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damn-stark · 1 month ago

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Chapter 32 The demon and me

Chapter 32 of Moonlight

A/N- :)))))

Warning- talks of postpartum depression, PTSD, ANGST, swearing, violence, blood, and DEATH. SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- 539-549

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

And there it is…the change in the way they look at you the moment the word coup fell from your lips. As if attempting a rebellion is a far greater sin than burning part of the city.

What if it had been one of the two men sitting around the table who had suggested the same plan? Would they have looked completely horrified then? Would they have thought of that man as the world's great savior? As if he had come up with the plan to bring peace to the world?

“A coup?” Your grandfather questions you and leans toward you to look at you with pity before he continues to speak softer as if he is speaking to some sickly person who couldn’t understand. “Do you know what you’re suggesting? Peace is at last closer than ever. With your marriage to Aegon, the feud between the Targaryen family has come to an end and with some tactical words the line drawn between the kingdoms can at last lift and we can all become one again…”

His mouth keeps running, words laced with deep pity keep spilling but you stop listening as you try to understand what he’s saying and where he’s coming from. After all, it’s been a year since the war started, and the losses have been significant, so maybe there’s some reasoning behind his words.

It’s just a falter within you, but you do start leaning towards understanding him and the need to embrace peace again.

However, in the silence created by you tuning out your grandfather, you then see her; your mother's ghost haunts the hall.

You see her broken body across the room and her dead eyes fixated on you before you hear the faint echoes of her crying out for help, causing you to snap out of your senses.

How could you possibly abandon your fight and your plan for revenge? How could you possibly forget about her?

If you stop now, who keeps fighting for her?

So no, you can’t stop, nor can you falter again.

“Don't tell me you haven’t thought of it?” You cut off whatever your grandfather had been saying and narrow your gaze on him to try and uncover his answer, but he masks himself well, so you look at Lord Larys next and raise your eyebrow to press your rhetorical question.

“How good of a King can Aegon truly be?” You continue and sit back against your seat. “He’s never had the mind for politics or diplomacy. I doubt he learned a thing about how to rule a realm while he was away. And this will be inappropriate, but,” you pause and clear your throat. “Our marriage hasn’t been consummated because he can’t get. It. Up,” you whisper and see your grandfather and Lord Larys squirm in their seat while Baela drops her head to hide her teasing smile.

“So tell me how fruitful can a broken man be in our greatest time of need?” You query as you loll your head to the side. “Aerion is but one boy, if something were to happen to him what do we do then, hm? With Aegon the younger at The Wall, who continues our line then?”

Lord Larys and your grandfather share the same knowing look, but neither of them interject with an argument that can possibly outmatch yours.

“It’s true that a rule under Aegon brings no fruitful future,” Lord Larys cuts in this time. “But who do you suggest we put in his stead? Prince Aerion?”

You sit up straight and in your silence the three of them figure out your answer to their question; you. You want them to implant you as the ruler. And why shouldn’t it be you? You’re already Queen, you were your mother's chosen heir, and you, unlike Aegon, know how to rule.

“Need I remind you that you set fire to part of the city,” your grandfather protests without so much as thinking about it. It’s like he was prepared to argue against the idea. “The moment we implement you as the ruling Queen, the people will demand your head. Riots will be spread over the atrocity you committed,” his voice gets louder and meaner, and your face starts to harden as your patience wears out.

“You are lucky they are not asking for your head now,” he continues to argue with more anger. “It was completely—”

“Mind your tongue Lord Corlys,” Ser Cane cuts your grandfather off. “She is your Queen.”

You put your hand up and peer over to offer him a nod that tells him he can stand down. “Go on,” you urge your grandfather, and he doesn’t hesitate.

“It was completely stupid,” he spats and leans forward once again. “I thought you had sense. You were level-headed and now that you have gone and done that you have dug yourself in a hole that we may not be able to help you out of.”

You hold his gaze with your eyes slowly starting to fill with tears while your throat starts to sting even though you expected his response. You knew that your actions were going to be brought up and used against you, but even still, hearing your grandfather scold you rattles you for a small moment in time.

“What would you have had me done instead, huh?” You don’t fail to counter with your eyes still glossy and your throat still stinging. “They killed our dragons and ran my mother out of town!” You raise your own voice as you slam your hands on the tabletop and push yourself to your feet—“Would you have them go unchecked?!”

“The people who rose up their own false kings against—”

“But that's not it!” You cut him off. “They killed our dragons!” You throw at him again with your face twisting with your quick-rising rage. “Our power. The symbol of our house! Our connection! If they went unchecked they would have stopped fearing us, and anytime they disagree with the crown they won’t think twice to rise up against us because there’s nothing to stop them, nothing looming over their lives because we are no longer close to the gods in their eyes without our dragons. We are just like them. And now...I fixed it,” you scoff. “Now they won’t dare and think of arguing against the crown because they know that there are consequences. We are not the same. We are still gods…” you trail off and catch the sound of your heavy breathing as your grandfather challenges your hardened glare still brimming with unshed tears.

“Her grace,” Lord Larys pauses and draws in a deep breath, pulling your gaze away from your grandfather to now look at him and wait.

“…could have served the Smallfolks' punishment differently,” Lord Larys continues without daring to look you in the eyes. “But alas she is right, they should fear the crown if we are to continue peacefully, but,” he pauses and sighs before he steals a glimpse at you and continues. “Why should we consider your coup? Besides the points you already gave, why should we risk our lives to continue this war when we have the chance to finally end it at the tip of our fingers?”

You narrow your gaze further, making him once again avert his gaze. You don’t answer right away, choosing to let him think of reasons you might give to him specifically. Maybe he’ll even get a hint as to why you choose to trust him out of all people.

“Why?” You interject and step away from your seat to start stalking toward Lord Larys. “Why should you risk your life? Well,” you sigh, and when you reach his seat you stop beside him and pierce your glare at him. He doesn’t peer over at you even though he feels your stare burning through him. He just watches the tabletop with his nose flaring with every breath, and his fists clenched tightly.

“Need I remind you that you sent assassins to come kill me and my son here in the Red Keep,” you reveal and finally gain Baela’s wavered attention while your grandfather starts to look disgusted.

“While I was with child at that—”

“No—” he cuts you off to argue but you slam your hand on his shoulder and squeeze it tightly as you now interrupt him.

“There’s no need to deny it. My mother would have never tried to kill me, and I do admit I had been getting back at Aegon before by revealing my ability to him, and well…I had my ways to figure it out,” you roll out and lift your hand off his shoulder, but don’t move right away, you continue to watch as he grows tense and scared rather than nervous.

“That’s why you’ll help me,” you continue and start to walk with your hands clasped behind you and your nose pointing to the air. “Because if you don’t, well, I’ll reveal your secret and execute you.”

Lord Larys clears his throat and nods stiffly without attempting to add anything in his defense or attempting to argue against you because everything you said was true, and how can he deny it when you somehow found out?

“Another reason, the main reason as to why we need to keep fighting is because…” you trail off and slowly and unknowingly lower your head, losing the cockiness and the confidence you had mustered to keep your nose pointed high as your mind is invaded by your mother.

“…just because my mother is dead doesn’t mean her fight is. Not as long as I live, and…” your voice falters and your throat starts to sting again. “…Remember she died fighting for what rightfully belonged to her before Aegon killed her. I saw her burn to death and then torn apart because she fought for what was rightfully hers,” you pause and come to a stop at the other end of the short wooden table and clench your jaw and your fists as the corner imbued by the shadows of the hall taunt your mind by making you think she’s dying there again and again.

“I see her die in the darkness every time I close my eyes. In my sleep. And in every corner touched by darkness,” your voice slowly grows quiet with every word coming out of your mouth, but it doesn’t break this time. You speak smoothly yet there’s this eeriness haunting your every word as you speak, making the silence in the hall deafening.

“I even see her in places touched by the light…I see her in my brother who is not really my brother. Not anymore.” You shake your head and let your tears well up as you refuse to let them break out of your eyes. “Because now as he gets older he’ll look at me the same way my children look at me…A mother. There’s no telling if he’ll remember our mother. Even if he does I…will still be his mother because…”

Your grandfather utters your name with pity laced in his voice as he tries to get you to stop, but you ignore him and turn to face them as you continue in the same eerie and soft voice that haunts the hall and brings chills to the back of their necks.

“…His own mother. Our mother…won’t be here for him anymore because…she’s dead…she’s dead!” Your voice suddenly booms, breaking the silence of the room and startling Baela and making your grandfather huff—“That’s why we will continue to fight this war until her blood is on that throne, Lord Larys. Grandfather, and every single damn person who wants to ask me that same question! We will risk our lives because our fight did not end when she died! Her death brought the start of the end,” you say and walk back to your seat to sit back down and pull out scrolls you hid in your clock and throw them on the table, showing off the sigils that are marked on the broken wax.

“Lord Stark and all the Riverlords have agreed to continue fighting with me until the end,” you reveal, causing your grandfather to sit up to take the scrolls and read them for himself. “Rhaena has agreed to fight alongside me and Astraea with Morning, and with her, the Vale follow. The Greyjoys won’t turn down a bloodbath so they have also agreed if they win their fight against the Lannisters first. I need to send word to the Reach, and Alyn. I was hoping you could send word to Alyn, Lord Corlys, while I send word to The Reach.”

Your grandfather lowers the scroll in his hand, whilst Baela reaches for the scroll Rhaena sent.

“Tell him that we will continue to fight to put Aegon the younger on the throne,” you reveal, making the silence in the hall once again go deafening as they all now stare at you in disbelief.

“Not Aerion. Not me,” you pause and wait for an argument, for a word of encouragement that it should be you, but there’s nothing of the sort. Thus you continue. “But my mother and Daemon’s last living son. The realm won’t go up in arms when they hear he’ll take the throne, and peace could be long living with him married to Jaehaera. If you all agree with her being his betrothed that is?”

“You would rise up your brother as king?” Your grandfather questions you, causing you to drop your gaze and nod without hesitation.

“I would. With good advisors and his sisters at his side, he would be easily molded. He could be the best king this realm has ever had,” you say in your brother's defense. “I just need your help to make that vision a reality.”

“I’ll help,” Baela is the first one to interject, making you lift your gaze to find her.

Albeit she averts her own gaze when yours lands on her.

“I…will too,” Lord Larys chimes in after her as if he had a choice. “But how do you plan to get rid of King Aegon?”

You reach your hand back without uttering a word and right away Ser Cane walks over to give you the flask of poison Alys had sent you.

“You have his trust,” you direct at Larys. “I want you to put a drop of this in his wine, tea, or whatever the hell he drinks. It’s slow acting, it’s going to deteriorate him from the inside out.”

“Poison? That’s your plan?” Your grandfather asks with judgment.

You scoff and place the flask on the table so they can all see it. “For him? Yes,” you retort. “The armies at our side will get rid of Lord Baratheon’s army and whatever resistance is left here, but Aegon will be poisoned because it’s the smartest choice. It’s my choice and you will respect it,” you hiss and he once again challenges your pointed gaze, but can’t win so he backs down and nods.

“Don't give him the poison until Lord Baratheon is gone. Which shouldn’t be long, I’ll give it to you then.”

“You’re certain it will work?” Baela asks.

“Yes.” You nod. “Someone I trust made it. They wouldn’t betray me. It will work. We just have to trust each other. Peace is a guarantee after that.”

You raise your eyebrow to press them, and Baela and Larys both nod in comprehension while your grandfather lets out a deep breath and continues to pass doubt.

“And if I refuse? What will you do then? Poison me? Gut me here and now? Or burn me alive like you did those people?”

You don’t explode with anger like they all assumed. You don’t glare at him or clench your jaw. You look at him with the same look that’s been haunting your face since your mother died; with deep and agonizing sorrow.

“Not you,” you respond softly, and then in the flash of a second you raise your chin and your face hardens just a bit. “But I do hope you do not refuse and instead think about what my grandmother and my father would have wanted.”

It’s a low blow, but it’s what gets him to drop that judgment and doubt and finally give in.

“Very well. I will help you too.”

You let out a relieved sigh and nod lightly. “Thank you. All of you. You may go now. It’s late. I’ll send word when we need to reunite.”

With every argument voiced for now, both men head out whilst Baela gets out of her seat and walks to the door but hesitates leaving.

You sit up and hold your breath in hopes she’ll say something. You want her to say something, but she ends up leaving instead, leaving you with Ser Cane in your solitude where you drop your shoulders, draw out a deep and shaky breath, and let tears break out of your eyes at long last.

“Ser Cane?” Your voice quivers with vulnerability.

“Hm.”

You drop your head and drop your hands on your lap to fiddle with your rings. “Do you think they’ll ever look at me the same way they look at the men? Admiration rather than uneasiness? If I had been a man they would have looked at me like I was Aegon the conqueror, but I saw the way they looked at me…” you trail off to a whisper as you let your guard down and let your agony and insecurity take over. “They’re tolerating me. They look at me like I’m a mad, grief-stricken woman, and I am grief-stricken, but if I had been born a man they would think I’m strong for having so much fire left in me to continue fighting after losing so much.”

“Those men you fought with at Tumbleton respect you. They all look at you like a hero,” Ser Cane instantly tries to comfort you with positivity. “They all asked about your well-being when your dragon took you.”

You nod softly. “Yes, I know, but the men that support the crown will they ever look at me like that?” You ask and stop fiddling with your rings to catch every sound that comes out of his mouth.

“You want the truth?” Ser Cane makes sure to ask.

“Please,” you press, making him sigh deeply and walk closer to give your question an honest response.

“I think that having a female ruler scares them because it makes them feel small. So no I don’t think so. But you have the fire to make them feel otherwise if that’s what you want,” he says in a sweet and soft voice, making more tears run down your cheeks.

“I’m tired,” you say in a broken whisper. “Waking up is a chore, taking in breaths to keep myself alive is exhausting, and now I have to muster the energy to keep myself on top of these men…and the truth is I don’t know if I have the strength to hold my place on top of them. I just want to burn them all and start over again.”

“But fire won’t fix that now will it?”

You shake your head as a response and leave a heavy silence before you stand up and interject. “I’m going to see Astraea before I go to bed.”

Ser Cane sighs deeply as he’s tempted to argue against you and force you to go to bed instead, but alas you are his Queen so he just goes with you instead, because otherwise you would sneak off and he would rather have his eyes on you than have you go behind his back.

“<Hello girl>,” you coo at your dragon when you find her in her usual spot, and run your hand along your dragon's scales.

Astraea growls softly as she pushes her head toward you so you can press your hand on her snout quicker.

“<How are you feeling>?” You ask her as you examine her wounds not so raw and red anymore, but still deep and visible, and still hurting her. “<I know I haven’t been able to tell you, but you’ve done good>.”

Astraea closes her eyes as you stroke her snout so you then bend down and press your forehead against her flesh and close your own eyes to bask in the serene silence between you and your beloved dragon.

“<It's just me and you>,” you whisper against her scaled snout before you pull back and offer her a faint smile. You then proceed to sit down beside her head and lean your side against her as you watch the starry horizon reflecting peacefully over the sea water's surface like a mirror reflects your figure.

You’re tempted to express every thought that’s running through your head. After all, she won’t talk back, she can’t express her opinion, nor can she watch you with beady judgy eyes. Astraea will remain silent, she’ll look at you like you’re all that matters in the world, and she’ll listen.

Albeit as tempted as you are to let out what weighs you down, you find serenity in the silence where even the waves crashing a few feet away from the cove are quiet.

The thought of your mother doesn’t make an appearance, your hatred for Aegon is in the back of your mind, and the meeting you just had is forgotten for now. The one thing you have in your mind is a yearning for the past.

“<It's times like these where I miss Aemond the most,” you tell your dragon resting her head near your lap. “Not because he would’ve been much of a support for what needs to be done. The truth is he wouldn’t have been a big fan of anything I’m doing now, but I miss…having him. Having someone to hold me and share my pain.>”

Sharing your thoughts with someone who can’t give you any response makes you look a bit mad, but you can’t keep it all inside. You need to talk to someone. Besides, it feels relieving to have someone to talk to.

“<He…wouldn’t have judged what I did. He would agree that it needed to be done. And I’m not looking for praise. Just…someone to be there, and he would have been there. My Aemond…>” you trail off to a pause and drop your head to let out a deep sigh. “<I'm afraid of what Cregan might think. His morals aren’t like mine, he…hasn’t lost—he just wouldn’t know and the one person I could fall back on with guarantee is gone along with everyone else.>”

Astraea breathes out and you scoff softly and pat her side before raising your head and looking out with a sense of longing for what used to be. And it’s while you’re in your silence that you catch the sound of the rickety door opening before multiple steps walk out.

You don’t look back right away, you drift your gaze to the corner of your eyes and listen.

“Princess,” someone calls after a deep labored breath. “I mean, My Queen.”

Just by the sound of their voice, you know who it is, but you hesitate to stand up and give them your attention. You’re disgusted by the mere sound of their voice so it costs you even acknowledging their presence.

“He was persistent,” Ser Cane interjects. “But say the word and I’ll drag him out.”

You sigh deeply and share a glance with Astraea before you push yourself to your feet and then slowly turn to face none other than Ser Jason in the flesh and out of his cell.

“My Queen,” Ser Jason greets before he falls on one knee and bows his head, letting you pierce your gaze into the back of his head before you snap your head up and avert your gaze to avoid looking at your sworn protector whatsoever after he betrayed you.

“Please,” he throws out and then falls on both knees. “Forgive me. My intention was never to turn against you. All I have ever wanted to do was keep you safe, and that’s what—”

“You could have fought against them,” you cut off his pathetic rambling. “You could have saved my mother by raising your sword against them, but instead,” you growl as you speak. “You pointed your sword against me like a pathetic coward and watched my mother die.”

Ser Jason shakes his head. You don’t see it because you don’t look at him, but he shakes his head while his eyes peel back wider as he becomes more insistent.

“No, no, I couldn’t have fought against the entire party. I would have died the same way the Kingsguard did. I—”

“But you could’ve tried!” You blurt and ball your hands into fists. “But instead you cowered. You could have tried! You…” you trail off and clench your jaw before you swallow back a thick lump of emotions that build up and threaten to make you weep at the mere thought of that day.

“…you let me down. You betrayed me that day just to save your own skin like a pathetic. Coward,” you spat and try glancing down, but even the thought of looking at him hurts more than it angers you.

“I was,” Ser Jason cries and falls on his hands. “I was a coward. I saw my mistake, but I swear I just wanted to save you because I know you, and I know you would have risked your life to save your mother and I…I couldn’t let it happen. That’s why I had to turn my sword against you, but my heart. My heart never turned against you…” he trails off into a whisper and you find yourself looking down and catching his gaze glimmering as the stars light point out his tears clinging in the corner of his eyes.

“My mother,” You whisper as your lips twist to a scowl. “My mother is dead because of you,” you press with your gaze reflecting your usual grief and ache that paints your face. “If your heart was with me you would have died trying, but you turned against me…and now you’re free and what? Working for Aegon? The man who killed my mother in front of me?”

Ser Jason parts his lips but nothing comes out but a breath of air because it is true, he’s free and now in Aegon’s court as his protector because he turned against you that day.

“It's a real shame that you carry Daemon's blood in your veins,” you say with melancholy now that your mother resurfaces and takes her usual place in your mind. “Because you are a real disappointment. I'm glad he never got to know you.”

Ser Jason’s pained look falters as he feels wounded by your words, but he still remains apologetic, hoping that you will have mercy and take him back.

“The only reason I don’t kill you or out you to Aegon is because I want you to live,” you mutter and crouch down to be at his level and look at him with agony and rage alike. “So you may always remember that you will always be nothing. No matter what titles you don, you will always be the bastard boy from Flea Bottom who’s father could care less about.” You nod softly and study him before you press your face closer to him. “I hope you live the rest of your life remembering how big of a failure and a coward you are. Anywhere you may find yourself and at every stage of your life.”

You swallow back thickly and then stand up to shove past him and return inside without another word or even a look back. He’s not forgotten, but for now, you want nothing to do with him.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“Her Grace, the Queen!” The knight announces to the small crowd that consists of people awaiting their judgment, and a small selected court that can’t measure to the power it once was before the war

However, even if the court and the Smallfolk awaiting their fate are leagues away in social standing and basically everything else, they all currently share a common factor as they all stand under the same roof, and that is looking at you like you personally wounded them.

They carry that disgust and resentment. Aegon is front and center, and the one responsible for all the misery that has befallen your realm, but in a room with traitors and dragon killers you are the worst, and why? Doing what you know was right?

Whatever, they can shoot you all daggers they want, half of them will die today, and the others will never live to be you or anything similar, so you just keep your nose in the air, and keep your face melancholy whilst you take your place behind Aegon. Not beside him where you’re meant to be since you are now his Queen, but behind him like a shadow meant to be seen but completely ignored.

That’s what you are, a shadow. Nothing. Before, you were something, but you took it for granted.

Which is funny to think about really. For so long you craved being someone much more than what you were without realizing that you in fact were bigger and illuminating, but now?

Now you stand behind Aegon completely forgotten and having to look at him the same way Aemond did when Aegon was crowned for the first time. You don't realize it, but Alicent does as she stands nearby watching the death sentences be passed—she sees the envy in your eyes the same way it darkened Aemond’s eye that day. And even if Aegon isn’t half the man that he was then, you still look at him with resentment because he still holds the same power, and the power you have fought so long and hard to obtain just like Aemond once did.

If looks could kill or actually burn, yours would the same way Aemond’s would have, so it leaves Alicent with one thought, should she do something to stop you? She couldn’t stop Aemond, but she can stop you, so should she?

“You stand in the presence of King Aegon of House Targaryen, Second of his name, and his Lady Wife, the Queen of House Velaryon.”

You tilt your chin up to get a better view of the boy who is brought up first to face his judgment. A young boy who was once brave from what you have heard because he was the one who took the Red Keep and sat the Iron Throne after your mother fled. Alas, what good is his bravery and great achievements now that he’s on his knees awaiting death?

“For crimes against the crown and rising up against your King, you Trystane Waters are sentenced to death,” Ser Alfred Broome announces without prolonging the matter. He gets right down to business because it’s all clear. Nothing needs to be brought up or argued.

“Any last words? Do you wish to challenge your sentence?” The traitorous man asks only out of courtesy not because he respects the boy's rights.

“No,” the boy Trystane mutters as he refuses to let his head hang low in defeat. There was a change in his eyes from only moments ago, but he seems to hold onto his pride—“I just request one thing…May I die as a knight? That’s all I wish for. I won’t protest my sentence, I just request that one thing.”

You drift your eyes to your side expecting to meet someone’s gaze to share speechless comments on the matter, but alas, no one stands by your side. You can’t even attempt to meet Aegon in the eye because he’s in front of you, so you’re left just shifting your gaze ahead and finding the request interesting.

“What say you, Your Grace?” Ser Alfred asks Aegon as he passes the attention to him.

“Well,” Aegon sighs and taps the armrest of his wooden throne with his palm. “What harm can it bring?”

He looks to the man standing beside him; a man called Ser Perkin the Flea, and passes him a quick nod that makes the man step forward and bestow the boy with his request of knighthood, and donning him with a new title and name to follow.

“Rise Ser Trystane Truefyre,” the man proclaims, and so the boy does, but the moment he stands on his feet, Ser Alfred approaches with too much excitement and your Valyrian sword, Blackfyre in hand, and with no more time to waste, he swings the mighty thing across the boy's neck and slices his head clean off.

When the head hits the floor as if the sound of the flesh thumping against the ground, and his blood squirting out over the ground hurt you, you gasp in response and take a big step back. Not because you were suddenly affected by the boy's death, because that’s far from the truth. You go stiff with fear, and all the color flushes from your cheeks because you’re struck with violent flashes of your own mother's death; of her single limb being all that remained of her in a pile of blood and burn marks.

You’re overwhelmed by the echoing sound of her shrieking, and of her crying out for help even though she never did such a thing that day. Your mind plays cruel tricks on you by making you believe so and in doing so burying you deeper in your paralyzing panic to the point you forget where you are and think you’re back in that traumatic day living the same moment over and over again.

You don’t breathe, but you do. You take in quick and heavy hyperventilated breaths, but it’s not like anyone cares to notice except for Ser Cane who drags you aside and shakes your shoulder to snap you out of your stupor and force you to start breathing calmly once again.

“Your Grace, it's okay. You’re here. You’re okay,” he whispers gently and cups your shoulder with a soft and almost ghostly touch. “Look at me. You’re okay.”

You let out a shudder and slowly find his eyes, finding a sense of serenity in the depths of his gentle soul while also slowly grasping that your mother is in fact not yelling out for help. She never did. And she’s not dying because she’s already dead, and you’re trapped here in the Red Keep as Aegon’s wife.

“I am…okay,” you murmur and pat Ser Cane’s arm before you walk away and return to your spot, noticing at that moment as you’re walking back that Alicent is watching your every move. This time she doesn’t carry disgust or horror. She’s not being judgemental and she’s not looking down at you. Her big brown eyes are filled with concern after unbeknownst to you, she also noticed your panic. She just did nothing about it but stand and watch.

In any case, you don’t pass her any speechless gestures to let her know you’re okay. You just briefly hold her worried gaze before you yank your eyes away and return to your spot, catching as a little boy no older than five is taken away by servants, while the people who seemed to have supported his short reign are all dragged out of the throne room, leaving only one man left to hear his sentence; the same one-armed old man who claimed to be a prophet.

The man with bare feet is yanked in front of Aegon, and he, like the boy turned knight from before, doesn’t beg or ask for forgiveness or mercy. He stands at his given height with a more prideful air around him than that of Ser Trystane. It seems that the old man hadn’t let go of his delusions nor regretted his actions that brought the end to the dragons and your brother and mother.

And that enrages you more than the sight of Aegon and Ser Jason. You hate that he’s so calm and unaffected by what awaits him. He seems defiant and confident even though he’s looking at death in the eyes.

“I know the fate that awaits me, false king,” the old man spats. “It’s a fate that awaits us all. That’s why I don’t fear it. Nor should any of you once you stop kissing the feet of these sinners!” The old man proclaims and then throws his stump at Aegon. “We shall meet in hell before the year is done!”

Aegon scoffs and slaps his hands on the armrests of the wooden throne to push himself forward and be closer to the old man spitting out madness.

“Except you!” The old man then points at you before Aegon can interject. “There’s a special place in the Seven Hells for you Fire Demon! You shall rot there with the woman you called mother!”

Without warning you set off after him in a quick and stomping stride after being triggered by his boldness.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” you hiss and manage to reach him and slap your hands around his throat since your hands are the only things you can use as a weapon. Anything potentially dangerous was out of your reach out of fear you’d just kill Aegon—which they’re right to be cautious, but you also aren’t that dumb to kill him in front of the audience.

“Perhaps…you should…have,” the man strains to say. “You would have shown the world the real monster that was born to Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

You squeeze tighter and shove him back. “Don't you dare speak her name!” You bark and tighten your grip with the attempt to end his life here and there, but hands grab your arms and overpower you, yanking you off the man and causing you to let out an animalistic grunt before you snap around and face none other than Ser Jason stopping you once again.

However, you ignore him and shove past him to stomp back to your spot.

Yet, before you can return to being a shadow, you’re stopped by Aegon. “Why don’t you return to your chambers? It’s clear that you can’t handle your emotions toward this man.”

You squint your eyes to look at him baffled by what’s coming out of his mouth. “As Queen,” he interjects the moment you parted your lips to argue. “I wouldn’t want you to create another scene and embarrass the crown.”

“What will you do with the man and what’s left of his followers?” You ask between gritted teeth.

“I have it handled. This business shouldn’t worry you anyhow. Go.” He lets out so easily as if talking to fragile Helaena, and besides that, he’s also using this…almost taunting tone

“Your Grace,” you say mockingly and storm out with your army of ladies-in-waiting, handmaidens, and your own guards. Do you return to your quarters like the king wanted? Hell no.

You head to a part of a castle that overlooks the sea that sits behind the Red Keep. A place where Helaena and you used to like going to admire the horizon from inside.

Nevertheless, a while later another pair of footsteps join your solitude. A pair that is too heavy for you to confuse them as the late Helaena.

“Your Grace.”

“I’m your granddaughter too, you know,” you mutter to your grandfather without having to peer over to see that it is him. You recognized his footsteps and once he got close you recognized his scent.

“That should come first when there’s no prying eyes “ you add and then slowly turn around to give him your attention.

“If that’s what you wish to claim,” he says and proves you right to keep your guard up.

“Am I not your granddaughter the same way Baela and Rhaena are?” You press and take a step toward him with your eyes slowly narrowing. “Am I not your son's only daughter? Am I not your wife’s granddaughter?”

Without shying away or turning small like someone else would, he challenges your glare and shrugs. “I look into the eyes of a girl I know, but I’m not sure that the person you claim is still there.”

You swallow thickly and feel your entire being falter before you quickly rebuttal in High Valyrian. “<What would you have had me done?! What do you want me to do? Sit idly by as my mother's killer and his traitorous allies still breathe air?! Huh?! Tell me! Because every time we’re in the same room you always bite your tongue. So tell me,” you spat out as you push your head forward. “<The guilty party had been apprehended,” he argues without needing to be told twice. “I would have had you done nothing! I wouldn’t have let you burn down all—>”

“It always comes back to that!” You cut him off abruptly and take a step closer to continue throwing out your incoming thoughts. “I did what was necessary! Why can’t you see it?! It had to be done! I am not a monster! I am not a monster,” you repeat in a shaky whisper. “Now there’s only a handful of the old man’s followers left to kill. The numbers were greater before, but I helped.”

“By killing a hundred other innocents in the meanwhile,” your grandfather retorts as he keeps holding your gaze.

“Okay,” you whisper and nod in comprehension without having anything to counter with because deep inside you know what you did and the tragic result of it. You don’t regret it but you do admit that something else could’ve been done.

“<So what, you're going to have me not kill Aegon? Is that not right?>” You bring up instead with spite clinging on to your every word.

“<No,” your grandfather responds in Valyrian. “It needs to be done. I understand your reasoning. I too would want the same.>”

“<Then?>” You quip. “<Would you have me be nicer to you and the other Lords? Do I need to be the perfect wife? Is that what you want me to be in this game?>” You add a questioning hum as you tilt your head and take the last step forward to try and be more intimidating.

“<Because I know that I don’t want to sit by and let this injustice go unchecked. I will do something. I will play my part in this game. That’s what I want. That's how I stay alive, so tell me now what you want. Do you want to be a part of this? Or stand against me and do nothing? Because if that’s your answer then I will make sure you don’t see the tomorrow we build.>

Your grandfather looks you up and down and then scoffs before he steps back. “Seeing an enemy in everyone you lay your eyes on will get you killed,” he says softly. “Your father would be disappointed.”

Your anger falters and a wave of agonizing sorrow hits you, but you don’t show your defeat to your grandfather. You keep your eyes narrowed and your lips in a scowl.

“<Borro’s is sending his men against the Crownlands along with some of the king's men. And the lords who give up their fealty to your mother will be brought to swear their new loyalty to Aegon…That’s what I came to tell you while you were alone. I wanted to come check on you too. That was my plan, but alas,>,” he sighs, making you blink repeatedly and keep your eyes on him for a lingering moment before you nod softly and then whisper in return.

“Okay.”

Your grandfather watches you, but you pull your eyes away and stride away without sharing another word. You leave the tension as it was after being defeated by his hurtful words.

Why does he have to be against you too? Growing up he wasn’t as affectionate as your grandfather Viserys was toward you, but he still showed you kindness and affection in his own way. Now after everyone has died and so few members of your family remain, you should stay united, you should support each other and show each other kindness and love, but alas, he’s determined to be against you. He protests against every single thing and nothing you do satisfies him. He’s so cold and only lectures you or scolds you when you want him to…just support your choices so you can know you have someone to rely on.

Alas, he along with everyone else has drawn a line and stands at the other side…

Nevertheless, rather than sinking deeper into those dark thoughts and falling deeper into the deep abyss, you end up making your way to your children’s quarters to avoid retreating to the solitude of your chambers.

You would say that on a surface level, you don’t know why you make your way to see your children after avoiding them since you returned to Kings Landing, but the honest to god’s truth is that you do know why you finally drift toward them. That’s not saying that you’re ready to be their mother because you’re not ready in any shape or form to be the mother they need. Not yet. Not until you have rid this realm of Aegon and all the traitors that still breathe air, but you find yourself lifting your black veil fallen over by grief, and let your eyes fall on them without any ill feeling muddying your vision.

Albeit when you finally walk into your children’s quarters you don’t find Aerion anywhere, and Daenys’ cradle is empty. The only one in the room is Daenerys—you can see the shadows of her little balled-up hands through the white curtains that surround her cradle.

She’s there unaware of your presence, and standing on neither side of any line. She, like her siblings, is oblivious to any of your doings—well, for certain the twins are just unaware of your presence whatsoever since you don’t show your face. However, that’s not what makes you take slow and careful steps towards her as if she was a great threat.

You’re reluctant because you fear looking at her and seeing your own failure at saving their grandmother. You also know that in her eyes and the eyes of her sister, she’ll see a stranger, and you’re not one really. You haven’t abandoned them completely, you love them, but they deserve the world that they’re going to live in to be corrected so they may know peace. And at least if you don’t face them you can live with the delusion that they somehow know you and that you’re never far from them. However, right now you stand with your choice to keep your veil lifted and reach the cradle despite your insecurities.

As your shadow casts on the curtains, Daenerys doesn’t pay it any mind. She keeps moving her legs and her arms, but you begin to breathe heavily and grab the edge of the curtain, but hesitate in pulling it back. You just stand there heaving with great effort and trying to muster a smile or at least a softened look. There’s even a second in time where you almost turn around and run to your quarters, but you tell yourself that this is your babe and you need to at least see her and let her see you at least once.

Thus you roll your shoulders back and blink repeatedly before you put on a faint softened look and then pull the curtain back. The moment you do Daenerys’ grey eyes find you immediately and her fiddling arms and legs come to a stop as her eyes take in the sight of you, a stranger? An estranged mother? Or that whom she cherishes the most?

You don’t know what thoughts run behind her pretty little eyes. She simply looks at you and you see the answer to your question there in her eyes because it’s eyes you have gotten lost in hundreds of times before.

As Daenerys holds your gaze and you look back at her you know that she is Cregan’s own daughter. She carries the same storm in her eyes that Cregan does, and she also seems to sport the same butt chin he does. There’s no mistaking it, even if she's still young and growing.

And the truth is seeing at least some glimpse of him in your daughter is a relief. You actually muster a genuine smile

Albeit Daenerys doesn’t share your relief nor your joy. She doesn’t know you, your eyes are the eyes of a stranger so she begins to cry and that gets rid of the bit of bliss that had broken through the storm that are your current feelings.

“No, no.” You shake your head and your face twists with utter confusion as if you hadn’t taken care of Aerion before. “Daenerys,” you whisper slightly sharply and look around for help, but neither her wet nurse nor her caretaker is in the room. You’re alone with her and she doesn’t stop crying, she only grows louder as she’s more distraught by your presence.

“Please,” you plead and clutch onto your chest as echoes of your brother's cries from when your mother was killed play in your mind; tormenting you and pushing you toward panic.

“Daenerys,” you plead and look around again. When you don’t find anyone you reach down and pick her up from her cradle in an attempt to silence her cries. However, she cries louder, so tears of your own form in your eyes and fall at the same time hers roll down her cheeks.

Her sharp cries push you closer toward panicking and completely breaking down, and you know you don’t want to do that in front of your daughter, no matter how young she is, so you press her against your chest and rock her like you would Aerion when he was as young as her.

At first, it takes her a minute to calm down, but your attempts at shushing her end up working as she recognizes your scent and your warmth that she had been familiar with because of all those months you carried her in your belly.

“That’s right,” you whisper against the crown of her head and sniffle as her own weight and her warmth end up being this unique comfort you can only find in holding your children.

You remember how much you miss being close to your children, and how deeply and truly love them.

You think about the mother you’ve been and the mother you want to be, and you can’t help but slide down and sit on your bottom as a stream of tears roll down the curve of your cheeks.

It’s truly such a chaotic moment, but you don’t run away from it. You keep your babe close to your chest and bask in her presence until your tears stop coming, your breaths draw in and out in sync, and she’s in deep sleep. After that, and after Daenys and Aerion are returned you put Daenerys down in her cradle and walk around with the intention of grabbing Daenys, alas, the doors open and Vanessa walks in with a serious look on her face that chases away your greeting smile.

“The King requests your presence in his chambers,” she announces without delaying the news a second longer, causing the coldness to return to your heart, and your bliss to vanish completely.

You would ask what it is he wanted, but you know Aegon wouldn’t divulge that information so as to keep an ambiance of mystery and amusement. So you don’t waste your breath. You simply walk over to your son playing with his toys and stroke his cheek. You then walk to Daenys and steal a lingering glance at her father's blue eyes before you grab her fisted hand and press a gentle kiss on her knuckles before you leave the room that you struggled to walk into and drag your feet toward Aegon’s chambers.

Once you stand outside his door you rap your knuckles on the wooden surface of the door, and you’re welcomed inside without a minute to waste. Right away you’re greeted with the sight of Aegon being helped out of his chair and him seeming to take wobbly steps.

“Husband,” you greet stiffly, making his eyes drift over to you coming to a stop a few feet away.

“Oh, wife! You made it. Here I thought you would get lost,” he teases with the corner of his lips twitching to a teasing smile.

“You summoned me so I came.” You say and don’t try to entertain him. Not even if there's an audience with Maester Orwyle and one other maester. “So what is it that you need? I’m surprised you asked for me.”

Aegon scoffs. “Can’t I see my wife? You are of my own choosing, so I will admit I am more eager to see you than I was to see my sister.”

Your frown deepens and you dig your nails in your palm as you bite your tongue from blurting a rebuttal in Helaena’s defense.

“You should know that the Smallfolk truly want your head,” Aegon shares without shame as he looks over at his path ahead and continues to try and keep on his own two feet. “I went to set the Shepard and his followers—those few that remained, ablaze, and they demanded your head more than they cared about the people I killed.”

You scoff and your eyes flicker down whilst the corner of your lips twitch to a frown as you feel hurt by the news.

“Will you give it to them?” You ask as you let out a small breath and push away the shame that began to seep in. “Will you tell me that what I did was wrong?”

Aegon stays quiet as he struggles to turn on his twisted legs, but once he’s facing his chair again he gives you a sincere response. “No, because it wasn’t. I would have done the same thing. The act itself was just…unlike you.”

You roll your eyes and make your way to the cushioned bench at the end of his bed to sit down and then retort. “Unlike me?” You huff. “It seems, husband that you don’t know me at all because I would do it, and I would do it again.”

The maester glances over at you with concern, but you ignore him and lay on your side with your arm propped and your eyes carefully following Aegon’s every move.

“Then I meant that the act itself just…seemed to be something Aemond would have done,” he interjects, making you drop your gaze and swallow thickly.

“Yes…well…he was right to do it. Some of it anyway. He was just fighting a war…for you.”

Aegon scoffs and sits down. He then lets out a deep breath and waves away the maesters that kept you company. “Leave us,” he commands.

The maesters hesitate to leave him alone in his chambers with you, but Aegon presses his demand.

“I shouldn’t repeat myself.”

This time the maesters file out, leaving you and Aegon alone in an awkward silence he fills. “Was my brother truly fighting the war for me? Or was it for his own ambition?”

You glance at the sapphire ring around your finger. “Does it matter now that he’s dead,” you avoid answering his question and keep your eyes on your ring that reminds you of Aemond to avoid looking at Aegon.

“I suppose it doesn’t,” he says with a sigh before you hear the wheels on his chair roll toward you, but stop at a distance. “Do you…Miss him?” His question catches you by surprise, but it’s not one you ignore.

“He was stupid in his final moments,” you mutter and with your other hand graze your finger over the sapphire. “He would still be alive if he had heeded my warning, but alas, he didn’t, and now…” you trail off in a whisper and slowly lift your gaze, catching Aegon pushing his wheels forward so he can move toward you before he pushes himself off his seat and sits beside you on the bench.

“Both of your brothers were stupid,” you don’t shy away from saying. “They would still be alive if they had played smarter and not given into their own ego, but it seems you outlived them.”

“Should I be offended?” He quips lightheartedly, and you flash the ghost of a smile.

“Prideful perhaps?” You retort and meet his gaze. “You were smart.”

Aegon raises his eyebrow in surprise but doesn’t add anything. He leaves your comment alone mostly because he thinks you’ll take it back if he does respond. Thus instead, he drifts his gaze away and lingers in the silence that was quick to grow and tense up. After a while, he parts his lips and mutters.

“How have you gotten over my brother's death?”

Whether it’s genuine interest to deal with his own grief or just curiosity, you don’t know, you just blink in surprise and when you steal a glance at Aegon, you catch the flicker of his sorrowful gaze.

“Who says I got over it?” You quip and look back at your sapphire ring. “I just know that if I sit and give into my grief, I won’t get back up. After losing so many people. People…I truly and deeply loved and cherished, I learned to navigate my emotions. Turning grief to do better. And then turning grief into anger. That’s how I manage it without letting it drown me. I get angry.”

Aegon nods faintly and you dig your nails in the cushion your palm is pressed against.

“Is that why…you sacrificed who you used to be? Is that why you’re now the person you shamed me for being? A monster?”

Your breath catches in your throat and your entire body freezes as his words register in your head and echo, hitting you like cold water every single time you hear it.

Did he really just insinuate that you’re alike? Him and you? Him, the man who killed your mother? Him, who…hurt all those innocent girls? Him?

You grow disgusted and furious all at the same, but before you can think of something to counter with, Aegon’s head falls on your lap and his hand wraps around your knee.

“It makes me glad that we now have something in common. It’s a comforting fact.”

You scrunch your nose and curl your lip in disgust, but don’t shove him off, or tell him off. You grow stiff and stay that way as he keeps his head on your lap.

A tear formed by disbelief and utter shock rolls down your cheeks, but you keep still as he closes his eyes and fails to see the anger that clenches your jaw and narrows your gaze with a new burning anger as he dares to relate you to him.

How dare he?

Why would he think you and him are the same kind of monster?

You’re not the same kind of monster. You…You are everything you didn't want to be, but you are not the same.

No.

More thick tears trail down the curve of your cheeks as your rage only burns hotter, but in between your horror and anger, you raise your hand and let the tip of your fingers kiss the side of his scarred face.

Aegon is startled by your touch. He snaps his eyes open, but he doesn’t comment on the sudden touch. He welcomes the touch thinking it’s a form of comfort after finding something in common, but that’s far from the truth.

He doesn’t know that though, just like he doesn’t know you.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

“The Dowager Queen has requested an audience with you at the gardens,” your lady-in-waiting shares, making this what?

Well, you’ve lost count of how many times Alicent has asked to speak with you. And the good thing about being Queen is that you don’t have to suffer through a load of apologies, pitiful looks, and an attempt at reconciliation. You can ignore her and no one can do anything about it.

“Tell her the same as yesterday and the day before that,” you tell your lady-in-waiting over your shoulder. “Thank you.”

You turn away and return your eyes to Astraea in the distance happily flying over the cold waters of the sea. “She’s flying a lot stronger, don’t you think?” You ask Vanessa as she tries to fix your hair against the icy winter breeze that rushes through the balcony.

“It seems so. Her wounds must not hurt as much,” she mentions, making the corner of your lips twitch to a smile.

No matter what is transcending or what plagues you, you can always count on Astraea to bring a smile to your face. At least for a little while anyway.

A knock proceeds to rap on your door and your smile completely falls from your face.

“Come,” you welcome the visitor and hope—no, pray it’s not Aegon.

Luckily, when the door opens and you turn around you don’t see the broken man. You just see Lord Larys.

“Your Grace,” he greets with a bow.

Vanessa lets your hair go and steps away, letting you walk inside your chambers and point to the couches by the fireplace. “My Lord, welcome. Tea? Wine?”

The man shakes his head. “No, thank you. I just came for a quick visit.” He pauses and looks at the doors over his shoulder to make sure they’re closed. He then examines your quarters making sure that no one besides Vanessa and you are inside.

“What is it?” You probe as he piques your curiosity.

Lord Larys lets out a deep breath and then finally faces you to share what brought him to your chambers. “It’s Lord Borros, he is going to leave with his men and the men of Duskendale, Stokeworth, Hayford, and Rosby to face the Rivermen.”

They’ve been getting closer and closer by the day. Just yesterday they were a seven-day ride from Kings Landing. You were beginning to think that Lord Borros wouldn’t have the balls to go face them considering most of his strength is made up of men from houses who were forced to give their loyalty toward the king and then were made to pay a ransom and give the crown a hostage. And that doesn’t really aspire blind loyalty, but alas, Lord Borros is as dumb as he looks.

“Finally,” you scoff and flash lord Larys a smile before you stride to the small table and pour yourself some wine. “I thought he would never leave. Hm.” You chuckle and turn to face your visitor. “I assume you remember your part that follows?” You ask as you lift your brow and look at him over the rim of your cup.

Lord Larys offers you a nod before parting his lips to respond. “I remember. Which is why I came to deliver you the news as quickly as I could.”

You hum and grab the poison flask from your pocket so as to keep it with you at all times so you don’t lose it, or risk having it found by the many servants that come into your quarters throughout the day. You then take a drink from your wine before you approach him and press the flask on his palm.

“I’m trusting you, Lord Strong,” you interject as you wrap your hand around his to keep him close. “If you betray me…well…I don’t need to remind you what will happen do I?” You probe with your lips slowly pulling to a smirk as you look at him with a threatening glare rather than with a questioning look, making him gulp before he nods stiffly.

“I will do it. Starting today.”

You slip your hand off his and step back to take another big drink of your wine before you push it toward him. “To the King,” you mock before you give him your back and walk back toward the balcony, knowing he doesn’t need to be told to leave.

“At last the war is coming to an end,” you tell Vanessa once you return to the balcony and find Astraea still flying over the waters. “I never thought I’d work with Lord Larys though. As tactical as I admit he is.”

Vanessa’s footsteps echo against the floor as she makes herself to your side rather than continuing to fix your hair. “Shouldn’t you perhaps wait until Lord Stark is closer to the city to continue with the rest of your plan?” She asks.

You finish the rest of your wine and drift your gaze to the corner of your eyes to retort. “No. If I wait that could potentially spoil all of it. I have to act now. We…can reunite when he arrives in the city.”

Vanessa hums in comprehension and you sigh and look back at Astraea, letting a wicked smile come play on your lips as you think about your plan finally coming to motion. At long last.

Of course, you do have to wait for the poison to do its job since it is slow-acting, but oh, you take joy in watching Aegon slowly succumb to Alys’ concoction. First, he starts to wear out more than usual, his appetite is smaller, his legs stop working, and he has fever dreams that freak him out.

Slowly he starts to unravel and you feel proud with every symptom and every passing day. Finally, the melancholy and agony that painted your face vanishes and in its place, a sinister joy takes place and returns a rather ethereal glow to your face.

Yet nothing compares to the day. The moment when you can finally come out of the shadows and act out the plan in all its glory.

It brings a pep to your stride and a bright twinkle in your eyes that makes you look more terrifying and intimidating than anything else.

“Your Grace,” you recognize your grandfather blurt as he barges into your quarters. “It’s happening.”

You turn around and flash him a faint playful smirk before you probe seriously. “The kids and Baela?”

“Men are on their way toward them now. You best hurry before Ser Alfred reaches Aegon’s chambers and finds it empty.” He suggests something that hasn't slipped from your mind. After all, you went to sleep, woke up, and ate breakfast, lunch, and dinner, thinking about the plan to kill Aegon. Nothing and you mean nothing will slip past you.

“I’m already on my way,” you say jokingly as you break into a cocky stride and leave your chambers with Ser Cane, and the men Lord Larys appointed to help you; Ser Perkin the Flea and knights he trusted. After all, you had already assumed that Aegon would back down in his promise and send men after your brother Aegon. You assumed he wouldn’t be able to handle that he’s still alive, or the threat of the Rivermen, the Vale, and the North all not backing down and drawing closer with every passing day. Especially after Lord Borros was betrayed by the men of the Crownsland, and lost his battle. Just as you predicted he would.

Perhaps Aegon should have taken the time to truly get to know you. You would have ended up dead if he did try, but that’s the only way you could be stopped. Now you will bring an end to his tyranny. Now you are death.

Can Ser Alfred Broome see that as you slowly turn the corner and bring him to a stop on top of the drawbridge that leads to Maegor’s holdfast where your brother was kept.

“Ser,” you greet in a honey-laced voice and a sweet smile to accompany your greeting.

“Your Grace,” he throws out his greeting and bows his head without any care. “If you’ll excuse me I have duties to do for the King.”

You hum in comprehension and step to the side, causing Ser Cane to do the same so Ser Alfred can pass by.

However, as the heel of his boots starts to tap against the wooden bridge, Ser Perkin and three of his men come out of the shadows to block his path.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Ser Alfred demands to know. “Move in the name of your king!” He exclaims and then turns to face you and have you move them, but when he turns three more men walk out from the corridor he just came from and block that path too.

“What—”

He cuts himself off whilst his breath catches as you strut forward to be in front of him and he catches the gleam of your silver chest plate shaped in the form of bones hiding behind your cloak.

“Long. Live. The. King,” you roll out of your tongue before you grab his shoulder and then slap your other hand on his chest.

Ser Perkin and his men stomp their feet on the ground and chant the same thing. “Long live the king.”

The realization that Ser Alfred is facing death hits him, but before he can utter another word, or even figure out what to do next, you shove him off the drawbridge.

You then step toward the edge of the bridge, and your piercing and threatening glare is the last thing he sees as you watch him fall to his death on the iron spikes below.

“Very well then,” you huff and pull off your cloak to let your armor and intentions shine. “Onto the next.”

A/N- Be prepared!

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