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baelonthebrave · 2 years ago

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'til queendom come, ch. 8

[masterlist] [Ao3] [playlist]

aemond targaryen x targaryen oc

wordcount: 15,870 😮‍💨

ch. 8, fire and blood: “Prince Aemond and I are to march on Harrenhal, take it back from your father.”

She shook her head. She felt so numb. She could not remember the last time she had felt anything that wasn’t agony. “What authority does Prince Aemond have to make such a decision? Where is Aegon?”

warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-typical incest, abusive parent/child relationship, nsfw/18+, rough sex, choking, mentions of canon sexual violence & abuse (including against minors), spoilers for HoTD/F&B

a/n: tags have changed for probably the last time in the story, so double check and stay safe <3 asks, reblogs, likes, replies are like crack to me. I am the mouse hitting the pleasure button until I die. *drops this and runs the fuck away*

The days seemed to blur together as Sena was held in the Tower of the Hand. Once for guests, her room had been converted to a cell with the door barred from the outside and everything that could be fashioned as a weapon ripped out. She knew she should be grateful that they had not just thrown her in a Black Cell and left her to rot. Still, it was somehow equally aggravating to be a dragonrider who bested the King himself but somehow be too gentile to be kept in the cells with the rest of the prisoners of war. She paced the floor and tugged at the ill-fitting cotton gown they’d given her. She had no idea where Rhaenys was, only knew she’d been pulled from the carnage around Meleys’s body, blessedly still living and in good health, and taken back to King’s Landing in chains. Aegon had not been so lucky. Sena had winced when she’d seen her older cousin dragged from the battlefield, burnt and twisted. She’d done that, she had realised, with a sickening twist in her stomach. Groaning and moaning, King Aegon II had been spirited away into a wheelhouse for the ride back to King’s Landing, tended to day and night by maesters.

Sena’s only indication that he still lived was that she hadn’t had her own head struck off.

Months. That was how long she paced that floor, took her meals alone and yelled out through the door to anyone who would listen. The only people who ever came into the room were the servants and Ser Criston. Not Alicent. Not Helaena. Not Aemond.

Sena had laughed when she’d heard Aegon had sacked his grandfather as Hand and replaced him with Cole. Cole was clever and filled with enough spite to carry this war, that she knew, but Ser Otto had engineered all of this from day one, lurking in council meetings and pouring poison into his daughter’s ear. If Aegon wanted to truly win that throne he sat on, Sena would have counselled him to hold faith with his grandfather. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

“You’re going to drive me to insanity,” she snapped at Ser Criston one day. He stood before her with the simple missive he had drafted to keep her up to date on the war, although she suspected it was a heavily edited version as it only ever seemed to bear bad news for her side of things, as though trying to convince her resistance was futile. For example, this newest one stressed that whilst Jace was currently combing Dragonstone for wayward seed of their house who would be capable of mounting dragons, he had been incapable of finding a rider for Silverwing. Sena did not point out that being incapable of finding a rider for one dragon did mean he had successfully found riders for two. Two more to their already vastly more impressive score of riders than that of the Greens. “The maid who brings my meals and draws my baths does not even look at me. How am I supposed to keep a grip on my wits if my own family won’t even speak to me? All I have is you, and you despise me.”

He raised an eyebrow at her. He looked handsome, out of his heavy plate armour and dressed in more simple garb, the pin of his office gleaming on his chest. But his was the sort of treacherous beauty that Sena instinctually mistrusted on sight. It was like one of those carnivorous plants from Sothoryos that Helaena liked to read about, the sort that drew in insects with their pretty colours and then snapped shut around them. Her father had that sort of beauty. She’d seen it in Aemond too, that day on the battlefield, his hair pulled back from his sharp features, his armour gleaming.

“I don’t despise you, my lady,” Cole told her, and the sympathy in his voice made her shudder. “Keeping faith with your father was just about the only honourable thing you could do in your situation.”

Sena could not help the smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth as she thought of how Daemon’s blood had looked on the front of her dress. I did not even do that, she thought grimly.

“I’m sure you understand that the Queen Mother, the Queen and Prince Aemond are all kept busy by their duties,” he said.

“Then why are you here?” She snapped. “That is a clear lie, my Lord Hand. If anyone has no time in the day, it ought to be you. At least tell me how they are.”

“The Prince-“

“I didn’t mean Aemond,” she cut him off. There was no part of her, no piece of her being that was ready to confront the mess the two of them had made for themselves. “Tell me how Helaena is, how Queen Alicent is.”

Cole sighed and looked at her.

“Please, Ser Criston. From one soul who loves them to another. Please tell me.”

“There’s not much to say, my Lady,” he said with a shrug. “The Queen Mother is throwing herself into every small council meeting, every letter coming and going to keep her mind busy. And Queen Helaena- she is not well.”

Sena’s heart was pounding in her ears. “Then let me see her,” she breathed, drawing closer to Cole and taking one of his hands in hers. She would beg if she had to. “Let me do what I can to ease her suffering, Ser Criston. Let me at least hold her.”

To his credit, Ser Criston looked to be genuinely struggling. His throat bobbed, and his brow was furrowed deep. “You know I cannot do that,” he said.

“Why not?”

“The King, the Prince-“

“Fuck them,” she rasped, her throat burning at the thought of Helaena all alone, lost in her grief. “This is about Helaena, Ser Criston. Not Queen Helaena, or Princess Helaena but our Helaena. The girl we have both known and loved since she was a child.”

He sighed, blinking back tears, went to say something then thought better of it. He stiffly pulled his hand from her grasp. “I’m sorry, my Lady. I’ll bring you a book next time I visit, to assuage the boredom.”

Sena threw up her hands in frustration, tears of anger spilling from her eyes as he turned to leave. Well, thank the Gods, a book was bound to solve all her problems, she thought bitterly. But she would not lose her temper at him, would not lose the only human contact she had in the entire keep.

She would have been as well throwing her dinner plate at him, though, as the next visit was so dreadful she wished it had never come. Ser Criston laid a copy of the Seven Pointed Star on her dressing table, then turned to face her. The missive in his hand was crumpled, as though he’d been stressing on how much he ought to tell her, and instead of reading it to her he simply handed this one over.

With one son dead and one daughter in chains, it seemed Daemon and Rhaenyra had finally decided to send the rest of their children to safety. As Prince of Dragonstone, Jace was to stay with the black council and Sena could all but hear Baela refusing to go anywhere without him, but Joffrey and Rhaena had been sent to the Vale of Arryn, ostensibly to lend protection with Joffrey’s Tyraxes. As for her youngest brothers, Aegon and Viserys had been sent East on a ship.

However, the ship had not made it clear of the Gullet before it had been attacked by the Triarchy of Free Cities that Ser Otto had enlisted to the Green cause. Jacaerys had immediately rushed to his brothers’s aid, along with his new dragonriders, Addam of Hull - now Addam Velaryon by royal decree, supposed bastard son of Laenor - and the peasant girl, Nettles. But a third of the Velaryon fleet had been dashed on the Gullet, young Viserys had been taken prisoner and Jace-

Jace.

Sena stopped reading.

She looked up at Ser Criston sharply, her throat going tight. “Ser-“

“I take no pleasure in telling you this,” he said grimly.

“Like fuck you take no pleasure in this,” she spat and knocked the copy of the holy book he had left on her dressing table to the floor. He flinched but did not move to pick it up. What did he- what did any of them know of holiness, piety, virtue?

Jace was dead. Sweet, handsome Jace who should have been a King. His gentle smile, his strength with a sword that always caught her off guard, his piss poor High Valyrian, all gone in the blink of an eye. “Oh Jace,” she breathed, tugging at the neck of her dress in an attempt to get some air. The room seemed stiflingly hot all of a sudden. “Jace.”

With him went Viserys, for all they knew. With him went Vermax and Stormcloud, her brother Aegon’s dragon. With him went a little more of her light and love.

“There’s more,” Ser Criston said.

She clutched at her stomach, feeling nauseous. “More?” She hissed. Her cheeks were damp. “I don’t have many brothers left, Ser,” she moaned.

He shook his head. “Not your brothers,” he said. “Prince Aemond and I are to march on Harrenhal, take it back from your father.”

She shook her head. It was all too much, far too much. She felt so numb. She could not remember the last time she had felt anything that wasn’t agony. “What authority does Prince Aemond have to make such a decision? Where is Aegon?”

“Incapacitated,” he told her grimly. And now she knew why he had not told her that earlier, because the small thrill it sent through her was shameful but emboldening. She had done that. Then the guilt twisted inside of her. He was still her cousin, how could she be so cruel? This war was turning her into a shadow of her former self. With every child lost, every great destiny wiped out, she felt herself becoming a crueler, harder person. But why was Ser Criston telling her now? “Aemond wears the crown, serves as Prince Regent and Protector of the Realm.”

Sena’s heart lurched. Aemond, crowned in Valyrian steel and rubies. Would he truly wear it better than his brother, as he thought he would? Or would his head bow under the weight of it also? “What does it matter to me?” She hissed. “My father is a seasoned battle commander, rides the Blood Wyrm, defends one of the strongest keeps in the realm. What could you hope to accomplish?”

“You will be accompanying the Prince and I to Harrenhal as ransom,” he told her, “so your father might give it up without a fight.”

Oh Gods. Oh no. Hysterical laughter climbed her throat. She was torn between telling him Prince Daemon would not trade a hot meal for her, let alone Harrenhal, and the creeping fear that he would, just so he could have her back at his mercy. And that scared her more than anything else. “I’m not sure I am the ace you think I am, Ser Criston,” she sniffed. Her nose was running and she swiped at her cheeks with her sleeve angrily. “My father and I are not exactly the image of familial harmony.”

He shook his head. “Perhaps not, but it would be shameful,” he said, “not to pay the ransom, not to take that deal. His eldest daughter, hale and healthy, still a maiden, in exchange for a burnt out shell of a castle.”

She could not help the little smirk that teased at the corner of her mouth at the thought. “Come now, Ser Criston,” she said, raising an eyebrow at him. “When has my father ever known shame?”

That was how she got out of that tower cell, though. Shackled at hand and foot and immediately bundled into a wheelhouse in the courtyard before she could catch a glimpse of the Prince Regent, yes, but at least she was past the four walls of that room.

The wheelhouse hit every bump in the Kingsroad and her tailbone suffered for it. Still, no one spoke to her. Not for days, not for the weeks it took to venture North with an entire army trailing behind them. She was left to her thoughts. Her ruminations, her tears, her dark spirals of dread. Jace, Luke, Jaehaerys. The only people she saw all day were the guard who took her to relieve herself in the woods and the cook who served her meals. When she was led away from the column of the army during a rest break to piss, King Aegon’s men leered at her. “Oi! Dragonrider! I’ll give you something to ride,” one man hollered at her, and Sena yanked at the chains around her wrists, desperate to go choke the life from him with the cold steel. But her guard had a firm hold of her and led her on at a shuffle. The men’s laughter echoed in her ears.

Her head whipped around, this way and that, searching for Vhagar in the sky.

The guard - Jarrad, she’d heard his commanding officer call him - dutifully stood with his back to her as she relieved herself. She looked down at her chains, wondered how far she would get if she choked him out now and ran. Not so far in a thin cotton gown, shackled at hand and foot, with few places to run and hide in the scorched Riverlands. Aemond would hunt her down by sunset. “Where is the Hand of the King? Where is the Prince Regent?” She grumbled at the guard. “Shouldn’t one of them be making sure their high-value hostage is being held securely?” She was a Targaryen, she had been a dragonrider and she was the entire conceit of their plan to get Prince Daemon to give up Harrenhal without a fight. It was almost insulting that they were ignoring her like this.

The guard shrugged a little uncomfortably, not looking back at her. “We got told, ma’am, before we marched. The man who lets you escape will watch his wife and children hung, drawn and quartered. The man who molests you will be fed his own cock. The Prince Regent was quite clear, m’lady.”

She shuddered. “That’s one way to inspire loyalty,” she muttered with a grimace as she righted her skirts and bent to wash her hands in a nearby stream. Jarrad turned around and offered her a hand up. She took it gratefully. “You can relax, Ser Jarrad. I won’t run away.” Moons ago, back on Dragonstone, she had thought of it. She should have then. But she had too much unfinished business to run from all of this now.

“‘M not a knight, it’s just Jarrad,” he mumbled. “But thank you.”

She nodded. “Please excuse Prince Aemond. He is a good man underneath it all, I promise,” she said with a grimace.

Jarrad raised an eyebrow in confusion. “We heard you were trying to slice him in half at Rook’s Rest, m’lady,” he said, eyeing her shackles.

Sena pulled a face. “Yes, well… he upset me,” she said. “How far to Harrenhal?” She looked around, trying to spot anything to be used as a landmark. Between Aemond’s army and her father’s, they had made short work of this scarred land. Every field her wheelhouse rolled past was scorched, every town pillaged. It made her sick.

“Head of the column says not far now,” he told her. “Three days, mayhaps.”

Three days. Three days to come up with a plan before there was a bloody battle for Harrenhal. But what plan could she come up with, held prisoner as she was? She looked to the guard. “Do you have a wife, Jarrad? Children?” She asked as he followed her back to the column. She was dragging her feet, she knew, but finally someone was speaking to her and she was desperate not to be left alone again so soon.

“A wife, m’lady. Her name’s Marigold. We live in Fleabottom for now, but we’re saving to get somewhere nicer before we try for a babe,” he told her.

She gave him a soft smile. “Well, see, now I know Marigold’s name, so I definitely won’t run from you,” she said. He returned her smile uncertainly. “I’m going to do my best to get us home safe and end all of this, Jarrad. Then you and Marigold can move out of Fleabottom.”

He nodded, but she could tell he didn’t quite believe her. “Are you married to some Lord, m’lady?” He asked out of politeness.

Something in her gut twisted and she glanced overhead for Vhagar once more. “No,” she said with a sigh. “That wasn’t on the cards for me, Jarrad.”

His nod was stiff but he did show some sympathy at the sadness in her voice. “Don’t despair, m’lady. The Gods have a plan for us all.”

Sena agreed with him now more than she ever would have before. She just wasn’t sure if she wished to know what the Gods had in store for her.

She only grew more uncertain when the monstrous Harrenhal loomed into view and its drawbridge simply fell open at the sight of the approaching army. The men at the head of the column faltered at that and if Sena squinted out of the window, she could see Ser Criston directing his horse this way and that in the confusion, white cloak snapping in the wind behind him.

Then, the sound of Vhagar’s wings in the skies above echoed like a thunderclap, and Prince Aemond at last descended to the scorched fields before Harrenhal. He was so far away she could only tell him apart from the others by his hair.

If Vhagar had happily set herself down on the fields before Harrenhal, open on all sides to attack, slow and sluggish as she was, it could only mean that Caraxes wasn’t here. And neither was her father.

What in the Seven Hells was going on?

After much confusion and distant arguments, the column jolted back into motion and the head of King Aegon’s army trooped into Harrenhal’s walls. The larger part of the army began to set up camp around the keep, but Sena’s wheelhouse was drawn right into the courtyard.

When Jarrad finally freed her from the carriage, she shuffled out in her shackles into the yard. Harrenhal was even larger than she imagined, even more dizzying than when it was viewed from a distance. Her head spun as she looked up to try and see the heights of the twisted towers. The stones had melted when Aegon the Conqueror had descended from the sky on Balerion and burned Harren the Black and his sons in their beds. The ruined towers still smoked, a century and then some later.

When she looked back down to the assembled men before her, she was greeted with the sight of a harried Ser Criston sharply questioning a man in the heraldry of House Strong. “-we had no choice, my Lord Hand. When Caraxes came down from above- it was either surrender or die.”

“Is he truly not here?” Sena asked. They all turned to look at her - except for Aemond, who was resolutely looking anywhere but at her. When the Strong castellan could only shake his head weakly, Sena could not help the mad burst of laughter that bubbled out of her throat. “So you’re all saddled with me for no good reason?”

Prince Aemond’s jaw twitched. “You,” he said sharply to her guard. “See that the prisoner is found a suitable cell and guard the door with your life.”

“His name is Jarrad, Aemond,” she said even as Jarrad started to lead her away by her shackles. “And mine is Sena, if you don’t remember.”

He still did not so much as look at her, only gritted his teeth.

Jarrad only got her halfway across the courtyard before they stopped at the sight of a harried Maester. The middle aged man in a heavy robe and thick chain came rushing down the steps from the keep with a crumpled scroll in hand. “My lord!” He called in a distressed tone. The Maester went to give it to the castellan, but Aemond swept forward and snatched it from his hand before he could.

The Prince’s eye scanned the text, and they all watched with bated breath. What could have possibly happened in the time since they had left King’s Landing? No sooner was Aemond done reading the scroll than he was drawing his sword from his belt and placing the point against the Strong castellan’s thick neck. Gasps and shouts rose around them. “Fucking traitor,” he growled. “You had a choice when Caraxes descended, you just chose wrongly.”

“My Prince!” Ser Criston warned, and strode forward to grab the scroll from Aemond’s hand. He read as quick as he could whilst he attempted to keep Aemond at bay. “Gods be good… King’s Landing has fallen.”

“What?” Sena breathed as outcries broke out around her and Jarrad stiffened.

“The Black Queen’s dragonriders have taken King’s Landing, and Ser Otto Hightower has been executed…” Ser Criston said in disbelief. “Did you know about this, Ser Simon?”

Something hysterical was mounting inside of her. It was a trick, letting Aemond and Ser Criston lead their army back north to Harrenhal and taking King’s Landing out from behind them. Sena pulled at her shackles, still held by Jarrad. Over the din of the questions and exclamations from the assembled lords and knights, Sena spoke loudly. “Is there any mention of Helaena? The children?” She asked with panic in her voice.

“No,” Prince Aemond said, and at last turned his gaze to meet hers. He looked so tired and frustrated, the underside of his eye bruised a deep purple.

Ser Simon Strong used the Prince’s momentary distraction to draw his own sword and knock the Prince’s blade aside. Silence once again fell on the courtyard as the Prince turned his icy gaze back on the old knight.

“Can we calm down, please? And try to ascertain the truth of what has happened, like the honourable men we are?” Ser Criston insisted coolly, but Prince Aemond and Ser Simon were still eyeing each other, swords at the ready.

“We know what has happened. Ser Simon has turned his cloak to my lovely sister and thought we would not notice,” Aemond said, dangerously quiet, and Ser Simon glared at him, holding his blade steady. It would not be a true match of skill - Ser Simon had grown stout and weary with age, whereas even exhausted, Aemond held himself like a viper ready to strike.

“Aemond,” Sena insisted, willing him to calm himself, pulling at her shackles in Jarrad’s grip.

“Jarrad, I believe I gave you an order,” Aemond snapped, never looking away from Ser Simon. “See to it that it is done and she is out of my sight, now.”

“Right away, my Prince,” Jarrad said hurriedly and gave Sena an apologetic look before pulling her along with him.

“No,” Sena hissed, throwing glances back over her shoulder and tugging against her chains even as she was led away by the much larger and stronger man. Gods, Aemond, stop! Before you are truly lost, she longed to beg him, but he was not hearing her, lost in his own grief and anger.

No sooner was she out of the courtyard than she heard raised voices - Ser Simon, Aemond, Ser Criston - and the clash of steel.

At least it was over quickly.

Once Jarrad found her a tower cell, she did not see him again. Aemond seemed dead set on taking every friendly face away from her, and all she had were the maids who came in and out with food, water and fresh clothing. From what she could glean from the whispers of the maids and the guards on her door, Aemond put the rest of House Strong to the sword over the following days in his rage at losing King’s Landing and as punishment for the stain of bastardy their kin had left on the royal House Targaryen. Vhagar ate well.

The fear within Sena that there was no way to stop what was already in motion was starting to rise like a tide.

She stopped eating, finding the food they sent her tasted like ash on her tongue and rolled around like putrid sludge in her uneasy stomach. She had one small window in the room, and confined herself to sitting in the sill throughout the day, her forehead resting against the cool glass, ignoring everyone who came and went. All she could see out the window was a small corner of the courtyard, the comings and goings of servants and soldiers. The occasional crow. Her breath misted on the window pane when she sighed.

“Again?” A woman’s voice - the one who had come to take her empty plate - sounded. Sena had not touched the supper she had been brought - it smelled like rot to her. The woman sighed. “That’s the second night in a row. You’ll get me in trouble, y’know.”

Sena huffed out a small laugh. “Can’t find it in me to care, if I’m honest,” she mumbled, never looked away from the rapidly darkening yard.

“Of course not,” the woman said coolly. “People like you never care when you tread on people like me.”

That got Sena’s attention.

She whipped her head around and caught the gaze of a tall, willowy woman. Beautiful, with long black hair and earthy brown eyes. She wore an uncommonly fine dress for a servant and a shimmering pendant about her throat. Who on earth did Aemond have serving her, that would speak to her in such an unguarded manor, even if it was deserved? “I do not know who you are to tread on,” she said shortly.

“No reason you would, I suppose,” the woman said. She dipped into a curtsey, fanning out the skirts of her dress with impressive grace. “Alys Rivers, m’lady.”

Sena swung her legs off of the windowsill and regarded the woman - Alys - curiously. “Rivers?” She asked. Some highborn bastard, then? Even the mere thought made her throat close up, her mind drifting to Jace and Luke. Dead and gone.

“Yes,” the woman said and gestured around. “This is my family’s keep. Or it was, before your Prince put them to the sword.”

Sena’s stomach twisted uneasily. Every enemy he was making was another person she could not protect him from while she was locked in a cell. “Not my Prince,” she protested weakly. She was locked up, after all.

Alys Rivers raised an eyebrow. “Could have fooled me. He speaks of you, day and night.”

Something lurched in Sena and her temper flared. “And why are you spending your nights with the Prince?” She gritted out, icy and monstrously jealous.

Alys laughed with satisfaction. “Not your Prince, eh? Don’t bother lying to me, girl, I’ve been walking this miserable realm a lot longer than you have,” she said, and Sena flushed with embarrassment at having been tricked so easily. “Don’t worry, I haven’t laid a hand on your Prince, as pretty as he is. I just report back to him about you and see his wine doesn’t run dry. It’s quite the task, right now, with you being insolent and him being rather depressed.”

Sena swallowed hard. “Why would you care if the Prince is depressed? You said it yourself, he put your family to the sword.”

She shrugged and gave Sena a little smirk. “Never said I liked my family, did I? You of all people should understand that, Visenya Targaryen.”

“I love my family,” Sena gritted out, “and I go by Sena.”

Alys Rivers gave her a smile that was all teeth. “You can love someone and not like them, Sena. Though you know that already, don’t you?” Sena chewed her tongue, did not like being read like she was an open book. Alys picked up her cold dinner plate with a sigh. “Be sure and eat everything tomorrow, for the both of us. Wouldn’t want that pretty figure of yours wasting away, would we?” Alys looked her up and down, and the feeling she sent through Sena was strange. Just like she was. Like there was something not quite normal about her, but Sena could not put her finger on it.

It was only when Alys Rivers had left and Sena readied herself for bed that it came to her. How old had she been? She had looked maybe old enough to be Sena’s mother, if a young mother at that, with fine creases around her large eyes and full lips. But she spoke as though she were an old crone and every time Sena had tried to look at an imperfection - a frown line or grey hair - her gaze had slipped off of it like water off a duck’s feathers. An exceedingly bizarre woman who confounded Sena long after she ought to have been asleep.

The next day brought the same dull parade of officers and washer women in the courtyard, but today, Sena’s mind was occupied by the strange woman. It was a serving girl who brought her her breakfast, but Sena forced it down on the off chance that Alys would return and keeping her happy would allow Sena to ask more questions. The fact that she was growing ravenous also helped her choke down the thick porridge.

After she had eaten, her eye caught on a familiar figure standing guard outside her door, through the small barred opening. “Jarrad!” Sena said with a smile in her voice, and the tall man’s head whipped around to meet her gaze.

He nodded uncertainly. “Mornin’, m’lady,” he said. There was an awkward beat of silence. “Are you… alright?”

“Yes!” Sena said, a little too quickly. “I just- I’m glad to see you, is all. I haven’t seen you since our first day here, I was hoping you were alright.”

Jarrad gave her a small smile at that. “I’m alright, m’lady. Just… worried, is all, about this King’s Landing business,” he said, but the shadows under his eyes and the crease between his brows betrayed the fact that worried was perhaps not sufficient.

Sena nodded, a lump forming in her throat. “Have you heard anything? From Marigold?” She asked.

Jarrad shook his head. “Sounds as though it wasn’t too violent, most of the casualties were soldiers and city watchmen,” he said. “There wasn’t much of a fight since King Aegon and his heirs have disappeared on the wind.”

It was the most she’d heard about Jaehaera and Maelor in months. She let out a small sigh of relief. “My closest friend is there, too, Jarrad. If your wife is anything like her, they’ll both be wise enough to keep out of trouble,” she said, trying to sound reassuring.

Jarrad nodded with a sad look on his face. “I’m keeping Marigold in my prayers, m’lady. I just hope the Gods hear me,” he said and gave an exhausted sigh. “I can pray for your friend too, if you wish?”

Sena smiled at him and reached her hand through the bars to lay a gentle touch on his shoulder. “That would be most appreciated, Jarrad,” she said.

“Are you getting paid to talk or stand guard?” Came an icy voice, and Sena stepped back from the door as Jarrad jumped to attention, turning back to his guard post. There was a rattle of keys in the door and Alys Rivers was pushing it open.

“Leave him be,” Sena warned. “It was my fault. His wife is in King’s Landing, I only wished to know if he had heard from her.”

Alys gave her a strange look, like she did not quite know what to make of that, and kicked the door shut behind her. “You do know he does not have the keys to your cell? I’m the only one with them. It’s me you need to sweet talk, if you want to escape.”

Sena glared at her, not caring at all for the implication. “That might be what would go through your head, my lady, but we are not all the same.”

Alys laughed and gave her that same strange look. “You are an odd one, aren’t you?” She said, shaking her head in disbelief. Sena did not know what to say to that, only watched as Alys crossed the room and checked her breakfast plate. “You’ve eaten. Good girl,” she said and quirked an eyebrow at Sena. Sena did not like how Alys looked at her, like she could swallow her whole. “Have you bathed?”

Sena’s eye flitted to the door of the adjoining chamber, where the bathtub was. “No,” she admitted. “The maids filled it last night, but I was-“ What? Busy?

Alys just rolled her pretty brown eyes. “Right then, get in,” she said and pushed open the washroom door.

Sena followed her through to the next room and winced. The water was from last night. Even with the fire the maid had lit in the washroom, it would be stone cold by now. “I do not mean to be a priss but I would rather not get into a bath of cold water,” she muttered as Alys closed the door behind them.

Alys arched an eyebrow. “Blood of Old Valyria, are you? The toughest, most fearsome lot of dragonriding sister-fuckers in the known world? You’re all rather disappointing in person,” She said with a little laugh. “Worry not, Princess.”

“Lady,” Sena corrected, a blush rising in her cheeks.

“And yet you act so like a Princess,” Alys said with a deriding grin. “Take off your clothes, let me worry about the temperature of your bath.”

Sena frowned but awkwardly went to pull at her dress. She was used to getting undressed before servants, of course, but Alys was no servant and had a way of looking at her like she was a meal. Her nerves - and everything else - evaporated from her mind as she watched Alys raise a hand to her pendant necklace and mutter to herself, eyes flitting shut.

The fire before the bath guttered out in an instant, and so did the pillar candles lighting the recesses of the room. Sena’s eyes went wide and she was so shocked it took her an instant to realise there was steam rising from the bath water. “How-“ her words caught in her throat, her nostrils flared.

Alys gave her an easy grin and moved for the fragranced oils on a shelf. “Do not tell me you ride dragons but you don’t believe in a little magic?” She quipped and Sena’s eyes somehow went wider.

“Magic?” She breathed. She had seen strange things in her life, things that no logician or maester could explain. Dragons bending to the will of mere humans and great beasts that stalked the Kingswood, making the very air around them shimmer. She had heard tales of things that lurked beyond the Wall, of Old Valyria, of Asshai-by-the-Shadow. But she had never seen-

“It will go cold again if you keep standing there gawping like that,” Alys said.

“Right,” Sena said dumbly, and shrugged off her shift.

Alys was swirling lavender oil into the water by the time Sena was disrobed and stepping in. The water was so hot it would have made someone else hiss, but it was soothing to Sena’s dragon’s blood. She leaned back in the water and let her curls go damp.

“You are a pretty thing, aren’t you?” Alys remarked, and Sena wasn’t sure whether she should be embarrassed or proud. “The swordplay has made you strong and a little mannish, yes, but you still have lovely breasts, full hips. And your face… yes, I can quite understand why the Prince is so taken with you.”

Sena reached up to cover her breasts and her bottom half, feeling heat rise in her face. “Can we not talk of him, please?” She asked stiffly. “And let us not talk of my breasts either.”

She could practically hear the smirk in Alys’s voice behind her as she started to work a lather into Sena’s hair. Long fingers worked her scalp firmly and Sena could not help the little sound that escaped her. “He’s a sore subject, then? You must be truly angry with him, to be so sensitive to the very mention of him. Either that or… he’s left you a maiden. Is that why you’re so bashful and demure?”

Sena flushed a deeper red, if that was even possible and Alys let out a low laugh. “Or both? Oh, my lady. That is sad,” she said with a malicious humour in her voice.

Sena twisted around to face her, the hot water sloshing against the sides of the metal tub. “Who are you to judge me? It’s not the same for me as it is for you, you know. I carry my family’s name. If I am not a maiden, I am ruined, I bring shame upon my House.”

Alys smirked at her. “Oh yes, things must have been truly difficult for you, Princess. Being raised in a fine castle and doted on by your royal father. Dancing at balls in silk dresses and falling asleep on satin sheets. I’m positively weeping for you.”

“You do not know the first thing about me,” Sena snapped and turned back to face the other way. “I’m not a Princess and my father never doted on me. Quite the opposite, he despises my very existence.” She ground her teeth as Alys resumed washing her hair. “I have spent the last year watching my family slaughter each other in cold blood. Two brothers. My best friend’s son. Countless men-at-arms and smallfolk and we carry on and step over their bodies as if they were nothing, as if they did not have families and hopes and prayers. And there has been nothing I could do to stop any of it - believe me, I tried. I will not pretend I have faced the same trials as you, my lady, but I have faced my own. They have been agony.”

That won her some silence from Alys as the elder woman washed the suds from her hair. The quiet was oppressive and Sena’s words bounced off of the walls around her, echoing in her ears. The heat of the water now felt uncomfortable more than soothing, like the temperature was slowly creeping up and she was being cooked from the inside out. “So… it is true, then?” Alys said, breaking the silence once more to Sena’s distaste. “What Jarrad has been saying about you? You’re the talk of the castle, you know, in the kitchens and the barracks.”

“I do not know what they say,” Sena gritted out. “That’s rather the point of saying it behind my back, is it not?”

“They call you a peacemaker,” Alys said, getting up from her position at the back of the tub and coming around to sit on the side, holding Sena’s eye. Under Alys’s strange, unreadable gaze, it did not even occur to Sena to cover herself. “A conciliator. They’re saying you want an end to the death and destruction as much as any servant or soldier.”

Sena gave her an odd look. It was true, but why did Alys care? “What does that matter to you?”

“Your Prince put my family to the sword,” Alys said. “And whilst I did not care for them, it took away any protection there was for every cook and serving girl and stablehand that has loyally served House Strong. Now, we all serve at the pleasure of the infamously merciful Targaryen Dynasty, whose dragons melted the towers of the very castle we’re standing in. And I’m sure it did not escape you on your journey up here from the capital that there is very little of the Riverlands left to lay claim to. Like I said, people like you never care when you tread on people like me.”

Sena rose from the bath, not caring for the water that sloshed over the side. She stepped out of the water and stood before Alys Rivers, naked as her name day. “It is not a responsibility my kin takes lightly, being sworn to protect and serve the people of this realm. Though we have been doing a piss poor job of it recently, I’ll give you that. I have fought my whole life for peace in my family. Now, I know I do not care who sits on that abominable throne so long as nobody else has to die for it. Not a dragonrider, not a soldier, not a peasant. I want this done, as much as you, and then I want to live out what days remain to me in peace.”

Alys considered her critically, but there was a small smile on her face. “You will not end this war without another drop of blood, Visenya. ‘Tis a beautiful dream, but it is just that, a dream.”

“But if we keep going the way we are, dragon fighting dragon, sister fighting brother, uncle fighting nephew, we will leave nothing but scorched earth and corpses,” Sena bit out. She finally saw this for the opportunity it was. The opportunity to escape this cell and maybe finally put an end to it all.

Alys stood and rounded the bath, passing her a clean sheet to wrap herself in. Sena took it gratefully, a small shiver running up her spine as she covered her skin. “You truly mean it? You wish to end this bloodshed more than you care about black or green, Queen or King? More than you care about your siblings and cousins, even your Prince?”

“I want to end this because I care about them. I do not care for their titles or their power or even whether they can stand the sight of me, so long as they all live. That would be enough,” she breathed, stepping forward to pull one of Alys’s supple hands into hers. “Just… tell me how.”

Alys gripped her hand tightly at that, so tightly it almost hurt, and Sena gave her a confounded look. “Listen carefully, girl, for I will only tell you this once,” she said, and her voice cut as sharp as Valyrian steel. “If you truly want to end this, no more asking others to tell you what to do. Can you honestly say you have done anything in this war besides reel and react? If you wish to lead, if you wish to bring peace, you must act. Show some initiative, girl. Wrestle back some control now or you will be left with no one and nothing to direct you.”

Sena looked down at their joined hands, her scarred and calloused skin in Alys’s smooth, flawless grip. She looked up at the vibrant pendant at Alys’s throat, then met her eyes.

She nodded. “Okay.”

Alys nodded with her and released her grip on Sena’s hands. “Okay,” she said. “What is your first act?”

Realisation hit Sena with the force of an anvil. She knew exactly what she had to do. “I need to speak to Aemond. Alone.”

-----

It wasn’t until Alys pointed it out to her that Sena realised they actually looked quite alike. Dark hair, large eyes, similar height. All it would take was a simple spell - a glamour, Alys called it - and Sena would be indistinguishable from the true Alys Rivers for a short time. Unless she did something to expose herself to an observer.

That was how, some hours later, Sena found herself able to slip out of her cell, past Jarrad who knew her face and walk the corridors of Harrenhal. She and Alys had swapped clothes and Alys would stay in her room and pose as her until Sena returned. Unassailed by all who saw her, she followed Alys’s directions down to the kitchens and without even a second glance at her, a cook was pressing a silver tray into her hands and hissing at her to get it to the Prince before it cooled.

It wasn’t until she was at the door of Aemond’s chambers that she faltered, the tray wobbling dangerously in her hands. It was not a hypothetical anymore. If she could do this, if she could actually talk some sense into him, this could be the beginning of the end. If she could meet his eye, if he had the patience to look at her anymore. She drew a ragged breath. This was like to be one of the most important moments of her life, she realised. The moment where she would be made or unmade. But first, she would need to do her best to glean what information she could from his papers - Alys could only tell her so much. That Prince Daeron was at the head of the Hightower army and Ser Criston Cole was straining to leave Harrenhal and join their forces together. The rest of it she would have to figure out for herself, and decide how she was going to break the pretence and reveal herself.

She held her head high and pushed the door in.

The rooms were cavernous, like the rest of the keep. Aemond had a fire roaring in the hearth, but it did little to assuage the pronounced chill on the air. At the far end was a sitting area with soft cushions that looked untouched, and to one side was an arch that led to a bedchamber. In the centre of the room was his own war table, with maps and markers, a pitcher of wine, pillar candles that dripped wax. Aemond was sat at the table and did not even look up to acknowledge her entrance, so buried was he in a mass of scrolls and letters. He always had been an avid reader, but this was not the sort of reading he enjoyed - his brow was furrowed and he was chewing at his lip. His left hand was rolling something along the length of the table - no, not something, the crown of the Conqueror. Aemond toyed with his brother’s ruby crown as he read, twisting it on its edge, sending crimson glimmers arching over the ceiling, over his face.

How does it rest on your head? She longed to ask him. But she could not break character, not yet. Although, it suddenly occurred to her that she had not the slightest clue how Alys acted around Prince Aemond. Was she as flirtatious as she was with Sena, as wickedly unknowable and sharp? Was she deferent?

He looked up from his letters and gave her an odd look. “Are you going to stand there all night or am I to eat at some point?”

She shook her head free of her stupor, her blood thundering in her ears. “Of course, my Prince,” she said hurriedly and moved to the table to set the tray down.

He watched her with his sharp eye and for a second, she could have sworn he saw right through her. Then he raised a hand and waved it. “Lay the table, then,” he said coolly, his brow furrowing further. “If you have not completely misplaced your wits.”

That made her jaw tick. “You’d do well to be polite to the person who could spit in your food,” she bit back, and she flushed at the obviousness of her mistake. There was no way, no way Alys would speak to him that way-

But Aemond only smirked. “There you are, Alys,” he said and went back to his papers. Relief swept through her. “Fill my goblet as well.”

Did he say please? Had he always been such a brat? She had never noticed it before now. She did as she was told, grabbing the pitcher to fill up his goblet from the other side of the table with wine of the deepest claret. Then, she took her chance to round the table and shuffle some of his papers out of the way so she could lay his meal. She slowed her hand as she scanned the seals - the flaming Hightower of Oldtown, the three-headed dragon of her own family. A peak and sunburst that made something tick deep in her memory of boring morning lessons in Queen Alicent’s solar. It was a Westerman, she knew that much, but why was a vassal lord writing directly to the Prince Regent instead of the Lannisters?

Oh, that was why, she thought as she scanned the letter quickly, setting it aside as slow as she dared. The Westerman - a Reyne, mayhaps, or a Lefford - had taken control of the Lannister forces after the death of Lord Jason Lannister, and they had been… slain on the shores of the God’s Eye by men calling themselves the Winter Wolves. Good Gods. Aemond caught her looking. “Careful, Alys, anyone would think you were scouring for information to sell to the enemy,” he snipped, and he would have seen the way her face drained of colour if he had not immediately bowed his head to his hand and pinched at the bridge of his nose, as if staving off a headache. “Untold loss of life. The smallfolk are calling it the Fishfeed.” He laughed bitterly and reached for his goblet. “It was the God’s Eye that Lady Visenya’s dragon retreated to, after our victory at Rook’s Rest. At least he will eat well out of our losses.”

Sena did not know what to say. She shuffled aside more papers to make room. “She is well… the Lady Visenya, that is,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “Eating again.”

Aemond nodded stiffly. “Some good news, at least,” he said.

It was enough to raise a lump in her throat. She took his dinner plate and leaned across him to put it before her. She caught him giving her an odd look. “What?” She asked, her pulse thrumming.

He narrowed his eye, then shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Carry on.”

Her heart was in her throat as she leaned in to put down his fork and knife. His head turned to her once more, confused by something.

The knife was in his hand and back off the table as soon as she’d laid it down. He brought it down so swiftly and sharply she did not even have time to react, and he skewered the sleeve of her dress to the table. A scream jumped from her throat. “My Prince!” She cried.

He was up and had his hand under her jaw, tugging her face sharply to meet his. The melting of the glamour felt like a trickle of cool water. A cruel smirk spread across his lips as brown eyes gave way to violet. Sena swallowed hard.

“Nice try,” he said, almost a little admiring. “But remember for next time, most bastards cannot afford lavender oil for their baths.”

“You could smell me?” She balked.

He raised an eyebrow and schooled his expression. “You love lavender,” he said, as if it was obvious. “Are you going to tell me why you are here before I have you taken back to your rooms? Maybe clapped in chains for good measure."

She met his good eye defiantly. “What did you expect me to do?” She asked, belligerent, pinned to the table and caught in his grasp. “You won’t speak to me, you won’t even come and make sure I’m still alive, you just send some woman-“

“Whom I trust to know it is in her best interests to be loyal to me and protect you,” he snapped. He shook his head at her in disbelief, thumb trailing along the underside of her jaw. She tried to jerk out of his grasp. “Although it seems I trusted her a little too much, and once again seem to have underestimated your refusal to stay down when you’re beaten.”

She blustered out a laugh, sounding more confident than she felt. “From what I can tell, Aemond, you’re the one who is losing. Not me,” she picked up the letter telling him his casualties from the God’s Eye and held it up.

He did not look at it, holding her gaze with frightening intensity, then ripped the knife free of the table.

She stumbled back. Watched him as he carefully composed himself, an irrepressible undercurrent of rage running just beneath the surface. He sat back down again and fixed his steady glare on the crown on the table. “I have won all my own battles yet I am losing this war,” he admitted. “We lost King’s Landing- I lost King’s Landing. My grandfather is dead and gone. Aegon has vanished. I cannot even speak to my mother. All I have is Cole and we cannot even see eye to eye.”

Something in Sena gave a pang. How she hated seeing him lonely. They were supposed to be there for each other, supposed to stop each other feeling alone in the world. They had promised. Five-and-ten years ago, now, they had made that promise, holding hands in the dark. “You have me,” she breathed and his head whipped around to face her.

“What?”

She drew a steadying breath and leaned on the table next to where he sat, surveying the map. “Tell me what the situation is. Maybe I can help.”

He looked up at her from his seat and his throat bobbed. He dropped his head into his hands and began kneading at his brow. He was so tired there was an uncharacteristic slump in his shoulders. “Why would you help?” He asked bleakly. “It is your family I am trying to destroy.”

She huffed and shook her head. “It is our family, Aemond,” she said sharply. “You - all of you, Aegon, Rhaenyra, my father - are trying to destroy our family. We are one house, the last dragonriders, fire and blood. Do not forget it.” She did not wait for his response before she turned and looked at the map that showed all the realms below the Neck. He had it spread on the table and weighed down with crowned dragons representing his own forces, a cobbled-together mix of Arryn falcons and Velaryon seahorses representing Queen Rhaenyra’s. It made her ache to see it - nobody had ever chiselled two sets of dragon markers. Nobody had anticipated their house turning on itself. “What do we know of what is happening in King’s Landing?”

Aemond let out a long breath. “There is some good news there at least. When all this started, my brother’s council was prudent enough to split the treasury into four and send off three parts for safekeeping. Rhaenyra will be spending the last of what we left to her, by now.”

Sena grimaced at the thought. That would be putting pressure on her indeed. “The smallfolk will be suffering for it. Trade is already disrupted in the Narrow Sea, the Goldroad and the Roseroad cut off, so no trade from the Westerlands or the Reach.”

Aemond nodded. “They’ll be hungry, and what they can get will be taxed viciously by my sister to pay for the war.”

She drew a breath and looked at him. Did her best to steady herself. This was her chance. “This has gone on long enough, Aemond. This family has lost too much. This realm has lost too much.”

He leaned back in his chair, considering her. “And what do you wish me to do about it, Sena?” He sounded more tired than anything else, shrugging his shoulders. “Crawl on my knees to King’s Landing and beg for forgiveness? Pray your father doesn’t have me strung up by my entrails? It’s not going to work, we’re too far gone to turn back now.”

She shook her head. “It is never too late,” she said, and his eye flitted to hers.

He managed to give her a wry smile but shook his head. “You have heart, of that there is no doubt, but I will not see her on the throne, Sena. Nor will I see her bastard go after her. She has taken too much - from me, from all of us. My mother has given up her life, her whole life in service of the crown, the people. She gave the King, my father four heirs. Four pregnancies, four births and that is not even considering how she shouldered the running of the realm or the countless times she endured his rutting. And never once has she been thanked or loved or honoured for it. Only disrespected, treated like a brood mare, brushed aside and forgotten.”

Sena frowned, wrapping her arms around herself. “I do not expect you to forget that, Aemond. I do not expect you to forget any of it. I only wish for you to admit this has gone too far. That no throne or crown or title is worth this.”

He suddenly looked as though he was far away from her, in some deep dark place, and he swallowed hard. “Do you know what happened to Maelor?” He asked.

Maelor? A cold fear gripped her. All she knew was what Jarrad had told her - that the King and his heirs had vanished from King’s Landing the night of the Queen’s invasion. She knew not what had befallen Helaena’s infant son. She did not wish to know, if Aemond’s expression was any indication.

“He was spirited away by a member of the Kingsguard, the night King’s Landing fell, to be taken to Oldtown and my brother. They only got as far as Bitterbridge before the smallfolk caught on, realised they were not who they said they were. They found Maelor’s egg in Ser Rickard’s pack, realised they had a dragon prince on their hands that was worth more than all their pitiful fortunes combined. The fight that broke out, they-“ His words caught in his throat and he cleared it harshly. Sena felt sick. “Some say they tore him limb from limb, Sena. So they might each claim a part of the Black Queen’s price on his head.”

“Gods,” she said. A wave of nausea rolled through her. He had just been a little baby. This vile, vile war, the fact that their own shortsightedness and vengefulness had done this to them, led them to do this to each other. “Helaena,” she breathed, and Aemond swallowed hard, brushing angrily at the tears on his cheek. “Does she know?”

Aemond shrugged weakly, looking defeated. “I do not know. I fear my half-sister would delight in telling her.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose, felt a twinge of pain where it had healed a little crooked. Closed her eyes as she willed the roiling in her stomach, the thudding of her heart to calm. There was a clammy sweat on her skin and she just wanted to cry. “We need to get to her, Aemond. If we can do nothing else, we need to get her back. We need to take care of her.”

“How?” He asked, sounding defeated. “Helaena, my mother, they’re being held in chains. I do not know what to do.” He sounded so small, so beaten down, and it was breaking Sena’s heart.

Sena stood and rounded the table, planting her hands and surveying the map in an attempt to occupy her mind, stop the dark, yawning pit in her heart from consuming her. “We need to force Rhaenyra’s hand,” she said quietly. “We need to make her come to the table, talk peace. Right now, she has King’s Landing, but that is all she has in the South. You still control nearly everything North of the Dornish Marches and South of the Eyrie and the Neck. If we can make her position untenable…“

Aemond was watching her with his reddened eye and drew a deep, ragged breath. He pushed himself up from his seat and came to the edge of the table. He picked up a crowned dragon marker from the Westerlands and rolled it in his hands. “You truly believe there is a way for us? We can end this, stop the bloodshed?”

She looked up and met his gaze steadily. How could he simultaneously look so young and so weathered? So terrified and so exhausted? “I will end this war,” she told him, with every shred of certainty she could muster. “We will save this family, save this kingdom or die in the attempt. That is the only acceptable path left to us, Aemond.”

He studied her for a moment, then looked back down to the figure of the dragon wearing a crown in his hand. He nodded once, then reached up with his other hand and snapped the crown off in one clean motion. Sena was taken aback for a moment, then watched him reach for the next marker, doing the same. Then the next, then the next. She took one up from in front of her and bent it with her hands, feeling the wood splintering under her grip.

The dragon markers went back to their previous places, now without their crowns, and Aemond nodded to himself. Convinced he was doing the right thing, at long last. “No more sides,” she said to him. “No more colours, no more division. Just us. One family. One realm.”

“Show me,” he said, watching her with his piercing, clever eye. “Show me how we end this.”

Sena took a deep breath then looked down at the map before her, a sudden surge of something unnameable in her stomach. Courage? Fear? Love?

Whatever it was, it was time to get to work.

She had been thinking about this for weeks but now was the time to finally put it into motion. “We need to lay siege to King’s Landing. Block every road in and out, cut them off at sea. Choke Rhaenyra until she has no choice but to meet us under a peace banner.”

His eye flitted between the map and her, and he reached across the table to take her hand, pointing out to her the positions of two of his armies. Lightning sparked through her where their skin met, but she did not let it show on her face. “We have the roads, for now. If I direct Ser Criston Cole and my brother Daeron to march and siege the city…” he looked to the sea and grimaced. “There must be a way to broker another deal with the Triarchy, cut off the Velaryon fleet at sea. But we are low on funds, low on anything they would want. It will not be a pleasant negotiation-”

“No. Not the Triarchy,” Sena said, shaking her head vehemently. “Your alliance with them is at an end. It will be hard enough to get Rhaenyra to treat with us as it is. We cannot sue for peace with a foreign power backing us and being seen to have a say in the outcome. They shot down Jace and Gods only know what has become of Viserys. Your sister will not listen to a word we have to say with them at our backs. We need another fleet.”

He considered her words and conceded with a nod. “You have a point,” he said. “But that does not solve the problem. What fleet do we block off Blackwater Bay with if not the Triarchy’s? It will take months to sail ships from Oldtown or the Arbor, and I doubt Dorne would take too kindly to seeing a fleet of war galleys in their waters.”

The question was making Sena’s head ache. What other options did they have besides the Hightowers and Redwynes? But he was right - it would take time they simply did not have to muster a fleet from the Reach that could rival the Velaryons and even then, they would be putting blind faith in the Gods that their southern neighbours would let them pass by unmolested. She scanned the map. Her eyes fell on the eastern coast. “The Arryns.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow at her. “They are sworn to Rhaenyra, Sena. Her lady mother was an Arryn-“

“I know, I advised Jace on brokering the deal,” Sena ground out. How wrong it felt, to be undoing her lost brother’s good work. Some part of her said that Jace would understand, though, if he was still here. “But if there is one thing our ancestors have shown us about the Vale of Arryn, it is that the impregnable Eyrie is vulnerable to dragons.”

Aemond looked a little bewildered. “We cannot just land a dragon on the Eyrie and demand they switch banners, Sena.”

She sighed. “No, we cannot, but my sister is ward to Lady Jeyne Arryn. Rhaena is a good girl, a gentle girl, she has always loved me like I was her true sister. She will hear what I have to say. And if a deal had the support of House Arryn’s most powerful bannermen-“

Aemond shot her a look. “You mean-“

“Yes,” she said with a nod and the certainty she felt in her was as strong as castle-forged steel. This was how they would accomplish this. She ran her hand over the place on the map where Runestone was nestled. “It is high time I raised my claim to what is mine by rights.” When she looked up, Aemond was smirking at her, brimming with pride. Her cheeks coloured and looked back to the map, desperate to move things along. “A city the size of King’s Landing could withhold siege for untold time, Aemond. They need to fall from the inside, too.”

Aemond nodded and considered her words, trailing his fingers over the soft blue colouring of Blackwater Bay. In real life, it was a far moodier navy-grey. “My mother,” he said finally. “She’s a pious woman, she has friends in the faith that I reckon she would still be able to reach, even in chains, if they are letting her see a Septon. And if anyone could turn the smallfolk into a mob, it would be the Faith. If we can somehow sneak in a message to her…”

“What about Vhagar’s cavern?” She suggested. “It opens onto the cliffs. If we can get a man in that is familiar with the city and the Red Keep, we could reach her that way.”

He nodded vigorously. “Good. Good thinking.”

They both looked down at the map, moving their markers into place, surrounding King’s Landing fully from all sides. A lump was forming in Sena’s throat. The city was already tense, the smallfolk already being taxed to starvation. “This plan would be like throwing a torch in a hayloft,” she said, fear flooding through her.

Aemond considered the map, considered the armies that spilled out in every direction. Every orphan and widow they would make if they did not end this quickly. “What choice do we have?” He asked.

“Their dragons still outnumber yours,” she pointed out. “If this comes to a battle, you are outnumbered, two to one.”

“Daeron’s Tessarion has grown into a fine beast, and Vhagar is worth half their dragons put together,” he insisted. “And you forget about your own dragon. We have Vermithor now, once we travel to the God’s Eye. I have received reports that Silverwing has been brought to the capital for Princess Rhaenys to claim, but the she-dragon will not fly against Vermithor. They are mated for life.”

Sena repressed a grimace at the thought of the unruly dragon who had no love for her. She missed Grey Ghost everyday. But she had no choice and he was right, Vermithor would go a long way to evening the score, even if it was just to lay more pressure on Rhaenyra to negotiate.

Then, she thought of a person she had vehemently not been thinking about up until now. “What about my father?” She breathed, cold dread trickling through her. “Rhaenyra can be reasoned with. She loves her sons above all else. But my father… he will be unreasonable to the end.”

Aemond gritted his teeth at the thought. “Let me deal with your father,” he said, looking for all the world like he longed to reach out across the table and touch her. “We just have to get them to the table, first of all.”

“And then, all we have to do is get the most unreasonable and obstinate family in the known world to agree with each other?” She asked, taking up the dragon marker and running her finger over the broken crown with a humourless laugh.

He reached across the table and grabbed it out of her hand, their skin grazing for the barest of seconds. “Be careful, you’ll give yourself a splinter.”

Sena could not help the laugh that bubbled out of her throat. Aemond looked up at her sharply as if he’d been slapped. “Sorry, I just-“ she shook her head. Laughed some more. “After all that’s happened… Luke, Grey Ghost, Rook’s Rest, you’re concerned about me getting a splinter?” She held his eye steadily.

He looked away from her, his shoulders bunching up around his ears. “If I could take it back-“

Sena shook her head, morose. “That’s not how anything works,” she said and reached for the pitcher of wine on the side of the table, the one Alys said she was working overtime keeping filled for him right now. Right enough, it was half empty. He was struggling and she was making him feel worse right now.

No, he would not get her sympathy. So much of what had happened, of what was still happening, he could partly blame on his own pride, his inability to mind his temper or bite his tongue. And maybe that was a luxury of his station in life, maybe that was just one of the privileges of being a man, being a prince. But if he wanted to be at her side and help her end this, he had to learn control, learn remorse. She poured herself a generous glass and drank heavily, rolling the full-bodied wine over her tongue and savouring the bitter taste. “Are you going to apologise to me?”

“How do I apologise for something I did not mean to happen?” He asked quietly.

Was he determined to get on her very last nerve right now? “By saying you’re fucking sorry,” she snapped, slamming her goblet down on the table. A spatter of wine coloured the map and he looked up at her, shocked. Had she ever been the one to lose her temper first between them? She could not recall. “Now, Aemond. I will have your apology. My honour demands it. Either that or your head.”

He watched her with a flicker of something dangerous in his remaining eye. “Done playing the good girl, are you?” His voice was controlled - pure, cold control - and it only made the fiery rage inside her burn hotter.

“It wasn’t an act,” she bit out. She took another heavy swig of wine and wiped at her mouth. “It wasn’t an act. I love you. I love all of you. And you’re all ruining me. You’re making me into an angry, vengeful woman.”

The Prince only smirked at her and it stoked her rage. “Let the fire burn, love,” he said, something dark in his voice, a heat in his eye. “Part of me always wanted to drag you down to my level.”

“Say you’re sorry,” she demanded. “Say you’re sorry for shackling me hand and foot. Say you’re sorry for every bruise and broken bone. Say you’re sorry for Grey Ghost, for Luke.”

“Say you’re sorry for Jaehaerys,” he countered coolly, “for Maelor.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Aemond, I put a knife through my father’s neck when I learned about Jaehaerys,” she growled. “Do not play this game with me.”

That revelation made him come alive. His chest swelled, his eye went dark. He smirked. “Of course you did,” he breathed. “You are Visenya. My Sena.”

“Your Sena?” She said and her insides were on fire. What right did he have to claim her when all he had ever done was hurt her, cast her aside and place her dead last in his priorities? “Fucking make me yours, you coward.”

She did not know where the words came from. She did not even have time to draw breath before he was round the table and at her side, taking her hips in his hands and pushing her up onto the polished oak. Her blood roared in her ears and a guttural moan broke free of her throat as he fell upon her lips. Biting, licking, bruising. It was hot and wet and desperate, and his hands tangled into her curls, pulling her head back for him. Her hair strained at the roots. The pain was sweet. The pain was like fire.

Her hands flew up to tangle in his hair but he caught her before she could even lay hands on him. He pulled her arms sharply behind her back, held them there with one hand, and used his other to tug her head back by the hair at a sharp angle. “Say it again,” he hissed. His eye was malevolent. “I’m warning you. You have tested my honour too many times. Say it again and I’ll do it.”

The very air in her lungs was molten. She gasped in a breath, her lungs struggling for room as he bore down on her, her arms screaming in protest behind her back. She could break his hold on her if she really wanted to - he was wiry for a man and she was strong for a woman - but there was a current of heat running through her at the way he bowed her to his will. They were already agreeing to betray both their families, the people who had raised them, making a pact writ blood. Everything they had done in the last months - they were without honour, without virtue. That ship had long set sail. What was one final sin to add to her list? The very sin she had burned for, for years. And instead of hatred and despair, it would be committed with heat and desire. With love. It was only right that this final betrayal should be sealed with the blood of her maidenhead. “I won’t beg,” she bit out, her voice trembling. They were nose to nose, brow to brow. He had a beautiful nose. Strong, large, sharp.

He barked a malevolent laugh. “I’ll make you beg.”

Even with her throat bared, her head pulled back, she met his eye steadily. “Would you just shut up and fuck me?”

He gritted his teeth. His iris was swallowed up by the black of his pupil and she could feel a growing hardness pressed against her belly. “As my lady wishes.”

His hand still held hers tightly behind her back, the callouses where he gripped his sword dragging on her skin exquisitely. His other hand left their grip on the roots of her hair to tangle into the laces at the back of Alys’s dress. It was not as fine a dress as her own back on Dragonstone, though, and the eyelets caught on their laces. Aemond’s expression twisted with annoyance and he wrenched the lacing loose.

Sena felt the sharp tug, heard the ripping and pushed back against him. “Aemond,” she snapped, “this isn’t mine.”

He grinned maliciously and pressed his nose into the hollow under her jaw, pressing against her pulse, kissing against the place where she had struck her father with the letter opener. “Only allowed to rip your dresses, am I?” He asked with dry, dry humour in his voice.

She drew in a ragged breath. “Yes,” she gritted out, burning with shame at how needy she sounded. “Only mine. I’ll cut you open from your throat to your balls if I ever hear of you touching another.”

He grinned against her neck and bit her skin sharply, making her hiss. “Only you, my lady,” he hissed, and yanked her dress down, baring her breasts. He licked his lips and sighed shakily, raising a rough, calloused hand to pinch at one nipple, then the other. Sena whined low in her throat, and he dipped his head to latch on. She watched him suckling at her with desperation, watched him switch to her other breast and tweak at the tender, wet nipple with his teeth and tongue. She threw her head back in a moan.

Bent at an awkward angle, Aemond raised his eye to her and watched her sigh in pleasure at his ministrations. He came off of her breast with a wet pop and brought his spare hand up against one flushed, tender nipple in a hard slap. It stung and Sena moaned. “Aemond,” she hissed. “Fuck, please.”

His smirk was so infuriating it set a fire beneath her skin. He drew closer, pressed them together, her thighs parted for him. Chest to chest. He pulled her hips to the edge of the table and ground himself into her, and Gods, she could feel every last inch of him, straining through his breeches. Her bare, sensitive nipples grazed on the silver fastenings of his doublet and it sent a flood of heat through her. “Such a good lady, so obedient and demure for twenty-one long years, just to turn into a wanton whore at the end of it all. All for me.”

“I’m everything for you,” she breathed, hot against his lips. They were eye to eye, her throat bared to him at the most vulnerable of angles. Her shoulders were aching from the way he strained her arms behind her and his other hand was thrust up the skirts of her dress, shoving aside her undergarments and grazing a callous against the height of her pubic bone. “For you, I’m a lady, a whore, preacher, warrior. Fighting for forgiveness you do not even desire. Whatever you want. Whatever you need. I was made for you, Aemond.”

That sealed the deal.

He let go of his grip on her so he could grapple with the front of his breeches and Sena brought her aching arms up to help him. Laces, laces, why so many fucking laces? There was a growing wet spot on the front of his breeches and it was making her mouth water. At long last, together they parted the fabric covering his manhood, and Sena winced, biting her lip. She took his thick length in hand, thumb grazing the weeping head. “Gods be good,” she breathed, trying to calm the small surge of fear at the sight of it.

Aemond smirked, proud, and watched her hand on his cock with avid interest. When she brushed a spot just under the flushed head, his eyelid flickered. “You do know how to flatter a man, don’t you, sweet girl?” He brushed her hair from her neck as she palmed at his cock, her cheeks burning. “It might hurt a little. Just for your first time.”

She drew a bracing breath. Wondered what it said about her that the idea of the pain was even more thrilling. She withdrew her hand from his cock, savouring the low grunt of protest in his throat. She spat into her palm and brought her hand back to him, grazing her fingers over that spot just as she reached the head. Just to watch his eyelid flutter. “Mightn’t be so sore,” she murmured. He slipped a hand between their bodies and used two fingers to stroke her entrance, spread her wetness. He gave her a pleased smile when he found her practically dripping. “I’ve spent so many nights fucking myself with my fingers, thinking of you, imagining it was you,” she sighed as his fingers caught on the rim of her hole. He groaned, his eye fluttering shut. With her spare, trembling hand, she reached up and unbound his hair, pulling his eyepatch from his beautiful face. The sapphire in his left socket glimmered at her and she brushed along the underside of his eye, the jagged line of his scar. “I want the real thing now, Aemond. Do not hold back,” she breathed.

“Fuck,” he choked. Even when his eyes slipped closed in pleasure, his damaged left eyelid let out a sliver of deep blue. He was bent so close to her that his beautiful hair fell like a curtain around them, and for a second, Sena could believe that the world only went as far as them. The table unrelenting against her arse, her own throbbing cunt, Aemond’s weeping cock. That was as far as it went. That was all there was.

Suddenly, he was in motion, pushing up her skirts, pulling down her undergarments and grabbing at her fleshy thighs. He pulled her forward so she was positioned at the edge of the table, at the head of his manhood. He took her hands in his, positioned them on his shoulders. Then he took hold of his cock and stopped for a second, eyeing her for any sign of hesitancy. “Last chance,” he warned her. “We can stop if that is what you desire.”

She pulled him down to her and kissed him. “Do not stop. Please, Aemond. Please.”

She let out a sharp cry when his cock pierced her core.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, gripping her jaw firmly in his large hands. He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, held her gaze unshakeably, held her body steady. She knew he wasn’t just apologising for the pain of piercing her. Knew he was apologising for all of it, every last bit of pain he had caused her. Knew this was the best he could do. “I’m sorry.”

Every inch of her was alive, hot and white and bursting with agony. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Aemond,” she whimpered. “It’s- it’s too much-“

“You can take it,” he whispered. He was seated in her fully now. She could feel his balls brushing against the lips of her cunt. His own pale hair at the base of his cock against her black, coarse curls. The drag of their skin together burned with sweet friction. “You can, Sena. You can do it. You can do fucking anything, my girl.”

They were trembling together as they looked down at where their bodies joined. He groaned when he saw her skirts were in the way and pulled the ruined dress up over her head, leaving her as bare as the day she entered into the world. Now he could see, could see where he had parted and entered her. Her maiden’s blood mingled with her slick and his precum on the base of his cock. He dragged her hands up to his neck and held her trembling form steady. “Beautiful,” he groaned. “Look at us. I told you we’d be beautiful, didn’t I? As one? You impaled on me- Gods, Sena-“

“I’m ready,” she whined. She grabbed his hands in hers, caught them up, twined their fingers together. With a measured breath, she leaned back a little. The new angle set her on fire. She could feel the swollen head of his cock dragging on some dark and secret place inside of her. “Make me yours.”

His hands left hers so he could swipe away the wooden markers in her way, holding her lower back and easing her down to the table. Her shoulders and arse rested against the polished wood, but her lower back and hips curved upwards and met his in an unholy arc. Unholy, good Gods, if only his mother could see them now- “You were always mine, Sena. I was always yours,” he mumbled and she could see the thinnest of threads his restraint was dangling by.

She was in disbelief that it had taken them so long to realise it, such a simple, unassailable truth. She shifted back onto him, wanting to take every part of him and even the minute movement had pleasure spasming through her lower belly. “Well, seal the deal then, beautiful boy. My Prince."

That was all the encouragement he needed. His hips snapped into hers with a lurch that made every muscle in Sena’s core seize, and there was a deep stabbing sensation in her as the head of his cock seemed to push against the very limit of her insides. He groaned and leaned down onto her, covering every inch of her with himself. One hand found her left nipple, tugging and tweaking. The other found the base of her skull, forcing her up into a savage kiss that had her lips singing and swollen. His hips pumped into hers, setting up a punishing pace. Sena brought her hands up to his scalp, knotted them into his hair and pulled. Her body jolted, her breasts bounced, the table creaked in protest. Every inch of her sung.

“Aemond,” she moaned, legs wrapped like a vice around his waist, her wetness running down her arse and the front of his breeches, urging him deeper and harder. He brought his hands down under her arse and pulled her up to meet him, changing the angle in a way that had sharp cries spilling from her lips. He was watching her moan and cry, a malicious, hungry look in his eye, hips slapping into hers, squeezing and kneading at her arse cheeks. He leaned back from her so he could bring one hand between them and a calloused thumb started rubbing relentlessly at her pleasure. The thickened, scarred skin that wielded swords and commanded dragons was building a wave of pressure in her as easily as he might finger out a note on a lyre. He was playing her like an instrument.

The snap of his hips was growing more frenzied, more urgent, and it was driving her wild. “Yes, yes,” he moaned, “take it, Sena. Take me."

“Gods-“ she gasped, as the wave built.

“Name them,” he hissed. The relentless force of his hips was pushing her up the table, but he grabbed her by her hip creases and pulled her flush back against him, drawing a low moan from her. He was trembling. They would not last long. His hand flew up to fasten around her throat, choking, burning. It was too much, her every sense was screaming, it was way too much and it felt fucking divine. “Balerion, Vhagar, Meraxes, Syrax… Maiden, Mother, Stranger-“

“You,” she moaned. She gripped the hand that covered her throat, holding it tighter around the airway that fed her very life. “Aemond.”

Her body threw her into fits of pleasure.

Spasms, tides, relentless waves.

He moaned, let out a sharp grunt as her cunt tightened around him. He was shaking, his eyelids fluttering, and all of a sudden his hips stilled against hers. “Sena,” he groaned and his balls went tight against her cunt, her arse. His cock pulsed deep inside of her.

She pulled him down on top of her and took every inch, every part of him. Thick, hot liquid coated her insides in ropes of syrup, ropes of nectar. Her throat burned to taste it. Soon, soon, she would taste him, taste his seed. “Fuck-“ she moaned, “Aemond.”

His grip squeezed around her throat as his hips continued to spasm, and she choked. The sounds of her gasping for breath alarmed him and he drew back. His head dipped to her collar bone. He licked at the sweat pooling there. “My lady,” he whispered into the hollow of her throat, his hair falling around him. “Are you okay?”

She gasped in a breath and drew his gaze up to meet hers with a finger under his chin. “I’m better than okay,” she said in a whisper. “I’m in bliss.”

He moaned against her throat and the vibrations went straight to her swollen, abused pleasure. “My beautiful, beautiful lady-“ his cock was softening inside of her, but she never wished him to leave her. She wrapped her legs around the backs of his thighs and held him against her. She could feel the coarse hair coating his thighs and his crotch against the most private parts of her body. The rub and the burn was exquisite.

With a grunt, he leaned back and pulled her up from the table. Wooden markers scattered on the floor, maps torn and creased, his cock still buried to the hilt inside of her. She squeezed her thighs around his slender waist and moaned wantonly as his swollen head dragged inside her. Balancing her on his hips, he carried her through to his bed, and laid her down on the softer surface. She winced at the loss of him, but he kneeled down at the edge of the bed and brushed aside the curls that were stuck to her forehead with sweat. She could feel his seed spilling out of her between her thighs, mourned the fact that she could not hold on to every last drop.

An hour ago, she might have felt horror at the idea of going to Alys or the maester and asking for moon tea. An hour ago, that might have made her so ashamed she could combust. But every last second of Aemond inside her, losing himself in her had been so worth it, she’d let the whole fucking castle watch if he’d just do it again.

Now she knew. Now she knew why married lords and ladies guarded that act with their honour, their lives. Why they had to make it so dirty and wrong and shameful. Because if unmarried maidens knew such pleasure… they would be unstoppable. They would know their true power, know what they could give, know what they could take. Know they could turn lords and princes and kings into desperate, wild animals.

Aemond got up from the side of the bed, his legs shaking a little, she noticed with satisfaction. He grabbed a clean cloth, dunking it in the basin of fresh water and came back to the bed. “Open your legs for me,” he said softly, knuckles of his spare hand brushing the underside of her jaw.

She parted her legs and felt the ache in her hips, the stretch of her hole, and she winced.

“Shhh,” he soothed her and gently wiped at the stickiness between her legs. “You took me so well, sweet girl. Let me take care of you, now.” The washcloth was soft against her intimate skin and he pressed a kiss to her hair. “It won’t hurt so bad the next time, I promise.”

The next time. Her entire body was exhausted but the thought managed to raise a small flush inside her. “What if I liked how it hurt?”

His eye flickered to hers, his gaze catching on where he had gripped her neck. She reached her hand up to feel the ghost of his hand on her. “I lost control,” he said quietly. “I- You spend your whole life wanting something, and when you finally get it- I should have been gentler with you.”

“No,” she hissed, sitting up and pulling him down to sit next to her. “I made you grab me harder. I liked it, Aemond.”

“I should have asked.”

“I will tell you if you do something I do not like, my sweet boy. Do not fear,” she said and pressed a kiss to his brow. He bowed his head against hers and sighed. “And I want to know what you like.”

“I like-“ he stopped, struggling for words, and there was an enchanting blush rising in his cheeks. Was he… embarrassed? “I think I would normally be gentle, tender. It’s a form of worship, isn’t it, really? Honouring something so perfect?” She flushed a deep red at the flattery as he brushed his thumb along the underside of her breast. He looked so genuinely admiring of her body it made her blood sing. “But if I’m frustrated or angry or jealous, I’m going to want to… manhandle you.”

“I’m not fragile,” she said, skimming her thumb over his lower lip. He dipped his head to press a kiss to her palm. “And that was exhilarating. I can see myself enjoying slow and tender, or sitting on top of you and taking my own pleasure. But I loved that. The pain and the pleasure, it was exquisite. You did so well, my sweet boy. You made me feel so good.”

His breath stuttered at that, and his eye was dark. She looked down at the open front of his breeches, the fabric stained with the evidence of their exploits and watched in wonder as his soft cock gave a valiant twitch. She smiled. She would have to remember that for next time, that praising him got such a reaction from him.

He looked down at his own cock and laughed, shaking his head as he leaned back to clean himself with the cloth and then fasten his breeches again. “How come you are naked as your name day and I am still in full court dress?” He grinned, pushing himself up off of the bed and pulling back the sheet from under her so she could get comfy.

“I quite liked that too,” she said with a cheeky smile. “But next time, I want to see all of you.”

He smiled and leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. “As you wish, my lady,” he said. “I’ll come to bed soon and we’ll get you moon tea in the morning. I’m just going to stoke the fire and write to Daeron. We’ve got a war to end, after all.”

She gave a shocked little laugh. “Don’t tell me that was what you were thinking about when you were inside me? Writing to your brother?”

His answering grin was beautiful and boyish, his sapphire eye twinkling at her mischievously. “No, sweetheart, I was thinking about how I could die quite happily right now with you on my cock.”

She knew it was only a jest, but her heart seized in her chest and her hand flew out and grabbed him, stopping him from walking away. “Don’t ever leave me,” she breathed. “Don’t ever, ever make me carry on without you.“

“Oh Sena,” he breathed and sat back down beside her. He pulled her close and dipped his head so he could kiss her tender throat. “You are mine,” he murmured, his voice rumbling against her vocal cords. “I am yours.”

“Mine,” she sighed happily, pressing her nose into silver blonde hair. They reeked of sweat and sex, and Aemond gently lowered her to the pillow. “Yours.”

He pressed one last kiss to her lips, then the bed shifted as he rose to go back to his writing desk.

Sena only lasted a few deep breaths before she dipped out of consciousness, so utterly blissed.

taglist (dm/ask/reply to be added): @stargaryen22 @trap-house-homiecide

#aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd #tqc #aemond targaryen fanfic

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snake-in-the-garden · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 4 is Here!!!

Banner by @chazz-anova

Chapter 4: Word Gets Around

Summary: Ramona becomes a special interest to Eden’s Gate.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw/Ramona Belmont

Rating: M (for now)

Word count: 7.1k (oh god...!)

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of past r*pe/s*xual assault, panic attacks, brief plane jacket slander, John and Jacob being themselves

A/N: Hey there...It's been too long since the last chapter due to me loosing some motivation to write everyday when winter hit. There's just something about the cold air and early night time that just takes a toll on me. Anyway I felt so bad about basically disappearing for months, I made this chapter way too long for what I usually write and it still came out like it was rushed. Ugh...Thanks to those who were patiently waiting to see more of Ramona and happy reading!

Taglist: @euaveri @turbo-virgins @eur0paa-2 @strafethesesinners @henbased @adelaidedrubman(I guess both of our girls aren’t special) @aceghosts @shallow-gravy @alexmalikplays @gxmergurl @thomrainer @lost-poets-poetry @svsunflowers @mr-krinkle @jfsfjjj

Prev. Chapters: Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3

Masterlist || Taglist

Read it here or on Ao3

~~~

"I think an apology is in order," Mary May admitted. "From me, of course." Ramona arched an eyebrow as she stopped sipping on the red, fizzy beverage the blonde had gifted her. "You strutted in them Jimmy Choo's got me thinkin' you were one of John's people," Mary May continued. "I thought Sharky had made the same mistake as last time and I just went off makin' you think I was some sorta bigot." Speaking of Sharky, he had just left the bar a bit ago to check if the garage in town was open or not. Ramona would've gone herself if Sharky hadn't insisted.

"This happened before?" Ramona asked, resting her head in her hand.

"Sharky had brought one of them Peggie girls in here some years ago." Mary May grimaced at the memory. "She started goin' on about 'The Father this' and 'The Father that' so much I had to kick 'em out."

"I assume 'The Father' is Eden's Gate's leader," Ramona inferred.

"Yeah. Joseph Seed. Some man-bunned, shirtless weirdo who convinced practically half of the fuckin' county that he's some sorta prophet," the bartender informed. "But he's not the only one you should worry about."

Ramona leaned closer to Mary May, bracing herself on the counter with her forearms. "Pray tell."

"Well the one you just met was John, the youngest brother," Mary May began. "He's the cult's recruitment lapdog and the reason they're able to 'get away' with alotta shady shit." She rubbed her forefinger and thumb together to indicate someone being in someone else's pockets. "Then you got the oldest brother, Jacob. You can't miss 'em. He's a redheaded biggun who's basically the muscle of the cult. And finally there's Faith. She ain't blood but she's just as creepy as the rest of 'em."

Ramona sensed the blonde wasn't quite telling her everything about Eden's Gate. If these people were doing "illegal shit," she wanted to know about it. But with the way Mary May's voice slightly trembled and her blue eyes kept shifting, it probably wasn't a topic she wanted to be pressed about.

"Either way just keep away from 'em. You don't wanna get involved."

"I'll do what I can. Though I doubt I could avoid John since I'm so 'fascinating' to him."

"Oh please, you're not the only woman who's rejected him. He'll find someone else to harass. Probably."

"And here I thought I was special."

Mary May snorted.

~~~

"I didn't think one woman could get you like this." John grunted at the comment as he laid out on the couch with his arm resting on his face. The one who made the comment was Jacob sitting across from him.

"I'm not 'like' anything. I just hate how fast those sinners can act when it comes to corrupting someone," John frets as he sits up.

"From what you described, I can tell she ain't the type to fall for your 'charms' so easily," Jacob inferred while crossing his arms. "Considering she'd rather hang around the redneck and the barmaid."

John grimaced at his brother's statement. "She was just so…vicious. Wouldn't even entertain the thought of hearing me out for even a second. She was gorgeous though."

"I'm sure she was." the redhead stated as he set his feet up on the coffee table. John glared at the action only for Jacob to ignore it. "But it shouldn't be your dick's decision who we add to our ranks. It's Joseph's decision."

"Speaking of which; isn't Joseph supposed to be here by now?"

The two brothers were waiting on Joseph at the Seed Ranch to give their weekly reports on their recent progress with their work within the Project and to have dinner later. John and Jacob were both sure that it was Faith making Joseph late. Before anything else could be said, the front doors opened alerting them to Joseph entering the Ranch with Faith following close behind. John and Jacob stood up to make their way to the foyer to properly welcome their leader. "Good afternoon, brothers," Joseph greeted fondly. "I have something truly important I want to share with you." The siblings moved to the dining room while John ordered one of the faithful who were stationed at a Ranch to make coffee for them.

As the siblings settled, Joseph let out a heavy sigh, bringing in the others undivided attention. "The Voice spoke to me the night before and has told me that a wayward soul would come to us seeking answers." He then turned to John. "I've heard you met someone today at The Spread Eagle. A woman with brown skin, long black hair, and a tattoo in the middle of her back?" The youngest Seed pondered to himself about how much Joseph knew of the incident; half hoping that all he knew was that they talked. If you could call what happened "talking."

"Yes Joseph. A serpent and roses to be exact," John started as he sat up straighter. "My men made it known to me about a young woman coming into the county and I went to the bar to greet her. But it doesn't seem like she'd be seeking anything from us."

Joseph stiffened. "What do you mean?" The other siblings could feel the tension settling within the room. "Did something happen?"

"It was awful. She was so quick to be dismissive of our cause due to those sinners and---!" John faltered.

"Please John, calm yourself," Joseph soothed while still ridgid. "What are you trying to say?"

John took a breath. "All I'm saying is as it would please me to cleanse her, this woman's soul is probably too far gone due to the corruption of--."

Joseph held his hand up; silencing John's ramblings. The Prophet then stood up to look out the window. Hands behind his back and lets out a sigh. "Hey Joe, if you don't mind me asking," the eldest Seed spoke up, wanting to take his brother's coldness off of John. "Why did the 'Voice' deem this woman so damn important apart from the rest of the 'wayward souls' we took in before?" It was already known to Joseph that Jacob didn't believe in the higher power his brother answered to and he didn't expect him to. All Joseph asked from their protector was his loyalty.

Joseph turned back around to face his siblings. All waiting to hear his words. "The Voice has told me this woman would bring about a great upheaval to everything we've worked so hard on if she doesn't see the light and come join our family to help us guide our flock through the Gate into New Eden." A heavy weight was suddenly felt by the Heralds as their leader finished speaking. It usually wasn't so difficult for them to get people to join The Project. Unfortunate people with nowhere else to go were easy to attract when Eden's Gate advertised love and protection to any and everyone. The only price would be their unwavering devotion.

"And by 'upheaval' you mean…?" It was Faith's turn to speak up.

"The deaths of our faithful by the thousands, the destruction of our community, and the…downfall of our family," Joseph finished as he grasped Faith's shoulder warmly as if not to lose her to an unknown future. "So it's crucial we don't dawdle with this. Especially now."

The weight the Heralds felt earlier magnified after the Father's elaboration. "We won't disappoint you, Joseph," John impulsively exclaimed, feeling that last comment was directed at him. He hoped his enthusiasm would make up for his supposed transgression from earlier. He then looked to the other two, expecting them to follow along. They simply nodded. Joseph smiled in appreciation of their loyalty. "I'm sorry if I scared you, but I just needed you all to know how important it is for her to join our family," he explained while getting up to leave the room. The others stood up with him. "If there's nothing else to be discussed, I think I'll see how that garden John mentioned the other day is doing before we start dinner." Happy to get his brother out of the room, John gave a quick "of course" and signaled two of his faithful on standby to accompany their leader in the backyard.

Just as Joseph leaves the room, John exhales. "I'm glad that's over." It was unknown if the other two felt the same, but it was likely that the feeling wasn't mutual.

"So, how are we doin' this?" Jacob asked. "Like Joe said, we can't exactly wait around for her."

"She just needs more convincing," John assured, not letting on what that would entail.

"We can't hurt her or anything," Faith chimed in. "The Father wouldn't like that."

"I know!" he retorted, causing her to make an amused noise at his reaction. "We're just going to have to be smart about this."

We're? Jacob and Faith weren't usually included when it came to recruiting people for the Project, but they weren't going to question anything John was about to suggest. Especially since time was of the essence.

~~~

It looked exactly how it did in the pictures. One story, simple porch with a swing, huge front yard, a garage shed big enough for Rosa, and a field across the road. Ramona didn't know if she should be relieved to have finally made it to her new home or regretful for making such an impulsive decision. How was she going to manage a house like this? She knows it's already furnished, but there were other things she probably should've considered before coming here. A reliable food source, job security, clothing, and--!

"Hey, what's up? Thought I lost you for a second," Sharky exclaimed, waving his hand in front of Ramona's face and interrupting her frantic thoughts. She had forgotten that he was even here, which was kind of bad of her to do since if it wasn't for him, she would still be stuck on the side of the road. "Sorry Sharky. I was just taking it all in," Ramona explained while trying not to get put off by the blue eyes studying her face. "Thank you for doing this for me by the way. You probably had other things to do rather than help me." Sharky rubbed the back of his neck and grinned. "Nah it was nothin'. But to tell you the truth, I was supposed to meet up with my cousin Hurk…" He frowned as he checked his watch. "...two hours ago." Ramona noticed the negative shift in his tone of voice and decided she had taken enough of his time. Most of that time being used to get a new battery, driving back to Rosa to install it, and then following Sharky here.

"Then you should probably get going. You don't want to keep him waiting."

"It's alright. I can help with your bags."

"Do you wanna get out of here?"

An unpleasant memory took hold just after Sharky made his offer. She turned her back. "No. You've done enough. Please leave."

Sharky exhaled noisily through his pursed lips and abruptly took a step backwards away from the woman's sudden coldness. For Ramona, it was already bad enough she had to show some guy she just met where she was going to be living, now he wanted to come inside? Alone with her? No way. "Alright. That's fine. I see where you're gettin' at. I'll go," Sharky complied, sounding dismayed. For a split second, Ramona wanted to turn around to say she had changed her mind. But when she actually did, he was already heading back to his truck. Accepting her missed chance, Ramona trudges on to Rosa to finally unload her. "Hey 'Mona!" She turned her attention to Sharky, who Ramona thought would've left already.

"Welcome to Hope County!" There was that crooked smile again.

And with that, Sharky takes off in his truck leaving Ramona confused about how this guy felt about her. It wasn't too much of a concern, but it was pretty weird for someone to shake off having the cold shoulder being directed at them. Oh well.

~~~

"Mrs. Belmont, I know you're upset, but I don't think we can classify this incident as anything more than a misunderstanding turning into a physical altercation." An older, timid man's voice is heard. "Happens all the time with students."

"Bullshit. This 'misunderstanding' scarred my baby's face because she didn't want some nasty boy putting his hands on her." Ramona then hears the outraged voice of her mother.

"The other student has already claimed in his statement that you're daughter fell after--"

"After he tried to rape her."

Ramona heard a huff of frustration next to her followed by a gentle hand rubbing her back after hearing her mother spit out the accusation. It was the soothing hand of Ramona's father who had let his wife handle the meeting.

"It's gonna be okay Rammy." After hearing her father's words, Ramona turned her head to see his reassuring face.

But she never gets to as Ramona's dream fades to white. She wakes up to an unfamiliar ceiling which gets her heart racing. Ramona shoots up from her laying position and frantically looks around her new home only to realize she fell asleep on the couch. Ramona puts her head in her hands to calm herself, feeling moisture on her palms. It's okay. Waking up to tears in her eyes after having that dream wasn't anything new for her.

You're okay. You're okay.

Ramona's legs wobbled a bit as she stood up to see one of her unpacked bags at her feet. She sighed to herself realizing all the work which still needed to be done. The woman looked at her phone to see that it was almost 10:30 pm, realized she'd napped for way too long, and decided all that would be "next day Ramona's" problem. It was time for bed anyway. Ramona did her usual nighttime hair routine, brushed her teeth, and changed into one of the sets of pajamas she'd brought. Ramona didn't think much of her new bedroom. It was simple and minimally decorated with the essentials. Basically a blank canvas setup for her to project herself on to make this house into a home. Her home. Ramona settled into bed and tried to ignore the slight musty smell the comforter gave off. Maybe she'll finish that dream.

~~~

It was the crack of dawn when Ramona was able to call her parents, letting them know she made it to Hope County okay. But that was after multiple "fine's", "alright's", and "okay's" in response to her mother's light scolding about not calling sooner and her father's repetitive questions about Rosa's condition. Even though she wasn't able to get a full sentence in, hearing her parent's voices soothed Ramona's nerves. Somehow during their conversation, her mother mentioned a letter left somewhere in the house for her to read. Ramona assured her she'd read it later.

The woman was now free to assess what she needed to do for today. The lingering smell of must and her stomach growling suggested her first two tasks of the day. Good thing she remembered the general store in Fall's End. As she combed out her hair, a loud, rapid knocking was heard, startling Ramona. Who could that be? No seriously. Who else knows she's living here besides Sharky? She doubts he'd come back after being on the receiving end of her iciness from yesterday but anything could happen. If it is him, Ramona would just take this as an opportunity to apologize. Something told her Sharky would accept it.

The knocking continued to Ramona's annoyance as she quickly threw on a hoodie while hurrying to the front door. The woman then frowned when she opened the door and saw it was actually John, holding a thick white book under his arm, who decided to drop by. Along with two other men, both wearing white uniforms, who were of course, glaring at her. "Good morning," John greeted, showing off that smile again.

"Uh…good morning to you too?" It was the only thing Ramona could say after believing she wouldn't see this man again anytime soon. "What brings you by?"

John gave out a light chuckle. "I didn't mean to disturb you so early, but I felt it was imperative for you and I to make amends after what happened yesterday," he informed while inching closer to her. "May I come in? I was hoping we could talk some more too."

Ramona held out her hand; palm almost touching her visitor's chest. "You and I are good out here."

"PIease, I must insist. I want to make this right with you."

"And I must insist we're good out here." Ramona closes the door behind her and leans against it to make her point even clearer. "So let's talk."

Why are the men around here so eager to come into my home? John let out a soft sigh and clutched his book. "Alright. Have it your way then." He then signaled his men to step away from them so the two could have some privacy. The men nodded and obeyed without a second thought. "Now let me start off by saying I'm sorry for how…brash I was yesterday at the bar," John offered. "It was shameful of me to make such a bad first impression on you." Despite how obvious it was that John could have other intentions behind this, Ramona could at least hear some remorse in his voice. But she couldn't let her guard down just yet.

"Well John, I appreciate you coming to--."

John casually cuts her off. "I would also like to take this opportunity to properly introduce to you the key to your salvation." He cradled the white hardcover within his forearm, proudly presenting it to Ramona. "Without any distractions." It was titled The Word of Joseph.

There it is.

Ramona wasn't too enthused about having to listen to a possible cult member's spiel about her needing to be "saved." She's still not sure from what exactly. John had hastily mentioned the Collapse yesterday which sparked her curiosity. Ramona nodded, indicating to her guest that he could start. "Eden's Gate is a loving community for lost souls who have been wronged by the world and corrupted by sin," John commenced. "It is our job to cleanse those of their sins in order for them to enter through the Gate after the Collapse so that we can create a new world." Ramona crossed her arms after hearing what sounded like another one of those "it's the end times so give us your money" pitches televangelists like to use. "Is that what you think I am; a 'lost soul'?" Ramona questioned. "What makes you think this? We literally just met yesterday." John tucked the book back under his arm and straightened up the tacky looking jacket he was wearing; preparing for another pitch.

"My older brother Joseph, or The Father as he's lovingly referred to, has recently told my siblings and I you were meant to join our family," John informed, again stepping closer. "A wayward soul looking for a place in the world. Something we could provide for you."

Ramona put her hands on her hips. "Again, I ask. What makes you think that?" she asks, increasingly getting more annoyed.

"Impatient, aren't we?" he commented teasingly. "I saw you were a young woman traveling alone, willing to practically jump into the arms of anyone who looked your way. No matter how unsavory their true intentions were." John's tone darkens at the last part.

Ramona rolled her eyes at his claim. Yes, it was true she impulsively got into a car with a complete stranger, but she didn't have a choice. Plus Sharky respected her boundaries right off the bat when she established them. "I never 'jumped' into anyone's arms. I was offered help and I took it," Ramona retorted. Possibly a little too defensively. "Besides, it's none of your business I'm traveling alone." John took another step closer, causing her to step back. "Actually, we at Eden's Gate make it our business to keep those vulnerable enough from being dragged down into the trenches of sin," John states eerily, his blue gaze momentarily stunning the woman. "And Miss. Fairgrave was willing to do just that." Ramona's ears perked up when he mentioned Mary May.

"What does she have to do with anything?"

"Miss. Fairgrave and I had our…quarrels in the past."

"Quarrels? What happened?"

"She just couldn't accept her brother wanting to be with us. Obviously envious of the close bond he had with the rest of the congregation and tried so desperately to take that happiness away from him."

Ramona was silent; recounting how hateful Mary May was of Peggies and wondering if what John was saying was even true. Probably not.

John continued. "To cope with this, she and her lot spread lies about Eden's Gate to anyone who would believe them."

"Right…So the claim of you using money to get whatever Eden's Gate is doing around legal barriers is not true then?"

With the way John immediately frowned and glowered after the woman's probing question; it was obvious she made a mistake. "I don't mean any harm. I just need to know what--." Ramona's explanation was cut short as John abruptly strides forward to firmly thrust the book against her chest, causing her to be essentially trapped between her guest and the front door hard on her shoulder blades. Causing her to panic. "We do what is necessary to secure the future of Eden's Gate," John said harshly, increasing the pressure on Ramona's chest causing her. "Some may not agree with our methods, but I assure you, Miss. 'Bel-mawn', you will reconsider your ill-conceived notions about us if you take the time to listen." Along with being blindsided by John's sudden ambush, Ramona's blood ran cold when her last name, though mispronounced, fell from John's lips. She had never told him her name and had made it quite clear he didn't deserve to know yesterday. It was doubtful either Mary May or Sharky had told John; especially since she didn't even tell them her last name.

"Who told you my last name?" Ramona demanded, strained and on the verge of having a panic attack.

"This residence's previous owner," John complied. "Your uncle."

James! "How do you know him?" she pressed.

"I didn't personally know him. But a few years ago I paid him and his wife a visit to welcome them to the county and introduce them to Eden's Gate."

Ramona continued staring at him. "Go on."

"Well I couldn't really give a proper introduction due to him interrupting me with stories of his travels which ultimately lead him here. And his wife…spirited…shooed me out saying they weren't interested and they never will be," John reminisced bitterly. Possibly showing a bit of his true self.

Ramona had to fight to keep her face from cracking into a smile at the thought of James and Jackie giving John the runaround to avoid his proselytizing. She almost forgot her current situation. He continued. "But through all that nonsense, your uncle kept bringing up a certain someone. Someone I thought I'd never run into after all this time." John took a moment to caress a loose raven tress belonging to his captive before he got close to her ear.

"His favorite niece; Ramona Octavia Belmont," he chillingly whispered.

Ramona thought nothing of it when she gathered her strength and sent John tumbling backwards off the porch and onto the ground. Her personal space had been violated far enough. After hearing their superior's yelps of pain as he landed, the men rushed to John's aid.

"Brother John! Are you okay!?" one fretted.

"How dare you lay your filthy hands upon our Baptist!?" the other scolded.

"You're unworthy in receiving the Father's Word!" the first one accused.

Ramona remained on the porch, looking down at them heavily panting, only getting more pissed off. "Here, take it then!" the irate woman shouted while throwing John's "gift" near them. "Tell Joseph he's got the wrong woman 'cause I don't want the 'key to my salvation' if it means I have to deal with some creep who doesn't know the meaning of personal space!" Ramona would be lying if she didn't think seeing John flat on his ass in the dirt was amusing, but of course, in a moment of clarity, she realized this was the exact opposite of what she was advised to do. That clarity caused Ramona to almost immediately regret her actions when she realized she could be arrested for this. Even if John was the one who started it. The woman's heart started to pound as she braced for his reaction, but John just sat there hanging his head. Ramona thought about saying something to him but decided against it assuming she'd just make it worse for herself.

"You know Miss. Belmont. All of that…anger you harbor deep inside needs to be cleansed. Which I as your future Baptist will personally see to," John affirmed, ignoring the insult while sporting a wicked, chilling smile. Ramona felt a slight surge of nausea. "The Project has a place for you, especially someone of your profession. A social worker who gives counsel to those in need is someone who'd be perfect for us." Ramona just stood there unimpressed by his shallow praises and also wondering how much James had told this man about her. "If you're offering me a job, I'll have to decline," she dismissed while stepping a few paces forward. One of John's men quickly helped him up while the other scrambled to collect the sullied book from the dusty ground. Both looked hopeful to see him stand up against his assailant. John proceeded to casually dust himself off.

"Are you sure that is a wise decision to make? Financially managing a property of this size might be too much for one woman. Perhaps I could take it off your--," John began.

"No, that's not happening. Besides, it's already paid off," Ramona shot back, taking her turn to interrupt him for a change. "In fact, I have the documents to show for it."

"I bet you do," he responded sourly. "But you are sorely mistaken if you really think material possessions will help you during the Collapse."

"Then what will help, huh?" she challenged, hotly. "Tell me so you can leave already."

To Ramona's surprise, John didn't retort with a quick remark at her prodding. All the man did was signal to his men to hand him the book. The order is followed and John once again presents his gift to Ramona. "Perhaps I'm going about this the wrong way," he states. "I believe you should hear it from the Father himself. He's better at this." The way John said that made it obvious he was getting tired of her too. Ramona looks down at the book. "Huh? I thought I made myself clear I didn't want the--." John held his hand up. "I know. I'm telling you the Father is giving a sermon about the Collapse this Sunday and will be delighted to answer any questions you may have. The address is behind the front cover," he noted earnestly. "But if you choose not to come, will you at least take his Word? I won't bother anymore after today if you do." Ramona sighed and promptly took the book from him, doubting he'd even keep his promise.

"I'll at least think about it. But if I do come to the sermon, it won't mean I'm joining your cult."

"It's not a--! Of course. But every cynic I've met says that at first, but then sees the light after they hear--."

"I mean it! I'm only going for myself and for you to leave me alone."

"So you will be attending?"

"Get off my property!"

While slightly startled by Ramona's outburst, John kept his promise as he and his men made their way back to the white truck they came in. "Farewell Miss. Belmont, I hope to see you this Sunday," John bids. The woman didn't say anything back as she stormed back into her house and slammed the door behind her. Ramona let out a short cry of frustration when she angrily threw the book a few feet away from herself, causing a harsh, loud thud on the wooden floor kicking dust up. She pressed her back against the front door and slid down to the floor when her legs felt weak. Reeling from the ordeal, dizziness and a rapid heart rate from earlier took hold while a ringing noise resonated within her head. Ramona started to feel hot and short of breath, so she clumsily removed her hoodie for supposed relief. But it wasn't enough. The pounding in her chest causes her to curl up on the floor, trembling and hyperventilating. The combinations of these symptoms were all too familiar to Ramona as a quick memory of her alone in her college dorm in the same position flashed in her mind. Despite the pains in her chest and nausea, Ramona forces herself to sit up halfway to regain control.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. He can't hurt you. You are safe now. As Ramona inhaled and exhaled, she thought back to all the times she had to do this exercise to get through the first part of freshman year. She hoped these episodes won't be a common occurrence since Ramona wanted a fresh start, but achieving that seemed impossible now. Although Ramona had told John "no" to joining Eden's Gate and denied their "prophecy," she still made it known her interest was piqued; so it was likely they would still try to convince her. The dulling ache in her chest and decreasing heart rate allowed Ramona to sit up fully and the softening buzzing in her ear and her body stabilizing enabled her to think clearly. Ramona decided it would probably be best to listen to Mary May's advice more carefully and avoid them as much as possible--starting now.

~~~

Finding the way back to Fall's End wasn't difficult. A few left turns and then a left was easy for Ramona to remember which is going to be important since the general store might be her only source for food and other essentials she'll need in the future. After finding an appropriate parking place for Rosa, the woman made her way into the store. She made note of the small size and the Americana decor; hoping the store owner's patriotism was just an aesthetic. To Ramona's surprise, she didn't draw any attention to herself like yesterday. She figured dressing in Hope County-appropriate attire she found in the closet would do that. Thanks Auntie. As Ramona proceeded to fulfill her shopping list of necessities, she overheard two people, a man and a woman dressed in hunting gear, talking a few feet away. Curiosity got the better of her.

"Do you really think we can keep living like this?" the woman asked, sounding stressed. "I don't think I can take any more of this."

"Would you rather we'd live like brainwashed zombies?" the man asked her in turn, using a tone Ramona didn't like. "Our bunker is the only safe place from them taking over."

"I got that. But stocking that bunker is making you and others paranoid about something that may not happen."

"We know what we're doing. You think those Seed-fuckers made their people tote around those guns just for show? We're just looking out for ourselves since the cops aren't doing anything."

Ramona didn't hear the woman's response when she left the aisle and moved on to the dairy section so she wouldn't get caught being nosey. Brainwashing? Guns? This new information about Eden's Gate made Ramona realize it probably had to do with the "illegal shit" Mary May hinted at. Despite not wanting to probe her anymore about uncomfortable topics, Ramona would've appreciated the heads up about a confirmed violent cult who now had their eyes on her. Now she's definitely sure John won't leave her alone and most likely lying about what really happened between him and Mary May.

Back to the task at hand. Ramona reached up to grab vanilla coffee creamer from the top shelf only for her nails to barely brush against it. She internally cursed her height and whoever made this refrigerator. Not wanting to completely give up, she tried again, but failed again when another hand easily grabbed it instead. The owner of the hand was a tall, curvy woman with long dark, curly hair and dark brown eyes which were warm and inviting. She was very pretty.

"Here you go," the woman offered. "This was what you wanted, right?" She was referring to the creamer.

"Yeah it was. Thank you." Ramona acknowledged while accepting the small carton.

"A word of advice. If you're going to be listening to other people's conversations; you should at least do it from somewhere they wouldn't see you," the woman suggested bluntly and flickered her eyes to the side.

Ramona's stomach dropped when she quickly turned her head to see the aforementioned couple, now scowling, rip their gaze away from the two women and shuffled off.

"I'm just telling you from experience."

Ramona couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed of herself. She swore off anything Eden's Gate related, but her curiosity about them kept piquing even though every new piece of information about them just kept getting worse. But then again, any knowledge about the cult would keep Ramona from being ignorant of anything that would pose them as a threat to her. Even if it wasn't coming from a direct source. Anything to not talk to the Seeds again. "Sorry for asking but, do you know anything about Eden's Gate?" she asked, "Also my name is Ramona." The woman pursed her plush lips and loosely crossed her arms under her chest. "Deirdre. I'm a vet at the F.A.N.G. Center in the mountains. I've been living here with my husband and his family for about 10 years, so I...uh….know enough," she divulged tentatively. "They're a doomsday cult preparing for the Collapse. An apocalyptic event." Ramona figured that much on her own. But it was way better than the common "stay away from them" she kept hearing.

"Is there any real way to get them off my back for good?"

"Nope. Since you just moved here, Eden's Gate is not going to leave you alone anytime soon. They love new people."

"Wait, how do you know I just moved here?"

Deirdre frowned and averted her eyes.

"Hey Dee, what's takin' you so long?" Ramona inhaled sharply when she saw the owner of the rough, male voice appear from behind the row of shelves beside them. "Oh. You made a friend." A tall, scarred man with red hair went to stand beside Deirdre, putting his large hand on her shoulder. Combined with Mary May's description and the J. Seed stitched on the sleeve of his camo jacket; she concluded this was Jacob Seed. Ramona made a quick glance at Deirdre. She was still avoiding eye contact. Ramona put two and two together and it all made sense. John probably told Jacob about what happened and probably wanted to take a crack at recruiting the "lost soul". Not to risk straining her neck anymore, Ramona backed up a bit to accommodate her intake of Jacob’s imposing stature. Which wasn’t a bad sight. She definitely didn't lie about the "biggun" and "muscle" part.

"I thought you were waiting outside," Deirdre pointed out crossly.

"I was. But you were takin' too long and folks were givin' me the stink eye. 'Specially that idiot pilot." Jacob stated. He then pointed his gaze at Ramona. "So you're the woman my brother's been talkin' about?"

She sighs. "Yeah. Why? Is it your turn to harass me?" Ramona retorted, suddenly becoming bold. "One of you was bad enough today."

"Heh no. After what happened between you and Johnny, I don't think I wanna tangle with you," he teased. "'Sides, I don't do the door to door shit."

"Then what do you do?"

"All you need to know at the moment is that I keep the congregation safe. And in line."

Remembering the mention of guns earlier, Ramona had a pretty good guess about what that could mean. It wasn't something she wanted to discuss further with him and was grateful he didn't take it upon himself to do so. She looked at Deirdre. She wondered how deep her involvement with Eden's Gate went. If it was beyond being married to one of the brothers. Telling from her tone, Deirdre also didn't seem too interested in discussing anything. Which was also fine. But she could help but be worried. Black women and religious cults run by white men have never been a good match. "I should probably finish up and pay for these," Ramona spoke up, sensing an opportunity to leave. "It was nice talking to you." Deirdre perked up. "I can pay for your groceries if you want," she suggested. "Y'know for your troubles." Jacob made a disapproving face which Deirdre ignored. Ramona thought about what happened between her and John and decided this should make up for it. She accepted the offer.

~~~

"These people act like we're the scum of the earth, but they'll still take our money," Jacob commented, sounding amused. He was referring to the store clerk who gave the group a dirty look while processing the payment. The three were currently outside the general store and Ramona was about to see the couple off. "I guess dressin' up your store like the Fourth of July was really just for show." Deirdre rolled her eyes and saw that Ramona was confused. "The locals here put up American flag stuff to show they're against Eden's Gate," she clarified. "It started happening after the congregation grew." Ramona could tell that wasn't entirely true.

"Hey Dee. How 'bout you wait in the truck while I talk to our friend here before we leave." Deirdre looked between her husband and Ramona and sighed. "Alright." The eldest Seed was mincing his words earlier about his role within Eden's Gate, so what would he possibly want to talk about now. And without his wife present at that. After Deirdre settles herself within the passenger seat of their truck; Jacob leaned his back against it, facing Ramona while crossing his arms.

"While I do think Johnny probably deserved what you did to him this morning, you gotta be smart about who you push away and who you align yourself with."

"What are you talking about? I thought you weren't going to--!"

"Down kitten. I'm just tellin' you this for your own good. Apparently Joe sees somethin' in you and he's usually right."

"Well he's wrong. And Like I told your brother, I'm not meant to join your cult and you can't convince me otherwise!"

"You say that now, but when the time comes, you'll make the right choice."

"Don't count on it."

Despite her stomach twisting in knots, Ramona immediately strode off from Jacob to where Rosa was parked, hearing the couple's truck drive off behind her. She knew people who were involved with cults were self-righteous, but having someone declare what's "good" for her for the second time today was just infuriating. Also frightening. The woman was surprised that Jacob's familiar, intense blue glare and ominous tone he used while practically threatening her didn't put her in another state of panic. Ramona guessed one was enough for today.

Head buzzing with rushing, irritating thoughts, Ramona hastily loaded her car, just eager to get back home. "You okay, Miss?" The woman popped up her head to the sound of another male voice. She saw a man wearing aviators and a shirt with a logo that read Rye & Sons Aviation parked next to her. Aviation? Was this the "idiot" pilot? "That Seed bastard was botherin' you, right?" Ramona let out a sigh and closed the passenger door. She wasn't mad at him or anything; strangers coming up to talk to her when she wasn't in the mood was getting exhausting.

"Unfortunately. Even though this is only my second day here, Eden's Gate has already decided I'm meant to be with them. Whatever that means."

The man furled his lip and shook his head. "That's how they get you," the man started, a rant seemingly brewing. "Damn Peggies make you feel all 'special' when all they really wanted was your plane."

Ramona blinked. "Plane? I don't have a plane?"

"Ah shit! I'm sorry! Got carried away and started talkin' 'bout myself." The man held out his hand. "I'm Nick Rye of Rye and Son's Aviation. I was talkin' 'bout my plane, Carmina."

Ramona, slightly amused at the confusion, shook Nick's hand.

"I heard from Mary May you've already met John. That fucker's been tryin' to get my plane for years after actin' all buddy-buddy and shit with me at first. Them Peggies been harassin' my family so bad my wife Kim, who's smaller than you, had to punch one of 'em. Died down a bit after that and she didn't get in trouble for it."

"I'm sorry you were going through that. Eden's Gate might want my house, but other than that it's just 'me' they want so badly. I don't know what to do."

"Well if I were you, I'd go up to Joseph after one of their sermons and show 'em you mean business."

Ramona didn't quite know what Nick meant, but if it was relating to what his wife did, she's quite sure she won't get away with that. Taking that part out, going straight to the source of her problems seems like something she could work with. Ramona could go to the sermon and hopefully get Joseph to have his brothers to lay off and rethink this whole "prophecy" about her. Of course Ramona would have to figure out the details of this plan so it can be somewhat sound. "Thank you Nick. I'll put some thought into your suggestion." The pilot did a slight smile, noticing a change in her voice from earlier. "Well alright then! Maybe you can come by and I'll give you some flyin' lessons. Carmina's the big yellow one." She froze a bit. "I-I'll think about that too." His smile got bigger. "Great!"

Ramona didn't have the heart to tell Nick she was afraid of heights.

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