shoulder. She imagined it was more difficult to scream with the same intensity while less blood came to her head. It had the added benefit of robbing her of her ability to break free from his hold. Yes, that would be how it would go.

No one could stop him from doing so. Not even her father could. He had lost that privilege the moment he had put her hand in her husband’s and the septon pronounced them man and wife. She was Daemon’s, but he was still her father and the two got on well. Mayhaps she could sway him.

Though he did not show it, keeping the face of the mighty formidable Sea Snake as best as he could he was like the rest of them in a particularly doleful mood. The time was now to appeal to his compassion.

Laena turned to her father, preparing to offer him the most doleful gaze she could muster, but he was not looking at her.

His gaze had drifted to the garden ledge where none other than Lucerys stood by his lonesome. Or at least she guessed the pale dark-haired boy was Luke.

He was shorter than his brother. He had to be Rhaena’s age though he was shorter than her by several inches, but that was not uncommon for boys his age.

Laena could recall being taller than Daeron, much to his dismay, until they reached two and ten. He had made up the difference in height twofold. Quite literally lording it over her by sneaking into her chambers and placing her possessions out of her reach. Only stopping when she finally relented and told Laenor about it. She had not known what her brother had said to him, but she had seen the evidence of that talk in the inky bruise that he sported for a week afterward and more importantly in the way that her belongings remained undisturbed.

Laena planted her stare on the boy her brother claimed as his own. Lucerys did not look a thing like him. She knew Aemon did not look like her, but he looked just as Targaryen as any other. That made sense. It was expected. Her husband was a Targaryen and she was half Targaryen. It was not as if anyone could deny that he was hers. She had the marks lining her thighs and stomach to prove it.

Dark of hair and plain of face and eyes that were a rather unremarkable shade, the boy was common. He would surely grow into a handsome young man, but he was common. He had none of the dark Valyrian grace and regality of house Velaryon or the fairer one of house Targaryen. He did not have the Baratheon look, he was not hardy enough to be one. He did not look like Arryn either. He barely looked as if he belonged to his own mother much less his father and yet the boy was his father's son.

Laenor was the only father he had been allowed to know. The one who kissed his bruises accepted his childish scribblings with pride, listened to him complain of his maesters lessons, or broke up rows with his brother. He was the one who he called father and now he was gone and Lucerys was left without at the most tender of ages. His tears left a trail of streaks down his pale face as he stared out at the spot that marked his father's watery grave.

Her father turned his attention back to them. He gave her a sheepish look when he realized he had been watched when he should’ve been watching her.

Laena wanted to tell him that she would not mind if he were to go to the boy. She was a mother. She had a heart and the sight of him, small pale thing as he was against the waves, pulled at it. He was not responsible for the sins of his mother. He did not deserve to pay for them with solitude.

If it had been her girls standing there in replace of him she would want someone, anyone who cared for them, blood or not, to comfort them. To dry their tears and let them know that they were not alone. That they were loved and would always be so.

Luke had lost something, someone, which could never be replaced, but he was not alone and he had more than just his mothers or brothers to depend upon.

There was really no need for her father to stay at her side. She had her mother and Daemon breathing down her neck. They would not let anything happen to her, but he would not take her word. Thinking that she was just doing so to be accommodating in that way all mothers became when they witnessed a child in need. It was, he believed, maternal nature to put another before themselves.

No, he would believe her if she told him to leave. He would, however, take her mothers. While a mother would put a child before themselves they would never put another child before their own.

Laena had been right in her assessment. Not even needing to catch her mother's eye for she had found the source of her husband's confliction with ease. Pity shone from a white face bathed in her own grief.

“Go husband.” Rhaenys placed her hand in her father's and gave it a squeeze. He raised a silver brow, obsidian eyes drifting towards Laena but her mother shook her head. Giving him another squeeze. Leave this to me. No other words were spoken.

He looked relieved. The weight of the guilt that would’ve eaten at him if he stayed gone from his dark face. Rushing to brush a kiss on her mother's cheek then her brown one. He had not once looked back as he made his way to console Luke. Not questioning. Never doubting he had been wrong to leave them.

It was a simple thing, an unimportant thing in the madness of the day, but there was a part of Laena who envied that. Envying your own mother if not sin was surely a tragedy. She knew her parents' marriage was not perfect, but they knew one another in ways no other living soul did.

Laena wondered if she and Daemon would ever have that. If it was too late for them to have that. To know and understand someone so well that there wasn’t a need for words. They shared one spirit in two bodies. One could just be and exist with the other occupying that very being with them. She turned her head away and as luck would have it landed upon the present subject of her musings.

He was watching her. Assessing her person. Green orbs afire; boring into hers. Piercing past the dermis of her skin with its blaze. He did not retreat when she caught him. In fact that fire burned brighter when green met brown. Trapping her in its flame, but she did not mind how it enveloped her.

If she lived in a realm where there only lived them and that feeling Laena would have let Daemon carry her off and do as he pleased. Let the warmth of his fire shield her. Keeping the chill of the sea at bay that wished to engulf her.

She wanted to be doted upon him. To see him fuss over her. To make sure that she did indeed get rest. She was in fact quite tired. Traveling across the narrow sea was never a particularly comfortable experience. It was even less so under the circumstances she found herself in between recovery and mourning with two restless children and a newborn at her bosom.

Laena turned her head up at the castle. Landing on a pair of windows she had stared out of earlier that morn. If she were to transport herself inside she would find Aemon with Beth and his nursemaid. He would be on the verge of waking up from his nap and would be in want of his dinner judging by how the shadows climbed up the white stone of the castle's walls.

She turned back to Daemon. He was still watching her. He held out a calloused hand for her. The spell was not broken. She bit her lip and exhaled.

Laena was beyond exhausted. Her feet ached. Her breasts were sore. She hated that she was being gawked at by their guests. Expressions ranging from pity to contempt. She dreaded the sight of the sea and was starting to hate the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks and the smell of the salty air.

A soft feather bed. A warm cup of tea. The sound of Baela and Rhaena chattering amongst themselves as they entertained each other in their sitting room with a game of cyvasse or with their dolls, and Aemons little face looking up at her as he suckled on his super sounded like heaven.

She had done her duty. She had accomplished what she had set out to even with the minor inconvenience of her overactive imagination. What else was there to do? Sit on this bench and try to avoid gazing back at the water while accepting condolences from those who did not care about Laenor but were under obligation to express it, such is the way civilized society dictates until the sun went down.

Rest, she wanted rest. If he had been here himself Laenor would’ve told her to do as she pleased. She did not owe any of these people. She did not want to be here and she did not have to.

She reached to take Daemon’s hand, but stopped, her bronze hand suspended in midair as a pale figure caught in the corner of her eye.

Rhaenyra had not scampered off as she had thought. Laena doubted she had ever ceased her leering. She was standing there in the archway. Half shrouded in shadows. Watching her. Watching them. Watching him with such intensity it burned a hole in her chest.

Want. Need. Lust. She had seen it in a hundred faces over the years. A hundred faces who had looked at her husband that way, but those hundred faces had never meant anything. They had come and gone like the wind. Blurring into one another. Each face was more forgettable than the last. The faces of strangers, but this face was etched into her memory from old. This face held more than pure carnality. This face held her fate in its pale glower.

Unwillingly events that Laena was sure would unfold before her in a matter of minutes played out in her mind. Rhaenyra would follow them to their chambers just as she had here.

You needn’t worry about anything. She would say once her mother had left for her own chambers after Daemon had commanded her to leave. Get some rest, dear sister. She would put on quite the show of consanguinity and sisterly concern for her health. That glower, however, would stay no matter how she tried to keep it hidden. She would not be able to conceal the sea of loathing within her from bubbling to the surface. She never had.

Not even at her own wedding Laena recalled. Her eyes plunged a dagger into her back while Daemon twirled her around the dance floor. She had tried to dismiss it then as a young bride who was all too aware of the lonely road ahead of her instead of some tale of marital bliss Septa’s spun to their impressionable charges. She knew better now.

She had the object of her desires that was denied. There would be no denial now for that object wanted her in return. Who would stop them? Her father was old. Weak. Laenor was dead, as was her lover. Laena’s own father was pacified by an infant grandson who would carry his legacy as well as his blood. Her mother, a princess yes, but still a woman who could do little more than voice objections which would be promptly brushed aside.

Rhaenyra and Daemon would have what was owed to them. The slight mended and Laena would be made to smile and cheer as they claimed each other.

We shall be here when you wake. She would place a kiss upon her temple. A caress down her cheek for good measure and then made her way to the door of their bed chambers. Waiting for one final time as Daemon would kiss her in the exact spot where she had.

They would leave together. Hours would pass, mayhaps she would find herself giving into the temptation of a dreamless bout of sleep within them. There would be nothing else to entertain herself with except madness and cruel imaginings. When she awakened it would be to Rhaenyra sitting by her bed bouncing Aemon on her lap as she would tell her in a honey voice laced with venomous sting of her triumph. It is done Laena. We shall leave for Dragonstone on the morn.

There would be nothing she could do about it. Nothing she could say to stop it. To stop them. They wanted one another. They would have one another. Their fate was each other and it was her fate to wither.

She broke the spell. Her sight shifted over to the sea. Felt that pit of uneasiness grow within her. Would it be so bad if she was in Laenor’s place? If it had been she who the stranger took. Mayhaps he and the mother had not spared her. It seems that they had not. Her fate was inescapable. The same extraneous existence whether she lived or died. She would always just be the one he settled for and Rhaenyra would be the one his fires burned for.

Any moment now he would see her. Any moment now that destiny would be sealed as a silent spectator. Any moment now and—he noticed.

He noticed her. Laena witnessed the exact moment that green met blue. Her eyes blazed. His breath hitched. Laena doubted anyone would notice the way his chest rose an inch, but that inch might as well be a foot.

They held each other in the same orbit. On a plane where only they appeared to exist. Taking in the other after all these years. She had seen that same long years past, but never quite forgotten. On that night Daemon had chosen to make her his.

Was it really a choice then? A mere convenience she was. He had no choice but to choose her if he wished for a Valyrian bride and his need for one outweighed his want for another, but a want does not leave just because one buries it.

For her part, Laena had done the job to the best of her ability, given him his heir he so desired, but she was no substitute for the one he had been denied.

A moment. Two. Three passed and then, he averted his gaze. Moving from his nieces back to hers. That plane shut once more.

There was a hard edge to his gaze. His face was a mask of sternness, there was no fiery determination in it, but it was entirely for her and there was a manner of resolve.

Daemon took her hand in his. Bringing it to his lips before placing a single kiss on the bronze patch of skin. His thumb moved over her knuckles in a caress. “We are going to bed.” We. He had emphasized that. Not you. We. They would. She would not be left to wither tonight.

Laena let out a breath she had not known that she had been holding. Feeling her shoulders sag with relief.

“All of us?” Baela asked, wrinkling her brow in displeasure. Seemingly unaware of what passed between her mother and father. Laena sent a silent prayer to the mother for that small mercy.

To her credit their daughter was trying to keep the whine from her voice, she knew her mother needed rest, she had not let go of her hand, but she was doing a rather poor job of containing her disappointment. She was not tired and she would rather not have to be put to bed. “It is not even dark outside kepa—”

“Your mother needs rest pet.” Her use of the endearment had not swayed her father in her favor. He turned his head but kept on caressing her hand as he spoke.

One look, a look he rarely used for her, for she was undoubtedly his favorite and he was hers, was all it took for Baela’s protests to quieten though she did sulk. Her hand grew limp in her mother's hold as she began to pout at her father. She hoped to sway him to spare her from being made to go to bed, but her hopes remained unfulfilled.

“I shall join you,” Rhaenys said. Hazel eyes back to scanning the growing crowd, another small mercy from the maiden for Laena knew she would not be able to withstand her mother's anguish for her or her wrath at Daemon and her cousin, til they landed upon the silver head of Ser Vaemond who was currently striding right past her father who was doing his best to console Luke with a self-satisfied sneer.

He made a beeline for Ser Otto with at his side Daeron and his wife who looked like she could do with a bit of rest as well. “Your uncle has done an excellent job of conveying our sorrow. We shall leave him to continue on as he so dutifully has been.” Something told Laena that her uncle would not mind it one bit.

The older princess stood from her seat and turned to her grandchildren with renewed vigor. “I have a tapestry of my father and my mother along with your fathers in my sitting room. If you girls are not too tired, I would—”

“I am not too tired.” Baela interrupted. Alert, eager, and radiating with excitement. She looked as if she was about ready to jump up from where she sat and sprint inside, ignoring all decorum with a jig in her steps the entirety of the way to her chambers.

“Nor I.” Rhaena piped in. The younger girl was much better at containing her jubilation at the prospect though the crest of a smile could be seen cutting into the corners of her brown cheeks.

“Then we shall leave your—Good lord.” Rhaenys had turned as white as a sheet. Her irises magnifying. As if she had seen a ghost. What she had meant to say was forgotten in favor of horror. A horror that frightened Laena in turn. “What in the seven is he doing?” At that, she had to look.

If Laena’s skin were several shades lighter mayhaps she would’ve been capable of losing all her color, but she felt a great deal of blood drain out of her face at the sight of him. It was hard not to see why her mother was horrified.

“Your brother wants you.” Her mouth was agape, the words tumbling out of it. She was surprised her husband had not seen it, but he only looked at her.

“My brother can wait.” Daemon did not turn his head so much to glance over at the man despite the grave look on his wife’s paling brown face. He more than likely dismissed the dullness of her complexion on her illness. His focus remained firmly affixed to her. Reaching out a hand to pet her cheek all traces of annoyance gone once more. She liked this side of him best. When he truly was content with her. When no one else came between them, it was so rare that it appeared. Most days she wished to hurl the nearest object at him, but on these rare moments, well he could be quite lovely. However, there were other demands present.

While she understood why he refused, and truly did not want him to leave her side, quite enjoying how he fussed over her in that moment given the present circumstances, Laena almost wished he had gone over to his brother. For the king wished to speak to his brother whether Daemon wanted to or not. He would and was coming over to them and she would rather not be in his company.

Laena had no fond memories of the man to speak of. She had hardly any memories of him at all. He was a scarce figure in her girlhood. He was the king, the man who stole her mother's crown, then the man who she was expected to marry, then just the king again, then her brother's good father, and finally her own good brother. A distant good brother. A good brother in name only.

He was never family. Never cousin. Never just Viserys. There was never a need to categorize any memories of him. Never any need to mark them other than to shuffle them off into the distant recesses of her mind, but one among them stood out. A letter in the early days of her marriage. A mere fortnight after her wedding.

She could picture the inky words clearly in her head. Even the smell of the parchment. You could not have my daughter so you have done away with your wife and have taken another child bride, my cast off, against her mother's wishes on the eve of Rhaenyra’s wedding. Must you wound me so? Must you always wound this family so? Why do you take such pleasure in your greed and destruction?

She had stumbled upon it by pure accident. Looking for a quill which she promptly forgot about when she read the words on the parchment. Daemon had apologized for it when he had found her hiding under his desk. Tears staining the ink. He kissed those tears away as he wrapped her arms. My brother is a jealous old fool. He married an Andal whore when he could have had you my beauty, but I suppose I should thank him for it.

It was most surely pitiless to take satisfaction in her husband's barbarous tongue. Alicent Hightower had never been cruel to her, quite the opposite for she could distinctly recall how the slightly older girl had found her on a bench in the Red Keeps gardens not unlike this one after that dreadful day of courting the king, and gifted her a handkerchief embroidered with moonblooms as she comforted her in the way she would later see Baela do Rhaena when she was unhappy with herself. You are lucky my lady.

It was said so sweetly that she could not be upset when she learned that Alicent would be their new queen. She had not wanted the man. She had not really wanted to be queen. She was ten and two. A girl who had nothing more on her mind than claiming a dragon.

She did not want any of it. She had only wanted to make her father happy. She doubted Alicent wanted anything more than that herself. A girl on the cusp of womanhood married to a man old enough to be her father. By the seven, he was the father of her friend.

It was cruel to laugh at her good sister's misfortune, however, in that fortnight during her honeymoon Laena did. Most heartily because it had paid for her husband's affection.

It was the first and last time Daemon apologized and offered her any sort of reassurance that at least some part of him wanted her until Aemon’s birth. Laena lapped the praise up like a dying man in need of a drink. She had so desperately wanted him. Wanted to be needed by him. Letting herself take pleasure in his affections in whatever form he would give them to her.

Daemon must have written back to Viserys for the next letter he received, which he let her read to him, was much warmer. You, Laena, and whatever children come from your union will always have a place in my court brother.

She had clung to that memory for so long, on sleepless nights and every cold morning, it frayed and she had to lock it away before it was lost to her.

She shook her head trying not to let the memory ensnare her. “I do not think he can.” Laena doubted he believed that himself. Now he would not take not take his eyes off the man who was slowly, but determinedly hobbling over to them. His youngest daughter was at his side. Leaning on her a great deal. Laena half wondered if he would even make it to reach them. She wondered how he went on as he was.

She could not get over the sight of him. It had been ten years since she had last seen him, but on him, it looked as if it had been twenty.

She had seen the king from a distance. He looked older than she remembered, but the years had aged them. It was natural that he should not look as illustrious as he once did. However, the man standing before her was a fright. He was frail; complexion sallow. His hair was thin, retreating from his head. His face was lined and marked with scars. Some crusted over showing their age, others fresh and a grayish sort of pink.

The difference in age between her husband and his brother was not very great. It was not the difference between Baela and Rhaena who had but a year separating them. Nor was it the difference between herself and Daemon. From what Laena could recall it was the difference between Rhaena and Aemon. Give or take a year or two. He was Daemon’s elder, but he looked like his father more so than his elder brother. He looked older than her own mother and she had been the oldest of the old king's grandchildren by several years.

“When was the last time you saw him?” Her husband asked, turning to her mother, green eyes hardened with hurt and anger once the initiation shock of his brother's appearance had worn off.

“A while.” Her reply was quiet. Barely above a whisper. “Not since Lucerys first nameday.” She expounded. Her hazel eyes were wide as she could not peel them off the figure of their king. There was shame there in her voice. and she was trying to come up with a worthy excuse. “Your brother's court is not what it once was. Laenor said he was not his best, but,” she hesitated, deliberating in her mind if her next words were wise to say to the irascible dragon before her. They apparently were for she pressed on, “Alicent has been there for him.”

Her husband grumbled at the mention of the Hightower woman’s name. She had been his good-sister for ten and three years, but she might as well be a stranger. No, he treated her worse than a stranger when she thought about it. Daemon would give the stranger something which he would never give their queen. The benefit of benevolence.

At the first meeting at least. Then he’d judge the poor soul guilty the same as the rest if he found crime to be offensive to his strange code of sensibilities, but it was more than he would give Alicent. As long as she breathed he would judge her guilty.

Daemon's eyes narrowed to slits as he looked around for her, but her mother reached out to place a hand on his arm. He glared down at his cousin turned good mother and opened his mouth to speak, but was silenced when she beat him to it. “It is not her fault Daemon. Viserys has not been in good health since he took the throne.” He regarded Rhaenys with suspicion. Green eyes remained narrowed, but he did not say a word against what she had voiced.

She was right. He could not argue against that fact. Even from her scant visits as a child, Laena would see the cuts on his hands and neck. Red and angry with some oozing out puss. All courtesy of the Iron Throne. The signs of its rejection of him one might say.

“Is he diseased?” Baela questioned. This time screwing up her nose and mouth. Dark eyes as wide as her grandmother's albeit with revulsion rather than shock. She did not even attempt to hide it.

“He is your uncle Baela.” His only defense as he tried to glare at her, but he looked more sad than anything else. There was not much even he could say or do. Laena thought, but they could not lie to her. Not when they could all see just how sickly the man who walked toward them looked. This time one look was not enough to quieten her.

“But is he—ow—Rhaena.” Her disgust turned into a whine directed at her sister who had taken up the seat of her namesake and pinched her arm.

“He’s too close,” Rhaena replied with a gentle whisper to her. Lightly jerking her head in their uncle's direction. Her honey face a picture of pity. She, unlike her parents and grandmother, had gained her senses surprisingly quickly or not very surprising if one knew her. She did like to spend a great deal of time in maesters' chambers bombarding them with as many questions as they could answer. “He will hear you.”

Daemon reached out a hand to steady the older Targaryen man when he grew near enough, but he waved it away.

“Do not tell me.” Viserys rasped out at his brother in lew of a proper greeting. Trying to catch his breath. “You must be Baela.” He pointed the tip of his cane in their eldest direction. Leaning heavier on Helaena to make up the difference in his balance. “And you Rhaena. “You look like your mother when she was your age.” His gaze flitted to Baela and then back at Rhaena before proclaiming. “She spit you both out.” He regarded her with another flourish of his cane. “They do not look a thing like you Daemon.” Baela glared at him and some of the sympathy from Rhaena’s face, but Daemon laughed.

“Thank the Gods for that.” His brother joined in the laughter. Well, it was more of a wheeze. Could one call that strained with pain that made his voice breathless? Like strings out of tune.

“You will regret saying that in five years' time.” His eyes had drifted in the direction of his sons as he spoke. Only the eldest two were present. Laena had been told that the youngest Daeron resided in Oldtown with his mother's family.

His brothers more than made up for his absence. They had not come over once to express their condolences remaining at their mother's side or with each other, but that did little to stop their observing. Two sets of eyes on Baela and Rhaena. Whispering to themselves as they stared.

By the gods had Alicent informed them of her intentions? Had they told their father in turn? Aemond’s stare at Rhaena was not cruel, more curious than anything, even more curious was the fact that he kept switching between Seasmoke, who unlike the other dragons present had grown restless and kept circling around the castle, and Rhaena. but nothing malicious in it. Aegon’s, however, was nothing short of disdain and Baela had noticed the boy who glared at her from the rim of his bottle. Taking to scowling at him in turn.

They had been told by their mother. It would be her desperation that had made her do so. Be kind to them sweetlings. She would say, tucking an errant silver curl behind their ears as she implored them to win her girl's favor. They are to be your brides.

Alicent was a mother. She had a daughter. She knew It would make the matter more appealing if the boys were to endear themselves to her girls and herself, but it appeared as though only one had listened to her desperate pleas and it was not their future king.

Desperation was never one’s friend and it would certainly be her enemy if the king knew and told his brother of it. His prediction of his enmity at the prospects of their daughter's betrothals would show by night's end rather than five years' time.

Laena averted her gaze. If he had found out better to play the fool when Daemon would question her.

“Aemon looks like father.” It was said in that sweet tone of Rhaena’s whenever she spoke of her baby brother. It was enough to make one smile. Said softly, but even someone hard of hearing could hear her. Viserys could hear her perfectly well, nonetheless, he looked at his youngest niece like she had just spoken Dothraki.

“Who?” Laena felt her smile die upon her lips. She knew she looked at him as if had lost his senses, but he appeared to have lost exactly that. Letters had been sent at a constant from Pentos ever since she had informed her parents that she was once. How bad off was he? Mayhaps Baela was right to think the man was diseased. If not contagious what ailed him had spread to his mind and made him slow-witted. Her husband had not missed it.

“My son Aemon.” The sullen look on his person made its reappearance as Daemon spoke. Patient as he waited for the recognition to sink. He was not usually patient with anyone apart from Baela, but seeing one’s brother in this state would cause anyone’s patience to amplify.

“Oh yes, yes your boy.” Recognition came at last but left to give way to puzzlement once more. It was a vicious cycle. The king's face cracked under his bewilderment. “Not Baelon? Surely I would have thought you would have thought you would name your son after our father.”

“Baela is named for our father.” Her husband let go of her hand to grab Baela’s. The girl preening at the homage.

“Aegon then. You resisted the temptation of that brother?” For the life of Laena she could not understand why the man before her would ask such a question.

“Is your son not named Aegon your grace?” The son that was within ear and eyeshot of. The son who had turned his flare

The king let out a humph and dismissed her with a flourish of his cane. Not caring to acknowledge what she had said. Poor boy Laena thought to herself, but that pity faded when she saw that he had begun to glare at Baela again, who had that same scowl on his face.

Its fever had been great enough to bring about the attention of his grandsire who proceeded to knock the boy on the back of his pale head, and snatched the bottle from his hand, before he took him by his collar and dragged him inside. Harsh yes, but he was deserving of it.

“I would like to meet your Aemon.” At that, Baela snapped her neck in her uncle's direction, mirroring her cousin's repulsion only directing it at his griseled father.

In a rather uncharacteristic show of sisterly affection, which up until then was solely reserved for Rhaena and not the little beast, Baela put upon a sneer that would rival Ser Vaemonds “Aemon is sleeping. He is not to be disturbed when he is sleeping.” As if to salvage some of the good manners she had lost in her derision, she added, her voice gaining an octave and matching her sisters, “Mayhaps on the mourn uncle.”

Her uncle took to wheezing again. Sounding as if he might laugh himself into a fit. “Gods. She has that look of yours Daemon when you are cross with me. He focused his attention on her. His face cracked under the stretch of his smile to reveal a set of relatively intact teeth much to Laena’s relief. “I am sorry Laena.”

“Younger brothers are lovely creatures.” it was said by a wistful voice belonging to Helaena who had not spoken until now. A pale silvery thing she was and skinny too. It was a wonder how she was even able to support her father leaning upon her. “But I suppose all babes are lovely creatures.”

“Indeed.” Viserys did not wheeze this time. Gifting his youngest daughter a half smile rather than a laugh he placed an affectionate pat on the young supple hand that held him up with a leathery one. “I believe it is past our bedtime, come child.” His grip upon Helaena tightened as he took one shaky step, then another, but paused and turned half his body to face them again. ” He regarded her mother with a small nod. The expression he had, the apologetic sort, aged him another ten years. “Laenor was a good man. A good father and he would have made my daughter a fine consort.”

He probably did not believe the last part. Laenor was never for politics or ruling, he would’ve made quite the abysmal lord if he had ever taken up his father's seat. The Gods only knew what manner of consort he would make, but he had been a father, he was his cousin's child, and now he was gone. The loss of a child was one her good brother knew well. That was the reason for that look.

Her mother did not say anything, but when a gnarled hand reached out for her, she took it. Clutching it tightly between her own as she nodded her head. It was a rare moment of familial tenderness, but in the haze of morning, the rare became the expected. A few moments of plaintive silence passed them until they finally pulled their hands away. Visery cleared his throat, regarded her husband with a small smile, and renewed his steps leaning a little more on his cane than his daughter. The two made quite the contrasting figure retreating back to the castle's warmth for much-needed respite.

“I believe I have had enough excitement for one day.” Her mother spoke. Her eyes puffy with unshed tears as she coughed. Trying to clear the emotion from her throat. She turned on her heels. Her black skirts fluttered in the wind as she stooped down to cup Laena’s face in her hands then placed a kiss on her temple. “Please get some rest sweetling.” Her mother pulled back slightly. Continuing to stoke her cheeks. It made her feel like a child again, but Laena supposed she needed the reminder of motherhood more than anything else.

The older Targaryen women placed one last kiss on her cheek before pulling back fully to let Baela and Rhaena do the same. Murmuring Goodnight muna, Goodnight mama, and a Goodnight kepa in the former's case who received a kiss on her head for it from her kepa, before joining their grandmother. The trio left the same way Viserys and Helaena had a few minutes passed.

Daemon took her hand in his when they had disappeared out of sight. Pulling her up from the bench and with a smile bent to whisper into her ear. “Aemon will be wanting you, sweet girl.” His smile was infectious. It made her feel giddy. She almost laughed. Oh sweet maiden, she almost laughed a few feet away from where her brother had just been buried. Almost until the wispy silver curls on the back of her neck began to stand on their ends.

Laena felt her before she saw her. That leering presence at her back that had been staring her down since she came through the gates of Hide Tide reached a crescendo as she swooped down from the archway she had perched herself on after her mother and the girls had passed her by.

Rhaenyra spoke first. A demure penitent look that did not match the glint in her eye when she gazed up at her husband. “It is unfortunate we must meet under these circumstances.” She reached out a hand to take Laena’s in hers. It was cold. Not unnaturally so, but the difference was great enough for her to notice. “I am glad you have recovered Laena. You and your—”

“Aemon.” It was short. Clipped not at all patient like with his brother. Clipped enough to warrant Rhaenyra’s light to dim somewhat, but not to turn any heads to those that might be watching them.

“Your Aemon.” She smiled, recovering from the cold sting of her uncle's bite with grace. Her voice became overbearingly saccharine as she looked her square in the eye. “I believe he and Joffrey share a nameday.” They did not. Joffrey was older by a week. A small difference, but it was a difference. “And my Jace shares your Baela’s as well.” That most definitely was not the case. Although all the children were close in age.

Laena would have thought it planned between the two, but how would they do so, and for what purpose? They did not need to be of exact age for betrothals and there wasn’t any way to control what sex they might be. It would be a wasted effort to synchronize their conceptions and the thought alone made her nauseous.

“She is lovely as is Rhaena Laena.” She would have returned the compliment, her boys were well-mannered from her observation, but her lips would not move. That tone of hers grated her ears.

Laena could do no more than nod and take the compliment for what it was. Ignoring how she had made a point to use your when referring to her and not her husband. Separating them from him. She imagined that is what Rhaenyra wished for. For those babes he had sired upon her just to be her children

“Might I have a word with my uncle?” Her smile was polite and there was some light in her eyes, but there was that undercurrent of disesteem ever-present. “Alone.” She stressed the last word as those blue orbs tried to turn her to ash.

“In the mourn.” Short once more. His green eyes lacked much of the luster they had moments before his niece had interrupted their plans. Her husband was on the verge of snapping at her, but Rhaenyra who had begun to pout, did not seem to take note of just how agitated her uncle was becoming with her.

Mayhaps she just thought it was some great mirage he conjured up to keep Laena pacified. He could not very well make eyes at her in front of his wife for a second time this evening then go off with her on the day of Laenor’s funeral, and send Laena to bed. What would people think? The scandal of it all. No, he could not very well talk with her alone here. In an odd cruel twist of fate, Rhaenyra could very well be right “We are—“

Laena placed a hand on Daemon’s chest, stopping him before he could say more. She could feel his eyes upon her. Not having to look up to know what his expression held. Confusion across his white face. Eyes scrunching. Increasing the lines upon his face.

He thought her mad and for that matter, Rhaenyra would as well. Mayhaps she was mad. The mad woman who could not look at the sea, who wished herself dead rather than her husband leave her. She was mad and there was nothing that could be done.

If her cousin so desperately wanted to be alone with him then let her be so. Daemon himself had wanted to go to her what not a half hour ago. She saw that spark of interest when their eyes met.

What had changed now? What would stop him from changing his mind again? He had wanted Rhaenyra for so long, had made his own wife he had chosen feel like she could never live up to her, and now he could give her up?

Desire or whatever else they may have could not be swept away so easily. Laena could not be so naive as to think that. The Velaryon lady did not wish to retire to bed with her husband only to wake up and find that bed empty before morning light. Better to have whatever may happen, happen now and learn how to tamper her disappointment without wanting to fling herself off a ledge into the sea or have Vhagar send her to whatever the Gods had waiting for her.

Laena put on her most dazzling smile as she met her cousin's eye. Not willing to give her the full satisfaction of victory. “Of course niece,” Rhaenyra winced, the word sounded awkward to her own ears, but she soldiered on. “I am sure my husband would like to express his condolences for your losses. You are our chief concern.” The Targaryen woman’s smile hardened and that comforted Laena. Losses, she had not missed that slight thrown her way. Good. Let her have this small taste of embarrassment.

She craned her neck up at her husband, ignoring Rhaenyra’s sour face for a moment. Moving a hand from her side to caress his face. That confused look was there, but he leaned into her touch. She almost didn’t want to leave him. To make an error which they could not come back from, but she saw no other way.

“It is Aemons dinner time anyway, my prince. Our little lord will be wanting me.” Laema whispered the last part, her fear showing in her voice, but pushed it down as she leaned in to breathe it into the pocket-marked skin of his neck. She placed a kiss on his jawline. Feeling his pulse jump beneath her lips. Pushed away with some reluctance curtseyed and to Rhaenyra who returned the farwell with that smile not reaching her pale eyes.

Laena counted her steps as she left. One after the other. Not looking back or down at her feet. Head held high. Her moves were measured. Precise. Her slippers, having been banned from anything with a heel of even an inch, made a scuffing sound on the garden's stones ground, but she liked to think that in her black mourning dress she looked every inch the future Lady of the Tides who did not mind her husband conversing alone with the woman he loved.

She had counted to thirty before she lost that regality. She tripped over her skirts when her foot caught on the bottom of her trail as she reached a step. Forgetting that her balance was not quite what it ought to be and her skirts too long. Daemon was too far away to catch her though he could surely see her. Probably cursing her silent command to stay. She would have fallen on her face if an olive hand had not reached out to grab her.

“Careful my lady.” His voice was surprisingly gentle as he pulled her upright. Dark of hair. Dark eyes to match with a warm complexion. Decidingly Dornish. Handsome. Much more handsome than her husband, she never really noticed until now how handsome he was. Cutting quite dashing in the silver and white of his Kingsguard armor.

“Thank you Ser Criston.” She was too close. She knew she was too close. She probably should have pulled away from him. She did not still have to hold onto his arm for balance or smile at him so, but had caught a glimpse of her husband's face from the corner of her eyes and Ser Criston for his part did not seem to mind. Some part of him enjoyed this too judging by the hint of a smirk on his tan face. The pride of men.

Daemon had gone beat red. His lips were a thin line and the green of his eyes was overtaken by the black of his pupils. He looked like he wanted to run the man through with Dark Sister which was thankfully not on his person. Having it left back in the safety of their chambers at her insistence. Why would he need a sword at her brother’s funeral? They had guards and no one would attack them here. She was sure he was regretting listening to her.

If had it in his hand he would have stood across the garden and plunged his sword into the Dornish knight's chest straight into his heart without a care for who witnessed it and she liked it.

Laena liked this look on him. She had been so starved of his affections that she actually liked it. She liked imagining what her husband might do for her in a fit of jealous rage. What those pale battle-hardened hands of his might do.

Would he strangle the man or beat him into a bloody pulp? Who would win? She had seen what the knight could do when he was provoked, but her husband was a force when his emotions were up. How many men would it take to pull him off the Dornish man? What would be the damage that those hands might do?

She dreamed of how they might look wrapped around his throat, but it was not her husband's hands that came to claim her. Her elation ended before she could become too excited at the prospect of her husband leaving Rhaenyra’s side to strangle a man in her honor.

Ser Vaemond appeared in front of Laena seemingly out of thin air. “That will be all Ser Criston.” He did not look at the Dornish knight. That sneer that never quite reached his dark eyes ever present and directed at her. “My son and I shall escort my niece back to her chambers.”

She looked around her uncle to find both Daeron, Daemion, and the maester. A new plan hatched as she molded her lips into that same cheery smile she gave Rhaenyra. “I thank you uncle, but Ser Criston shall escort me to my chambers. Maester Croton may join us.” Her voice all honey. Straining by a margin to ensure it was loud enough for her husband to hear her.

He should be relieved that she had asked the maester to come with them when she could have ordered the old man to go ahead of them. He had what he wanted beside him. He should have turned around back to Rhaenyra without another thought on the matter, but he hadn’t. Instead, he clenched and unclenched that fist which would normally hold Dark Sister over and over. That vein on his jaw where she had kissed a minute ago, ticking under his ire.

She saw Rhaenyra’s lips move. Saw her grab his sleeve, attempting to tug her husband's focus back onto her, but he shoved her off. She looked bereft as he stepped forward. Heels hot on the ground. He would have made it to her in seconds, but that too was over before it could begin.

“I insist, niece. We must let Ser Criston attend to his duties and Maester Croton must attend to you.” Ser Vaemond’s, who had blocked her view of her husband, mouth stretched into a mirthless grin as he held out his arm for her to take.

She took it. Laena had no choice, but to take it, bid the knight farewell, and let him lead her inside. If she had not, Daemon would have immediately suspended his thunderous steps. Slithering back to Rhaenyra, the moment he saw her arm in her uncles rather than Ser Cristons, would have come over and ended the dismal day with an encore to its proceedings.

They set off in silence. The shuffle of boots and her slippers echoing off the castle walls was the only sound that marked their presence until her uncle broke that lull midway to her chambers “You and your mother play a dangerous game.” His dark eyes shone in the dim light in a way that would have made her trip over her own feet for the umpteenth time that day if he had not taken to holding most of her weight.

He knew. She had not once gone to Alicent during Laenor’s wake. Had not even talked to her, nor had her mother outside of greeting her. Laena barely looked in her direction.

True enough she had seen Ser Vaemond conversing with Ser Otto earlier, but the hand would not know of his daughter’s plans. The Hightower man would never agree to them which would leave Alicent with no choice but to keep them from him. Her mother would do the same. Not even trusting her father who had a soft spot for Rhaenyra’s boys with their plans.

So the two their schemes between themselves until all who opposed would be forced to agree to it. Hoping Laena could somehow sway Daemon that the grandsons of Otto Hightower would be the best match for their daughters. Until that time came, no one who would tell her uncle would know, and yet he knew.

Laena turned her head keeping her eyes in front of her.

“I am afraid I do not know what you are speaking of uncle” She whispered. She should not have whispered, it could only serve to confirm what he suspected, for she reasoned that he could not possibly have more than a hunch, but her cousins as well as Maester Croton were just a few paces behind them. Well within hearing.

Laena would not mind so much if Daemion knew. He was good at keeping secrets. He would not tell anyone if she asked him not to. As would the old maester, though he would more than likely tell her father, but that was a small price to pay. No, they would not be the issue. That title belonged to her oldest cousin. Ser Daeron Velaryon would gleefully go blabbing to anyone who would listen if he found it to be beneficial to himself.

Laena tried her best to keep a neutral expression on her face, fighting off the way her lips wished to twist up, but she knew she was failing. She had never been a particularly good liar. She never had much to lie about in the first place, but no she most certainly did.

“Do you take me for an oblivious old fool the same as your father?” He halted them before they reached the first landing. His grip on her arm tightened. Her head snapped in his direction. Narrowing her eyes at him into slits.

“My father is not a fool.” She would not hear it. Not from Ser Vaemond. Not from anyone. A fool Corlys Velaryon was not. He knew what was around him. He knew his enemies and he knew those he could depend on and yet he kept those closer than his friends. He had never been oblivious. He would not have made House Velaryon the richest house in the seven kingdoms if he was truly an oblivious fool.

“Mayhaps not a fool, but he is willfully oblivious. He turns a blind eye to the actions of those around him for the sake of ambition.” That was rich coming from the likes of Ser Vaemond Velaryon. Her father was ambitious, yes, but no more than any other man. No more than any lord ought to be certainly not more than him.

Laena schooled her features. This time she let her full lips raise just the slightest in a smirk. “Are you still upset that my father refused your offer of Daeron for me?” Ser Vaemond winced and she tried not to look too pleased. Thanking the Gods that it was still a sore spot for him. A grudge he would carry against her father for the rest of their natural lives.

Marry her to Daeron and have the business be done with. He had advised her father on numerous occasions over the years. It was born from his own self-interest, yes, but it was not as if it was out of the realm of tradition.

Velaryons may not have ever been dragonlords, but they were still Valyrian. Their blood was untainted. Pure. The purity of it had to be preserved.

Of course, they did not marry brother and sister as Targaryens did, there wasn’t a need to, but a cousin, even an aunt and nephew or niece uncle was the expectation. Her father turned down that exception every time her uncle proposed it. On the last occasion, he had allowed her to choose and she chose Daemon.

Her cousin would not have been a bad husband. Overbearing mayhaps, poor company yes, a nuisance, undoubtedly, but not a bad husband. In many ways, he might have been a better husband than Daemon. The man made her want to rip her hair out and let the wind drown out her screams, but she loved him. She loved him with every fiber of her being. She could not live without him. She would never have loved Daeron in the way she did her husband.

“The Driftwood throne would have been yours, uncle, your grandson would have sat upon it, but now it shall go to a Targaryen and you can not write this one off as a bastard” It was a distraction and a poor one at that judging by the way he too was trying to dampen his temper. Nonetheless, she still held out a hope he would take the bait. “Now your hope rests on the fate of a child still in its mother's womb. What will you do if Hazel Hearte births another son?”

He had not taken her bait. Succeeding in his endeavor she had failed to keep her neutrality and manner of carelessness. Giving more than she got. Instead of snapping at her as she hoped he gave a sort of forlong smile. The kind when one knows that they have said all they could and now they left it to the recipient.

“Be careful Laena. You know me. My ambition aligns with yours, but you do not know them.” He leaned into her. If someone were to pass them in the winding hallway or if sons were to overtake them they might have thought he had told her a jape by the expressions of mild amusement on their brown faces.

“Do not be oblivious as your father is. Alicent Hightower is not your friend. She cares for nothing more but to see her son sit upon your good-brother’s throne.”

They had arrived at the door to her chambers before she could counter his claim. They came to a halt and he placed a fatherly peck upon her cheek. The kind he would give her when she was a child on a rare moment.

The ones where she would sneak into the library hiding from her septa or from the boys. Wanting a rest from their roughhousing. He had not minded it as long as she was quiet. Sometimes he would even let her join him at his desk. Sitting in companionable silence as he wrote his letters and she with her head in some book. He, like the rest of them, still saw her as that little girl, maybe she was underneath this lost hopeless woman she had become. Or maybe the little girl had grown up and through her despair, she had learned. She was still alive after all. The sea had not swallowed her nor had dragon fire consumed her. That was something.

Her uncle left her to ponder over her memories in the care of the maester.

Maester Croton’s examination was brief. The man looked her over once. Pronounced her in no immediate danger when she, with great indignation, had recited every house in the Crownlands and described their sigil. He gave her a tonic for her nerves, proceeded to order two maids not to leave her unattended for the night, and then told them to send a serving boy to his chambers if Laena’s condition were to change, before departing for said chambers.

The girls to their credit or rather their fear of what the lady of the keep might do to them if they were to be discovered having left her side took to watching her like a hawk. Laena did not mind it for the first hour and a half when she had thought that at any moment Daemon would come in and dismiss the pair of clucking mother hens, but he had not.

The second hour she had attempted to close the door to her bed chambers and leave them in the sitting room for a bit of privacy and to relieve herself from their chattering, but they remained ever vigil. We can not see you, my lady. Her hope of rescue was dashed with their refusal by her own hand or her husband’s so she settled in an armchair by the chamber's fire and tried to distract herself with needlework.

They made for excellent nanny dogs, guard dogs they were not. Their presence did little to deter other visitors. Namely, Beth who had come in to check on her at least half a dozen times once the maester had left. Always finding some excuse to. The first time she had brought in Aemon who had woken up from his nap crying out for his super which she had more than happy to oblige him with.

The second time she had not been called for, but it was a sweet surprise. Coming in with a tray of assortment of cakes and a steaming pot of tea that smelled divine. “Tea my lady?”

The third time she had heard Aemon’s cries. Recognizing them from the nursery as his cries for food. “Would you like me to take the little lord to the wetnurse?"

Laena dismissed that suggestion. Her breast had grown full again and Daemon was not there to scold her for it so she fed the babe once more. Aemon had his fill falling asleep at her bosom without any strain on her person.

“Do you want any company, my lady?” The last time Beth had said with her mending in hand. Laena had relented with a sigh. Wanting more than anything else to rid herself “You may stay Beth.” Her company was preferable to that of the giggling pair of ninnies charged with the care of her health and safety.

Laena’s sitting room had become a den of ideal chatter, mainly on the children, Rhaena made this the other day, I do believe Baela is starting to soften up to the little lord Aemon almost smiled at her and she returned it until Beth like Aemon had fallen asleep by the sound of the gentle waves crashing on the shore from the open window and the chamber fires crackle. The sun had set hours ago leaving only the light from it that fire. The shadows on the walls had grown long.

It was peaceful, quiet, and yet lonely. So very lonely. Laena’s thoughts drifted to last night in her solitude when it had not been so lonely. Last night. Gods, what she would give for those hours cloaked in darkness now.

It was exceedingly late when Daemon arrived at their chambers. Well past the hour of the bat. The sun would be up in a few hours. They had a long day ahead of them, yet there he was as naked as his nameday placing open-mouth kisses up her heated figure.

“Laena.” He breathed it into her skin. The way he did when he wanted her and he did want her. Nipping at the delicate patch of bronze skin on her inner thigh. His mouth landed on a particularly sensitive spot that made her whole body shiver.

“Laena.” He murmured again. His breath grazed her heat as his head rested on the junction of where her pelvis met her womanhood.

A hand wandering up and up to cup a breast, he leaned his weight upon her. He had stripped himself of every last stitch of clothing when he had crawled into bed. She could feel his hardened length warmed her bare skin where her nightgown had ridden up from his petting.

“My sweet pearl.” He was happy. He only called her that when he was exceedingly happy.

Laena had thought about feigning sleep. She had no reason to do so. He wanted her and she wanted him, but it had been so long since he had touched her in this way.

She could lie, pretend to be well ensconced in the land of dreams, but he knew she was not asleep. Besides, even if she had truly been asleep, that would not have stopped him. Her being asleep had never stopped him before. She had lost count of how many times she had awakened to find him suckling on her breasts. A finger circling her pearl hidden beneath her curls or plunging his member into her waiting channel. Burning himself to the hilt in one single thrust. His length bullied that spot deep within her that would have her come alive to see stars. Sending shockwaves of pleasure through her. Even in her sleep, she would let him have her. I need you was all he needed to whisper into her ear and she would let him do to her as he pleased.

He made it good for her too. He wasn’t a selfish lover, at least not with her. For every orgasm she’d give him, he’d wring two more from her spent body, but that night she felt the weight of everything and nothing to give in to the pleasure that awaited her.

“It is late husband.” Laena managed to pant out between little breaths. Swallowing the moan that wished to be let out from her throat. Daemon had taken to circling her pebbled nipple with the rough pad of his thumb. Drops of milk landed on the pale digit, but he didn’t mind it as he brought the finger down to his mouth. His tongue peeked out to lap at the sweet liquid. At the sight of it Laena felt her belly burst into flutters that traveled straight to her cunt.

“Very, sweet girl.” He said absentmindedly as he took to staring at her leaking heat. He did not wait for her to reply. Taking her pearl between his teeth and sucking on the bud for half a second before pulling away when she began to pulse on his tongue. “I’ve missed you.” He breathed into her dampening skin.

“Daemon,” She tried to bite back a moan but failed when he licked a strip down her weeping center. “I’m tired.” He laughed into cunt. The vibrations made her heat spasming around nothing. Not even attempting to hold her whines in.

Laena thought about saying she was still sore, but the maester had already come to check on her. “You may resume your wifely duties whenever you should like my lady.” He informed her. Not looking her in the eyes as her mother, who had turned red-faced, had been there holding her hands. The older man had surely informed her husband of that fact as well.

In any case, the fact that she had started to grind her cunt on his arm that he had draped underneath her to hold her up to relieve the growing ache deep between her thighs showed was not very tired nor sore in any sense of the word. Both could see the trail of wetness decorating his marble skin.

“Tell me if you wish me to stop.” She barely heard him over the sound of blood rushing to her head. Relief flooded through her as he licked another strip down her slit then repeated the action in reverse. This time his tongue landed on her clit. He circled the bub round before drawing it into his mouth to suckle upon.

“Muna kepa, Rhaena can not sleep.” It was Baela’s little voice. She faintly recognized the sound seeping in past the euphoric spell she was under.

“Have her sleep in your bed, pet.” Daemon pulled away from her for half a second to answer their daughter before she slipped her fingers through his silver strands and forced him back down upon her pulsing heat. Smothering him as she had begun to grind on his face. Desperately chasing her climax. Thinking that would be the end of it, but Baela was as persistent as she.

“She does not want to.” Her voice was more urgent this time. Louder too. “She’s brought Aemon too.” Laena felt her cheeks heat up with embarrassment. The fog of arousal slowly dissipated with each word she spoke. Baela had heard something. She wouldn’t know what it was, but she had heard.

Laena let out a heavy sigh as she pushed her husband away from her. Pulling his mouth from her spasming cunt as she let out a whimper and he with a groan. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was something between a squeak and a moan. Only adding to her embarrassment.

“Wait a moment pet,” Daemon called out. He lifted himself up with a grin to hover over her and enveloped her in a kiss. He tasted of her slick, sweet wine, and something warm that she only associated with her husband. It was over before they could work themselves up again.

Pulling off away from her and off the bed to rummage around the room as he found himself a dressing gown and undergarments and a nightgown for her that was not soiled with sweat and arousal.

Baela eyed them both with suspicion when her father finally opened the door to their chambers, but it faded the moment Rhaena set Aemon down in his bassinet and leaped into their bed. Piling in after her sister to cuddle at her side. Monopolizing her as well as most of the bed.

“You may sleep with Aemon papa.” Rhaena lifted a little finger to point at her brother's crib which earned her chuckle as he moved Baela to climb back into bed. Swaddling his pet in his embrace.

Laena had thought about leaning over their girls to place a kiss on the shadow of his broad chin, but grabbed the hand that had taken to stroking the back of Baela’s locs, trying to lull their wild girl to sleep, and brought the back of it to her lips. Planting a kiss on each knuckle. I. Love. You. He knew that. He knew she was incapable of anything else. I’m. Sorry. That he knew was a lie, but he had not held it against her. Squeezing her hand, he mouthed the words over Baela’s silver curls. I love you too, you minx.

Love, he loved her. Maybe not the way he loved Rhaenyra. Maybe never in that way, but was a part of him that loved her. That part of him that had chosen her when he had not had to.

Gods she was so stupid. Was it so terribly silly of her to have Daemon open their chambers last night? Should she have just let him take her and succumb to their passion? Should she have told the girls that they were too old to join them? That they just needed to get used to their new chambers?

No, she hadn’t been wrong to do that, but it was mad to do what she had a few hours ago. He had not even wanted to leave her side. Had turned Rhaenyra down for her. She should’ve taken it for what it was. Not to question it, but she had pushed him right into her arms with her questioning. Now the Gods only knew what he was doing with her that kept him from their bed.

A knock sounded at the door to their chambers. Breaking Laena free of her memories and waking Beth with a start from her nap as she asked her guards stationed at the door who it was as she made herself and Aemon presentable enough for whatever visitor deigned to disturb them at this hour. “The queen, my lady.” Her guard spoke causing the girl to turn to her with a slight panic, but she commanded that they be let in

The door opened wide enough for Laena to peak around to see Ser Criston standing vigil, she wondered if the Dornish night might join them, she wondered more what her husband might say if he were to find him in here even if the queen was as well, but the man remained on the other side of the door when Alicent’s had been let in, and Beth who she had to dismiss by ordering the girl to get some proper rest, was let out.

She meant to stand and curtsy to her, not forgetting her manners even at this late hour, but the woman waved a hand for her to stay where she was. “You must be exhausted. There is no need for that when it is just us.” Us. She did not miss the informality in her address, but Laena settled back into the chair not having to be told twice. She was not tired. In fact, she doubted she would have slept a wink that night, but her feet were sore from standing on them for most of the day.

Alicent remained standing. Wringing her pale hands she gave her a shy smile. “I wanted to give my condolences to you personally, Laena. I did not know your brother well, but I am sorry for your loss.” It was more sincere than Rhaenyra’s attempt, she decided it was best to compare the two to each other for they both wanted something or another from her, but it was not the truth. Not at all why she was truly here. It would be improper to speak on it now so she let it be left unsaid. The unspoken hanging in the air around them.

The Hightower queen's smile relaxed when her gaze landed upon Aemon who had been awakened by the knock and was currently squirming in his mother's lap. “And I admit I wanted to meet your little one.”

She held out her arms, smile widening. “May I?” Laena bid her closer and handed her the babe. Watching her cradle him with practiced hands. “He looks like my Aemond when he was little.”

“Does he?” Laena would have thought it was some kind of jape, but it could not have been more plain that it was more an observation than condensation. They were both Targaryens. To be perfectly fair, Targaryens only had so many features to pull from. Their pool was not an especially large one to allow for much difference besides various shades of pale eyes and silvery white hair.

“Aegon and Helaena were plump,” Laena could see a glint of light in Alicent’s brown eyes and a hint of a smile when she spoke of her children as she bounced Aemon. “Chubby little cherubs. Daeron too. Aemond was my smallest. I used to spend hours just watching when he was a babe. Precious thing.” To that she did not know who she was referring to, but it mattered not.

Laena almost did not wish to ruin the moment. Alicent did look genuinely content holding him as was Aemon with being held for he had seized his squirming and instead took to observing the person attached to the new pair of arms he was in, but that unspoken thing remained heavy in the air and she wanted to be the one to give a voice to it. Least the Hightower woman remembered why exactly she had come to her chambers and caught her unaware.

“It is easy is it not?” She wore a smile on her face. Alicent would find it to be friendly enough if she were to pull away from cooing over the babe. Inviting. Innocent. Laena thought. Her tone was equally unassuming. Nothing which suggested she spoke of anything “To imagine him when in your arms.”

“Imagine who?” Her gaze had turned back to the babe with a smile humming softly as she rocked him. Not really paying her much attention to anything apart from his coos. Laena almost let her reply die in her throat, but she pushed it out before she lost her nerve.

“Imagine what our future king will look like.” Alicent stopped her swaying. Standing rod still as Aemon let out a yawn. Oblivious to the chasm that had formed in the chamber sucking out the light. “The king that my daughter will birth your son.” Alicent opened her mouth. She looked like a doe caught unaware by a hunter. “That is truly why you are here, is it, not my queen.”

“Your daughters are lovely Laena.” The queen recovered quickly though her nerves shone through. The gaping mouth that made her look like a lost puppy was replaced with that same expression she had made when she first came in as she resumed bouncing Aemon in her arms.

“Twas the same thing my cousin said to me not an hour past.” Flattery was a rather obvious choice, but unlike with Rhaenyra, the sincerity held more truth. Her cousin had said it as a jape. They look like you, not a thing like my uncle. That was what she had meant, the woman who gave birth to bastards who had been humiliated by See Vaemond wanted to make her feel inadequate. This was a compliment. There was no jape in it though it was just as self-serving. “She wants them for her sons too.” She had not said anything. She could feel the queen's anger so she pushed on.

“Let’s see,” Laena paused to look off towards the window as if truly in thought. “You were five and ten when you married Viserys and I was on the eve of my sixth and tenth name day when Daemon and I said our vows to one another here on these shores.” She turned her gaze back towards the Hightower woman her head held high. She had stopped bouncing Aemon, but the babe had not minded. He entertained himself instead with a bright auburn curl as he nibbled on the edge of her strands. Her spine turned to steel.

“We were barely more than children,” but that was the way things went. “I suppose Baela is to follow in our footsteps. Or shall she marry your drunken prince bed the moment she has bled? Am I to tell you that so that she can give us our grandson.” She had tried to keep her voice calm. Measured when all she wished to do was scream.

“They will not marry a day before she is six and ten.” She walked closer towards her, Aemon in hand. “You have my word Laena. She will not just be a broodmare. I swear on the Seven that Baela shall be Aegon’s wife, queen, and equal.” She had said it with so much conviction so much resolve that Laena almost believed her, but she knew better than to be so naive.

They were pretty words, but pretty words were just as empty as the rest. They did little other than placate one’s vanity, but what was vanity compared to the truth? It may feel good at that moment, but eventually, all it would do would be to leave her with a broken heart.

Lies they were. All lies said to comfort them in their empty bed chambers. Baela may be his wife and queen, but she would never be his equal. She would bend to him. That was the way the world worked. Even for a Targaryen.

“You forget yourself Alicent. You may have married a Targaryen and raised four, but you are not one. You forget that I did not marry into this family. My mother is a Targaryen. Though you and your father look down on him, my father is just as Valyrian as she.” Laena felt her temper boiling over past the point of containment as she sneered down at the queen.

She remembered her mother letting her read some of the letters her father sent home from his time on the small council as master of ships. It was to prepare her for what she may face, to know her enemies, When they thought she might still be Viserys’ queen. His account of Otto Hightower had never been complimentary. She knew that the man envied her father's lordship, his heritage, and his closeness to House Targaryen.

He was a second son who had only been handed scraps from his brother. He had to claw his way to where he got to and once he had the position he coveted and his daughter seated beside the king, he pushed her father out and replaced him with his lackeys. Much like he did with her own husband. Although he could never truly get rid of Daemon no matter how he tried. His king had a weakness for him. They all did.

“Daemon is my cousin as well as my husband. I ride the largest dragon in the world.” He would not have had her if she had not. She was good enough. She knew that with every passing minute he remained with Rhaenyra she knew she had been just good enough as would her daughters be.

“I have borne him three children. I have borne him a son and heir who shall inherit my father's throne. I might have been queen in my own right. I am the blood of old Valyria. I am the blood of the dragon and yet I am not his equal.” Mayhaps it was foolish to speak to her with such venom. Powerless and weak as she may appear to be, she was still queen, but Laena did not care anymore. Let the truth reign for once. For what good were lives when the world may very well fall apart after tonight?

“I am not my husband's equal nor will I ever be. No matter what I am, what I do, what I can give him, my very soul, it matters not. My existence is for the pleasure of Daemon Targaryen. I am his plaything, you are Viserys, and my daughter shall be your Aegon’s.”

A pair of big watery brown eyes looked as if they wished to pop Alicent’s skull. Laena had shocked the woman to silence with her ranting. The truth was a heavy burden to bear and exhausting one too for she was panting like she had run around Driftmark twice over. She had barely breathed since she had opened her mouth and yet there was one last truth to lay bare before them.

“My husband has a claim to the throne.” Alicent's eyes contracted back. Regaining some of her senses with the reminder of that threat. “We have an heir now.” She was holding said heir rocking him, trying to calm him as he had begun to fuss finally sensing the growing tension in the room.

Aemon was a babe. He was just a babe with no care more than milk, sleep, and being held until he fell asleep, but babes soon enough turn into men with wants greater than food or affection from their mother. He was the firstborn son of the Rogue Prince. The untainted blood of old Valyria. His father would wish to give him all he felt owed to him. “What is to stop him from staking his claim for our son?”

“Your husband has never been well-liked Laena. I would think carefully before you put your faith in his claim.” It wasn’t a threat. There was no venom there. It was a fact. Daemon made his share of enemies. He made more of those than friends.

He had never much sought to endear himself to the lords of the realm and it was their support and not just of the common people or a half a dozen dragons that he would need to win him his crown.

“I have a claim.” She was not some motherless child of an overly ambitious second son who had the misfortune of marrying into this treacherous family. She was Lady Laena Velaryon.

She was the great-granddaughter of the old king. If her grandsire had lived long enough to ascend to his father's throne she would have been her mother’s heir or the heir of her brother.

Her claim was better in fact than that of her husband. Better than Viserys even

Of course, no one would back her while her good-brother lived, but if she were to endear herself to the lords of the realm now she might hold enough sway to get them to call for a Great Council on his deathbed.

The lords did not know. It could be an advantage, though it would not help much. They may not know her, but they knew she was the daughter of the queen who never was and the Sea Snakes daughter and now the wife of the king's temperamental younger brother. She had been raised to be a queen, yes, but queen consort. Not a queen in her own right,

Even if she were to muster up enough support and betroth Baela, Rhaena, and Aemon to the likes of Houses Tully, Tyrell, or Lannister, it would not be enough. She might not be her husband, but she had his stain upon her. House Baratheon would support her regardless even if begrudgingly, but Houses Arryn, the Stark, and Greyjoy and their vessel would not bend so easily.

The Arryns were kin to Rhaenyra’s mother, the Starks would honor whatever vows they had made even from a thousand years ago, and the Greyjoys could not be trusted on anything but petty violence. Blood would pay for her claim and that is what Alicent counted on.

“You would not start a war for the throne Laena.” The corners of her mouth quirked up into a small smile. It was the pitying kind. The kind that said I know you because I know myself. “No more than I.” She was presumptions, but this conversation was presumptions.

“You do not know me, Alicent.” A gamble, but she had already taken a dozen of those. Why not this one as well?

Alicent believed her to be weak, the safer option, the only between Rhaenyra’s rule and her son's death, but she was a dragon too. Just as much as her husband or Rhaenyra.“One word from me and it shall be Aemon who sits upon the throne of my ancestors. I promise I will make sure that my husband sees to it.” She swallowed the last bits of whatever fear remained. “My husband will prove your father's fears to be true. Do not test my patience, your grace.”

“My father does trust your husband and neither do I.” She drew closer still. Placing Aemon in his crib. “But I trust you Laena. I trust that you are a mother. I trust that you will do anything to protect your children as I would mine, but we do not have to plunge this realm into chaos and shed the blood of innocents to do that.” Alicent grabbed both her hands in her pale ones hand and held fast. They were soft, but her grip was surprisingly firm.

“Aegon has his faults. I will not deny you that.” How could she? The evidence was plain. She would have to think her a half-wit when she had seen with her own eyes how Aegon was.“But he knows his duty. He knows who his duty is. He will protect his queen, the mother of his children, with his life. As will Aemond with Rhaena.”

“Your children will never be safe with Rhaenyra on the throne. Your Aemon is a threat to Rhaenyra’s son just as much.” She flinched. She wanted to tell the woman bent before her that her husband would never allow anything to harm Aemon or their girl, but her throat felt like it had been filled with sand. “The lords of the realm will never allow a bastard to sit upon the Iron Throne. Your girls will not be protected if you marry them to her boys, not in the way mine can.”

Brown met brown as her gaze bore into the back of her skull. “Please Laena. We have a chance. Let us not make the same mistakes as our husbands and fathers have. I am begging you for the sake of our children let us join our houses and protect them.”

Laena scanned the pale woman’s face. Assessing her every word and action since she entered the chambers that had culminated with her kneeling to her. It was not a sight witnessed every day that one witnessed a queen kneeling to what should be her subject, but Laena supposed that as far as queens go, Alicent Hightower's power at her husband's court was middling at best if she had to stoop so low as to beg her for an alliance.

Save for one of Laena’s great-great uncle Maegor the Cruel's many wives, who left as quickly as they came, she had nothing. No one. She was a complete outsider. Locked out and alone. She had no choice but to beg. To plead so that someone might hear her cries. They were the cries of a desperate woman, but she had not lied. She had not told a single lie to her. Had not denied why she was here, or what she wanted from her. She had not lied.

Her plans were a bit idealistic, but Laena saw the merit in them. What other way was there?

Rhaenyra had already seen the threat that her half-brothers possessed. She could not touch Aemon, Daemon would kill her himself if she did, but her girls would never know peace if they married those boys. She herself would not for her cousin would find a way to insert herself into every facet of her life, the lives of her children, and her marriage. Alicent offered them both a way out without bloodshed. Laena had to take it.

Another knock sounded at the door before she could answer the plea. The voice of her guards and Ser Criston came through from the wood. She bade them to come in while Alicent rose from the floor. Smoothing out her wrinkled dark green skirts.

First entered the Dornish knight looking rather miffed with the messenger standing next to him.

A boy really. He was short and dark. Shifting upon the balls of his feet, no doubt doing so to calm the growing ball of nerves that had formed from his given task. Whoever had dealt it to him must not have done so out of spite.

“You-uur grace. My-my lady,” He stammered out Eyes glued to the ground. As he made hurried little bows half a dozen times. Stopping and starting his speech just as many. “There has been—there has — there has been—well there ha-aa—”

“Speak or have someone else will do it for you boy,” Ser Criston barked, growing impatient with his ability to finish his sentences. It did drive one made, but Laena hardly thought that the frightened thing would help matters. However, it did serve to instill in the poor boy enough fear to finish his speech lest he be chastised by her father's steward for his inability to complete a simple task.

“Ppp-rince Aemond has be-een gravely injured m-my queen bbby Pr-rrince Lucerys.” He spoke. Swallowing as he trembled where he stood. “And the ladies Baela and Rhaena ha—vvve be-een injured as well.”

Her body went stiff. Every last drop of blood drained from her body. All she could hear was a ringing in her ears. How she remained standing she did not know. Laena almost wished she was staring at the sea again. For drowning was preferable to having your heart ripped out from your chest.

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