#barristan ii

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

TWOW: Barristan II (summary)

His gut feels twisted from nervousness as he rides through the gates. He knows that the feeling will go away when time slows down in the chaos of battle. Dany's horse is easily outpacing the lads and the rest of the cavalry; Barristan is pleased because he intends to outrun the Widower and strike the first blow. The Yunkai'i are totally unprepared and Barristan closes in on the Harridan, the largest of the trebuchets. The stormcrows take up the cry, "Daario!" and "Stormcrows, fly!"

Don't be surprised when, later on in the story, Daario kills the guy who shouted his name.

+.+.+

Barristan thinks that he will never again doubt the valor of sellswords.

Didn't this guy go to war against the Golden Company?

+.+.+

There are only thirty yards between the horse and the Yunkai'i legions by the time any defense is mounted. The air fills with arrows. A squire for the stormcrows is killed, and a bolt pierces Barristan's shield. There are three horn blasts and the pitfighters emerge from the gate behind them.

Barristan's responsible for that squire's death. I'm keeping count.

Nothing abnormal about those horn blasts. We're still waiting.

+.+.+

Barristan glances back to see the pitfighters. There are about two hundred of them, but they make enough noise for two thousand. One woman stands out, wearing nothing but greaves, sandals, a chainmail skirt, and a python. Barristan is a bit shocked and, watching her breasts bouncing around, thinks that this day is sure to be her last. The pitfighters are mostly shouting "Loraq!" and "Hizdar!" but some do call out "Danaerys!" Larraq is hit in the chest with an arrow, bringing Barristan’s attention forward, but the squire keeps the banners held high and shakes it off.

Why is there always a distracting half-naked woman?

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The unsullied begin marching through the gates, and Barristan sees that the Yunkai'i have missed their chance to effectively launch a counterattack. As he watches more of the slave legions get slaughtered, mostly those who were chained together and could not retreat, he wonders where the sellsword companies like the treacherous Second Sons have gone. The unsullied finish lining up outside the gates, implacable even when one of their own number falls with a crossbow bolt to the neck.

It feels like regardless of the outcome of this battle, it's the slaves who will lose. I wonder if that's by design.

In case you missed the Tyrion chapter, Brown Ben Plumm and his Second Sons currently have cold feet, and are carefully considering their options for switching sides. Again. (You laugh, but watch, she'll let them.)

On a different note, now that the Unsullied have marched through the gates, Daenerys' entire army, with the exception of the Brazen Beasts, is positioned outside the walls of Meereen. Meanwhile, the Shavepate has the sole authority to lock the gates at his discretion. How did we get here? How does this even happen? The last time Daenerys was in Meereen, this guy was unemployed. It's truly remarkable.

+.+.+

Tumco draws Barristan's attention to the bay, asking "Why are there so many ships?" Barristan remembers that yesterday there were twenty, but now there are thrice that many. His heart sinks when he reasons that the ships from Volantis must have arrived, but then sees that some of the ships are crashing together. He asks Tumco, whose young eyes can see more clearly, to identify the banners. Tumco says "Squids, big squids. Like in the Basilisk Isles, where sometimes they drag whole ships down." Barristan replies, "Where I'm from, we call them krakens."

Rejoice, for the true savior has arrived!

I'm guessing those Volantis ships aren't too far behind Vicky, so this relief won't last long.

+.+.+

Realizing that the Greyjoys have arrived, his first thought is "Has Balon joined with Joffrey, or the Starks?" But he realizes that he's heard that Balon is dead, and wonders if this has something to do with the Balon's son, the boy who was a ward of the Starks. He sees that ironmen are coming ashore, fighting the Yunkish, and says, surprised, "They are on our side!" The sellswords did not come to meet his charge because they were already preoccupied with the ironborn!

No, only the television show sends half-dead Theon and Asha to Meereen, despite the fact that they're supposed to be captured, and freezing to death in a remote northern village. Sorry Barry, Daenerys is getting the The Bad Greyjoys, as God intended.

Really not following his line of thinking with that Joffrey or the Starks thought.

+.+.+

He sees that ironmen are coming ashore, fighting the Yunkish, and says, surprised, "They are on our side!" The sellswords did not come to meet his charge because they were already preoccupied with the ironborn! Barristan is almost gleeful. "It's like Baelor Breakspear and Prince Maekar, the hammer and the anvil. We have them! We have them!"

If these books have taught me anything, it's that this level of overconfidence is always swiftly punished.

Leave it up to Barry to suck off some dead Targaryens in the middle of battle. If you would like to know more about this Baelor hammer and Maekar anvil - um, why?

Final thoughts:

The Barristan Selmy chapters may have concluded, but rest assured that my intense hatred for him will persist for eternity.

One more Meereen, guys. You're doing great.

Next chapter: Tyrion II

-> return to menu <-

[kataraavatara]

there is something SO PERSONAL to me about alicent telling dyana no one would believe her and yet the first person dyana told being a defector to rhaenyra’s side because he sees what aegon is and is disgusted by it. “oh oh but the tragedy was supposed to be twins on opposite sides with no choice, they missed the theme by giving Erryk Steffon Darklyn’s storyline” i! don’t! care! i don’t care, i do not careeeee. show erryk’s storyline and characterization is important to ME.

[amuelia]

Barristan Selmy had known many kings. He had been born during the troubled reign of Aegon the Unlikely, beloved by the common folk, had received his knighthood at his hands. Aegon's son Jaehaerys had bestowed the white cloak on him when he was three-and-twenty, after he slew Maelys the Monstrous during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. In that same cloak he had stood beside the Iron Throne as madness consumed Jaehaerys's son Aerys. Stood, and saw, and heard, and yet did nothing.

But no. That was not fair. He did his duty. Some nights, Ser Barristan wondered if he had not done that duty too well.

- The Queensguard, aDwD

Barristan for @mylestoyne :3 ❤❤❤❤

Pictured: Young Griff, Maelys Blackfyre, Myles Toyne, Jon Connington, Aerys II Targaryen, Daenerys Targaryen, Barristan Selmy (Background)

[countrymusiclover]

23 - The Legacy of Rhaegar

Part 24

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

Slipping on a black cloak over my shoulders I stared at myself in the full length mirror. I was wearing a red tunic and trouser with brown muddy boots. My hair was tied up in a bun turning slightly to the doorway seeing my personal knight standing watch over me. “You should accompany us tonight on the streets of the city, Ser Jaime.”

“I’m not sure it is wise for me to go. I am needed here, princess.”

Crossing my arms over my chest I challenged him. “You were sworn to protect me were you not. You were sworn to protect my brother Rhaegar as well who is going out tonight.”

“Yes, princess.”

He hadn’t been a sworn knight for very long. So he was still very true to the vows that he had sworn before my father and his father. “Then it is your duty to come with me. Because I’m quite sure if we get ambushed Ser Barriston cannot possibly take on say ten men all by himself.”

“Then I shall uphold my vows, my princess.” He bowed his head and a few hours later when the sun had finally vanished the four of us snuck out of the castle and into the busy and somewhat dangerous streets of Kings Landing.

We had settled ourselves around a table and Rhaegar had paid for our rounds of drinks with the money he got from singing in the streets. Rhaegar chuckled, nearly dropping his cup after I told a horrible joke before an idea popped into his head. “You know what we should do, play truth or dare.” My brother took a sip from his wine cup.

“I am not sure that is wise, my Prince.” Ser Barriston responded by keeping a hand on his sword. “It's getting rather late.”

Blowing a raspberry at the knight I hit my hands on the table waving my index finger at my brother. “Pfft Ser Knight. We're not children anymore playing thumb wars, even though I win every time. Plus we can make this game more adult friendly.”

“I'll start.” My brother spoke yet got cut short by Jaime who hadn't really uttered a word for most of the evening.

“Actually I believe it's lady's first.” We turned our heads and I swore I saw all the color disappear from his face when he nervously cleared his throat. “Uh, forgive my prince.”

My brother glared at him before he chuckled before I slid the empty seat out for him to take. “Join us, Ser Jaime.”

“Oh I'm perfectly happy standing, princess.”

I challenge him with a deep stare. “Are you refusing an order from your princess?”

“Gods no.”

Patting the seat with my freehand I smiled. “Then sit down. So brother, I dare you to hop on one foot like a pegleg sailor.”

“Ugh fine.” He got up from his chair doing as I said where he almost crashed into the empty table next to us causing me, Jaime and even Barriston to chuckle.

Once he sat down Jaime glanced over to me after I had uttered the word dare. “I dare you to drink half that pitcher of wine.”

“Ser Jaime.” Ser Barriston warned him.

Picking up the pitcher I downed almost the whole thing licking my lips and grinning ear to ear noticing that Jaime’s mouth was hung open. “What, you didn't think a royal can drink?”

“Very impressive.” He sent me a small smile. “I'll keep in mind that we both never go back on a dare.”

Hearing those words slip from the golden knight's mouth my brother smirked, getting an interesting idea for a dare. “Ser Jaime, I dare you to kiss my sister and you better make it good for how much wine she just consumed.”

Ser Barriston raised a brow at the prince he served. “My prince, we swore vows.”

Rhaegar waved his hand in the air while taking a drink. “It’s just a kiss. He’s not breaking any vow.”

“Rhaegar, he’s not going to-“ Jaime sharply cut me off, pressing his lips upon mine, making me gasp in utter shock. I hadn’t known too long but Jaime from where I sat seemed very true in following his sworn vows. After all he was the son of Tywin Lannister but still took on the white cloak.

I’d never kissed anyone before until this exact moment. Jaime and I slowly kept kissing where he cupped my face in his hands, deepening it so far it took my breath away. “That was one hell of a kiss.” He finally broke the kiss sending me a genuine smile back only looking at me, unaware that Ser Barriston had seen what we wouldn’t for years. That a white knight would fall for the black princess.

The days following our trials Jaime and I had been making more of a plan to travel in the direction of the Summer Sea. Zipping up the side of my boots I brushed my hands down the red tunic I was wearing with a black cloak. “Lady Lannister, your children are eating breakfast in the great hall.” A guard responded, addressing me before I heard the door shut behind me.

Exiting the room I followed the guard until he stopped outside the great hall seeing my two children eating some bacon. “There’s my two little dragon-lions. I missed you while your father and I slept.” I smiled sitting across from them with Jaime seated beside me.

“They were seconds away from a pancake war.” He muttered with his mouth full.

Luciya stuck her tongue out. “We were not. I just wanted the bigger one since I was born two minutes earlier than him.”

“That’s not fair. Stop using it against me.” Rhaegar shoved her shoulders and she laughed back at her brother.

Picking up a piece of bacon letting my mind wander off into the secret plan we had in mind. Jaime and I had yet to tell the kids for fear that they might accidentally repeat something we tell them being that they were only the right age of four. “What’s on your mind, sweet boy?” Shifting my gaze over to my son.

“How did I get the name Rhaegar?”

I coughed nearly choking on my food where Jaime gently rubbed my back until I had spit the piece out onto the plate. “Wha-why are you asking that?”

“Sissy name sounds like a Lannister name. But people here whisper that my name was of a dragon prince. I wanna know why.” The four year old spoke with more words like he resembled his uncle Tyrion more so than his father.

A new voice entered the room causing us all to look in the direction of the doorway to see my sister Dany standing there. “Yes, I’d like to know how that came to be as well. I mean surely if you give your son our brother's name. It must have been for a good reason, was it not?”

“Lady Targaryen.” Jaime and I rose from our seats addressing the mother of dragons with a bow and a courtesy, our children following in toe as best they could not used to being around noble men and women.

She raised a hand and we all four sat down. “No need for that. But I do request for you to answer - uh my nephew’s question.”

“My little lion cub, you were named after my brother - forgive me our brother. He was a brave prince of the Seven kingdoms who died in battle fighting a man named Robert Baratheon. But the reason you were given his name wasn’t because he was a great fighter, no it was because he had a good heart and wished to bring joy to his people by singing and sharing the tales of our ancestors.”

Young Rhaegar held his mouth open in awe. “Wow.”

“Mommy, you and uncle Rhae were close weren’t you?” Luciya asked, laying her head down on her crossed arms on the table.

Hearing the nickname uncle Rhae brought tears to my eyes, knowing for certain that he would have been overjoyed to meet my two children. “Yes sweetheart. We were, we were as close as your father is with your uncle Tyrion.”

“It’s very special that you honored his memory in such a way.” My younger sister wiped away some tears that had slipped out. Nodding my head Jaime looped his hand through mine, giving me the strength to not start bawling before her. Comfortable and very emotional silence filled the group and we could hear the wind blow through the castle just thinking back on my late brother and the memories I’d shared.

“Lady Targaryen, if I may be so bold my wife and I had an idea that we wished to share with you.” Jaime leans his elbows on the table.

She sent him a curious look. “What do you wish to tell me?”

“We were hoping you'd allow us to take some of our soldiers and Amethyst on a trek to Sothoryos across the Summer Sea.” He explained to the dragon girl.

Intertwining my right hand with my husband’s left I did my best to not show how secretly scared I was for her response to this. “We don't know what Sothoryos is like or what type of people even live there. So I'm proposing this, you send me and my family to go investigate and if we're successful we can add onto your army and I don't just mean giving you the Lannister army.”

“That is a good idea. I'll allow you to go in my stead. You're dragon can go with you as well.” My sister thankfully couldn't tell that we were entirely bluffing.

Jaime and I rose to our feet again addressing her as she left the room. “Thank you, Lady Targaryen.”

“Oh thank the gods.” I flung my arms around his neck with Jaime burying his nose into my loose silver hair.

Nuzzling my nose against his chest he tightened his arms around my waist kissing my forehead gently relieved that our plan was working. “We're really gonna leave Westeros.”

[stannis-the-freaking-mannis]

aerys ii’s kingsguard 💅💅 also i wrote that gerold hightower is gerold dayne😭 (darkstar core🗡️🥀🚬⛓️)

[alienoryva]

Mad king and Kingsguard ;

[A Worst king with the Greatest king's guard]

(from left to right) :

Ser Gerold Hightower(lord commander), Ser Barristan Selmy,Ser Oswell Whent,Ser Jaime Lannister,Ser Arthur Dayne,Ser Jonothor Darry and Prince Lewyn Martell

[begone-fiend]

A personal contender for “Top ten pictures taken before disaster”

[kei-yuki]

Another thought about the Tragedy of Summerhall:

The belief that Egg became "mad" or, at least, "too much obsessed" with dragons and this was the cause of the tragedy is only a belief that can be questioned if we read correctly "The world of ice and fire":

In 258 AC on Essos, another challenge rose to Aegon's reign, when nine outlaws, exiles, pirates, and sellsword captains met in the Disputed Lands beneath the Tree of Crowns to form an unholy alliance. The Band of Nine swore their oath of mutual aid and support in carving out kingdoms for each of their members. Amongst them was the last Blackfyre, Maelys the Monstrous, who had command of the Golden Company, and the kingdom they pledged to win for him was the Seven Kingdoms. Prince Duncan, when told of the pact, famously remarked that crowns were being sold nine a penny; thereafter the Band of Nine became known as the Ninepenny Kings in Westeros. It was thought at first that the Free Cities of Essos would surely bring their power against them and put an end to their pretensions, but nonetheless preparations were made, should Maelys and his allies turn on the Seven Kingdoms. But there was no great urgency to them, and King Aegon remained intent on his reign.

And intent on one more thing: dragons. As he grew older, Aegon V had come to dream of dragons flying once more above the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. In this, he was not unlike his predecessors, who brought septons to pray over the last eggs, mages to work spells over them, and maesters to pore over them. Though friends and counselors sought to dissuade him, King Aegon grew ever more convinced that only with dragons would he ever wield sufficient power to make the changes he wished to make in the realm and force the proud and stubborn lords of the Seven Kingdoms to accept his decrees.

The world of ice and fire. The Targaryen Kings: Aegon V

If we read with attention, it could be that the origin of the fire was an attempt of Maelys Blackfyre to kill the principle members of the Targaryen dinasty:

What became of the dream of dragons was a grievous tragedy born in a moment of joy. In the fateful year 259 AC, the king summoned many of those closest to him to Summerhall, his favorite castle, there to celebrate the impending birth of his first great-grandchild, a boy later named Rhaegar, to his grandson Aerys and granddaughter Rhaella, the children of Prince Jaehaerys.

The world of ice and fire. The Targaryen Kings: Aegon V

Egg's idea of getting the whole family together in Summerhall could easily become an unique opportunity for Maelys to attack Westeros producing a moment of weakness: a power vacuum.

Without a Targaryen King why not a Blackfyre Pretender?

But he underestimated Jaehaerys II, his Hand and, above all, a young Barristan Selmy:

Jaehaerys had known that the Band of Nine meant to win the Seven Kingdoms for Maelys the Monstrous, who had declared himself King Maelys I Blackfyre, but like his father, Aegon, Jaehaerys had hoped the alliance of rogues would founder in Essos, or fall at the hands of some alliance amongst the Free Cities. Now the moment was at hand, and King Aegon V was gone, as was the Prince of Dragonflies. Prince Daeron, that splendid knight, had died years before, leaving only Jaehaerys, the least martial of Aegon's three sons.

The new king was four-and-thirty years of age as he ascended the Iron Throne. No one would have called him formidable. Unlike his brothers, Jaehaerys II Targaryen was thin and scrawny, and had battled various ailments all his life. Yet he did not lack for courage, or intelligence. Drawing on his father's plans, His Grace put aside his grief, called his lords bannermen, and resolved to meet the Ninepenny Kings upon the Stepstones, choosing to take the war to them rather than awaiting their landing on the shores of the Seven Kingdoms.

King Jaehaerys had intended to lead the attack upon the Ninepenny Kings himself, but his Hand, Lord Ormund Baratheon, persuaded him that would be unwise. The king was unused to the rigors of campaign and not skilled in arms, the Hand pointed out, and it would be folly to risk losing him in battle so soon after the tragedy of Summerhall. Jaehaerys finally allowed himself to be persuaded to remain at King's Landing with his queen. Command of the host was given to Lord Ormund, as King's Hand.

In 260 AC, his lordship landed Targaryen armies upon three of the Stepstones, and the War of the Ninepenny Kings turned bloody. Battle raged across the islands and the channels between for most of that year. Maester Eon's Account of the War of the Ninepenny Kings, one of the finest works of its kind, is a splendid source for the details of the fighting, with its many battles on land and sea and notable feats of arms. Lord Ormund Baratheon, the Westerosi commander, was amongst the first to perish. Cut down by the hand of Maelys the Monstrous, he died in the arms of his son and heir, Steffon Baratheon.

Command of the Targaryen host passed to the new young Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull. Hightower and his men were hard-pressed for a time, but as the war hung in the balance, a young knight named Ser Barristan Selmy slew Maelys in single combat, winning undying renown and deciding the issue in a stroke, for the remainder of the Ninepenny Kings had little or no interest in Westeros and soon fell back to their own domains. Maelys the Monstrous was the fifth and last of the Blackfyre Pretenders; with his death, the curse that Aegon the Unworthy had inflicted on the Seven Kingdoms by giving his sword to his bastard son was finally ended.

Half a year of hard fighting remained before the Stepstones and the Disputed Lands were freed from the remaining Band of Nine, and it would be six years before Alequo Adarys, the Tyrant of Tyrosh, was poisoned by his queen and the Archon of Tyrosh was restored. For the Seven Kingdoms, it had been a grand victory, though not without cost in lives or suffering.

The world of ice and fire. The Targaryen Kings: Jaehaerys II

[kaerinio]

i will write a whole thing about this to go along with my official silver quill verse post. but, typically, in the bookstore, you can expect to see quite a few people! so, irri and jhiqui work in the cafe and sometimes even help dany out when the store is busy. or, if the cafe is slow, you can find them hanging around the store or sitting behind the counter and chatting with dany! barristan has like an unofficial-official seat right by the counter, where he can see the door and keep an eye on dany. he's almost like the unofficial-official security at the bookstore, but really, he just wants to protect dany; between making her rounds, dany will pause to bring barristan coffee and tea and pastries and lunch from upstairs just because she adores him! she keeps whatever book he's reading on the counter for him. and . . . the cushion on dany's chair is from barristan. her three (very spoiled) rottweilers can sometimes be found standing behind the counter with dany or napping at her feet or curled up in the little office/storeroom behind the counter. they're super well-behaved, and dany loves having them with her 🥹. you've probably seen missandei, who is a classics student at the local university, working with dany! she very faithfully helps to run the counter! she's just excellent at everything she does in the store, and her recommendations are superb; some even think she's read every single book in there (she probably has). sometimes, jhogo, aggo, and rakharo come to hang around in the cafe or lean against the counter, volleying jokes and stories with dany and the girls. when they get too rowdy, dany will drop books into their hands and send them off to stock the shelves (with the promise of something yummy from the cafe). they don't mind. and of course, there is daario, who swaggers in and flashes grins and his gold tooth at dany and makes her heart flutter (and barristan huff from his seat).

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Sansa I

“I am honored to know you, however irregular the manner of our meeting. I am Ser Barristan Selmy, of the Kingsguard.” He bowed.

Sansa knew the name, and now the courtesies that Septa Mordane had taught her over the years came back to her.

“The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” she said, “and councillor to Robert our king and to Aerys Targaryen before him.

“The honor is mine, good knight.”

[jozor-johai]

This is just a short note I will expand on elsewhere, but GRRM has this somewhat infamous quote about LOTR, about what to do with the orcs after the story ends. This is about rulership—what happens after the conquest?

Ruling is hard. This was maybe my answer to Tolkien, whom, as much as I admire him, I do quibble with. Lord of the Rings had a very medieval philosophy: that if the king was a good man, the land would prosper. We look at real history and it’s not that simple. Tolkien can say that Aragorn became king and reigned for a hundred years, and he was wise and good. But Tolkien doesn’t ask the question: What was Aragorn’s tax policy? Did he maintain a standing army? What did he do in times of flood and famine? And what about all these orcs? By the end of the war, Sauron is gone but all of the orcs aren’t gone – they’re in the mountains. Did Aragorn pursue a policy of systematic genocide and kill them? Even the little baby orcs, in their little orc cradles?

Part of what I love to death about ASOIAF is that it seems fundamentally more interested in these questions than the excitement of the conquest itself.

I see this quote brought up about the Others every once in a while, but I also think that we might be seeing one iteration of this idea with Dany in Meereen and the children of the slavers:

“The Sons of the Harpy are laughing in their pyramids,” Skahaz said, just this morning. “What good are hostages if you will not take their heads?” In his eyes, she was only a weak woman. Hazzea was enough. What good is peace if it must be purchased with the blood of little children? “These murders are not their doing,” Dany told the Green Grace, feebly. “I am no butcher queen.” (ADWD Dany IV)

There are obvious differences—for a start, humans have the potential to grow up to be anything, rather than the known entity of the inherent evil when it comes to orcs.

In an ASOIAF-relevant context, though, the question is similar: you won, do you eradicate your enemies? Their remaining families? What if it looks like a direct path to peace for those you were fighting for? “What good is peace if it must be purchased with the blood of little children?”

Considering that slavery is some of the clearest evil we’ve seen in the books thus far, I think this is one way GRRM is be bringing his thoughts on fantasy rulership to a more human context in ASOIAF.

The issue of letting the children live (or not) also makes for another very interesting parallel between Dany and Robert Baratheon, who is another key figure in ASOIAF’s exploration for how one rules after the battle has been won. Barristan makes the connection nearly explicitly for the reader, standing up for Ned’s name:

“Your Grace,” said Selmy, “Eddard Stark played a part in your father’s fall, but he bore you no ill will. When the eunuch Varys told us that you were with child, Robert wanted you killed, but Lord Stark spoke against it. Rather than countenance the murder of children, he told Robert to find himself another Hand.” (ADWD Dany II)

Robert was faced with the same choice and, over the course of his reign, has been given two different takes, one to start his reign and one at the end of it. Robert’s peace was bought with the blood of Rhaegar’s children, the young Aegon and Rhaenys, delivered—albeit unsolicited—by the Lannisters, to cement Robert’s legitimacy and their own stake in his rule. At the end of his reign, Robert is faced with the premise of a new Targaryen baby being born and Ned offers an contrary opinion much like Dany’s own (in spirit if not in allegiance):

“Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?”

There’s plenty more to be said, but I just want to point out this angle for interpreting the GRRM LOTR quote. For one, sometimes people take issue with how literally GRRM himself is enacting his criticisms (saying things like, 'we never see Robert's tax policy either')—but this is a great example of how GRRM can raise a criticism that fits for a different series and make it work within his own world by adjusting the circumstances.

Also, I think that for discussions that attempt to predict where the story will go from here based on comments like this from GRRM, it’s important to see where GRRM is already exploring these ideas. In ASOIAF, this sort of application doesn’t require this idea to be explored with some kind of similarly-undying evil like the orcs or like Sauron, GRRM is applying these ideas to much more human evils, like slavery, and much more human applications, like any kind of military victory.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The Discarded Knight (Barristan II) [Chapter 59]

And the award for biggest piss baby chapter header goes to ...

All kneel for His Magnificence Hizdahr zo Loraq, Fourteenth of That Noble Name, King of Meereen, Scion of Ghis, Octarch of the Old Empire, Master of the Skahazadhan, Consort to Dragons and Blood of the Harpy," roared the herald. 

Damn, his silly titles are way cooler.

Step it up, Daenerys.

+.+.+

Ser Barristan Selmy slipped a hand beneath the fold of his cloak and loosened his sword in its scabbard. No blades were allowed in the presence of the king save those of his protectors. It seemed as though he still counted amongst that number despite his dismissal. No one had tried to take his sword, at least.

In case you missed the last chapter, Barristan hates Hizdahr zo Loraq and refuses to acknowledge him as his king, but he's also offended Hizdahr isn't using him as a personal guard.

Barristan Selmy, ladies and gentlemen.

+.+.+

Daenerys Targaryen had preferred to hold court from a bench of polished ebony

Sorry, quick clarification -

He's referring to those rare times when she actually held court.

+.+.+

Daenerys Targaryen had preferred to hold court from a bench of polished ebony, smooth and simple, covered with the cushions that Ser Barristan had found to make her more comfortable. King Hizdahr had replaced the bench with two imposing thrones of gilded wood, their tall backs carved into the shape of dragons. The king seated himself in the right-hand throne with a golden crown upon his head and a jeweled sceptre in one pale hand. The second throne remained vacant.

The important throne, thought Ser Barristan. No dragon chair can replace a dragon no matter how elaborately it's carved.

Love when people look for any reason to be upset. Dragon thrones seem like a pretty clear indicator of who's in charge.

Pretty sure Hizdahr would love for Daenerys to be sitting in that seat right now, Barry.

+.+.+

The day was young and fresh, and yet he felt bone-tired, as if he'd fought all night. The older he got, the less sleep Ser Barristan seemed to need. As a squire he could sleep ten hours a night and still be yawning when he stumbled out onto the practice yard. At three-and-sixty he found that five hours a night was more than enough.

Makes sense, the effects of sleep deprivation on cognitive ability are well-documented.

+.+.+

On a bedside table he kept a beeswax candle and a small carving of the Warrior. Though he was not a pious man, the carving made him feel less alone here in this queer alien city, and it was to that he had turned in the black watches of night. Shield me from these doubts that gnaw at me, he had prayed, and give me the strength to do what is right. But neither prayer nor dawn had brought him certainty.

If you're plagued by uncertainty and doubt, maybe sit this one out.

+.+.+

In the Shavepate's place stood a fat man in a muscled breastplate and lion's mask, his heavy legs poking out beneath a skirt of leather straps: Marghaz zo Loraq, the king's cousin, new commander of the Brazen Beasts. Selmy had already formed a healthy contempt for the man. He had known his sort in King's Landing—fawning to his superiors, harsh to his inferiors, as blind as he was boastful and too proud by half.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

LMAO.

+.+.+

Skahaz could be in the hall as well, Selmy realized, that ugly face of his concealed behind a mask. Two score Brazen Beasts stood between the pillars, torchlight shining off the polished brass of their masks. The Shavepate could be any one of them.

How many times will George allude to this?

+.+.+

One woman began to wail about a brother who had died at Daznak's Pit, another of the damage to her palanquin. A fat man tore off his bandages to show the court his burned arm, where the flesh was still raw and oozing. And when a man in a blue-and-gold tokar began to speak of Harghaz the Hero, a freedman behind him shoved him to the floor. It took six Brazen Beasts to pull them apart and drag them from the hall.

It's not every day a freedman gets painted in a bad light.

+.+.+

Fox, hawk, seal, locust, lion, toad. Selmy wondered if the masks had meaning to the men who wore them.

That depends, is it a cat mask? A rat? A wolf? That would have meaning.

+.+.+

Did the same men wear the same masks every day, or did they choose new faces every morning?

She changes it every few weeks.

+.+.+

"Is it true?" a freedwoman shouted. "Is our mother dead?"

"No, no, no," Reznak screeched. "Queen Daenerys will return to Meereen in her own time in all her might and majesty. Until such time, His Worship King Hizdahr shall—"

"He is no king of mine," a freedman yelled.

Men began to shove at one another. "The queen is not dead," the seneschal proclaimed. "Her bloodriders have been dispatched across the Skahazadhan to find Her Grace and return her to her loving lord and loyal subjects. Each has ten picked riders, and each man has three swift horses, so they may travel fast and far. Queen Daenerys shall be found."

[...]

Ser Barristan let Reznak's oily words wash over him. His years in the Kingsguard had taught him the trick of listening without hearing, especially useful when the speaker was intent on proving that words were truly wind. 

What the hell? What did he even do? He said nothing wrong!

#JusticeForReznak

His years in the Kingsguard had taught him the trick of listening without hearing

Boy, you aren't kidding.

+.+.+

Prince Quentyn was listening intently, at least. That one is his father's son. Short and stocky, plain-faced, he seemed a decent lad, sober, sensible, dutiful … but not the sort to make a young girl's heart beat faster. And Daenerys Targaryen, whatever else she might be, was still a young girl, as she herself would claim when it pleased her to play the innocent. Like all good queens she put her people first—else she would never have wed Hizdahr zo Loraq—but the girl in her still yearned for poetry, passion, and laughter. She wants fire, and Dorne sent her mud.

It's hysterical how little credit he's giving Daenerys here. The people come first, unless it's a hot boy.

And Daenerys Targaryen, whatever else she might be, was still a young girl, as she herself would claim when it pleased her to play the innocent.

Glad he's picked up on that. Not that it will change anything.

+.+.+

You could make a poultice out of mud to cool a fever. You could plant seeds in mud and grow a crop to feed your children. Mud would nourish you, where fire would only consume you, but fools and children and young girls would choose fire every time.

In her case, literally.

The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. - Daenerys X, AGOT

Daenerys plants no seeds in mud.

+.+.+

Behind the prince, Ser Gerris Drinkwater was whispering something to Yronwood. Ser Gerris was all his prince was not: tall and lean and comely, with a swordsman's grace and a courtier's wit. Selmy did not doubt that many a Dornish maiden had run her fingers through that sun-streaked hair and kissed that teasing smile off his lips. If this one had been the prince, things might have gone elsewise, he could not help but think … but there was something a bit too pleasant about Drinkwater for his taste. False coin, the old knight thought. He had known such men before.

Gerris is confident, I don't remember him being false. Does something come of this?

Again, this could not be more insulting to Daenerys. I love it.

+.+.+

Whatever he was whispering must have been amusing, for his big bald friend gave a sudden snort of laughter, loud enough so that the king himself turned his head toward the Dornishmen. When he saw the prince, Hizdahr zo Loraq frowned.

Ser Barristan did not like that frown. And when the king beckoned his cousin Marghaz closer, leaned down, and whispered in his ear, he liked that even less.

Providing context for later.

+.+.+

Martell was dancing in a vipers' nest, and he did not even see the snakes. His continued presence, even after Daenerys had given herself to another before the eyes of gods and men, would provoke any husband, and Quentyn no longer had the queen to shield him from Hizdahr's wroth. 

I'm going to agree with Barry on this one. There's no reason for Quentyn to still be hanging around, and pursuing Daenerys. It's disrespectful to say the least.

With that being said, I've yet to see any evidence of Hizdahr being a wrathful man.

+.+.+

Although …

The thought hit him like a slap across the face. Quentyn had grown up amongst the courts of Dorne. Plots and poisons were no strangers to him. Nor was Prince Lewyn his only uncle. He is kin to the Red Viper. Daenerys had taken another for her consort, but if Hizdahr died, she would be free to wed again. Could the Shavepate have been wrong? Who can say that the locusts were meant for Daenerys? It was the king's own box. What if he was meant to be the victim all along? Hizdahr's death would have smashed the fragile peace. The Sons of the Harpy would have resumed their murders, the Yunkishmen their war. Daenerys might have had no better choice than Quentyn and his marriage pact.

And they say Victarion is the dumbest point of view character. Quentyn doesn't have a single friend in Meereen, how could he achieve any of this?

Anyway, he did manage to consider a strong possibility: Hizdahr was the Shavepate's target.

Hizdahr's death would have smashed the fragile peace. The Sons of the Harpy would have resumed their murders, the Yunkishmen their war.

Great point, Barry.

Quick question, what happens if he's arrested?

+.+.+

The Yunkishmen had come. Three Wise Masters led the procession from the Yellow City, each with his own armed retinue. One slaver wore a tokar of maroon silk fringed with gold, one a striped tokar of teal and orange, the third an ornate breastplate inlaid with erotic scenes done in jet and jade and mother-of-pearl. The sellsword captain Bloodbeard accompanied them with a leathern sack slung across one massive shoulder and a look of mirth and murder on his face.

No Tattered Prince, Selmy noted. No Brown Ben Plumm. Ser Barristan eyed Bloodbeard coolly. Give me half a reason to dance with you, and we will see who is laughing at the end.

Reznak mo Reznak wormed his way forward. "Wise Masters, you honor us. His Radiance King Hizdahr bids welcome to his friends from Yunkai. We understand—"

+.+.+

"Understand this." Bloodbeard pulled a severed head from his sack and flung it at the seneschal.

[...]

Gingerly, so gingerly, the seneschal approached the head, lifted it delicately by the hair. "Admiral Groleo."

I'm sorry, can we take a second to go over this man's story?

Captain Groleo is tasked with bringing Daenerys back to Pentos.

Instead, she renames all his ships to Targaryen dragons, and commands him to take her to Slaver's Bay, so she may buy a slave army.

Daenerys realizes she can't take Meereen without siege engines. She orders his ships destroyed for wood.

Groleo is then named admiral by Daenerys, but doesn't actually have a fleet, making it an empty title.

After the peace deal, he's handed over to the Yunkish commanders as a hostage.

Finally, he's beheaded because of Drogon.

Wow.

+.+.+

Ser Barristan glanced toward the throne. He had served so many kings, he could not help but imagine how they might have reacted to this provocation. Aerys would have flinched away in horror, likely cutting himself on the barbs of the Iron Throne, then shrieked at his swordsmen to cut the Yunkishmen to pieces. Robert would have shouted for his hammer to repay Bloodbeard in kind. Even Jaehaerys, reckoned weak by many, would have ordered the arrest of Bloodbeard and the Yunkish slavers.

If that's what two Targs and Robert Baratheon would have done, then surely there's a better option.

Can you see Bran doing any of the above? Keep in mind the Jaehaerys option instantly triggers war.

+.+.+

Hizdahr sat frozen, a man transfixed. Reznak set the head on a satin pillow at the king's feet, then scampered away, his mouth twisted up in a moue of distaste. Ser Barristan could smell the seneschal's heavy floral perfume from several yards away.

You're not fooling anyone, George.

Can't wait for the honourable Barristan Selmy to be happily standing next to Daenerys when she kills this poor man.

+.+.+

"This," King Hizdahr said at last, "this is not … we are not pleased, this … what is the meaning of this … this …"

Use your big boy king words, please.

+.+.+

The slaver in the maroon tokar produced a parchment. "I have the honor to bear this message from the council of masters." He unrolled the scroll. "It is here written, 'Seven entered Meereen to sign the peace accords and witness the celebratory games at the Pit of Daznak. As surety for their safety, seven hostages were tendered us. The Yellow City mourns its noble son Yurkhaz zo Yunzak, who perished cruelly whilst a guest of Meereen. Blood must pay for blood.'"

Groleo had a wife back in Pentos. Children, grandchildren. Why him, of all the hostages? Jhogo, Hero, and Daario Naharis all commanded fighting men, but Groleo had been an admiral without a fleet. Did they draw straws, or did they think Groleo the least valuable to us, the least likely to provoke reprisal? the knight asked himself … but it was easier to pose that question than to answer it. I have no skill at unraveling such knots.

I'm inclined to believe this. I can't find the quotes now, but it's been made clear Yunkai has no desire to test the dragons, regardless of all their threats of war.

I have no skill at unraveling such knots.

We can tell.

+.+.+

"Your Grace," Ser Barristan called out. "If it please you to recall, the noble Yurkhaz died by happenstance. He stumbled on the steps as he tried to flee the dragon and was crushed beneath the feet of his own slaves and companions. That, or his heart burst in terror. He was old."

Fair point.

Edit: I didn’t even notice he said grace again. Twat.

Thank you, @kadarakey!

+.+.+

Hizdahr zo Loraq could not seem to look away from the head. Only when Reznak whispered something in his ear did he finally bestir himself. 

Is the newly developed sadist getting off on it or something?

+.+.+

"Yurkhaz zo Yunzak was your supreme commander," he said. "Which of you speaks for Yunkai now?"

"All of us," said the rabbit. "The council of masters."

King Hizdahr found some steel. "Then all of you bear the responsibility for this breach of our peace."

The Yunkishman in the breastplate gave answer. "Our peace has not been breached. Blood pays for blood, a life for a life. To show our good faith, we return three of your hostages." The iron ranks behind him parted. Three Meereenese were ushered forward, clutching at their tokars—two women and a man.

"Sister," said Hizdahr zo Loraq, stiffly. "Cousins."

Without more information, it's hard to say why they've chosen to return Hizdahr's family. Maybe they're avoiding further provocation. Maybe they're buying him off. Maybe they'd like him to look terrible. Maybe the author is baiting the reader, and making it seem like Hizdahr's in on the plot.

+.+.+

Reznak mo Reznak cleared his throat noisily. "Meaning no offense, yet it seems to me that Her Worship Queen Daenerys gave you … ah … seven hostages. The other three …"

"The others shall remain our guests," announced the Yunkish lord in the breastplate, "until the dragons have been destroyed."

Reznak's even speaking up for the other hostages!

+.+.+

A hush fell across the hall. Then came the murmurs and the mutters, whispered curses, whispered prayers, the hornets stirring in their hive. "The dragons …" said King Hizdahr.

"… are monsters, as all men saw in Daznak's Pit. No true peace is possible whilst they live."

Accurate.

+.+.+

Reznak replied. "Her Magnificence Queen Daenerys is Mother of Dragons. Only she can—"

Reznak, who rightfully hates the dragons, is objecting to them being killed without Daenerys agreeing.

#JusticeForReznak

#JusticeForReznak

#JusticeForReznak

+.+.+

Hizdahr zo Loraq rose slowly from his dragon throne. "I must consult my council. This court is done."

I'm okay with this decision.

+.+.+

"Prince Quentyn," Selmy called. "Might I beg a word?"

Quentyn Martell turned. "Ser Barristan. Of course. My chambers are one level down."

No. "It is not my place to counsel you, Prince Quentyn … but if I were you, I would not return to my chambers. You and your friends should go down the steps and leave."

[...]

"Swords can be replaced," said Ser Barristan. "I can provide you with coin enough for passage back to Dorne. Prince Quentyn, the king made note of you today. He frowned."

This is a -little- dramatic.

We've gone from Barristan believing Hizdahr is weak to Barristan believing Hizdahr is plotting to kill Quentyn in roughly 10 seconds.

+.+.+

Gerris Drinkwater laughed. "Should we be frightened of Hizdahr zo Loraq? You saw him just now. He quailed before the Yunkishmen. They sent him a head, and he did nothing."

Quentyn Martell nodded in agreement. "A prince does well to think before he acts. This king … I do not know what to think of him. The queen warned me against him as well, true, but …"

That can't possibly be the son of Doran Martell saying this.

Hizdahr elected to do exactly what Doran Martell would have done. Think it over.

+.+.+

"She warned you?" Selmy frowned. "Why are you still here?"

Prince Quentyn flushed. "The marriage pact—"

I feel for him, but this is beyond pathetic.

Go home, Quentyn. It's not your failure.

+.+.+

"—was made by two dead men and contained not a word about the queen or you. It promised your sister's hand to the queen's brother, another dead man. It has no force. Until you turned up here, Her Grace was ignorant of its existence. Your father keeps his secrets well, Prince Quentyn. Too well, I fear. If the queen had known of this pact in Qarth, she might never have turned aside for Slaver's Bay, but you came too late. I have no wish to salt your wounds, but Her Grace has a new husband and an old paramour, and seems to prefer the both of them to you."

Anger flashed in the prince's dark eyes. "This Ghiscari lordling is no fit consort for the queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

I don't disagree, but he's one to talk. Ask his sister how King Quentyn sounds.

Your father keeps his secrets well, Prince Quentyn. Too well, I fear.

I mean, yeah.

+.+.+

The shock was plain on Prince Quentyn's face. "Poison … meant for Daenerys?"

"Her or Hizdahr. Perhaps both. The box was his, though. His Grace made all the arrangements. If the poison was his doing … well, he will need a scapegoat. Who better than a rival from a distant land who has no friends at this court? Who better than a suitor the queen spurned?"

Quentyn Martell went pale. "Me? I would never … you cannot think I had any part in any …"

That was the truth, or he is a master mummer. "Others might," said Ser Barristan. "The Red Viper was your uncle. And you have good reason to want King Hizdahr dead."

Is that what poisoners do? Frame people? Imbecile.

Absolutely incredible this muffin isn't able to apply that same spurned suitor logic to another candidate.

Hizdahr zo Loraq might be worth a careful look. Sooner him than Skahaz. The Shavepate had offered to set aside his wife for her, but the notion made her shudder. Hizdahr at least knew how to smile. - Daenerys I, ADWD

x

If I wed Hizdahr, will that turn Skahaz against me? She trusted Skahaz more than she trusted Hizdahr, but the Shavepate would be a disaster as a king. He was too quick to anger, too slow to forgive. She saw no gain in wedding a man as hated as herself. Hizdahr was well respected, so far as she could see. - Daenerys IV, ADWD

At least he knows Quentyn's telling the truth. How low can this bar go.

+.+.+

"So do others," suggested Gerris Drinkwater. "Naharis, for one. The queen's …"

"… paramour," Ser Barristan finished, before the Dornish knight could say anything that might besmirch the queen's honor. "That is what you call them down in Dorne, is it not?" He did not wait for a reply. "Prince Lewyn was my Sworn Brother. In those days there were few secrets amongst the Kingsguard. I know he kept a paramour. He did not feel there was any shame in that."

Look at him bend himself into a pretzel trying to justify the queen's open love affair with a homicidal sellsword.

Is there any shame in Daenerys producing an heir we don't know Hizdahr fathered, Barry?

+.+.+

"Daario would kill Hizdahr in a heartbeat if he dared," Ser Barristan went on. "But not with poison. Never. And Daario was not there in any case. Hizdahr would be pleased to blame him for the locusts, all the same … but the king may yet have need of the Stormcrows, and he will lose them if he appears complicit in the death of their captain. No, my prince. If His Grace needs a poisoner, he will look to you." He had said all that he could safely say. In a few more days, if the gods smiled on them, Hizdahr zo Loraq would no longer rule Meereen … but no good would be served by having Prince Quentyn caught up in the bloodbath that was coming. 

Do you understand that means war, you fucking muppet?

The man constantly asks himself what Daenerys would want ...

The Shavepate was not wrong. Daenerys would want her children protected. - The Queensguard, ADWD

x

What would Daenerys want? he asked himself. He thought he knew. - The Discarded Knight, ADWD

x

Was he doing what Daenerys would have wanted? I was not made for this. - The Queen's Hand, ADWD

yet every action he takes further erodes her peace deal.

I want no war with Yunkai. How many times must I say it? - Daenerys VI, ADWD

+.+.+

"What name do you think they will give me, should I return to Dorne without Daenerys?" Prince Quentyn asked. "Quentyn the Cautious? Quentyn the Craven? Quentyn the Quail?"

The Prince Who Came Too Late, the old knight thought … but if a knight of the Kingsguard learns nothing else, he learns to guard his tongue. "Quentyn the Wise," he suggested. And hoped that it was true.

Final thoughts:

The only ending I will accept is him watching her bleed out, immediately followed by the least knightly death possible.

-> return to menu <-

[gotham-at-nightfall]

Part IX: Bran II

Drawing Every Named Character in A Song of Ice and Fire

By Alejandro Kay

Chapter I: Prologue

Chapter II: Bran I

[novaursa]

The Flames We Loved (to ignite an ember)

This is one of my darker works. If it's not your cup of tea, skip it. The story gets progressively worse with each chapter. You have been warned.

- Summary: It started with Harrenhal and the year of false spring, where you danced with a dragon trying to calm his flames.

- Paring: daughter!reader/father!Aerys II Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Previous part: to wake a dragon

- Next part: to drink poison

The road back to King’s Landing stretches ahead, dust rising as the royal party moves in a long, winding procession. The capital is still a day’s ride away, but the dread that lingered in Harrenhal hasn’t lessened; if anything, it’s grown thicker with every passing mile. You ride beside Aerys, as he insisted, ahead of the convoy, while the rest of the royal family travels behind in carriages. Rhaella, fragile as always, is with Elia, who holds her children close, her eyes still downcast since the tourney. Rhaegar rides just behind, his indigo eyes ever-watchful, his presence steady but concerned, alongside Ser Barristan Selmy.

Aerys, on the other hand, is animated, more so than you’ve seen him in weeks. His mood seems lighter, and though his words carry the same sharpness, you can tell he’s indulging in the thrill of riding ahead, commanding the attention of his family and his court. His silver hair, wild in the wind, gives him an otherworldly appearance as he rides with you at his side, his grip tight on the reins of his horse.

You do your best to indulge him, as you always do, listening intently as he talks of the past, of old Valyria, of the dragons and their fire. He speaks of conquest, of power, his words becoming more fevered the longer he talks, and you nod in agreement, offering soft reassurances when he looks to you for validation.

“Do you see it, Y/N?” he asks, his voice growing louder as his eyes blaze with fervor. “We are the last dragons. The only ones who can bring this realm to heel. Rhaegar doesn’t understand it, but you… you’ve always known.”

“I see it, Father,” you say, keeping your voice steady, despite the unease that rises within you. “We are the blood of the dragon.”

Aerys smiles, but it’s not a kind smile—it’s twisted, hungry. “Yes. The blood of kings and conquerors. You and I, we are bound by it.”

You glance back over your shoulder, catching Rhaegar’s gaze for just a moment. He’s watching closely, his expression unreadable, but you know he’s listening. He has to be. He’s always listening, always watching, worried over you in ways that he cannot express openly.

But before you can think further, Aerys shifts in his saddle, his voice rising above the steady clatter of hooves and wheels. “Rhaegar!” he calls suddenly, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. “Come closer, boy. There’s something I wish to discuss.”

The entire royal procession seems to slow, the murmurs of the court growing quiet as they sense something in the king’s tone. Rhaegar, hesitant at first, spurs his horse forward, coming to ride beside you and Aerys. His expression is wary, but he hides it well, his posture composed as he falls into step with his father.

“What is it, Father?” Rhaegar asks, his voice calm, though you can hear the underlying tension.

Aerys looks at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing as though he’s weighing something in his mind. Then, without warning, he shoots the question that freezes the entire procession.

“Tell me, Rhaegar,” Aerys begins, his voice deceptively casual, “do you think your sister is beautiful enough to warm a king’s bed? Perhaps she should stay in mine, where she belongs.”

The words hang in the air, as sharp and shocking as the crack of a whip. The entire royal procession comes to a halt, horses shifting uneasily, the courtiers whispering in stunned disbelief. You feel the blood drain from your face as Aerys’s words sink in, their meaning as clear as the madness in his eyes. He isn’t just making an offhand comment. He’s staking a claim—publicly, in front of his court, in front of Rhaegar.

Rhaegar’s face tightens, his hands clenching the reins of his horse, though he doesn’t speak immediately. You can see the fury in his eyes, the way his jaw works as he struggles to control his temper, to keep himself from doing something rash. But the anger is there, simmering beneath the surface.

“Father…” you begin, trying to defuse the situation, but Aerys’s eyes are on Rhaegar, waiting for his response.

Rhaegar’s voice is cold when he finally speaks, his words measured but sharp. “My sister deserves respect, as does my mother.”

“Respect?” Aerys laughs, the sound brittle and harsh. “Is that what you think this is about, boy? Respect? She belongs to the dragon’s fire, just as I do. You think you can protect her from that?”

“Y/N is your daughter,” Rhaegar replies, his voice hard, though he remains outwardly calm. “You should treat her as such.”

Aerys’s smile fades, his expression darkening as he stares at Rhaegar, his eyes gleaming with the dangerous edge of his madness. “You forget yourself, Rhaegar. I am the king. I will take what is mine, and Y/N… she is mine.”

The words send a chill down your spine, and you realize, with a sickening twist in your stomach, that this is no longer about a father and daughter. Aerys’s madness has twisted even that bond into something warped, something dangerous.

“Father, please,” you say, your voice soft but firm, hoping to calm him as you’ve done so many times before. “Let us continue the journey. We are almost home.”

Aerys doesn’t look at you, his gaze still fixed on Rhaegar, but after a moment, he seems to relent, though his smile is cruel. “Very well,” he says, his voice low. “But remember, Rhaegar… the blood of the dragon runs hotter than you think.”

He spurs his horse forward, leaving you and Rhaegar behind as the convoy resumes its pace, the court still buzzing with the shock of what they’ve just witnessed.

You glance at Rhaegar, your heart heavy with the weight of what just happened, but he says nothing, his jaw clenched in silent fury. You can feel the tension radiating off him, the anger he’s trying so hard to keep in check.

You wish you could say something, anything, to reassure him, but the words catch in your throat. There is no easy answer to the madness that grips your father, no way to untangle the twisted bonds that now bind you both.

Then you decide to urge your horse forward, the dust rising behind you as you ride after Aerys. Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, fall in beside you, their expressions stern but unreadable. Behind you, you can still hear Rhaegar’s voice, tight with frustration and anger.

“Y/N, wait!” he calls, spurring his horse forward to catch up with you. “Don’t go after him.”

You pull your reins slightly, slowing your horse enough to turn and meet his gaze. Rhaegar’s indigo eyes, so like your own, burn with worry and a hint of helpless anger. He knows, just as you do, what Aerys is capable of when left unchecked, but he hates that it’s always you who has to go to him. Always you who must step into the fire.

“I have to,” you reply, your voice soft but steady. “You know how unpredictable he is, Rhaegar. And he left unprotected. Jaime and Ser Gerold will be with me.”

“He’s dangerous, Y/N,” Rhaegar says, his jaw tight. “Every time you go to him, you’re putting yourself at risk.”

“I know,” you say, your heart aching at the way his concern hangs between you like a heavy weight. “But if I don’t go after him, who will? He’ll only grow worse.”

Rhaegar’s hands tighten around the reins, his frustration visible. He opens his mouth as if to argue again, but he knows you’re right. You’ve always been the only one who can calm Aerys when his insanity flares, the only one who can talk him down when his mind spirals out of control.

“I’ll be careful,” you assure him, your voice softening. “I promise.”

He stares at you for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You shouldn’t have to do this,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. “None of this should have happened.”

You offer him a small, sad smile before you turn your horse and ride after Aerys, Jaime and Gerold at your side. The dust from the convoy rises in the distance, but you push forward, your heart heavy with the knowledge that you’re walking a dangerous line—one that grows thinner with each passing day.

Rhaegar watches you ride away, his heart twisting with a mixture of anger and regret. He stays behind with the convoy, Ser Barristan Selmy riding beside him. Rhaegar’s face is set in a grim frown, his thoughts clearly elsewhere, still dwelling on what just transpired.

“She shouldn’t have to bear this burden,” Rhaegar mutters, mostly to himself. He shifts uncomfortably in the saddle, his mind racing with thoughts of you. His twin. His other half. “It’s my fault.”

Ser Barristan remains silent for a moment, ever the stoic knight, though his expression is one of quiet concern. “Your Grace,” he says finally, his voice low but calm, “the king’s actions are not your doing.”

Rhaegar lets out a bitter laugh, though there’s no humor in it. “Perhaps not directly, but everything I do seems to lead back to him. This… this madness has always been there, sleeping just beneath the surface. I should have known.”

Ser Barristan watches Rhaegar carefully but says nothing, waiting for him to continue.

“When I crowned Y/N as the Queen of Love and Beauty,” Rhaegar begins, his voice softening as he speaks, “I didn’t think… I didn’t anticipate he would react like this. I only wanted to honor her. She is my twin, Barristan. My other half. The bond between us is deeper than anything, despite my marriage to Elia.”

He runs a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his movements. “I had to do it. It wasn’t about Elia, or even the court. It was about us. I had to honor her in that moment, to show the world what she means to me. But I didn’t think… I never thought Aerys would take it as some kind of challenge. As if I were flaunting her before him.”

Ser Barristan’s brow furrows, his gaze steady as he listens. “The king’s mind is… difficult to predict, Your Grace. No one could have foreseen how he would react.”

“But I should have,” Rhaegar says sharply, his frustration boiling over. “I know how he looks at her, how he treats her. I’ve seen it for years now. And yet, I still made her stand in front of the entire court, in front of him, with that crown of roses on her head. As if I were offering her up to him.”

He shakes his head, his hands tightening on the reins. “I should have known better.”

Ser Barristan watches him closely, his expression thoughtful. “Your Grace, you acted out of love for your sister. There is no shame in that.”

Rhaegar meets Barristan’s gaze, his eyes filled with a mixture of guilt and anger. “And what good did that love do? It only put her in more danger.”

The silence between them stretches, and Rhaegar turns his gaze back to the road ahead, watching the dust settle in the distance where you’ve disappeared after Aerys. He feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like a cloak of iron, the knowledge that every decision he makes seems to bring more chaos, more danger to those he cares about.

“Love should protect,” Rhaegar says quietly, more to himself than to Barristan. “But all it’s done is place her in harm’s way.”

And as he rides in the wake of the royal procession, Rhaegar wonders how much longer he can watch you carry the burden of keeping their father’s instability in check before the fire consumes you both.

You ride through the thickening woods, the trees casting shadows over the path as the light begins to wane. Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Gerold Hightower ride close beside you, their faces grim as they scan the forest for any sign of Aerys. The king’s horse had been found abandoned not far from the convoy, its reins tangled in a low-hanging branch. But Aerys was nowhere to be seen.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a mixture of fear and worry for your father—no matter how dark and manic he has become. He’s unpredictable at the best of times, and the thought of him wandering alone in the woods fills you with a deep sense of dread.

“Princess,” Ser Gerold calls from ahead, his voice laced with concern. “We should stay together.”

“We need to find him quickly,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady, though you feel the weight of the situation pressing down on you. “He can’t be far.”

The Kingsguard dismounts with you, their eyes scanning the darkening woods, but there is no sign of Aerys, no sound of him. Just the rustle of the wind through the trees and the occasional distant cry of a bird. The stillness makes your heart race with unease.

“Princess, we should call for more men to aid in the search,” Jaime says, his usual confidence tinged with a hint of worry. “The woods are vast, and if he’s wandered too far—”

Before he can finish, you shake your head, your eyes searching the trees ahead. “There’s no time. We’ll find him ourselves.”

Ser Jaime exchanges a glance with Ser Gerold, but they don’t argue. They know better than to question you in a moment like this.

You push forward, dismounting from your horse and moving into the thick of the woods, the underbrush cracking under your boots. Ser Jaime and Ser Gerold follow close behind, calling out for the king, but their voices echo unanswered in the quiet.

“Aerys!” you call out, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to remain calm. “Father, where are you?”

No response.

The silence presses down on you, your worry deepening with each passing moment. You quicken your pace, desperation creeping into your voice as you call for him again. But the woods remain still, almost eerily so.

Eventually, the search becomes more urgent, and the three of you spread out, though you stay within earshot. The trees loom taller, casting deeper shadows, and the air feels heavier, as if the forest itself knows something is amiss. You push through the thick underbrush, your heart pounding, your mind racing with worry.

Then, just as you begin to lose hope, you catch a glimpse of silver through the trees.

Aerys.

He’s standing in the middle of a small clearing, his back to you, utterly still. His long, wild hair stirs faintly in the breeze, but otherwise, he doesn’t move.

“Father?” you call out softly, your voice barely a whisper as you take a cautious step toward him. There’s something off about the way he’s standing—rigid, almost contemplative, as though he’s lost in thought.

He doesn’t respond.

You swallow hard, glancing back toward where you left Ser Jaime and Ser Gerold, but they’re too far behind now. You’re alone with him in this clearing, and a strange, heavy feeling settles in your chest.

“Father,” you call again, louder this time, trying to keep your voice steady. But still, he doesn’t respond. He stands there, staring at something unseen, lost in a world you can’t reach.

A chill runs down your spine as you approach him carefully, your footsteps soft against the forest floor. You hesitate just a few feet away from him, watching him closely. He seems… different. Calmer, almost, but there’s a stillness about him that unnerves you.

Gently, you reach out, your hand trembling slightly as you touch his arm. The fabric of his sleeve is rough under your fingers, and for a moment, he doesn’t react at all. But then, slowly, he turns his head, his eyes meeting yours.

His gaze is clearer than it has been in months, and for a brief, fleeting moment, you see the father you once knew. The man who loved you, who was proud of you. The madness in his eyes is gone, replaced by something almost… contemplative.

“You came,” he says softly, his voice low and distant. “Of course, you came.”

You nod, your heart aching at the sound of his voice, at the way he’s speaking so lucidly, so unlike the erratic, dangerous king he has become. “I’m here, Father,” you say gently, trying to ground him in the moment, to keep him tethered to reality. “Let’s go back. Everyone’s worried about you.”

He doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze drifting away from you, back to the trees ahead. “Do you ever think,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “that the blood in our veins isn’t enough?”

You blink, confused by his words, but you don’t interrupt him. He continues, his voice soft but laced with something darker. “The dragons are gone, Y/N. The fire is gone. All that remains is the ash. And we… we are nothing but the last flickering embers.”

“Father,” you say softly, stepping closer, “you’re tired. Let’s go back to the others. We’ll—”

But before you can finish, he turns to you again, his gaze sharp, cutting. “Do you think I can still bring the fire back?”

Your heart clenches at the intensity of his words, the weight behind them. There’s a lucidity in his voice that sends a chill through you, as though he’s reached some clarity of thought that you aren’t sure you want to understand.

“I—” you start, but the words catch in your throat. You don’t know what to say, how to answer him.

Aerys reaches out, his hand brushing against your cheek in a gesture that once might have been tender, but now feels too heavy, too intense. “I’ve seen it,” he whispers, his voice growing darker, more insistent. “In my dreams. The fire, the dragons, the flames consuming everything. You and I, we will bring it back.”

The dread creeping up your spine becomes impossible to ignore, your heart pounding in your chest as his words sink in. The madness is still there, lurking beneath the surface, but this… this feels different. This feels more menacing.

“Father,” you whisper, your voice trembling, “we can’t bring back what’s lost.”

He leans closer, his eyes gleaming with something dark and terrible. “Oh, but we will, Y/N. The dragons will rise again, and the world will burn.”

You feel a coldness settle in your chest, your body frozen as you realize just how deep his madness runs, how far he’s willing to go to chase the fire he’s lost. And as his hand lingers on your cheek, you know that you’ve given him the one thing you never should have—hope.

And that hope will burn you all.

Aerys’s hand, once resting on your cheek with the faintest memory of tenderness, suddenly tightens, his fingers digging into your skin as his grip turns rougher. Alarm flares in your chest, your pulse quickening as his mood shifts with terrifying speed. The madness in his eyes, the lucid clarity that had given you hope moments ago, is gone.

“Father, please,” you whisper, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to remain calm. “We should go back to the others. The court is waiting—”

But he doesn’t release you. Instead, his other hand reaches out, grabbing your arm with a strength that leaves you no room to pull away. His face is inches from yours, and the gleam in his eyes has shifted into something more sinister, something possessive and far beyond the bounds of fatherly affection. His breath is hot against your skin, and dread coils tighter in your gut.

“You think you can calm me, don’t you?” he mutters, his voice low and rough, his lips dangerously close to yours. “You’ve always known how to soothe the dragon. But what if the fire can’t be tamed anymore?”

“Father, stop—” you try, but the words die in your throat as his grip tightens even more, pulling you closer until there’s no space between your bodies.

Aerys leans in, his breath ragged, his lips brushing dangerously close to yours. “I could take you right here,” he whispers, his voice laced with a crude, possessive hunger. “And no one would stop me. Not even your precious twin.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, terror flashing through you as you try to pull away, but Aerys’s hold is iron-strong, his fingers bruising your skin. His lips crash against yours, rough and forceful, his kiss searing in its intensity. You struggle against him, pushing at his chest, trying to break free, but it’s no use. His grip is too strong, his body too close, trapping you.

Panic rises inside you, your mind racing as you try to think of a way out. But then, something shifts. Something inside you stirs, something you don’t understand, but it terrifies you.

A warmth spreads through your chest—a fire, a flicker of something ancient, something primal. You feel it in your blood, a strange heat rising as your struggles falter. The fire pulses beneath your skin, and for a terrifying moment, you wonder if Aerys is right. If the blood of the dragon truly burns hotter in you than you ever realized.

But you can’t let it consume you. You can’t let him take this from you.

With all the strength you can muster, you wrench your face to the side, breaking the kiss as best you can, though Aerys still holds you tight, his breath heavy against your ear.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he whispers, his voice dripping with manic glee. “The fire inside you. You can’t deny it.”

You shake your head, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to regain control. “Father, let me go,” you plead, your voice trembling. “Please…”

But he doesn’t relent. His grip remains firm, his body pressing into yours with a possessiveness that makes your stomach churn. You try to push him away again, but your strength is fading, your body trembling with a mixture of fear and the strange fire that continues to stir inside you.

And then, just as you feel like you might break, you hear it.

“Your Grace! Princess Y/N!”

The voice is distant but loud enough to cut through the haze of terror and confusion. Ser Gerold. His shout echoes through the woods, drawing nearer, and for the first time since Aerys’s grip tightened around you, you feel a flicker of salvation.

Aerys stiffens slightly, his grip on you loosening just a fraction as he hears Ser Gerold’s voice. His eyes, wild and fevered, flicker with something—hesitation, perhaps—but the madness remains.

Slowly, reluctantly, Aerys pulls back, though his gaze never leaves yours. His lips curl into a twisted smile, and for a moment, you see a flash of the man who once ruled a kingdom, the man who had once been your father before the insanity consumed him.

“You belong to me,” he whispers, his voice low and sinister, his fingers brushing your cheek one last time before he releases you completely.

You stumble back, your breath coming in sharp gasps as you try to steady yourself. Your heart races, your skin burning from the fire that still lingers in your blood, but you force yourself to stand tall, to not show weakness. Not now. Not in front of him.

Ser Gerold bursts into the clearing, his eyes widening as he takes in the scene before him. His gaze flicks between you and Aerys, concern etched deeply into his features. “Your Grace,” he says, his voice steady but firm, “the procession is waiting. We should return to the others.”

Aerys turns his gaze to Ser Gerold, his smile widening into something cruel. “Of course,” he says, his voice calm, as though nothing out of the ordinary has happened. “Let’s not keep the court waiting.”

He strides past you, his presence still looming even as he moves away, leaving you standing in the clearing with Ser Gerold.

You feel the weight of what just happened pressing down on you, the fire still simmering beneath your skin. But there’s no time to dwell on it. Not here. Not now.

You glance at Ser Gerold, your heart still pounding in your chest. He says nothing, but his eyes tell you enough. He knows something is wrong. He knows what Aerys is capable of.

But for now, all you can do is follow. Follow the man who was once your father but has now become something far more dangerous.

And as you walk back toward the procession, the fire inside you flickers, a reminder of the danger that still lies ahead.

The towering walls of the Red Keep rise before you, imposing and familiar, but today they feel like the walls of a prison. The royal procession halts at the gates, the long journey from Harrenhal finally at its end. The wind carries the scent of the sea from Blackwater Bay. Every member of the convoy can feel it—the unspoken weight that has hung over the journey since that moment in the woods.

Rhaella is the first to emerge from the carriage, frail and silent as she always is, her eyes lowered to the ground. Elia follows, her face calm and composed, though there is a sadness in her gaze as she watches over her children, who are led by their attendants into the Keep. The soft murmurs of the court are drowned by the creaking of the gates as they open to welcome the royal family back home. Yet there is nothing welcoming about it. Not today.

Rhaegar hasn’t taken his eyes off Aerys since the moment you, Jaime, and Ser Gerold rejoined the convoy. His indigo eyes, once filled with only concern for you, now burn with barely contained fury. He rides just behind Aerys as the procession makes its way to the Keep, his jaw clenched, his posture rigid. He doesn’t speak, but the silent intensity in his gaze is enough to communicate his feelings.

He knows.

Perhaps not everything, not the full weight of what happened in the woods, but he knows enough. He’s seen the change in you since you returned. You, who once carried yourself with quiet grace, who always managed to keep your head high no matter how dark things became. Now, as you sit atop your horse, your gaze is distant, lingering on places far beyond the Red Keep, far beyond the court. Your thoughts drift to moments you can’t quite shake—the feel of Aerys’s hand on your skin, the fire that stirred inside you, the kiss that still burns on your lips.

You had tried, on the ride back, to keep yourself composed, to be the same person Rhaegar has always known. But something shifted in the woods, something that cannot be undone. And now, as the convoy comes to a stop, the weight of it presses down on you, suffocating.

Aerys, for his part, seems almost amused by his son’s scrutiny. He dismounts with an exaggerated flair, his robes billowing behind him as he strides toward the entrance of the Red Keep, his lips curled into a smirk. The madness in his eyes, ever-present now, seems to gleam brighter as he turns to look at Rhaegar, who still sits atop his horse, his fists clenched tightly around the reins.

“My son,” Aerys calls out, his voice loud and mocking, “you’ve been so quiet on our journey home. Have you nothing to say?”

Rhaegar’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze flickers briefly to you, and you can see the silent question in his eyes, the concern that he’s held onto since you rode after Aerys. But now, with the court watching, with Aerys looming over them all, he remains silent. There is nothing he can say that will change what has happened. Nothing that will fix what’s been broken.

Aerys laughs, a sharp, brittle sound that echoes against the walls of the Keep. “Ah, but of course. The dragon prince is brooding, as always. So serious, Rhaegar. So noble.” He takes a step toward his son, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “But do not worry, my boy. I’ve taken good care of your sister. She’s quite… precious to me.”

The words hang in the air like a blade, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. Rhaegar’s fists tighten around the reins, his knuckles white, but still he says nothing. He can’t. Not here, not now, not with the court’s eyes upon you.

But you can feel the anger in him, the barely contained rage that is fighting to break out. It’s there in the way he holds himself, in the way his eyes burn as they flicker between Aerys and you. He wants to confront Aerys, to demand answers, to protect you from the twisted madness that has consumed your father. But he knows—just as you do—that there’s nothing he can do. Not without setting the entire court aflame.

Aerys, seeing that his son will not rise to the bait, turns his attention back to you. His smirk softens into something that might have once been affection, but now feels like a cold mockery of it. “My daughter,” he says, his voice softening just enough for the court to sense something wrong, “you look so far away. Is the journey weighing on you, or perhaps something else?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your voice feels trapped in your throat, the words tangled in the weight of what has happened. Instead, you lower your gaze, avoiding the eyes of the court, of Rhaegar, of Aerys himself. You want nothing more than to disappear, to escape the suffocating gaze of your father and the haunted look in your twin’s eyes.

Aerys chuckles to himself, as if your silence is all the answer he needs. He turns back to the Red Keep, his madness gleaming in every step he takes as he strides toward the entrance. “Come,” he calls over his shoulder. “There is much to discuss. The dragons are stirring, and the fire is not yet done with us.”

The court begins to move again, following the king into the Keep, their whispers rising like a swarm of bees. You stay where you are for a moment longer, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on you, before finally dismounting your horse.

Rhaegar is at your side in an instant, his voice low and urgent. “Y/N, what happened?”

You shake your head, unable to meet his gaze. “Not here,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Not now.”

Rhaegar clenches his jaw, frustration and concern mingling in his expression, but he doesn’t push further. He knows you well enough to see that something has changed, that whatever happened in the woods has left a mark on you that won’t easily fade. But he also knows that here, in the heart of the Red Keep, with Aerys watching, there is nothing either of you can say that will make a difference.

And so, as the court files into the Keep, you walk beside your brother in silence, the weight of the past few days hanging heavy between you.

Inside, Aerys’s laughter echoes through the halls, a sound that chills you to the bone.

The night air in the Red Keep is cooler than usual, a slight breeze slipping through the cracks in the stone walls, carrying the faint smell of the sea. Rhaella sits quietly at the edge of her bed, her posture weary and her eyes distant, as if lost in thought. The flickering candlelight casts uneven shadows over her face, deepening the lines of stress and sorrow that have long etched themselves into her features. You stand beside her, helping her handmaidens prepare her for bed, each movement methodical, as though the routine itself might bring some small sense of peace to the both of you.

Her handmaidens work silently, loosening the ties of her gown and brushing her hair with gentle care. You assist where you can, your fingers nimble as you fasten the ties of her nightdress. There’s a heaviness in the room, the kind of weight that clings to every breath, pressing down on your chest. It’s more than just the usual sadness that follows Rhaella. This time, it feels sharper, more personal.

Rhaella looks up at you suddenly, her voice quiet, almost fragile. "My sweet daughter... I never wanted this for you."

You pause, the sound of her voice catching you off guard. You glance at her reflection in the mirror, her eyes filled with a grief that you hadn't fully seen before. You continue brushing her hair, though your mind lingers on her words.

"It won’t be, Mother," you say softly, your tone firm despite the undercurrent of doubt tugging at you. "I won’t let it."

The room feels colder, more oppressive, as if the very walls are listening. Rhaella's eyes shift to the floor, her hands resting limply in her lap. “You don’t understand,” she whispers, barely audible. “I’ve known for a long time.”

Your hands still in her hair, the brush halting mid-stroke. A chill runs down your spine, and you lower the brush, setting it aside. The room seems to narrow in focus, the weight of her words settling heavily between you.

“Knew what, Mother?” Your voice is low, but steady. You’ve always sensed there was more to her silence, more to the way she looked at you after Aerys’s moods turned. But this… this feels like a confession.

Rhaella lifts her gaze, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “He’s… always been like this. Since before you were born. I knew what he was capable of. I hoped… I prayed it wouldn’t fall on you, that you would be spared from it.” She swallows hard, her throat tight with emotion. “But I saw the way he looked at you when you were young. How he doted on you. And I did nothing.”

Her words hit you like a blow to the chest. You take a step back, your mind racing to catch up. She knew. She had known for years, perhaps all your life, and yet she had said nothing. Done nothing. The realization stings in a way you weren’t prepared for, your trust in her, in the safety of her presence, beginning to fray.

“You knew he’d—” You can’t finish the thought, the reality of it too harsh to voice.

“I tried,” she says, her voice cracking. “I tried to protect you, but I was too weak. I’ve always been too weak.”

You stare at her, your heart pounding, your throat dry. The pieces begin to fit together in ways they hadn’t before—the long, silent looks, the way she never interfered when Aerys’s madness would turn toward you. She had known all along, had been watching it happen, and still, she had stayed silent.

You want to be angry. Part of you is. But another part of you feels something far worse: sorrow. For her. For what she’s endured in her own right.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, though the question feels heavy, like it’s been years in the making.

Rhaella’s hands tremble as she grips the edge of the bed. “Because I thought… I thought I could manage him. That if I could survive it, so could you. That maybe, just maybe, he would spare you from the worst of it.” Her breath shudders as she exhales. “But he never stopped.”

Her words hang in the air, suffocating in their rawness. You sit beside her, unsure of what to say. There’s a silence between you, but it’s not empty. It’s filled with years of unspoken truths, of a shared pain that you both have carried in different ways.

“I won’t let him take me,” you say again, but this time, it feels like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as her. The weight of what she has revealed, of what you now know, is almost too much to bear.

Rhaella turns toward you, her hand resting lightly on yours. “I know you’re strong,” she whispers, her voice soft. “Stronger than me. But the fire in him… it consumes everything. And I fear it will take you, too.”

You squeeze her hand gently, but your gaze is still distant, your mind wandering to dark places. You’re no longer sure what the future holds, no longer certain of how to protect yourself from the fire that burns in your father, that burns in your blood.

The silence stretches between you both, filled with the weight of her revelation and the uncertainty of what comes next. The candles flicker, casting shadows that seem to dance along the walls, and for the first time, you truly feel the enormity of what you’re up against.

And what you might yet become.

The heavy doors to Aerys’s chambers creak as they swing shut behind Rhaegar, sealing him in with the man who once commanded kingdoms, and now rules over nothing but ruin and fear. Aerys is sitting at a large table near the far side of the chamber, his silver hair catching the flicker of the flames as he absentmindedly twirls a goblet in his hand. He doesn’t bother to look up when Rhaegar enters, but a low chuckle escapes him, as if he’s been expecting this confrontation all along.

"So, you've come, my brooding son," Aerys says, his voice tinged with amusement. “You’ve been glaring holes into my back ever since we returned.” He doesn’t look at Rhaegar, doesn’t acknowledge the burning fury that sits beneath the surface of his son’s calm demeanor. Instead, he tilts the goblet back and takes a slow sip of wine, savoring the moment. “And here I thought you’d lost your nerve."

Rhaegar stands in the center of the room, his hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. He’s been waiting for this moment ever since they returned to King’s Landing, ever since the ride back when he saw you, his sister, his twin, returned from the woods changed in a way that terrified him. His voice is steady, but there’s an edge of controlled fury in it as he speaks.

“I came for answers, Father,” Rhaegar says, his gaze locked on Aerys. “This can’t go on.”

Aerys finally looks up, his eyes gleaming with something sharp, something mocking. “Answers? From me? How quaint. What answers could I possibly give you, my dear boy, that would satisfy your precious sense of honor?” He leans back in his chair, still twirling the goblet, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “You’ve always been so noble, Rhaegar. So virtuous. It’s tiresome.”

Rhaegar’s jaw tightens, his patience wearing thin. “This is not about me,” he says, his voice firm. “This is about Y/N.”

Aerys’s smirk falters, just for a moment, and something flickers in his eyes—something darker, more dangerous. His grip on the goblet tightens, and he slowly sets it down on the table, the air in the room growing heavier with each passing second.

“Ah, Y/N,” Aerys says, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. “My daughter. Your twin. So precious, isn’t she?”

Rhaegar feels the weight of Aerys’s words, the way his father speaks of you not with affection, but with something twisted, something possessive. His heart pounds in his chest, and for the first time since entering the room, he feels a thread of fear for what comes next. But he pushes it down, refusing to let Aerys see it.

“She is my sister,” Rhaegar says, his voice low, controlled. “And you… you’ve gone too far.”

Aerys’s mood shifts instantly. The amusement that had colored his voice just moments ago vanishes, replaced by something far more volatile. He rises from his chair, slowly, deliberately, his eyes never leaving Rhaegar’s.

“Too far?” Aerys repeats, his voice dripping with venom. “I am the king. I decide what is too far.” His face twists into a sneer, and he takes a step toward Rhaegar, the air between them crackling with tension. “You think you can dictate to me what I can and cannot do? You, with your brooding silences and your pretty songs? You are nothing compared to me.”

Rhaegar stands his ground, though every instinct tells him to step back. “She is your daughter,” he says through gritted teeth, his eyes burning with anger. “And you’ve defiled that bond. You’ve—”

“Enough!” Aerys’s voice thunders through the room, his fury boiling over in an instant. He closes the distance between them with terrifying speed, his face inches from Rhaegar’s. His breath is hot, his eyes wild with the insanity that has been growing for years, and now seems to burn brighter than ever.

“You dare speak to me of bonds, boy?” Aerys spits, his hands shaking with rage. “You, who crowned her as Queen of Love and Beauty in front of the entire realm, as if she were yours to give? You think I didn’t see it, Rhaegar? The way you look at her? She may be your twin, but she belongs to me.” He grabs Rhaegar’s tunic, pulling him closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “She is mine, and there is nothing you can do to change that.”

Rhaegar’s blood runs cold at his father’s words, but he doesn’t flinch. He refuses to let Aerys see the fear rising in his chest, the rage that threatens to consume him. Instead, he speaks, his voice trembling with barely controlled anger. “She is not yours. She never was.”

Aerys’s grip tightens, his eyes gleaming with unhinged fury. “You think you know what power is, Rhaegar? You think you understand what it means to be a dragon?” His voice is laced with sharpness now, his lips curling into a wicked smile. “But you don’t. You never have. You’ve always been too soft, too weak. And now, you’ll see what true power is. The fire burns inside her, and soon, it will burn the whole world.”

Rhaegar’s eyes narrow, his heart pounding in his chest. “You’re mad.”

Aerys releases him, stepping back with a manic laugh that echoes through the chamber. “Mad?” he repeats, his voice rising. “Mad? No, my son. I am the last dragon. And soon, all of Westeros will see it. The fire will rise again, and I will be the one to bring it back. With her by my side.”

Rhaegar’s hands clench into fists at his sides, his entire body trembling with anger. He had come here to confront his father, to demand answers, but now, standing in the face of Aerys’s instability, he realizes just how deep his father’s delusions have gone. There’s no reasoning with him. No calming him.

But he won’t let you be consumed by it.

“You won’t touch her again,” Rhaegar says, his voice low and filled with quiet fury. “I won’t let you.”

Aerys’s laughter dies in his throat, his eyes narrowing as he steps closer once again. “You?” he sneers, his voice filled with contempt. “You think you can stop me?”

Rhaegar holds his gaze, the weight of the moment pressing down on him.

But he won’t back down. Not now. Not when you’re the one at stake.

“I will,” Rhaegar says, his voice steady. “I will protect her. Even if it means protecting her from you.”

You were on your way to your chambers when the unmistakable sound of shouting reached your ears. It started as a distant noise, but the more you walked, the clearer it became—voices raised in anger, the unmistakable clash of something breaking, perhaps glass or furniture. Your heart lurches in your chest, the unsettling feeling of dread creeping up your spine as you realize the sound is coming from the king's chambers.

And then you hear Rhaegar’s voice.

Without thinking, your feet carry you toward the source of the commotion. The hall outside Aerys's chambers is a flurry of panic, servants moving quickly with wide, frightened eyes, whispering to one another in hushed tones. Some look on in horror, while others keep their heads down, too afraid to even glance in the direction of the king’s door. You push past them, the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

"Princess, it's not safe—" one of the servants tries to warn you, but you barely hear him as you push through the entrance, your mind focused on the chaos unfolding before you.

Inside the king’s chambers, the scene is far worse than you could have imagined.

The room is in disarray. A chair lies shattered against the far wall, its pieces scattered across the floor. The bed curtains are torn down, ripped apart in fury. Glass from a broken decanter glitters like stars on the stone floor, and there’s a dark stain where wine has soaked into the rug. But it’s not just the destruction that sends a jolt of fear through you—it’s the sight of your father and brother at the center of it.

Aerys stands near the far end of the room, his face contorted in fury, his hands covered in blood, streaked from where he’s clearly cut himself during his rampage. His hair, wild and tangled, sticks to his face as his chest heaves.

Rhaegar stands a few paces away, his face equally flushed with anger, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He looks like he’s barely holding himself back, his body trembling with the effort it takes to restrain his rage. The anomasity between them crackles in the air, thick and suffocating, as if the entire room could erupt into flames at any moment.

"You’ve gone too far!" Rhaegar’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp and filled with fury. "You’ve disgraced us all!"

Aerys lets out a high, mocking laugh, but it’s tinged with something far more dangerous. "Disgraced? Me? You dare speak of disgrace, boy? I am the king!" His voice is a rasping snarl, filled with venom as he hurls something across the room—a golden goblet that crashes into the wall just inches from Rhaegar’s head.

Rhaegar doesn’t flinch, but the sight of it, the unhinged aggression in Aerys’s every movement, sends a chill down your spine.

Rhaegar takes a step forward, his voice low and filled with barely controlled rage. "You’re not a king anymore," he says through gritted teeth. "You’re a madman."

Aerys's face twists in rage, and before you can stop him, he lunges at Rhaegar, his hands reaching out as if to strike him. But Rhaegar is quicker, stepping back just in time to avoid the blow. The movement sends Aerys off balance, and he stumbles, his bloodied hands catching the edge of a table before he rights himself, breathing heavily, his eyes wild with fury.

Rhaegar turns on his heel without another word, storming out of the room and pushing past you, his expression dark with anger and frustration. His shoulder brushes against yours, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t look back. The door slams behind him, the echo of it ringing through the now-silent room.

Aerys stands alone in the wreckage, his hands trembling as he looks down at the blood smeared across his palms. For a moment, the room is eerily still, and you can see the madness flickering in his eyes, the rage threatening to explode again.

The instinct to leave, to flee from all of this, rises within you. Every fiber of your being tells you to go, to follow Rhaegar and escape before Aerys’s temper turns on you. But something else keeps you rooted in place, a sense of duty, of love tainted by years of pain and suffering. No matter how far he has fallen, Aerys is still your father.

“Father,” you say softly, taking a step toward him, though your heart races with fear.

Aerys doesn’t respond, his eyes still fixed on his bloodied hands, his breathing uneven. He’s shaking now, not just from anger, but from something deeper, something broken inside him. You move closer, reaching out tentatively, your fingers brushing against his arm.

“It’s over now,” you murmur, your voice gentle as you try to bring him back from the edge. “You’re bleeding. Let me help you.”

At your touch, Aerys’s body jerks, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he turns to you, his wild eyes meeting yours with an almost childlike desperation. His chest heaves with uneven breaths, and for a moment, you see the man he once was—lost, confused, clinging to something that no longer exists.

His bloodied hands, trembling, reach for you, his fingers tangling in your hair, smearing crimson across your face. He clings to you as though you’re the only thing keeping him tethered to reality, his grip tight, almost painful.

“You’re all I have left,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “Don’t leave me.”

Despite the way your instincts scream at you to pull away, to escape, you remain still, your heart aching for the man who used to be your father. “I’m here,” you whisper, your voice trembling as his blood stains your skin, your hair. “I won’t leave.”

Aerys leans his head against your shoulder, his grip tightening as if you’re the only solid thing in a world that has long since crumbled around him. His blood smears across your cheek, warm and sticky, but you say nothing, simply holding him as he clings to you, his body shaking with the remnants of his fury.

And in that moment, despite everything—despite the fear, despite the madness—you are his daughter. You are the only thing he has left, and though it terrifies you, you cannot abandon him.

Not yet.

Aerys’s breathing gradually slows, the trembling in his body subsiding as he clings to you, his bloodied hands now steady but still tightly gripping you as if you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. His head rests heavily against your shoulder, his matted silver hair brushing your cheek, and for a moment, the rage and madness that have consumed him seem to fade, leaving behind only a broken man.

But his touch, once erratic, becomes more intimate, his fingers slowly trailing from your hair down to your neck, where they linger for a moment too long. The warmth of his blood is still sticky on your skin, the sensation making your stomach churn, but you remain composed. His fingers brush lightly against the soft skin of your throat, and for a brief, fleeting moment, a chill runs down your spine, as if the very air around you has grown cold.

You can’t help but imagine the weight of a blade there, the sharpness of metal slicing through the delicate skin of your neck, blood pouring freely. The thought lingers, unbidden, like a shadow of something yet to come. You push it away, forcing yourself to stay focused, to remain calm.

“Father,” you murmur softly, your voice a soothing lull in the quiet of the room. “You need to rest.”

Aerys’s grip loosens slightly, but his hand remains at your neck, his thumb absentmindedly brushing the pulse point there as if seeking comfort in the rhythm of your heartbeat. The sensation is unnerving, but you do not flinch. 

The servants finally enter the chamber, their footsteps careful and silent as they move to clean up the wreckage. None of them dare to look directly at you or Aerys, their heads lowered as they step around the broken glass and overturned furniture. The room is a mess of destruction—wine spilled across the floor, splintered wood, and blood smeared on the walls from where Aerys had lashed out in his rage.

You remain still as the servants work, Aerys still clinging to you, his hand now resting on your shoulder, his touch too familiar, too intimate. You can feel something stirring inside you again, that strange, unsettling warmth that rises whenever you are near him, like a flame waiting to be ignited. It’s the same fire you felt in the woods, the same fire that terrifies you.

But now, you use it, channel it to keep your composure.

Aerys’s hand moves from your shoulder, his fingers trailing down your back in slow, deliberate strokes. His touch is no longer frantic, no longer violent, but it is far too intimate for comfort, far too close. You fight the urge to pull away, to distance yourself from him, but you know better. You must keep him calm. You must be the one who controls the situation.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Aerys begins to relax completely, his body sagging against yours as exhaustion overtakes him. His grip on you loosens, and his breathing becomes deeper, more rhythmic. You continue to whisper soothing words to him, your hand gently stroking his hair as you coax him into a peaceful sleep.

His eyes close, and after a few more moments, you are certain he is asleep.

Carefully, you extricate yourself from his grasp, your movements slow and deliberate so as not to wake him. You feel his blood still staining your skin as you rise from the bed, sticky and warm against your face and neck. You glance around the room, the servants still cleaning in silence, their heads bowed, and you make your way toward the door as quietly as possible.

Just as you reach the door, one of the servants finally lifts her gaze, her eyes widening slightly as she takes in the sight of you—your face smeared with Aerys’s blood, your hair tangled and stained red. For a moment, she looks horrified, but she quickly lowers her gaze again.

“I’ll draw a bath for you, Princess,” she says quietly, her voice trembling slightly.

You nod, though you say nothing. The weariness in your bones is overwhelming, the weight of the night pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. You leave the chamber without a word, your footsteps echoing in the quiet corridors as you make your way to your own chambers.

As you walk, the sensation of Aerys’s touch lingers on your skin, and though you’ve done your duty, you can’t shake the feeling that something dark and terrible is creeping ever closer.

[cowboysanddragons23]

Debunking Rhaelya shippers' arguments:

-"Dorne doesn't frown on polygamy.": Dorne is very sexually liberal in many things, but polygamy is not one of them. They are still a class society (ex. Oberyn would never marry Ellaria even though he genuinely loves her, Quentyn Martell was a virgin and Arianne would never marry Daemon Sand.) and polygamy is illegal under the eyes of the Old and New Gods and since Jaehaerys I outlawed it and for a very good reason.

-"Elia and Rhaegar had an agreement about his affair with Lyanna." "Elia would have been ok with Rhaegar going with Lyanna." "Rhaegar took Lyanna as a second wife along with Elia.": Elia would have never agreed to Rhaegar cavorting with Lyanna, because that would be giving her enemies a recently sharpened sword to murder her and her children, as she knows that the cause of the Blackfyre Rebellions was the anti Dornish sentiment towards Myriah Martell and her son Baelor. Also, Maegor was the last Targaryen king who attempted enforced polygamy having a dragon and even he couldn't make the Faith bow. Rhaegar has no dragons to inspire obedience.

-"Rhaegar and Lyanna were in love." "Rhaegar and Lyanna was a love story." "Rhaegar would have been a great king." "Rhaegar would care about Jon." "Rhaegar and Lyanna could have been a great king and queen.": There is no evidence that points out that Rhaegar and Lyanna were in love, aside from the testimony of Barristan Selmy (who was never at the Tower of Joy, thus he doesn't know what truly happened). Rhaegar was Summerhall made flesh; obsession with prophecies, grandiose plans to save the world and willingness to sacrifice women into its altar. He took Lyanna because he wanted to prove that the prophecy that led to his birth was real and that the sacrifices his family made were worth something. Whatever fondness he had for Lyanna, his Third Head of the Dragon always came first. Rhaegar and Lyanna wouldn't have been good parents to Jon, because the former would give up on him from birth because he isn't the Visenya he wanted and the latter would be too young to be a mother (Viserys II and Larra Rogare everyone?). And besides, thousands died for it and the same happened when Duncan Targaryen married Jenny of Oldstones (who are exactly the romantic love story Rhaelya is erroneously interpreted as). Rhaegar is too obsessed with prophecies and Lyanna is utterly disinterested in ladylike pursuits.

[amber-laughs]

Jon and Catelyn: The Accidental Progeny

Survival

Catelyn saw the shadow slip through the open door behind him. There was a low rumble, less than a snarl, the merest whisper of a threat, but he must have heard something, because he started to turn just as the wolf made its leap. They went down together, half sprawled over Catelyn where she'd fallen. The wolf had him under the jaw. The man's shriek lasted less than a second before the beast wrenched back its head, taking out half his throat. A Game of Thrones - Catelyn III

And suddenly the corpse's weight was gone, its fingers ripped from his throat. It was all Jon could do to roll over, retching and shaking. Ghost had it again. He watched as the direwolf buried his teeth in the wight's gut and began to rip and tear.  A Game of Thrones - Jon VII

Reassurance

Her hand groped beneath her cloak, her fingers stiff and fumbling. The dagger was still at her side. She found she had to touch it now and then, to reassure herself. A Game of Thrones - Catelyn IV

He flexed the burned fingers of his sword hand. Longclaw was slung to his saddle, the carved stone wolf's-head pommel and soft leather grip of the great bastard sword within easy reach. A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Family

His mouth tightened. "And you see fit to loose the Kingslayer. You had no right." "I had a mother's right." A Storm of Swords - Catelyn I

“You wanted a way to save your little sister and still hold fast to the honor that means so much to you, to the vows you swore before your wooden god." She pointed with a pale finger. "There he stands, Lord Snow. Arya's deliverance.” A Dance with Dragons - Melisandre I

Vengeance

"Give me Cersei Lannister, Lord Karstark, and you would see how gentle a woman can be," Catelyn replied. A Game of Thrones - Catelyn XI

"It's death and destruction I want to bring down upon House Lannister, not scorn." A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Pain

When Loras Tyrell unhorsed him, many of us became a trifle poorer. Ser Jaime lost a hundred golden dragons, the queen lost an emerald pendant, and I lost my knife. Her Grace got the emerald back, but the winner kept the rest." "Who?" Catelyn demanded, her mouth dry with fear. Her fingers ached with remembered pain. A Clash of Kings - Catelyn IV

Ser Barristan had been the Old Bear's best hope, Jon remembered; if he had fallen, what chance was there that Mormont's letter would be heeded? He curled his hand into a fist. Pain shot through his burned fingers. "What of my sisters?" A Game of Thrones - Jon VIII

Intuition

"Robb." She stopped and held his arm. "I told you once to keep Theon Greyjoy close, and you did not listen. Listen now. Send this man away. I am not saying you must banish him. Find some task that requires a man of courage, some honorable duty, what it is matters not… but do not keep him near you."  A Storm of Swords - Catelyn II

All of a man's crimes were wiped away when he took the black, and all of his allegiances as well, yet he found it hard to think of Janos Slynt as a brother. There is blood between us. This man helped slay my father and did his best to have me killed as well. "Lord Janos." Jon sheathed his sword. "I am giving you command of Greyguard." A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Inheritance

"That is as cruel as it is unfair. Jon is no Theon." "So you pray. Have you considered your sisters? What of their rights? I agree that the north must not be permitted to pass to the Imp, but what of Arya? By law, she comes after Sansa... your own sister, trueborn… " A Storm of Swords - Catelyn V

I had hoped to bestow Winterfell on a northman, you may recall. A son of Eddard Stark. He threw my offer in my face." Stannis Baratheon with a grievance was like a mastiff with a bone; he gnawed it down to splinters. "By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa." A Dance with Dragons - Jon I

Peace

"Wars need not be fought until the last drop of blood." Even she could hear the desperation in her voice. "You would not be the first king to bend the knee, nor even the first Stark." […] Robb's face was cold. "Is that why you freed the Kingslayer? To make a peace with the Lannisters?" "I freed Jaime for Sansa's sake . . . and Arya's, if she still lives. You know that. But if I nurtured some hope of buying peace as well, was that so ill?" A Storm of Swords - Catelyn IV

"If it please m'lord, the lads were wondering. Will it be peace, m'lord? Or blood and iron?" "Peace," Jon Snow replied. "Three days hence, Tormund Giantsbane will lead his people through the Wall. As friends, not foes. Some may even swell our ranks, as brothers. Now back to your duties." A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Fear

In the midst of slaughter, the Lord of the Crossing sat on his carved oaken throne, watching greedily. There was a dagger on the floor a few feet away. Perhaps it had skittered there when the Smalljon knocked the table off its trestles, or perhaps it had fallen from the hand of some dying man. Catelyn crawled toward it. Her limbs were leaden, and the taste of blood was in her mouth. A Storm of Swords - Catelyn VII

Men were screaming. Jon reached for Longclaw, but his fingers had grown stiff and clumsy. Somehow he could not seem to get the sword free of its scabbard. A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

Death

"Make an end," and a hand grabbed her scalp just as she'd done with Jinglebell, and she thought, No, don't, don't cut my hair, Ned loves my hair. Then the steel was at her throat, and its bite was red and cold. A Storm of Swords - Catelyn VII

Pain washed over him. Stick them with the pointy end. When the third dagger took him between the shoulder blades, he gave a grunt and fell face-first into the snow. He never felt the fourth knife. Only the cold… A Dance with Dragons - Jon XIII

Resurrection

“Sometimes she felt as though her heart had turned to stone.” A Game of Thrones - Catelyn VI

“Instead, he blamed Jon Snow and wondered when Jon's heart had turned to stone.” A Feast for Crows - Samwell III