#dionai: aemond.

[bronzebtch]

❝  you remind me of your uncle.  ❞

@dionai for aemond

[bronzebtch]

rhea meets the shepherd in front of his hut.

he is an ageing man, reckoned to be in his late fifties if the grey hair and wobbly knees are anything to go by. though like most valemen, he stood tall, unrelenting in what remains of his strength; seemingly unaffected by the slow shuffling of his own steps when he had walked out of the hut to greet rhea and her envoy. there is a certain patience in her mountains men in which rhea could appreciate, a certain endurance, even if a fleeting eyes would not see much value in a farmer tending to his fields. in peaceful time though, rhea would take any good hardworking farmer over an angry, drunken knights: these sort of people found discipline and honest routine laid in the soil and the animals they tended. warriors tend to only look for battles. that much, unfortunately, she knew all too well.

in any case, that is only her own private musing. the ageing man — fyn, one of the boys in the envoy supply, strapping down as soon as they ride nearer — wears with him a wrinkled face, awed but joyous despite the obvious intrusion this day had fallen over him. near his hut, the prince's dragon seems to be on alert, but otherwise composed; as if it'd known that its rider is safe, tucked away and in the company of no other than its own kin. even after years, rhea holds her breath at the sight of a dragon, and while most would dedicate it to the thrill of seeing one, or the wonderment of having witnessed such a majestic beast up-close — rhea could not share the sentiment. to her, dragons feast. it takes. it always burns. maybe not these creatures, no ... but the house that commands them do.

" m'lady royce, " old fyn bows his head as greeting, his two reddened cheeks plumped in eagerness; hands greyed with age shaking as he tries to wave it around, perhaps in an effort to welcome. " i welcome ye' to oldhart. m'afraid we ain't got much this side o' the field, but the princes are inside, aye. i keep 'im warm as i could, tried to. and the dragons, i — i fed 'em well. best as i could, though i don't got much sheep to give, m'afraid. th - though the prince, oh. his grace gave me coins, he did ! or tried to ! " at this, the joyous shepherd laughs, " i - i told 'im i don't need his coins, it's - it's a blessin' to ever just 'ave him in m'humble home— "

❝ fyn, ❞ rhea interrupts as soon as her feet lands on the ground. she comes forward, wraps her two hands against one of his shaking ones, hoping it will slow the older man down in his speech. it does, and soon, fyn looks his lady of runestone in alarm, as if he had just realised that he may misspoke or had foolishly spoke out of turn. rhea could see quickly the telltales of a man about to apologise, but she squeezes over the grip. her face, she's often told, is not so gentle unlike her lady sister — but her conviction is strong; indisputable. what she promises, she intends to deliver. ❝ my house and the crown thank you. i will have arnold, who i believe knows you, to soon visit and compensate your kind deed. ❞

just then, the two princes stumble out. fyn's face is pink, one hand already denying the offer — " please, m'lady. it's - it's an honour ! oh, my princes. it was an honour. truly. i need— i am old coot. lonely. the company alone ... oh, that is enough. " rhea straightens her shoulders, and her gaze is calm. she believes all that this shepherd would say. perhaps, to him, the intrusion was already a sight to behold, for he not only met a member of the royal house, but a dragon as well. still. there is a reason certain accommodations are set properly in place should any member of her lord husband's house visits. it is not to bother small herders like this of their livestocks, nor their homes.

❝ i understand, but i must insist, fyn. you have done a great deed; i will not let it go unseen. as i'm sure the princes would not either. ❞ rhea looks then to her lord nephews, an eyebrows raised.

that done with, and allowing arnold to take over to entertain the shepherd, rhea approaches the two young men. one so much like the ghost of her lord husband, the other ... the other must took after the hightower queen, for the pale hair and purple eyes besides, rhea could see very little similarities between what she remembers of her good-brother the king, and his firstborn son. what she does remember was that the late queen aemma was killed in pursue of one — but that, she will not blame these young men. no sins of their fathers should be blamed on any sons, even if traditions could sometimes be difficult to let such notion be accepted.

❝ my lord prince, ❞ rhea greets, an eyebrow raised; one might even say she's playful. ❝ care to explain yourself, your grace ? your uncle was quite a fitful one, as i remember — though he never quite crashed down on any poor shepherd's hut before. ❞

  aemond one-eye’s reputation may exceed him, whispers of boiling blood and a quick hand, though he does not take offense. he only matches their eagerness with a smirk of his own, whilst fastening his gloves a little higher, and getting comfortable on his saddle. the court and the open fields are far different. he would spend many an hour with knights and fighters of all kinds to be well acquainted with the excitement which defined them.

“feel no obligation to defend them my lady aunt,” the prince reassured, making sure the eye patch had not shifted from its place, before they’d set off under rhea royce’s stern reminders. had it not been for the ill mutuality between her and his lord uncle, the prince reckoned lady rhea would be some solace to the corridors of the red keep; should she have ever visited, that is. albeit, he’d not deny it, princess rhaenyra’s absence those past few years offered as much help as their family could get. though aemond was certain that solitude was not a state befitting of his mother the queen. if only he could do something to elevate the burdens from her shoulders. not even finding aegon could fulfill such a wish. not even aegon’s proper absence would cease her worries, no, then, she’d miss him—which was just as bad as being angry with him. his gaze shifted to whomever talked, his hope drained at the lack of threads to follow; until philomena’s revelation. “yes,” he nodded to his aunt, gathering the reins in his hand once more. “even if he’s not there, the shepherd might have seen him. may have lost a sheep or two to his dragon, the golden sunfyre.”

for the brilliant beast was not picky with his food, and his claws were as sharp as any. dragons were not easy to hide; their pungent odor lingers in the air as sulfur clings to clothing. surely the closer they got, the stronger the smell would get. aemond’s nostrils soon twitched at the familiar scent of brimstone and he was quick to turn to rhea. “aunt rhea—he’s there. lest sunfyre is there with him it’d be safer if i went first, with lady philomena.”

only upon her nod did the prince strut forward, waiting for the tracker before they could go into a full gallop until the golden and pink scales of the winged beast came into sight, resting on its side close to the hut, his yellow eyes already staring at the two of them. although aemond dismounted, he instructed philomena to go back down the way they came to inform the rest. once she had disappeared, the one-eye neared the hut through which he could hear talking, though could not distinguish words. he could recognise his brother’s voice, though.

upon tying the reins to a wooden pillar, he finally knocked on the door, coming face to face with a man wrapped up in sheep skin and reeking of… was it cheese? possibly.

“oh damn you!”

“we’ve been looking all over the vale for you. may i?” aemond stepped in upon the shepherd’s nod.

“i never told you to.”

“no you didn’t, but mother is worried sick.” he sat down on the chair opposite of his brother while the shepherd disappeared out of the house. aemond drummed his fingers on the table whilst watching the closed door. he ought to feel relief, but he didnt. “what are you doing here?”

“what does it look like i am doing? i am… eating cheese and leaving a generous reward to the shepherd. his name is fyn, he’s got a sick sheep but he can’t—”

“i don’t give a shit about the shepherd aegon why are you in the vale?” the prince focused his eye to his older brother, who looked back at him with that blank, lame look akin to that of a cow’s. one minute, two, of aegon just staring between aemond and his bread slices atop which he had thin slices of cheese. three minutes and aemond’s patience had worn thin. “come on, aunt rhea is waiting for us.”

“but my cheese—”

“gobble it.” by the time aemond had stood up and fixed his sleeves, aegon had already impossibly stuffed his mouth with the food, whilst once again tying his cloak around his shoulders. by the fifth minute, they were outside the hut. 

[bronzebtch]

rhea will not pretend to know the bond shared between a targaryen and their dragon.

she understands enough that it is, in a way, intimate her one and only exposure towards it were her husband's bond with caraxes, and even then, rhea was careful to never come close once her husband had brought the great beast to the vale. yes, often she would hear the news of his soaring and taking flight; and from afar, where the vale's dragonpit could be observed, she would see daemon lounging about. though that's about it. when you have a lord husband who dislikes you, it is easy enough to plant the distance between you both. it is easy enough to remain where you're needed, rather than where you are not.

but — back to the subject at hand. rhea holds her tongue from asking more about the wellbeing of the large dragon. if her prince nephew deemed that he could redirect vhagar even from afar, then there shall be no objections coming from her. at present, rhea is ordering the stable help for their best and fastest horses. the men who are with them are lined up as well, already at the ready, taking the reign of their own trusted stallions and petting them by the sides. some are checking their attires, boots, and even weapons.

rhea is instructing gerold to send news to jeyne arryn about the incident; that runestone shall personally care for it, and a member of the targaryen royal family is with them. no additional escorts are needed.

her nephew's words bring her back while rhea sidesteps, now leading the party further outwards where the walls of the keep will lead them outside. ❝ very kind of you to want to catch up, ❞ she manages, with just the smallest hint of amusement brimming in her tone. picking on her gloves, rhea then turns and beckons her chin towards the men who are some on their horses, while two of them are still strapping their armours.

❝ before that, shall i introduce you to our search party ? prince aemond targaryen, this is arnold, joseff, kor, warren, philomena, and of course, my sword shield, my cousin gerold. gerold, arnold, and joseff shall be our swords against any mountain clansmen's attacks. i do not suspect any, given the weather as of late, but we can never not be too safe. philomena is our best tracker. i should know; i've trained her myself. warren will be who leads us, and kor is one of the vale's fastest rider. should anything happen, he will send word. ❞

all the men now are nodding their heads, exchanging murmurs of nice to meet you, my prince's, and it is an honour to be in your envoy. gerold's speaking now, cutting any introductions swiftly to a pause as he explains the terrains and the formation they shall go in, which places rhea and the prince safely in the middle — that the last sighting of a dragon had been near the beginning of redfort territory, which could be thick with mud and, worse, bear and mountain lion traps. it is nearly a two-hour journey by horse alone, so they shall be swift, as it isn't only the first prince's safety that is their concern, but time as well. in less than four hours, the sun will go down.

❝ you heard him, ❞ rhea adds, once everyone has chorused their huzzah's on the agreement of their plan, now stepping up on broiefort and taking her seat. ❝ no wolves here, my nephew prince; though that should be a sight. and i doubt we'd be able to talk during our journey. we'll be trying to cut the time to get to your brother as quickly as we could — you think you've got what it takes to keep up with a valesman's speed, my nephew prince ? our records are only second to the reach's, you know. ❞ a small smirk; a challenge, really.

   “only fools would doubt your lord’s husband’s capability for warfare, aunt rhea,” aemond called with a soft voice, nearly drowned out were it not for the echoing of stone.   “and i assure you i am no fool,” he added, perhaps humorously if he had presumed a different expression.   lord husband.   such an odd way to refer to his uncle.   at the sound of it he always recalled what mother used to say—your uncle?   ugh aemond he is the last ideal you should have in your little head.   there are soldiers for you to admire that look after their wives.   why don’t you consider how lady rhea may feel, abandoned by her husband?

  many a complaint queen alicent had for her husband’s brother;   though aemond knew, or had figured, that the loose adhering to husbandry duties of uncle daemon were simply an easy way for her to express her grievance for her own husband.   aemond, despite his crippling, was not entirely blind—nor was he stupid.

  his king and father viserys was;   though his disregard for his mother was clear.   the reason for which aemond did not understand.   how could you be cruel to your chosen wife?   aemond would honor his betrothed.   for all his faults and vile urges, he’d honor the woman he’d have by his side.   he’d bury them deeper, the indecent thoughts he was having even now, fleeting considerations of nothing concrete or cognitive at the site of the men running around to attend to them, to fetch their horses.   nothing solid, yet enough to stir both excitement in his gut and disgust in his chest;   an involuntary scoff ghosting across his face as he politely turned down the offer of a robe, with the grace a prince ought to entertain.   gloves and riding boots though, those he could make use of.

  “then i will make sure to call for her aunt rhea,” he reassured as he reached out to the horse presented to him, to stroke along its snout.   such an odd bond, that between dragon and its rider.   oftentimes words weren’t needed, aemond had found.   a feeling, intention, it was enough.

  “people quite often are,” he agreed.   behind their backs, anyone could say anything.   but in his face, only his family had that kind of audacity.   nay.   bastards had that audacity.   jace and luke.   the audacity to humiliate him, to maim him, to cripple him—without an ounce or remorse or intent to do as little as to apologise.   insufferable brats.

  “i’d venture our travel shall be a long one aunt rhea, without any need for utter silence,” the prince prompted as he climbed onto the mare.   “if we tread through routes you’d otherwise range through, i’d much enjoy hearing about it—or what beasts you’ve come across.   are wolves scarce here?   i fear we’ve got none in the capital.”

[bronzebtch]

there is a round of laughter that goes through the group when the prince proclaims he is from the reach. nothing that is to mock the prince, of course — though rhea, for all that she holds a small smirk, cannot help from cataloguing the young prince's reaction. the group that she has with them are mostly one consisting of young men and a woman, people ranging within the prince's own age range, and they can be foolish; not so educated in the decorum of the royal courts, or the surrounding environment.

they're more used to the harsher languages of the knights and the huntsmen, more open with their expressions of agreement and disagreement when faced with trials. in this case, their competitive nature to race with those of the reach is what brings about their youthful snickering, with one of them already mounting their horse to saddle near the prince, as if to see if he would truly outrun them. this is not a race though, but rhea would still speak: ❝ forgive them. the valesmen would try to compete with a reach anytime the opportunity presents. ❞

and then, to the group, her voice hardening, ❝ though i should remind all that this is no race. we will be searching for the firstborn prince, and we shall find him, bring him back, before the sun sets. i expect no slight in this endeavour. a mistake will not be tolerated. ❞

the group echoes a rounded, we heed, milady! before ser gerold refocuses them again, fixes their formation, and off they go. the stretch of the vale is, as usual, breathtaking : for there are green for miles, hills in each corner the eyes could see, and barely a disruption in place since the paths have been worn for them. still, this is no time to take in the view. rhea's eyes gloss over distances, though there are still time before they near the possible crash site. until, of course, after an hour and a half intense riding, philomena leads them off-course to a narrower road, based on the reports they've received. their horses slow.

the prince's question causes joseff to speak up, after rhea glances back at the group — not because she does not know, but she is to see whether the men have truly been trained with the knowledge of their terrains as she had expected them to. ' there ain't much here, t'be completely honest with you, my prince. ' says joseff, pointing to the fact that, moving forward, there would only be thick forests ahead, leading to the first mountain of redfort. ' and any terrains forward besides up are steep valleys. it'll take more than an hour to find 'im, m'lady, if the prince is somewhere there, ' this is arnold, whose eyes are venturing, rhea gathers, to see if any signs of an ambush could be had.

' it isn't without settlement, ' philomena interrupts the group's quiet brooding then, having returned from wherever she's trailed off to, her expression is serious, but honest. ' there are small herd of sheep here. i found droppings. if we follow the trail, we might stumble upon a house, a hut, as the prince would suggest. ' and it is only then does rhea straighten her back. she returns the prince's question, ❝ do you think your brother might have seek shelter there, then ? ❞

   “we see you so rarely,” the prince noted, with an acknowledging nod.   when was the last time he had met rhea?   if he ever had.   he can’t recall, really.   no matter—aemond to each of the men, and the tracker as well, before focusing on ser gerold.   a different terrain, the vale had.   then again, anything could be difficult.   plains, desserts, forests—nowhere was truly safe.   aemond only truly felt at ease high up in the cloud, on the she-dragon’s back.

  “you forget of my origins, my lady aunt.” the prince returned the quirk of rhea’s lips.   “my queen mother comes from the reach and, yes, their horses roam the valleys as proficiently as the targaryen dragons roam the skies,” he gathered the reins in his hands.   of course he did not plan on getting ahead of their rangers, for he did not know these lands.   but keep up with the lot of them, near the centre of their formation without slowing them down, that he could do.   and thus he did, first on a trot until they diverged from the walls of runestone, before developing into a full gallop.

  his idiot of a brother.   gods knew where he could be hiding along the vastness of the vale—aemond counted on the stink of dragon and scales of gold and pink to guide them.   otherwise, aegon may had just fallen into a river and washed off into the sea.   and perhaps that’d… no, no, he shouldn’t think that way.   aegon was his brother, regardless of their grievances.   aemond had but one complaint—he was tired of picking up after his older brother.   when would aegon realize his position?   when would he stop bringing this shame onto them?   when would he stop disappointing mother?   aemond had no answers.   he wished he did, but he did not.   he merely hoped aegon would eventually sober up and plant his feet down as he ought to.

  “lady aunt,” he called out once their group slowed down, stroking over his horse’s neck where he could reach without much stretching.   “are you aware if—perhaps there is a settlement somewhere here?   a house, anything?” as careless as his brother was, aemond hoped that he’d at least seek shelter from someone.   if he truly where somewhere out there on his own, somewhere along those slopes—either the cold that claimed him, or a mountain clan.   

[bronzebtch]

❝  — but my husband wins them.  ❞  her response are sharp, almost unkind in the way that it leaves no argument. she would ask for forgiveness for the blatancy to which she spoke, and yet the truth of the matter was that, for as much as daemon targaryen has forsaken his lady wife, he is still a man who had won stepstones and claimed its crown. the king of the narrow sea, was that not what he called himself ? foolish prince, rhea spared the thought when the news came to her, yet she cannot deny that he'd earned it all the same. that much, she can give credit when credit is due.

❝  and i would imagine if you've half the ambition i suspect you do to surpass him, dearest nephew, you would be winning many. with, or without your dragon.  ❞  again, did the rogue prince not claim the head of the crabfeeder without caraxes at his heels ? it is funny, rhea thinks sometimes, to have only ever remember your husband as the six-and-ten he was when she met him : still scraggly with teenaged muscles, filled with that familiar angry youth she'd twinly wear.

now he has led armies, he has seen battle; similarly, she has led runestone through many seasons of crop shortage, mountain clans' raids, pirates by the shore, winter fevers, and many sentences of death. odd, to think how they both have grown so separately, yet grew all the same.

❝  no. i will not risk your beast anywhere near the alps, my nephew prince. winter is coming, and the mountain clansmen have been getting anxious. we shall have her near our more flatter lands.  ❞  but she is quick to make note of his point on leaving carcasses. that much, rhea can do. she'll make sure to pass it along to makken, one of the knights gerold's been apprenticing as her nephew's sworn shield. this will be a great task to see how he'll handle such a last-minute addition of a... well, guest.

the stable is now near in sight. the squires scurrying, it seems, under her cousin's orders. pair of gloves and riding boots are now presented towards them as rhea hails her greeting once they enter the open ground. someone is fastening a more secure robe around her shoulders, another is asking the prince kindly if he'd like a robe too. gerold seems to be gathering a few men that could be quickly dispatched.

❝  were they ?  ❞  the thought of anyone making fun of the princes seem ridiculous to her, though she's sure it is not so absurd; especially if the tension between the blacks and the greens, if you're one to follow rumours, were true. rhea has no answer to that, which is unfortunate, for she spares no thought in believing that no child deserves to be made fun of; no man should have to carry such fear into adulthood. yet she understands how it is such a horridly human behaviour for people to slander, and hisses accusation, and judges: she has seen her fair share of those too.

❝  if the terrains get too difficult, nephew, let us know. i'll soon introduce you to the men who will accompany us as we travel to the reported sight. they will all be at your commands as well,  ❞  robe fastened, the horses are brought forward. rhea pets hers. ❝  we shall talk of my hunts once we've secured your brother.  ❞ 

  the one-eyed prince smiled, snorted to himself in amusement as he hid the stone away inside the pocket of his long jacket.   such a versatile material, leather.   you can clothe someone in just about any manner.   “wars are easy to begin and fight in, but not so easy to win, aunt rhea,” he offered, hands held behind his back as he neared the woman.   although, he wouldn’t deny the truth—it was were he had been preparing for, for years now.   ever since his bastard of a nephew took his eye and left him half a soldier.   aemond had made up for it handsomely—defeating ser cole in combat was an achievement he’d wear as a brooch on his breast, if possible.   should the need come, he’d be more than adequate.

  and he’d have his winged beast to aid him, to protect him;   the monstrous vhagar.   perhaps the only one whom aemond could share some solace with, through their ugliness.   magnificent creatures they were, dragons.   though just as cruel as humans could be.

  “i fear vhagar would not fit, aunt rhea.   i am certain the she-dragon has made herself comfortable in your mountains,” the prince offered, with a small, polite bent of his waist, reminiscent of a bow.   the queen of all dragons was too large, for dragonpits—for the world too, perhaps.   “leave carcasses at a safe distance from runestone and she will find her way to it,” he advised whilst on her heel until he could catch up to rhea and tread through the corridors next to her.

  he nodded at her prompt, it sounded more than reasonable not to endanger the beasts, even if flying would have inarguably been faster.   perhaps a horse ride would serve them well, anyway.   awfully moody the vale was;   so cloudy and humid.   aemond found it made his bones ache.   perhaps if he spent enough time in it, he’d adjust to it, as he has adjusted to everything the gods have sent his way.

  “as good as any horse rider could be, aunt rhea.   i couldn’t fathom riding a dragon, yet finding trouble with a horse.   i fear it’d bear fruit of unfortunate jests, which people are so keen to.” as they are with anything which gleams ridiculous enough.   “i hear you hunt on your own.   have you had any luck these days?” 

[bronzebtch]

the grin is certainly her husband's, for one.

rhea is not one for sentimentality, and yet she cannot help but feel as if she is but a five-and-ten once more, standing across a scowling daemon targaryen in front of the high sept, as their hands linked awkwardly together in union of matrimony. all at once, it was if she could remember the first night when he had refused the marriage bed; how cold the stone walls become, how pitying the maids had looked, coming into the room to find clean sheets.

( he would fuck a common whore, but not his noble lady wife. the whispers go: could you imagine the humiliation ? )

— but this is clearly not her husband. not even a version of him when he was young. there is a softness to the shape of his eyes that rhea could wager attributed to the hightower queen, a relentlessness that is almost composed. daemon targaryen is not capable of that. when he is restless, he makes it very well to let everyone know. but, back to the present, rhea shall answer —

❝  his forehead, perhaps.  ❞  just a little jest, even if the curl of her lips are so slight it might as well not have appeared at all. ❝  i wager exceeding anything my lord husband has done would not be entirely too difficult, nephew. squint enough, there is always a war for you to fight in, and claim the reward of.  ❞  boys and their wars, targaryens and their bloodlust; rhea shall never claim to understand. but she certainly will not be the one to stand in between it.

❝  cousin,  ❞  rhea calls for gerold without breaking her gaze upon her nephew. ❝  fetch the prince a spare horse if there is any, and i, mine. you can comfortably rest your dragon at the dragonpit in the meantime. it is overgrown with moss and grass, and it lacks keeper, but it is comfortable. my father had built it large in anticipation for more than one,  ❞  the old fool had thought she would bear children who would soon have dragons of their own. little did he know.

❝  i will have my bannermen feed the dragon in the meantime. and i do advise we go en route by horse,  ❞  rhea says, already indicating aemond to follow at her heels as they traverse deeper into the keep so they could reach to the other side where the stable awaits. ❝  i've reports there were disturbance around the eastern side where the alps started. the terrains are better traversed on-foot. i do not wish any dragons' wings to be ripped today.  ❞  yet she makes a note. she will pass along to gunthor later to call for a dragonkeeper in case there is already a beast injured, and to have maester helliweg be prepared for when they would stumble upon the first prince.

❝  how good are you with a horse, my prince nephew ?  ❞ 

   “do i?” a grin curled on the prince’s lips, fingers tracing the flat edge of his dagger.   it was no valyrian steel, more so expensive, well maintained metal.   it could cut anything or anyone that breathed, which was good enough.   in his free hand he held a stone, nicely shaped into a square.   he had heard the vale was rich in such resources, now he could see for himself.

  “in what way would you say that i do, aunt rhea?” in many ways, he’d hope.   the rogue prince was both feared and admired.   he was stupid, impulsive, but admired nonetheless.   aemond hoped to have a reputation such as his one day.   perhaps then, emitting danger needn’t be enforced, but rather expected, if his reputation exceeded him.   “if anything, i could exceed the expectations prince daemon has set,” he drifted off, voice soft.

  aemond could be feared, admired, and respected too.   he’d like to, that is.   to the world, we must defend our own.   and so here he was, after reports of sunfyre being spotted near the vale.   “you haven’t caught sight of prince aegon, have you, aunt rhea?   i hear his dragon were seen a little further east from here.”