#lord Lydden

[direwolfrules]

Weirwood Queen Memes, because I was left alone during my reread

Spoilers for The Weirwood Queen by @redwolf17. Y’all should check it out. It’s a damn good fic.

Part 2

Link to Master Post

[aprilcolours]

blackheart: part two

part one - part three - part four

—

Two days after the Battle at Lydden, the campground was abuzz with news. ‘The Northmen are here.’ ‘The Stark has arrived.’ ‘Did you hear? The greybeards have joined camp.’ The whispers were unavoidable as Visenya broke her morning fast. She thought it rather funny that men at war gossiped all the same as their wives at home. 

As she began to braid her hair (a wartime style like her mother’s), she thought of a certain young lord who had taken up a pressing residence in her mind. 

She worried that the kiss had been rash, impulsive, and ill-conceived. Perhaps I have let the fire in my blood get the better of me, she fretted.

Visenya carried a great weight on her shoulders. Her mother was relying on her to be successful on campaign, while her father was off gallivanting heedlessly. It was of the utmost importance that these Riverlanders respect her authority as commander and be brought to heel. Not an easy feat as a woman. I cannot afford to give even a single reason for doubt in my capability. 

It was these worries that had caused her to rebuff all attempts Benjicot Blackwood had made at flirtation since the kiss. He had tried to tease her, or goad her, or even on one fateful attempt last night: find her alone again. Like the day at Lydden, he had approached as she landed after scouting on Vermithor. She had said immediately, before she could change her mind, ‘After one does battle, they can retain a sort of thrill-seeking madness to expend the remainder of their blood-letting energy. It is common enough, but regrettable. My sole focus at this time is on securing my mother’s throne. I can consider nothing else.’ She did not meet his eyes as she spoke, looking instead over his shoulder before forcing herself to walk steadfastly away, and ignoring the flash of hurt writ across his face. 

It pained her, as she recalled the morning after, her braid now finished. She could still feel the ghost of him on her lips. Warm and yearning. 

We must all make sacrifices in war, she assured herself. Visenya II took a deep breath, steeled her shoulders, and stepped out of her tent to find her place among the war council. 

As the morning’s gossip foretold, a new broad figure stood at the table. Cregan Stark was a large man, an impression made only larger by the cloak of furs clasped round his shoulders. The familiar lords bowed, but surprisingly, the Northerner chose instead to drop to a knee before her. Lord Stark took her hand and kissed the back of it, declaring in a low voice “It is an honor, your highness.”

Visenya did her best to mask her amusement, though her eyes did widen at the display. 

“Lord Stark, so glad you could join us,” she responded, to some chuckles from the other council members. She looked around the table and caught Ben’s eye. His expression was dark, his usual grin now morphed into something more like a sneer. She looked away quickly and began the day’s deliberations. 

—

Near midday, the council adjourned momentarily to see to matters within their banners. Visenya used the time to discern the state of the troops, observing carefully to ensure standards were being met. 

Since the victory, certain soldiers had taken it upon themselves to establish a training field. Knights from differing regions clashed steel against steel, trying their skills against one another. She observed the sparring, face impassive. It seemed silly to waste such energy, the war is only beginning, she thought. 

“Does the fighting not please you my lady?” Ben’s taunting voice rang out nearby. 

His face held the promise of mischief. She was immediately wary, raising her signature unimpressed brow. He took a moment, almost seeming to check that all the gathered were listening, before he stook a step out into the yard and said,

“Well of course, a princess is not trained in such matters, not when you have a dragon to fight in your stead.” He gestured jauntily about like he had made a great joke. 

The whole camp stuttered to a standstill. Utter silence across the plain.

How. Dare. You. 

Visenya’s blood turned to ice in her veins, cold hard rage bottoming out her senses. Her face must’ve done something terrifying because every man in the near vicinity took a few steps back. 

And the scoundrel still just grinned his lopsided grin. 

You’ll pay for that Blackwood, she swore in her mind. 

“Is that so?” she asked, voice sharp and quiet like a shard of glass. She stalked slowly to the other edge of the training yard across from him, her steps measured and predatory. The knights gathered there scrambled back, dragging their equipment hastily. 

Back still turned to him, Visenya looked out upon the troops but did not see them. Only red. With nought a thought for the propriety of the situation, he seems to have that effect quite often doesn’t he, she reached to her back and unsheathed the two blades holstered there. 

Then finally, with a Valyrian shortsword in each hand, she turned and looked the Blackwood in the eye.

“To first blood then?” she asked, tone as mild as if she was asking about the weather. 

“To first blood,” he confirmed, eyes gleaming. And he attacked.

He was an explosion given form. A savage whirl of motion and violence, seemingly without end and tireless. It was a hacking, slashing, sort of style— unpredictable, but not so crass as to be reckless. The movements had a deceptive sort of tightness to them: where it appeared at a glance that such rabid fervor might leave his flanks open; he was guarded and compact. 

All this, Visenya gleaned as she danced circles round his brutal strikes. She parried and sidestepped, studying his every movement like a cat might watch a bird. He was a force, made for chaos and to mow down men in great swathes. But she was finely tuned, a crafted blade made for precision. 

He was good, that much was sure. But Father is better. 

She waited until his left foot turned out slightly, as she had noticed it did when he lunged two handedly, and with a swift precise kick she knocked him flat on his back. Between one blink and the next, she had a boot on his chest and her two blades crossed at his throat. 

There was a moment of utter silence again. Before the camp began their raucous applause. The men were shouting her name, her house words, roaring their approval, but she had eyes only for one. 

Ben, his head in the dirt, smiled. A real, genuine, one, not a sneer or smirk. She did her best to remain stoic even as she felt her own smugness tug at her lips. She picked her boot off his chest and pulled her swords from their position, transferring them into one hand so she might offer the other to him. 

He took it, and did not let go as he stood up. Instead, he raised it to his lips and bowed, his dark searing gaze never leaving hers as he, slowly, imploringly, kissed the back of her hand. 

Seven hells. Visenya suppressed a shiver. She could not tell whether she was still angry or wanted to laugh. She forced herself to recover quickly.

“You have a boot-print on your shirt, my lord,” she teased. Then she promptly turned around and looked at the gathered spectators to call,

“Since the situation has arisen, is there any other who would challenge a duel?” She turned in a circle, watching some soldiers jostle each other forward and others shy away. 

“Good Ser Tully,” she addressed, “perhaps a knight can make a better showing on behalf of the Riverlands.” 

The knight laughed humbly and stepped forward, “I can certainly try my lady.”

—

Visenya sparred with four men, challengers each from different houses. She remained for the better part of the day, offering advice, comparing strategy, and watching other matches. As the sun fell low in the sky, the group finally dispersed. As she made her way back to her tent, she felt a familiar presence step into stride with her. She did not look at Ben as she asked,

“Are you so troubled that you must resort to insulting me the moment another man dares to exist in my presence?”

“No, my lady” he protested, trying to make light of the situation, though he did appear slightly chastened. “Twas simply a ruse so that I might kiss you. I thought you might find it amusing.”

“Amusing? Amusing that you have so loudly begun a pissing contest with the Warden of the North?” she questioned incredulously, temper rising again. She stopped walking and turned to face him. 

Men, she thought angrily, never consider the consequences of their impulses. She felt all her worries about being respected arise within her like a great wave.

“I—” he began, but was swiftly cut off. 

“I will remind you Lord Blackwood, that my mother the Queen has final jurisdiction in the matter of my hand. And she has not yet even heard word of your proposal let alone deigned to consider it,” Visenya bit out, anger giving way to something more like distress. 

She heaved a shaky breath and took a moment to collect herself. He looked thoroughly chastened now. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled her stoicism about her again, declaring,

“Should you presume to mock me publicly again, Raventree Hall will find it has urgent need for its liege Lord to return from his time abroad.”

With that, she turned to stomp away but was halted by a firm hand at her wrist. Turning viciously, she began, “You dare—” 

“Did you speak truly?” Ben asked, voice uncharacteristically timid. “That you regret it?”

She was stricken into silence. He has a habit of surprising me, doesn’t he? Emotions warred within her, crashing against one another like the Narrow Sea. But thinking about his smile today, with her blade to his throat, she could not find it within herself to lie. So she simply shook her head no. 

The Blackwood let a breath out through his nose, like he had been holding it, and pressed a quick hand to her face. His thumb flitted over her cheek once, an echo of his roaming pulling hands. For the briefest of moments, Visenya allowed herself to close her eyes and press her face into his palm. 

“My mother is depending on me,” she whispered, a confession she did not intend to let escape. “I cannot fail her.” 

“I understand,” he replied simply, voice also hushed. 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. A long tender beat. Two. 

When he pulled away, the look in Benjicot Blackwood’s eyes was something close to grim determination. He backed away and strode into the night, cloaked in purpose.

—

A/N: okay so turns out that was just some random blackwood but we are going to ignore that and continue in the delusion bc its fun

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

Honest question, how is what Orys Baratheon did (claim a house and words changing the name) allowed? I guess that since it was a conquest nobody would question it, but yes

Allowed? It happened. Aegon, the king, approved of it. Where else does the law come from?

"From the people!" some might say, and indeed in a feudal society the ruler only remains ruling through the support of his lords. Evidently the lords of the Stormlands accepted Argilac's defeat by Orys as well as his and Argella's marriage, since we never hear anything about "overmighty vassals" in the Stormlands complaining afterwards (unlike in the Reach with the Tyrells or in the Riverlands with the Tullys). Acceptance = "allowed" as well.

And in main ASOIAF, we can look to the Darrys, whose male line died out in the War of the Five Kings, and Lancel Lannister married Amerei Frey, whose mother is a Darry. So we have House Lannister of Darry, whose sigil quarters the Darry plowman and the lion of Lannister. Again, perfectly "allowed", with the king's approval and the vassals not complaining (much). Mind you, since Lancel's annulling his marriage, this situation may change, so we may see a plum/plowman or boar/plowman sigil in the future. There's also the example of Tyrek Lannister and Ermesande Hayford; the fact that Tyrek is missing and Ermesande is a baby is probably the only reason we didn't get a "Lannister of Hayford" situation. Ditto Sansa's disappearance (and Tyrion's arrest) re Tywin's "Lannister of Winterfell" plans. And Genna Lannister is hoping that Roslin has a girl for her grandson Tywin Frey to marry, to cement the House Frey of Riverrun situation amongst their new vassals-- would that include a quartered sigil, castles and trout? Perhaps, though in the end it's unlikely to happen considering the Second Red Wedding and all.

And there's other examples where marriages and sigils takeovers must have been a thing in the past. Whether quartered or fully... Joffrey Lydden changed his name to Lannister when he married the Lannister king's only daughter, but presumably because this was not a conquest but arranged while Gerold III was alive. And as for Lannisters themselves, the Casterlys had a lion sigil before them, along with the Rock. Was it red-and-gold, did they also use "Hear Me Roar"? That we don't know.

But suffice it to say, Orys Baratheon's taking on the Durrandon sigil and words was meant to honor Argilac's valor. To promote the continuity of rule, to tell the people of the Stormlands that their noble traditions would not end with a new lord and new name. And that's all there is to it, really.

[myfandomprompts]

𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟒

Summary : Back in Deep Den, you are doomed to live without Aemond as you carry his child, but the civil war takes a turn and you might see light again.

Warning : Fire & Blood spoilers (still not canon partly) Masterlist (Part 23 - Part 25)

A/N : Sorry for the delay, I have many chapters in store and figuring out the end, thank you for being your kind words all of you!

“Why was I not notified of this? I am part of this family too, I should have gone with him.”

Your mother was watching you pace the room with concerned eyes, your agitated state worrying her due to your current state.

“Please child, be reasonable. You are in no condition to travel and your father only wishes for us to be safe.”

It had been months since you had arrived safely in Deep Den, escorted by Ser Sterron and several others, and since that time you had been unfairly put in the dark about what was happening in King’s Landing, your mother considering that any news might endanger your health and the babe’s.

Upon your arrival, you had begged your father to go to the capital and negotiate the release of Aemond, one way or another you had said. But he had dismissed your pleading, stating that he could do nothing while his own troops were still fighting on the side of the Greens, something that would not change any sooner.

The most difficult and important piece of information your parents were holding from you, however, was the plan of the Black Queen to execute the Kinslayer, because each time your husband’s subject was brought up, you either became very angry with sorrow or fell into anguished cries, forcing your parents and brother to be very careful with what they could say around you. 

But from the moment news of Jacaerys Velaryon’s capture came, taken prisoner by Daeron Targaryen, now called ‘the Daring’, your parents could finally relax. They were now strengthened in the conviction that Rhaenyra would not risk Aemond’s life as long as her son would remain hostage.

Your mother was a Black at heart, believing that Visery’s daughter would be merciful on your House once she would rid Westeros from the usurpers, her own family member, Ser Lorrent, part of the Queen’s guard a pride for her.

Your father, however, was more pragmatic. He had taken great care in not spreading the word of your return to Deep Den.The fact that in the past, no Green had even lifted a finger in order to rescue you from the grip of Ulf the White, one of their own allies, was concerning, and he wished for you to remain as far from them as possible from now on. 

But your father was also more sensible to your sadness regarding the father of your child than his own wife, your mother, taking more seriously your pleas about striking a deal for his release. Not being able to help you pained him, hiding information from you as well, but he told himself that it was for your own good, that you had suffered enough.

Instead, he patiently waited for an opportunity, aware of the fact that any attempts on his part to reach Rhaenyra on his own would indirectly label him as a traitor to the Greens and endanger his men as well as his House.

When a raven from Ormund Hightower arrived, your father finally saw that opportunity. The Lord of Oldtown was requesting the return of Ser Sterron as Commander of the Lydden troops as well as their Lord, and for him, it could only mean that the Greens were finding themselves at an impasse, and were sending for all the help they could, and in this case, diplomatic counsel. The Greens’ situation was dire: they had lost most of the battles, had solely one dragon left on their side, Hugh Hammer and Ulf the White having been murdered by a noble group called ‘the Caltrops’ weeks ago, and the only leverage they possessed at the moment was Jacaerys, their only hostage while Aegon’s heirs were still missing. Lord Donnel suspected that his presence was requested by Daeron, Cole and Ormund for something more than simple leadership. So on the morrow, he was gone. Leaving you behind.

“Do not worry,” your mother had continued. “Soon the rightful Queen will be proclaimed as the true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and we will be able to plead our case and prove our loyalty. Your father will make sure of this.”

“Mother, I do not care who sits on the Iron Throne, my only wish is for my family to be safe, and that includes those you call usurpers!”

Your mother’s words often sickened you, and you were unable to hold your tears at this moment, overwhelmed by the feelings of loss that plagued you for months, your pregnancy sensibly not helping.

“Oh my darling…” she took your hand in hers gently. “The Queen will be merciful.”

You snatched away from her grasp before hiding your face in your hands, breath trembling. You knew your mother to be wrong, obviously too quick to forget about Aegon’s assassination and the death of Helaena. The ‘merciful’ Queen would not rest until Lucerys’ death was fully avenged.

However, the more your mother spoke, the more the harsh reality dawned on you: the Greens were losing, and soon, the Blacks would take their place as rulers of the Seven Kingdoms. Nothing then could stop Rhaenyra Targaryen from making an example of your husband, his brother, his nephew and niece, his mother, and Aemond’s offspring. Your child .

Upon your arrival you had cried for weeks as your head filled with dark thoughts of the possibility of ever seeing Aemond again and of your child being taken away from you. But after a while, your own body became numb to the repetitive images you inflicted yourself with, and soon you only felt nothingness, as if someone had puffed out the flame that made you live, leaving you staring into the dark as you gently rubbed your swollen belly.

The pregnancy was tough on you, and everybody inside the castle walls had their doubts on whether or not you would bring this baby into the world or even make it through yourself. Many believed and feared the “Kinslayer curse”, and the rumours that it was inflicted upon you as well was growing wild. The maester kept compelling you to take those awful potions you knew were inefficient because none except you realised that your affliction was beyond the physical, something no medicine could cure.

The only soul inside of the castle that brought you comfort was your brother. Amory, despite being only four and ten, had everything of a young lord, without the arrogance. He loved you and his concern for you, although much better hidden than your mother’s, was expressed through his visits, warm conversations and games he liked to play with you in your good moments, and you were glad that he was here. He did not pity you nor looked at you with these worried eyes you met whenever you left your quarters, and your connection to him was so deep that it felt like you shared your heart with someone again.

Now that your father was gone, he was spending more time with you than before, watching you grimaced each time you drank down those nauseating looking potions. But you could not forget. You could never forget.

It has been days since the chaos had started, and Aemond could not decipher what was happening outside of his barred window, low beneath the ground. But then again, the Prince had no idea if he could still trust his ears.

From his cell deep in the dungeon, he rarely heard anything other than the guards and the clashing of waves, so when chanting emanating from the city reached his ears, he had got up and listened.

But now, as the sun set, he realised that the noise was now coming from the inside, and he clearly heard the door to the dungeon open, followed by footsteps as he narrowed his eye at the dark corridor in the hope to see the intruders. Soon, several men appeared, with only one of them carrying a torch that cast light upon their alert faces, part of their armour visible under their cloaks.

“Your Grace, we must make haste, the guards are gone but they could retreat here at any moment.”

Aemond did not move, studying the face of the man who clumsily tried the lock of his cell as he finally realised why he looked so familiar: it was one of Cole’s men.

“Why? Where are they?” Aemond asked as the door opened.

“Those left are busy protecting the west side, but they could be gone already. Quickly, your Grace.”

A loud commotion from above that made everyone look up prevented Aemond from asking further questions, and soon everyone pressed themselves out of the dungeon with renewed haste.

“Lady Y/N, my mother…” he tried to say over the noise.

“Already outside,” the man answered as he led him through the unusually empty barracks. “The guest wing was closer so we reached her first.”

From there it was easy. No one was there to stop them, no soldier standing guard where they should have been, no servants to sight them, and certainly no nobles strolling the dungeon as they kept their descent in the dark tunnels of the Red Keep and onto the secluded beach at the foot of the ramparts. Aemond could still hear the ruckus above, and he made a guess that whatever was happening, it was certainly bad for Rhaenyra. He rejoiced at the thought but had no time to confirm his suspicions as he was met with the open air for the first time in months, making his eye blink to adjust to the sunlight as he advanced on the beach. Against the setting sun, he could decipher the silhouette of his mother boarding a rowboat with the help of other men, her sight filling him with relief as he looked around, looking for you.

“Where is Y/N?” he asked the man next to him as he struggled not to stumble on the hard sand. The man’s eyes became wide, almost frightened.

“She… she has not been sighted since Bitterbridge, your Grace. Since Vhagar had helped her to get away from the betray-” the man tried, thinking that talking about his precious dragon would somehow soothe the Prince from the absence of his wife.

But it failed as Aemond suddenly stopped in his tracks and violently grabbed the man by the collar, making his muscles ache by the effort but ignoring the pain at the moment as he slowly understood that his swine of an uncle had lied to him all of this time, taunting him.

“Where. Is. My. Wife?”

You had no idea how to take the news.

King’s Landing had been sacked, or something close to it. You knew of the citizens’ exhaustion at the constant restriction and increased taxes due to the war, but you had not expected for an entire army of hungry and angry rebels to stand against the Queen during the Rogue Prince’s absence in protest. You heard that the crowd was so unrelenting, so vindictive that the whole City Watch had been overwhelmed, their numbers already thin due to the enlistment. But the rebels had been organised. One of their groups had taken the precaution to break in the Dragonpit, force the dragonkeepers to bound the Queen’s dragon Syrax before trying to slay the beast. The fools all perished in her flames, but not before they injured the yellowed scaled beast so badly that she would never be able to fly again. You also heard that in the chaos, many dragons had flown away from the Dragonpit at the sudden swarming of the crowd, was there by fear or by command of the dragonkeepers in order to protect them, no one knew for sure.

But more importantly, you heard that Rhaenyra Targaryen had been gravely wounded during the riots. Indeed, once she realised that the rebels would try to weaken her by any means necessary, she had tried to reach her dragon. Whether or not she knew her mount to be in danger is unclear, but the fact remained that she had left the Red Keep after ordering her children to be taken away, heading to the Dragonpit with an escort. But it has not been enough, and in the end, Ser Lorent, your great-cousin, had been the only one remaining at her side able to pull her out of danger following the disastrous event.

Several days later, she had succumbed to her injuries.

It is said that at Daemon Targaryen’s return, it had been a bloodbath. Learning of the death of his wife and the fleeing of his children, he had executed all of the rebels in rage and grief as well as ordering a strict curfew, before calling for a meeting in order to launch a final and long due attack on the Greens, convinced that the riots were their doing. Only his in-laws, the Velaryons and his daughters were left to try to slow him down.

But the news you longed for the most never came. Not a word about Aemond or Alicent, your only comfort found in the fact that if Aemond had still been under Daemon’s watch, he would have executed him immediately upon his return, by pure revenge. That is, if he was not dead already.

Your heart fell in your chest at the very thought and you cursed the fact that you were so far away from King’s Landing, with child and that everything was so slow to reach your ears.

This also ironically seemed to be the perfect moment for your waters to break.

Aemond missed Vhagar dearly, frustrated that he had to ride to Tumbleton instead of flying, but it was nothing next to the anguish he experienced whenever he thought of what might have become of you. Right now the only thing stopping him from leaving to search for you was his mother, her state frail and distraught due to months of captivity worrying him so much that he could not bring himself to abandon her until they reached the safety of the town.

Their little party had been forced to travel low across the King’s Woods, avoiding every main path in order to reach their destination unseen, putting him in a foul mood.

Because Tumbleton was north of Bitterbridge, Aemond had hoped to find traces of Vhagar there, since he had Cole’s men tell him about everything regarding your whereabouts, learning of the way you had been dragged across the Crownlands and held in the late Caswell’s castle under the watch of Ulf the White. Aemond dearly wished that the traitor was still alive so he would have the pleasure to detach his head from his body himself. Your escape had surprised him, wondering who would be bold enough to snatch you from under a dragonrider’s nose, but he already had his suspicion on their identity as he got closer to the camp where his army waited.

And his intuition turned out to be right. Tumbleton was surrounded by a chaotic mass of tents spread across the dry fields and all he had to do was to search for a certain sigil with a silver badger on it, and he would have his answer.

But as he dismounted, he was instantly harassed by maesters who insisted on examining him, claiming that he needed to slowly readapt to normal activities after months of captivity. Annoying him greatly, it only resulted in Aemond lashing out at them, before entrusting his mother to Cole’s care and striding away angrily, ignoring his great-cousin’s greeting, not wishing to waste another second of his time.

It did not take long to find the Lord he was looking for as everybody came to see the Prince Regent's return, eager to see how affected by the Blacks he had been. But Aemond had no care for them, instead walking straight toward two men standing from a distance near one of the tents, a Lord and his knight.

As he levelled with Lord Donnel Lydden and Ser Sterron, the former bowed slightly to greet him, something akin to satisfaction in his eyes.

“Prince Aemond. It is a relief to see you and your mother unharmed and safely returned. I trust that every step of the plan to rescue you has been strictly followed.”

Aemond had no patience to decipher what that meant and went straight to the point.

“Tell me you know where she is.”

Ser Sterron lips curved upwards at his words next to them, unsurprised by the Prince’s direct question. His Lord bore the same expression.

“She is safe. And… rather well, due to the circumstances.”

It took a tremendous effort from Aemond to not let anything appear on his face as immense relief flowed inside him.

“What circumstances?” he asked hastily, watching your father’s condemning expression try to find his answer, hesitant.

“The child she carries had, and still, puts her in danger. I have taken great precautions in order to preserve her from any harm or any soul that would plan to use her in any way. I am sure you understand your Grace, that my intentions are only for her to remain as far as possible from this conflict.”

Aemond felt the blood rush in his ears at the Lord’s words, already irritated by the tiring journey he had suffered.

“You insult me greatly, my Lord, if you believe me incapable of keeping her safe. Are you saying that you intend to have her hidden away from my family? From me?”

Lord Donnel looked briefly ill at ease, his gaze still bravely holding Aemond’s.

“I only ask for your discretion. A lot has happened since your… absence, and as I am sure you know, it is one of your own allies that had my daughter cut out from anyone she knew during months, if not worse,” Lord Lydden’s expression was harder now. “Consequently, if you care for her as much as I do, I would only ask of you to-”

“I would die for her, that’s how much I care. I love her more than anyone ever has.”

His voice had been louder than he had intended,  and in truth he had not intended to speak those words at all, surprising himself. Never has he expressed this to anyone aside from you.

Lord Lydden arched a brow, bemused at the Prince’s outburst, but the ghost of a smile was noticeable on his face.

“I… see,” he discretely glanced at Ser Sterron before turning to Aemond again. “Then we are in agreement. She should not leave Deep Den, not until all of this is over.”

He had said the last piece in a lower tone, wary to not be heard by the people walking past them. Aemond was about to answer that he will be the sole judge of that, but a sudden familiar feeling of electricity coursing through his body prevented him from doing so, making him sharply inhale and take a step back.

He looked at the sky, as if he had spotted something only he could see, but a minute later, what he was looking for-. No, what he was feeling came soaring through the sky, casting its shadow over the town.

Every soul in the camp looked up and pointed fingers in awe as Vhagar circled around them, roaring, before making her descent into the nearby field, making the tents shake in her wake.

Aemond’s heart jolted in bliss, and he could not repress a smile as he politely bowed at Lord Lydden in order to make his leave.

“I will send your regards to your daughter, my Lord.”

At that, he swiftly turned on his heels and headed straight toward his beloved mount, striding across the camp.

As he got nearer, it became impossible to tell which one of the two were the most joyous, as Vhagar heavily extended her head towards him when he approached her, squealing in excitement while Aemond flattened his palm against her hard green scales, feeling their heat and rejoicing at the sensation of their bond being restored at last.

“My girl, I have missed you,” he whispered as she nudged her snout against him.

He felt whole again.

Well, almost.

A/N: Holidays are over, and here we go again. I wanted to thank you for all of your kinds words and support, it means a lot and it's worth being said over and over, you readers are everything. Happy New Year!

-0- Part 25

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[redwolf17]

The characters of A Drowning Grief

Art by @ohnoitsmyra, commissioned by my beta, PA2. I'm so sorry 😔

Gwendolyn Lydden and Kevyn Reyne*

Elissa Reyne (nee Lydden), Dowager Lady of Castamere

Amarei, Lynora, and Alys Reyne*

Darlessa, Jeyne, and Leila Reyne*

Cerenna and Marla Reyne**

Ellyn Tarbeck (nee Reyne), Lady of Tarbeck Hall, and her grandson, Tywald

----

*Children of Ser Reynard Reyne and Myrielle Lefford

**Children of Lord Roger Reyne and Eleyna Brax

[jaimeslanisters]

the pawn in every lover's game (part four)

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!Reader

When you're ten, your father sends you to King's Landing to befriend a princess and woo a prince. A lioness growing up amongst dragons is a dangerous thing indeed.

crossposted on ao3 masterlist word count: 6.3k notes: another time skip but now we get adult aemond so hopefully that makes up for it (if the show can get away with skipping years so can i!). now reader gets to truly enter her political!reader arc (:

When you rush into the hallways outside of your Mother’s chambers, Cerelle doesn’t immediately react. She’s all but a statue, seated on a bench facing the doors of the chambers and staring down at her hands. It’s only when you walk to stand directly in front of her that she looks up, emerald eyes wide with shock.

“Father and Tyshara are attending to Jeyne and Joy. They told me to come ahead and see how things are. How is Mother doing?” You ask, and your older sister opens her mouth to respond when a scream rips its way out of the chambers, loud, long, and agonizing. Underneath it, you can barely make out the soft, comforting voice of a midwife and you stare at your sister, horrified.

Cerelle frowns. “The birth will be painful, more so than usual. The maester said that he believes this is to be Mother’s last child,” she murmurs. “It took so long for her womb to quicken this time - seven years. This is to be the last attempt.”

You frown as you slide onto the bench next to her. “Either we will finally have the long-awaited heir or…”

“The line of House Lannister will break once again,” Cerelle murmurs, bowing her head. “We barely survived it the last time.”

You shake your head, scoffing. “We survived it once and we can survive it again. Queen Leila was alone when she married Joffrey Lydden but she ensured that the Lannister name and blood survived. She made it so,” you remind her. “There are five of us, soon to be six. We have Uncle Tyland still and we have the backing of the royal family. If worse comes to worst, we will not be supplanted by an overeager vassal.”

Cerelle looks at you carefully. “Do we have Targaryen support? There have been no… official declarations of allegiance with us.”

You smile wryly. “Perhaps not but I imagine Helaena will be rather put out if her dearest friend’s house is extinguished overnight because of something as small as a lack of a male heir. They will help us ensure that whatever husband you find will be… agreeable to taking the Lannister name and relinquishing any claim on any other inheritances they may have.”

“I imagine dragons would be helpful in that,” Cerelle muses, shaking her head. She stares down at her hands for a moment before she looks back at you with searching eyes. “Will there be a… declaration of sorts in the future?”

“Now, isn’t that the question everyone has been dying to ask me,” you laugh, reaching over to squeeze your sister’s hand in comfort. “I don’t fancy myself an oathbreaker so Prince Aegon will marry Helaena as planned.”

Cerelle raises an eyebrow. “And Prince Aemond? Or am I to believe you’ve given up on your designs on any of the princes.”

You grin at your sister, releasing her and settling back against the wall. “When have you known me to give up on anything? I’m simply giving you the time and space to secure your own marriage before I claim my own. It would hardly be proper for the third daughter to be betrothed before the eldest.”

Cerelle scans your face carefully, looking for any sign of hesitancy before she sighs and leans back against the wall. “I’ll have to secure that marriage quickly,” she says. “I imagine Tyshara is growing weary and tired of having to tell her Lord Tarly to remain patient.”

“According to the singers, our sister is something of an enchantress,” you reply, voice dying slowly when another scream echoes out of the birthing chamber. You turn to stare at the door in trepidation and fear, your heart beating loudly in your chest. Cerelle barely flinches and she doesn’t say a word as you take a moment to recollect yourself, hands trembling. She merely leans into you, silently giving you her strength. After a second’s pause, you start again. “The golden beauty of Casterly Rock. Even in the Red Keep, I would hear songs about how she can enthrall any man with a single look. Her lord would wait for her even if you grew to be an old spinster.”

“Perhaps though I wonder if the singers would still sing their songs if they knew how ill-tempered Tyshara is if you wake her up early,” Cerelle laughs. “Her lord will wait but will your prince wait? Will you?”

You glance over at her, ready to retort, but she simply shakes her head, still smiling as she looks back down at her hands. To be honest, you wonder if she has a point. It had been eight years since you had been sent to the capital and Aemond had become your closest friend aside from Helaena. Outside of his sister and mother, you were the only woman in the court he interacted with on a daily basis, a fact that did not endear you to other hopeful would-be brides. Your meetings in the library still happened though now there was a… different air to it.

The table tucked away in the back of the library, hidden from prying eyes, remained your meeting place but the two of you were no longer children studying and sharing stories. He was a man fully grown and you were a maiden flowered. Etiquette demanded that the pair of you be accompanied by a chaperone during solo interactions and you highly doubted that the elderly maester assigned to the library counted considering he was asleep half of the time. Of course, you had never done anything even resembling something improper - not since you had snuck into his room at Driftmark. There was always a careful distance between the two of you, pointed efforts to avoid getting as physically close as you had when you were children.

It didn’t mean you didn’t desperately crave it. At first, it had been innocent. You had longed for the days when it hadn’t been inappropriate for you to reach out and grab his hand for comfort or crowd around a book, sides pressed into each other’s as you read. It had been so easy for a time but then you had grown and he had too and things had changed. You began to notice how tall he had become, how all his training in the yard had led to his body becoming muscled and lean. His already fine features had become masculine and refined and you wouldn’t be lying if you said he was prettier than the vast majority of the court, man and woman alike. He had grown his hair out, long and shiny and silver, and there were times when you had to stop yourself from reaching out and running your fingers through it to see if it was truly as silky as it looked.

In a way, it had almost been a relief when Uncle Tyland and you were summoned back to Casterly Rock after your Mother had announced she was with child a few moons ago. It gave you space to collect your thoughts and consider your next moves. Helaena’s wedding was soon and after, Queen Alicent would turn her attention to securing her youngest sons’ marriages. Daeron could wait for a few years but Aemond would be her top priority. You had only a few months or even less to secure Aemond as your own.

While you had certainly noticed Aemond as a man, you couldn’t be sure if he had noticed your own growth into a woman. Other men had noticed you - one Lord Victor Florent in particular who you had taken to dodging and avoiding. Uncle Tyland found his amusement in denying any betrothal or chaperon requests that came his way but still, nothing had come from Aemond. He has never treated you any differently, always so infuriatingly proper. He counted you as a close friend but you feared that that was all he saw you as.

“I worry I may have hurt my own cause,” you murmur to Cerelle, looking away when she glances over at you. “I’ve been one of his closest companions since we were children. I wonder if he sees me as just another sister like Helaena.”

Cerelle laughs, knocking your shoulder with hers. “He’s a Targaryen. That might be a plus in your regard. Perhaps all he needs is some more forward encouragement on your part.”

You snort, shooting her a halfhearted glare. “Perhaps,” you grumble, unwilling to keep talking about the incestuous habits of the royal family. “And what of your marriage? Any prospects?”

She sighs, shaking her head. “Every lord in the Westerlands has been pushing their son onto me since you were born and the line of House Lannister was revealed to be at risk. I’ve gotten some offers from the Reach and the Stormlands as well. There was even a particularly interesting letter from Starfall all the way in Dorne.”

You nod your head thoughtfully. “All good options,” you say, turning your body to face her. “But… Have you considered the North?”

“The North?” Cerelle asks, bafflement clear on her face.

“Yes. Cregan Stark has reached his age of majority and he is, as of now, unattached to any betrothals or marriage pacts. His uncle, Lord Regent Bennard, has refused all who ask for fear of his nephew amassing enough power to forcibly remove him from the seat that rightly belongs to him.”

“And you’re suggesting that I be that offer?”

“Yes. If the Gods are good, Mother will leave that room with a son in her arms and you’ll be free to go where you please. You must go north to Winterfell.” There’s a low keening wail coming from your mother’s chambers and you suck in a breath as you lean closer to your sister. “Winter has just ended but the North always immediately begins preparations for the next. Travel to Winterfell with father’s steward and an offer to send Lannister aid and gold to assist.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t think I had quite that level of authority.”

“Father will listen to you if you present it as growing the influence of the Westerlands in other kingdoms. Uncle Tyland will help. The North will accept the offer - they need it. The past two winters have been short, only a year, and so the maesters predict that the next one will be long. Whenever a winter drags longer than one and a half years, the death toll in the North increases dramatically. They’ll have no choice but to accept.”

“Why would Lord Bennard allow my entry into Winterfell? Especially if he’s turned down all offers of marriage to Lord Cregan?”

You smile. “Because Lord Bennard has four sons of his own and the youngest two are unmarried. He’ll want to claim you for his sons, to bolster their own claim, but you’ll approach Cregan Stark and offer him aid for his claim.”

Cerelle looks you over, scanning you carefully. “I never knew you were so passionate about Cregan Stark claiming his birthright. What do you care for who rules Winterfell? Why do you want a Lannister presence in the North?”

Your smile grows, slow and leonine. “King Torrhen bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror but the North has never been ruled by the South - not truly. I doubt it ever will be. It is too wild and big to rule from King’s Landing and the Northerners are a proud bunch. They will do as they please. Cregan Stark, however, is a man, and men can be ruled by their wives, especially if their wives are as clever and beautiful as you, Cerelle. If you can manage to marry him, you’ll have a marriage with a man known to be honorable and strong, a man who wouldn’t fear being outsmarted by his wife but rather welcome it.”

“Are your intentions as pure as me securing a marriage that would fit me personally?” Cerelle asks as the sound of footsteps echoes down the hall, Tyshara and Jason’s voices floating down to the pair of you.

You tilt your head. “Mostly. I do desire a marriage that fits you above all else though I won’t lie and say the alliance it’ll bring us wouldn’t be critical.”

“To us?” Cerelle questions wryly as she rises to her feet, you along with her, to greet your father and sister. “Or to your future good brother’s ascent to the Iron Thorne?”

You don’t answer, merely grinning at your sister, before turning back to your father and Tyshara. The four of you settle down, Tyshara squeezing on the bench with you and Cerelle, while your father leans back against the wall, eyes closed. Together, you all wait, occasionally whispering to each other, but mainly sitting in silence as your mother’s pitched screams grow louder and louder until there is finally silence.

Just as you think you can’t bear it, you hear Johanna’s exhausted voice speak and a baby’s wail. Your body relaxes in absolute relief, that the worst hasn’t come to pass, and the doors swing open to reveal Maester Addam, the old man smiling wider than you have ever seen him smile before.

You know the answer before he ever says it.

“Lady Johanna has birthed a healthy boy, my lord. Both she and the babe are in excellent health.”

Your father appears stunned as if he had never truly expected this outcome, but then he stands straight, running his hand over his face. He wants to cry you realize with surprise and the realization causes a knot to form in your throat.

“Come, my girls,” he says, his voice fragile like glass. “Let us meet your brother.”

You and your sister rise to follow him and, as you enter your mother’s chambers, Cerelle leans in close to your ear, her hands clasping yours.

“It seems I’ll have to stock up on thick cloaks,” she whispers and when you look over at her, she’s smiling with tears in her eyes.

——————————–

You didn’t think you would ever miss King’s Landing with its foul smell and its even fouler people but when your carriage rolls into the courtyard and you spot Helaena waiting for you, practically bouncing on her heels, with her mother at her side and other members of the court behind her, you feel like you’re returning home.

You attempt to have some composure as you approach her, curtsying low as you greet the Queen, but when you turn to do the same to Helaena, she rushes you, wrapping her arms around your neck in a tight hug. It’s a short hug - years at her side had not made her more inclined to touch - but tears immediately cloud your eyes and you fight to make sure they don’t fall. Next to you, Jason is charming the Queen and Tyland speaks to the Lord Hand Otto Hightower but your eyes are only on Helaena.

“I’ve missed you, Helaena, though perhaps not as much as you seem to have missed me,” you tease as if you aren’t tearing up, and Helaena waves her hand in the air, seemingly equally as affected by your reunion.

She manages out a wet laugh, her eyes shining brightly. “I missed having a sister. My brothers are nice but sometimes I just want a girl around.”

You grin. “I’m pleased to say that I can finally relate though Loren is such a playful and sweet babe that I can’t complain about his presence.”

She smiles, turning to walk inside the Red Keep, and you follow, walking in step with her easily. She leans conspiratorially in. “Aemond will be angry with Aegon for making him miss your return. It seems that it’s tradition for the groom to hunt down an animal to be prepared for the wedding feast and Aegon refused to go alone and dragged along our brothers. I fear that they must not have had much luck seeing as they were due to be back yesterday and still haven’t returned yet.”

You laugh, your heart racing at the mention of Aemond. Only a few months. “I can only imagine the problems Prince Aegon is causing poor Aemond and Daeron. I pity them both.”

“As long as all three of them return in one piece, I’ll be satisfied,” Helaena hums. “Ser Criston went with them as well as some Hightower cousins.”

“Ser Criston will keep them in line,” you say, gently brushing your shoulder against hers. “Or at least, I imagine he will try. I can’t see Aegon ever being overruled in his mischief like that.”

She pauses midstep, her face blank. “The hand will hold the iron.”

You blink, turning to her. Your mind flashes back to Driftmark, to her whispers about a closed eye. “Otto Hightower?” You ask softly and she simply stares back at you, looking straight through you, before she reclaims herself, shaking her head.

You give her a moment to adjust back to the present. Questioning her about her strange utterings had never helped. Helaena never remembered and pressing the topic made her uneasy and nervous, as if she would betray a sacred promise she had made if she ever spoke the truth about her odd prophecies.

“How have wedding preparations gone?” You ask instead and Helaena’s countenance brightens as if she’s grateful for the out.

“Smoothly enough,” she answers, playing with her fingers as the two of you continue your path through the Red Keep, no doubt heading to the sitting room where the two of you had always spent most of your time. “Mother is helping me with my maiden cloak but it’s slow going. I only have a little over a sennight left and she is already panicking that I won’t finish it in time.”

You smile. “Perhaps if you were stitching a spider rather than a dragon, you’d be interested.”

“I should hoist it off to you,” she replies cheerfully. “It’d be great practice for your own in the future.”

“My sister is free to marry now that we won’t have to hastily secure the future of our house,” you say. “I imagine the second she is married, Tyshara will marry Lord Tarly, and then it’ll be my turn. If my father has anything to say about it, his three eldest will be married before the year is out. The coffers will certainly be in a state after three weddings.”

Helaena tilts her head. “A dragon trapped by snow,” she murmurs softly.

Snow?

Your fingers itch with the desire of pulling on Helaena’s hands and begging her for an explanation that you know she would never give so instead, you swallow thickly and keep walking at her side.

——————————–

At some point in regaling Helaena with tales of the Rock, Queen Alicent sweeps in, a shining picture of grace and beauty. She smiles at the sight of you and Helaena seated together on the chaise lounge, waving her hand when you rise to greet her.

“Please,” Alicent says, eyes warm. “None of it, my lady. You’ve spent enough years by my Helaena’s side that you needn’t keep bowing to me.”

You smile, feeling the glow of accomplishment. “I would still feel wrong not doing it, your grace. I’m merely giving you the respect you are due.”

Alicent’s eyes flash with something, too quickly for you to recognize, but her smile grows fonder and she turns to look at her daughter.

“We must hurry to finish your maiden cloak, my sweet. The wedding festivities will begin shortly and then you’ll have no time for it all,” she says, wringing her hands in anxiety.

Helaena’s eyes flash. “No choice. No choice,” she murmurs urgently and you watch her carefully, hoping that she’ll continue, but she shakes her head, rising to her feet. “Of course Mother,” she quietly says, timid and shy.

The Queen smiles, this time more reserved, and she turns to you with a friendly look on her face. “I’d ask you to join us, my lady, but I have a favor to ask of you.”

You nod immediately. “Of course, my queen, I’ll do my very best to assist you in any way I can.”

Her smile grows. “My sons are meant to arrive back from their hunt shortly. I was hoping that if you would be so kind, you could go inform them to come to the royal apartments. There is much to discuss about their roles to play in the nuptials. You, of course, are welcome to stay to assist Helaena with her cloak after.”

You immediately agree even as you ponder her request. Truly, it was a task meant for a maid or even a kingsguard if Alicent wished to place more importance on an otherwise mundane task. Although… Perhaps the Queen was considering you as an option for Aemond or Daeron. You were Helaena’s only companion and the Lannisters remained, as ever, loyal and steadfast allies of House Hightower. It would be an insult if she didn’t think you a worthy option for her sons.

Securing the Queen’s approval had never factored into your plans. Your position and power had always been clear to you - the Queen and by proxy, the King would never dream of upsetting both the Warden of the West and their Master of Ships by dismissing you as a bride out of hand. Your plan hinged rather on Aemond himself choosing you.

With that in mind, you give yourself leave of Helaena and the Queen and walk down to the courtyard. The wedding was only a little more than a week away and already the Red Keep was an absolute hive of people. Servants were bustling around, almost frantic in their attempts to put the castle to order and prepare decorations. A few Houses had already arrived for the festivities and you knew soon, the dozens of others that had been invited would descend upon the capitol. Your own family was part of the rush - your father had accompanied you and your uncle back for that very reason. Your older sisters had planned to come along also but then Cerelle had gone North and Tyshara had remained behind at Casterly Rock to help care for your mother. In their place, auxiliary members of House Lannister from Lannisport, children of your grandfather’s brothers, had come.

It was all a thinly veiled attempt at showcasing the united strength of the Hightowers and Targaryens and those who stood behind them. Everywhere you looked, shiny green banners decorated the walls with beautiful dragon statues adorning the halls. It was opulent. It was beautiful. It was such a shame that it was all to be wasted on a sham marriage even if Helaena herself deserved this and more.

When you reach the courtyard, it is a flurry of activity as stablehands race to put away carriages and horses and members of lesser houses are greeted by relatives and connections in the royal court. No one notices you slip in and stand to the side and you fold your hands in front of you, watching the only marginally organized chaos unfold in front of you.

You don’t have to wait long until heralds ride into the courtyard, announcing the return of the three princes and their entourage. It seems almost an impossible feat of magic the way the servants clear the once messy courtyard to be clear and empty for the arrival of the royal family, their voices loud and firm as they move with purpose and urgency to clear the space. The present court gathers and some overeager girls from House Mullendore crowd in front of you, their cloaks spotted with the butterflies of their sigil, as they whisper eagerly about the princes.

“I hear Prince Daeron is as beautiful as any maiden in the court, if not more so,” one says as she leans in close to her companion. “Prince Aemond is also as lovely though that scar must do him no favors.

“Poor man,” the other girl titters, even as a row of grand wheelhouses enters the courtyard, Ser Criston riding ahead of them. “He’d make a fine husband if only Lucerys Velaryon hadn’t taken an eye from him. I hear he wears an eyepatch to cover up that terrible wound.”

Her friend gasps, the sound sharp and annoying in your ears. “I pity whichever wife is stuck with him then. To look at such a thing while trying to fulfill your duties in the bedchambers… such a terrible shame,” she whispers, her tone light and airy as if she was discussing the weather or the latest fashion.

He wears that damnable eyepatch because of ladies as spineless and empty-headed as you, you think to yourself as servants rush to open the doors of the wheelhouse. If a scar is enough to scare you, then you’d make a poor match for a dragon.

The doors fly open and, as one, the court all moves to greet the royal princes. You perform a quick, shallow curtsey and when you look up, you see Aegon, swaying in place and looking wholly uncomfortable with the attention being given. Prince Daeron stands behind him, only slightly shorter than his eldest brother, with his face calm even as his eyes betray his panic at his brother’s state,

They melt away, however, when you spot Aemond. It’s been well over half a year since you had left, the longest time you have ever spent away from King’s Landing since you first moved here so many years ago. When you were at the Rock, it seemed as if time could not go slower as your entire family held its breath in prayer and anticipation of the new heir. Looking at Aemond now, however, you wonder how if time had stopped for you, then how it must have sped for him?

More than his looks, there is a quiet confidence in Aemond now that there had never been there before. He was always proud of being a prince and, after claiming Vhagar, he was a proud Targaryen dragonrider. But this was more than that. This was a steady and firm conviction in himself as a person and it takes your breath away to see.

You want to step forward, push aside the Mullendore girls, and talk to him but you stand back for a moment longer, hungry to see more of Aemond before he saw you.

He moves closer to Aegon and, with a quick jab to the ribs, subtly moves his brother to stand up straighter. Strangely obedient, Aegon does so and, with a smile that is plainly fake, greets the court back in kind. Finally acknowledged, the nobles surrounding you disperse, most of them already loudly gossiping to each other as they spread out.

“You know,” one of the Mullendore girls says as she turns to her companion, completely oblivious to you standing right behind them. “Seeing him now… perhaps that scar does not damage Prince Aemond’s looks as much as we had feared.”

The other girl giggles, loud and girlish. “No. Perhaps we should ask your lord father to introduce us to him?”

“I wouldn’t risk getting that close, my ladies,” you cut in, smiling when the girls turn to you in anger, only to still when they see you dressed in Lannister red with a lion necklace hanging around your neck. “The princes are all the blood of the dragon and as such, are fierce and capable warriors. Such… delicate maidens such as yourselves might be frightened something awful by them. It would be a terrible shame for you to insult them with your own meekness.”

One of the girls sputters in indignation but you push past her, making your way to the princes. Aegon spots you first, eyes brightening, as he throws his arms wide, nearly whacking poor Daeron in the ribs.

“My shining lady of Lannister,” he cheers and you fight the urge to smack some sobriety into him. Instead, you give him a nod, trying your best to pretend that your heart doesn’t begin to race and pound in your chest when Aemond turns around in a flash to look at you, his sole eye wide in surprise.

You pray that you don’t blush when you meet his gaze for a moment.

“You honor me too much, my prince,” you respond, subtly turning your head to glance at the Mullendore girls with smug pride. Both girls have gone pale at Aegon’s loud and effusive greeting and you smile sweetly at them. You face the princes again. “I expect the hunt went well?”

Daeron groans. “Hardly. We eventually managed to get a stag but only after days of wandering the Kingswood. Aegon was well into his cups from the moment we set off, Ser Criston kept laughing at our inability to track, and Aemond was just impatient and snappish the entire time.”

Aegon laughs. “We had our fun. Shame that Aemond was too preoccupied to enjoy it. What was it that had you so distracted, dear brother?”

“Worry that you’d trip and fall upon your own sword,” Aemond drily responds and something in you sings at hearing his voice after so long.

You smile at him. “I’m glad he had you there then, my prince, to ensure that such a terrible fate would not happen to him on the eve of his wedding. I imagine the groom dying is an ill omen, indeed.”

Daeron breaks out into loud laughter, hand grabbing at Aegon’s shoulder to tease his older brother, but you keep your eyes on Aemond. He smiles at you, a small, secret smile, and you can’t help but to grin back.

“Speaking of the wedding, my princes, your mother sent me to retrieve the three of you and accompany you to the royal apartments. She has much to discuss over the upcoming festivities.” You say after a moment and there’s a long groan from Aegon.

“Of course, of course,” he grumbles, his face twisted with displeasure. “Everything must go perfectly for the wedding.”

You frown, watching him carefully. Since Driftmark, he wasn’t as cruel to his siblings as he once was. He, along with the rest of his family and allies, had closed ranks in an attempt to appear unified, pointedly avoiding at least public discord. Despite that, however, neither Aegon nor Helaena had warmed any to their upcoming nuptials and Aegon still kept to his whoring habits though perhaps not as openly as he once had. You hadn’t warmed to their union but you had grown to somewhat see the benefits of it - it ensured that any dragonriders Helaena birthed would remain in the Targaryen line rather than open to outside influence from other houses and it prevented angering any potential good-fathers with Aegon’s indiscretions.

It all made strategic “sense” but you didn’t like it. You didn’t like it at all.

You clear your throat. “If it would please you, we should head to meet your mother and sister now.”

Aegon makes a face but he gestures for you to lead and you nod at him with a smile, glancing over at Aemond as you turn to head into the Red Keep. Behind you, you hear Daeron yelp as Aegon drags him back to his side, saying something or another about smuggling the poor lad out to the Street of Silk. From Daeron’s loud protestations, you imagine that Aegon will only be disappointed by his brother’s complete rejection of the idea and you fight to hold back a laugh.

Next to you, Aemond catches up, his long legs allowing him to overtake your own stride quickly enough. He folds his hands back his back and looks down at you, causing your heart begin to beat heavily in your chest. “How did you enjoy being back at the Rock, my lady? You’ve certainly talked it up across the years.”

You smile at him, angling your body so you can face him slightly as you navigate the winding halls of the Red Keep. “It was both exactly as I remembered it and wildly different. The castle itself remains the same from the Lion’s Mouth to the battlements at the very top. Some people likewise remained the same like my father’s steward but Jeyne and Joy have grown so much from the little girls I left behind and have turned into young maidens behind my back. It was… disconcerting to be reunited with them and find Jeyne has grown taller than me.”

“An easy task to be sure,” Aemond quips and you roll your eyes.

“Not all of us can be blessed with your stature, my prince,” you respond.

He hums. “And not all of us will be cursed to be outgrown by our youngers like you.”

“Give it time,” you laugh as you glance over your shoulder to look at Daeron and Aegon, the former appearing bone-tired to be trapped listening to whatever it was his older brother was attempting to tell him. “The young Prince Daeron still has some years yet to grow even taller. Perhaps he’ll outpace you just as you’ve outpaced Prince Aegon. Your mother would be absolutely drowning in betrothal pacts.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they begin coming this week,” he says, shaking his head, “All the lords Mother invited brought their daughters with them. I’d be surprised if there’s a maiden of noble birth not here.”

You tilt your head. “My own sisters are not part of that rush at least, my prince. Cerelle has been sent North with my father’s steward to work on a treaty of the utmost importance. Tyshara is at the Rock, assisting my mother and helping her care for baby Loren. Jeyne and Joy are not quite yet at that age. I will say, however, my father is most anxious for his daughters to be married soon.”

Jason wasn’t. When you first returned, he had discussed with you your designs on Prince Aemond. He had expressed annoyance that you hadn’t attempted to build a relationship with Aegon but Tyland had assured him that you had made the correct decision and had even expressed his belief that you were wholly capable of wooing Aemond. That combined with the birth of Loren and the more immediate pressure on Cerelle to marry kept him hounding you about your prospects.

Of course, Aemond didn’t need to know that.

Cerelle had said that he might need some encouragement.

“My own parents were betrothed at my great-uncle’s wedding feast. Perhaps I’ll leave the next week with a future husband in tow.”

Aemond looks you over, his amethyst eyes searching. “I imagine your father came with you for that exact purpose rather than staying behind with your lady mother.”

You shrug. “He has never shown much interest in any of my sisters before we were old enough to talk to him about things other than our childhood interests. I can’t imagine that even his long-awaited son could hold his attention. A week-long wedding celebration where he’s guaranteed the chance to drink and have his fun coupled with the potential of marrying off one of his daughters? I can see no reason why he would be more interested in that than a screeching babe.”

“Careful,” Aemond warns in a teasing voice, nodding to the kingsguard stationed by the entrance to Maegor’s Holdfast as all of you approach. “Many men wouldn’t have much use for a wife with a tongue as sharp as yours.”

You laugh gleefully. “I don’t know, my prince. I imagine my future husband could find some use for my tongue.”

His head jerks to stare at you, his eyes darkening. You both look at each other, the air heavy, when finally a small smirk appears on his face.

“Wouldn’t that be a beautiful sight?” He says, voice low and rumbling, and you feel your core heat up, making you shift uncomfortably.

You open your mouth, to say what you don’t know, when Aegon slams into your back, nearly sending you to the ground if it wasn’t for Aemond grabbing your arm, his reaction time impossibly fast.

“Oh, fuck,” Aegon swears, stumbling back. “Why in the seven hells would the two of you just stop like that?”

Aemond glares at his brother, releasing your arm. “Perhaps if you spent more time training than drinking, you wouldn’t be so caught off guard. Apologize to the lady.”

Daeron winces as Aegon sputters in indignation, pulling his eldest brother back by the shoulder. “I’m sorry, my lady. I should have been keeping a better eye on him,” he bows his head, appearing genuinely contrite for something that wasn’t even his fault. Heart still pounding in your chest, you smile hesitantly at him and quietly say your thanks.

For a few moments, you don’t think that Aegon will apologize. He’s too busy looking between you and Aemond, brow furrowed as if he’s trying to work out a puzzle. At your side, Aemond stiffens and you can only imagine the dark look on his face. It’s a testament to all of their years at each other’s side that it seemingly does not affect Aegon at all.

Finally, the prince grins, looking like the cat that caught the canary, and bows his head at you. “My biggest apologies, my shining lady of Lannister. I’ll be sure to keep my eye on the two of you to avoid any such accidents.”

“You should keep your eyes on the world around you instead,” Aemond grinds out and Aegon’s grin only grows.

“Why? When I can keep my eye on fascinating things instead,” he says, laughing as he walks ahead, entering Maegor’s Holdfast to where the Queen and Helaena are waiting.

Daeron looks at you and Aemond, plainly confused, before smiling nervously. “Should we go in and meet Mother?”

You slowly nod, glancing over at Aemond. He’s wiped his face clean, as calm and collected as he normally is. There was no hint of the man you had been talking to only a few minutes ago and a secret thrill runs down your back. Only a few months. “Yes, we should hurry in. We wouldn’t want to keep the Queen waiting.”

With a newfound confidence, you spin on your heel and enter Maegor’s Holdfast.

[duxbelisarius]

The Dance of the Dragons: A Military Analysis (Pt. 8)

The first battle of the war for the Westerlands was the Battle at the Red Fork; although it was a victory for the Lannister forces, it required four separate attacks for the numerically superior Westermen to carry the crossings, while Jason Lannister was killed. The only reason given for these difficulties is that the Riverlanders, consisting of forces of House Piper and House Vance, ‘knew the ground.’ Not only does George contradict his own writing from ASOIAF in this assessment, I maintain that even without this it still makes no sense that the Lannisters would have encountered the difficulties that they did.

Accepting the premise that knowledge of the Red Fork leveled the playing field for the Riverlords vis-à-vis the Lannister forces, requires us to make some untenable assumptions: That no attempt was made to analyze accounts of the numerous conflicts fought between the Lannister Kings and the River Kings in the almost year-long period between Viserys’ death and the Battle at the Red Fork; that no information on the Red Fork was sought out from merchants who traded in the Riverlands or lords and knights that had traversed the area for tourneys and other such pursuits; and that no effort was made to reconnoiter the Red Fork after the Lannister host began it’s advance. This premise also fails to acknowledge that the Red Fork begins in the western hills inside the Westerlands’ borders, and that House Brax of Hornvale over looks the headwaters from their own seat.

We also have to assume that Pinkmaiden was the only choice of crossing, even though crossings also exist at Sherrer and Riverrun, and the forces of Tywin Lannister attempt crossings at a dozen different fords during the Battle of the Fords in ACOK. Crossing at Riverrun would allow the Lannister forces to utilize the River Road, and would bring them close to Stone Hedge and possibly Atranta, presenting the opportunity to raise more troops from Aegon’s allies there. It also would give Jason Lannister the chance to treat with Grover Tully, a known supporter of Aegon, and convince Elmo Tully to declare for the king; contact could also be made with Aemond and Cole, so that Vhagar could be employed to influence the Tullys decision. 

Finally, we have to assume that Jason Lannister was completely ignorant of the location of the western hills, between the headwaters of the Red Fork and Blackwater Rush. It’s doubtful he could have sent all 8000 of his men through this area to by-pass the Red Fork, but a smaller force could likely have done so, especially if they were familiar with the terrain. House Brax as well as House Lydden of Deep Den would have been the obvious choices to provide such a force, since their lands are within the hills near the Riverlands/Reach border. We know from ACOK that Robb was able to use a goat path in the western hills to bypass the Lannister forces at the Golden Tooth, prior to the Battle of the Oxcross. Daeron I made use of similar paths to secure the Boneway during his invasion of Dorne, according to TWOIAF; we should expect similar tracks to exist in the western hills astride the Gold Road, which is near to Deep Den and Horn Vale. Sending a raiding force through the western hills in this fashion would allow the Lannister forces to threaten the crossings of the Red Fork from both banks, and could divert Riverlord forces away from the main Lannister crossings by threatening their rear areas.

The previous section demonstrates that knowledge of the terrain should not have given the Riverlords such an advantage against the Lannisters, but we can prove this even without the aforementioned analysis by simply looking at the main books. Doing so reveals that George forgot his own description of the Red Fork from ACOK, one that would have made lords Piper and Vance think twice about defending it given their ‘knowledge of the ground.’ In Catelyn VI of ACOK, Riverrun’s master-at-arms, Ser Desmond Grell, states that the western bank of the Red Fork is higher than the east and is heavily wooded. Edmure Tully uses this to his advantage during the Battle of the Fords, using archers and scorpions behind cover to inflict heavy losses of Tywin Lannister’s men, preventing them from crossing back into the Westerlands. It’s clear from this description of the terrain that Lords Piper and Vance were the ones who did not know the ground, as the high, heavily wooded western bank would protect Jason Lannister’s troops as they assembled for the attack and prepared their river craft. Archers on the western bank and any artillery the Lannisters brought with them would also be able to shower the defenders on the eastern bank with fire, to cover the progress of their own troops. Had the Riverlords actually known the ground (or had George remembered his own books), they would have left only a token force to observe and harass the crossing and withdrawn to their castles, conducting scorched earth measures to deny forage and shelter to the Lannister host as it marched towards Harrenhal. 

The Battle at the Red Fork cost the life of Jason Lannister and untold numbers of Westermen, who fell during the three failed and successful fourth attempts. Tristan Vance, Lord of Wayfarer’s Rest, fell during the fourth attempt, after Ser Adrian Tarbeck led a picked force of 100 unarmoured knights on a swim up river, crossing the Red Fork and attacking the Vances from the rear. Under Tarbeck’s leadership, the Westerlands army marched on Acorn Hall, the seat of House Smallwood, and defeated the Riverlords twice in four days. Ser Adrian Tarbeck and Petyr Piper, Lord of Pinkmaiden, are killed in these battles alongside the hedge knight Ser Harry Penny, who led the Riverlords forces during the second battle.

George’s writing becomes extremely suspect after this point, if it was not so already; having been commanded by a landed knight since the Red Fork, the Westerlands army comes under the command of Lord Humfrey Lefford, described as an aged man who was forced to command from a litter due to his wounds from battle. As discussed in Part 7, a swift advance by both hosts would be crucial to prevent Daemon and the Riverlords from concentrating against either force in isolation, so the choice of Lord Lefford as commander makes no sense on this basis alone. We’re later told that Lords Swyft and Reyne were notables among the Westerlands army, as were Ser Clarent Crakehall and Ser Emory Hill, the Bastard of Lannisport, so clearly there were better candidates within the Lannister host. Crakehall and Emory Hill are especially significant, as there was clearly no issue in following the command of a landed knight when Adrian Tarbeck was in charge; virtually every description or depiction of House Crakehall we have in the books portrays them as proud warriors, while Ser Emory is likely to have been a bastard of the Lannisport Lannisters, a status that would surely have supported his case for command. 

The Humfrey Lefford situation becomes even more bizarre in the lead up to the Battle of the Lakeshore; despite Aemond and Cole being delayed in their march to Harrenhal by rain and mud, Lefford’s ‘age and infirmity’ is blamed for slowing down the Lannister host, begging the question again of why he was given command to begin with? The location of the Battle of the Lakeshore is also unclear, as we are only told that the Westermen encountered the Freys and the Winterwolves after ‘nearing’ the western shore of the God’s Eye. When Criston Cole’s forces set out from Harrenhal to march south towards Ormund Hightower’s army, they encounter the remains of dead Westermen after a 4-day march along the western shore, and still more at a town called Crossed Elms, after which the proceeded south from the lake towards the Blackwater. Somewhere around the location of Crossed Elms as given on this map is likely where the battle took place, meaning that Lefford’s host marched eastward  directly towards the God’s Eye, even though a northeastward march would have brought him to Harrenhal without having to make an about face at the lakeshore to march north. 

The impression one gets is that George concocted Lord Lefford as a means of defeating the Lannister forces, and this becomes more likely when the circumstances of the battle are considered. Even assuming that the Westerlands army lost 1000 men up until this point, Lefford would still have 7000 men under his command, from an original force of 1000 Knights and 7000 men-at-arms and archers. Archers appears to be a catch-all term for George to denote longbowmen and crossbowmen, as we’re told at Rook’s Rest that, “drums beat out a command, and archers rushed forward, longbowmen and crossbowmen both....” Against this force, the Winter Wolves under Roderick Dustin consisted of 2000 men who seem to have fought on foot despite arriving at the Twins mounted; Forrest Frey, Lord of the Crossing, brought 200 knights and 600 foot soldiers, while ‘Red Robb’ Rivers brought 300 longbowmen on behalf of House Blackwood. Normally c.7000 versus 3100 would be favourable odds for Lefford, but we’re told that Pate of Longleaf (the ‘Lionslayer’ who killed Jason Lannister at the Red Fork) brought with him survivors from earlier battles alongside Lords Bigglestone, Chambers and Perryn. More troops arrived the following day under Ser Garibald Grey, Lord Jon Charlton, and Benjicot Blackwood, the 11-year old Lord of Raventree; based on the estimates discussed in Part 4, the combined host of the Riverlords and Winterwolves would have been just over 9000 men.

Despite having numerical superiority initially, the battle fought on the third day at the Lakeshore saw the Westermen outnumbered and pushed back into the lake, the entire 8000 man host having been destroyed within a matter of weeks. Lefford’s actions before the battle were clearly intended by George to place the Westermen in an unwinnable position, and his decisions during the battle bear this out. We’re told that on encountering the hosts of Pate and Lord Frey, Lefford put his back to the Lake and tried to contact Harrenhal for aid; this latter fact is remarkable, as we’re never told prior to this that Aemond and Cole had been in contact with the Lannister forces. The knowledge that Daemon was gone and the Riverlord host was at large should have influenced the pace of the Westermen’s march and their scouting efforts, but we have no indication that this was the case, and the information is once again dropped into our laps without any set-up. Given the fury with which Aemond greets the news of the ‘Fish Feed,’ it also makes no sense why he never sought to make contact with the Westermen using Vhagar; had he done so, the Riverlords forces could have been easily destroyed, and that seems to be the answer. George’s narrative has a set end point and a set means of getting there, and anything which would get in the way of that is simply ignored.

The role of the Winterwolves in the Lakeshore battle presents even more problems for the narrative; we’re told that Roderick Dustin arrived at the twins shortly after the Battle at the Red Fork with 2000 ‘experienced warriors,’ all of whom were mounted. Even if we assume the North has experience from constant warfare with the Wildlings (and that presents a problem all it’s own), low-intensity warfare of this kind against opponents mostly using bronze weaponry would not qualify as adequate preparation for combat against regular, Westerosi forces. To make matters worse, the tactics of the Winterwolves appear to be little more than launching wild charges against the enemy and hoping for the best, as we’re told that five such charges were made against the Lannister spears. We do know that almost half of the Riverlord army consisted of archers, so it’s likely that these helped to break-up the Westermen’s formation; but such a state of affairs would be ideal circumstances for a cavalry charge, so the fact that the Winterwolves lose over two-thirds of their force in this single battle is bizarre. This is compounded by the fact that the Riverlords losses are listed as 2000 dead; assuming that the Winterwolves accounted for c.1400 of those losses, this would mean that the Riverlords themselves only lost c.600 men, implying that five charges by the Winterwolves was all it took to defeat c.7000 Westermen. Most of the losses suffered by the Lannisters are attributed to the melee itself or to drowning within the God’s Eye, which suggests that George’s later assigning of 3300 archers to the Riverlord host at the ‘Butcher’s Ball’ was almost an afterthought. 

This concludes my discussion of Aemond’s campaign in the Riverlands; the writing is contrived and outright nonsensical, but this should come as no surprise to those of you that have been following these analyses. Unfortunately there’s no letting up in that regard, as the next parts of my analysis will cover the culminating point of George’s shoddy writing: Tumbleton.

ADDENDUM

I apologize for having taken some months to work up the motivation to finish part 12 and the conclusion of my analysis. In the mean time, I thought I’d add to my analysis of the Lannister campaign in the Riverlands, to further underline how poorly conceived and written this plot is. The circumstances of the Battle of the Lakeshore make no sense, starting with how the Black and Green armies find themselves on the western shore of the God’s Eye. Since Aemond receives word of the disaster at the Lakeshore at Harrenhal, and Lord Lefford sends ravens to Harrenhal requesting support when he is encircled, this begs the question of how the Winterwolves and the Riverlords were able to assemble a force only a few days march from Harrenhal, without being discovered. Even without Vhagar patrolling the skies, we would surely expect that small folk living by the Lake or plying it’s waters would have spotted the Black army, esp. one with so many horses to feed and shelter given that the Winterwolves were all mounted. 

Then we have the issue of why the armies encountered each other where they did, and why Lord Lefford allowed himself to be hemmed in against the lakeshore. According to F&B, the Westerlands host “found a huge new army athwart their path,” as they neared the western shore of the lake, which begs two questions. Firstly, based on the maps we have previously used, this would suggest that there is no route from Pinkmaiden to Harrenhal that does not require one to go out of your way to the south and march northward along the western shore. There is no good explanation why the local roads of the Riverlands are this way (we have no map of Westeros’ local roads, only the Royal ones), esp. when the roads would be crucial to House Hoare’s control of the region from Harrenhal, which is not connected to any of the major river. This leads to the second question: how could the Westerlands host stumble upon the Blacks in this way? If they were on the only expedient route to Harrenhal, then why was there no vanguard to inform Lefford of such potential threats in his path, allowing him to prepare for combat more quickly or to try and re-route his march? We might assume that the Blacks were harassing the march of the Lannisters, but Lefford’s age and infirmity is the only explanation given for their slow pace. If the Winterwolves and the Riverlords were athwart their path, a vanguard of sufficient strength could have engaged them immediately, to prevent them from interfering with a march away from the area, or to allow Lefford to deal with Pate of Longleaf’s forces when these appeared. Forrest Frey and the Winterwolves had only 3100 men, and while the size of Pate’s force is not given, these hosts combined could not have been more than just over half the size of Lefford’s army. Unlike his foes, Lefford’s forces were undivided and could have sought to defeat the Blacks in detail, engaging one army while delegating forces from his own vanguard to delay the others. Instead, there seems to have been no vanguard at all let alone reconnaissance or scouting, and Lefford’s handling of the situation is so disastrous, it begs the question as to why he was placed in charge to begin with.

[rosaluxembae]

Imagine if House Lydden were Lords Paramount of the Westerlands instead of the Lannisters. When character go through the Riverlands everyone would be like "our village was pillaged by a band of marauding badgers 😭"

[hollowwhisperings]

Frey Civil War: The Many Walders & Waldas Frey

1. Lord Walder Frey of The Crossing (92 y/o), Patriarch of House Frey. Has outlived 7 wives & married an 8th. Hosted the Red Wedding.

2. Walda Frey (9 y/o), daughter of Janyce Hunter. 2nd in the Frey line of inheritance, as the assumed heir of Edwyn Frey (eldest son of Ryman, the eldest son of Ser Stevron by his 1st wife, Corenna Swann: Ser Stevron was Lord Frey's eldest son, by his 1st wife Perra Royce, & was found dead in his tent after the Battle of Oxcross).

3. "Black" Walder Frey (20~42 y/o), 2nd son of an unnamed spouse & the late Ryman Frey (a key conspirator of the RW, later found hanged by outlaws near Fairmarket). He is the younger brother of Edwyn & the elder half-brother of Walton. Black Walder was a key conspirator in the Red Wedding & the killer of a Vance.

4. Walder Vance (9~29 y/o), eldest son of Ser Dafyn Vance & the late Maegelle Frey (only daughter of Ser Stevron, born of his 2nd marriage with Jeyne Lydden). His exact relation to Houses Vance of Atranta & Wayfarer's Rest is uncertain, as is his relation to the Vance slain by Black Walder at the RW.

5. Walton Frey (32~52 y/o), 3rd son of Ser Stevron & his only child by his 3rd wife (Marsella Waynwood, died in childbirth). He has only appeared in appendices, thus far.

6. "Fair" Walda Frey (18 y/o), only daughter of Deana Hardyng & Walton Frey. She was one of many Frey women who danced with King Robb Stark at the Red Wedding.

7. "Red" Walder Frey (15 y/o), 4th & youngest son of Genna Lannister & Emmon Frey (2nd son of Lord Frey by his 1st wife, Perra Royce). He is a squire at Casterly Rock.

8. "White" Walda Frey (11 y/o), only daughter of Jeyne Beesbury & Rhaegar Frey (2nd son of Ser Aenys, Lord Frey's 3rd son by his 1st wife). Her father is currently MIA.

9. Walder Haigh (5 y/o), eldest son of Ser Harys Haigh (eldest son of Perriane, Lord Frey's eldest daughter & his last child with Perra Royce). Knights of House Haigh participated in the RW massacre.

10. Walder Goodbrook (10 y/o), eldest son of Ser Garse Goodbrook & Kyra Frey (daughter of Ser Jared, 4th son of Lord Frey & 1st by his 2nd wife, Cerenna Swann). Knights of House Goodbrook participated in the RW massacre.

11. "Fat" Walda Frey (16 y/o), daughter of Mariya Darry & the late Merrett Frey (9th son of Lord Frey & the 4th by his 3rd wife, Amarei Crakehall). She was one of the many Frey women to dance with King Robb at the RW & was then wed to Lord Roose Bolton.

12. "Little" Walder Frey (9 y/o), only son of Mariya Darry & Merrett Frey. Found dead at Winterfell.

13. Walda Frey (5 y/o), 2nd daughter of Leonella Lefford & "Lame" Lothar Frey (12th son of Lord Frey & 1st by his 4th wife, Alyssa Blackwood). Her father, alongside Lord Roose Bolton, was one of the primary engineers of the RW.

14. "Big" Walder Frey (9 y/o), eldest son of Sallei Paege & Ser Jammos Frey (13th son of Lord Frey, 2nd by his 4th wife). He has been a ward at Winterfell for most of the series, alongside his late cousin Little Walder.

15. Walder Brax (6 y/o), 2nd son of Ser Flement Brax & Morya Frey (3rd daughter of Lord Frey, 1st by his 4th wife). Knights of House Brax participated in the RW.

16. Waltyr Frey (10 y/o), 21st son of Lord Frey & 3rd by his 7th wife, Annara Farring. He & the other children of Annara Farring are alleged as being bastards of Black Walder.

17. "Bastard" Walder Rivers, eldest of Lord Frey's bastards. He lead the charge on those camped outside The Twins for the RW.

18. Walda Rivers, daughter of Bastard Walder & a Lady Charlton.

19. Walda Rivers (5 y/o), daughter of Ser Aemon Rivers (son of Bastard Walder) & niece of the other Walda Rivers.

Just For Fun:

the average age of a Walder "Frey" is 19½ years old. this does not take into account Walders whose ages are vague estimates.

with Lord Walder (an outlier who should not have been counted) Excluded, the average Walder is 9 years old.

the average "Walda" is 10/11 years old.

in addition to those named above, ASOIAF has four other "Walders": 2 historic Ser Walders from the reign of Daeron II, of Houses Woodmere & Stackspear; the last known Lord of House Tarbeck, Lord Walderan; and the Objectively Best Walder in the series, Walder of Winterfell (16~ y/o).

[warsofasoiaf]

bouncin off those previous asks, obv bloodraven doesnt let it happen but lets say maekar's ghost bonked him on the head beforehand, does / could aenys stand a real chance against the weaker candidates presented in the great council? maybe "i will dismantle the police state, divert crown resources to aid to rebuilding from previous crises, promise an end to the blackfyre wars, the golden company will become a royal army dedicated to directly protecting future raids" and would they take targ name?

The issue with that is that I think Aegon V would be offering much the same thing re: Bloodraven's police state particularly because he saw how the brutality that Bloodraven's policy fell on the smallfolk. I'm not sure Westeros has the bureaucratic structure necessary to fund a professional standing army with regular pay and facilities, and so if the Golden Company does have ties to Westeros, it would probably be in signing on to friendly Free Cities in Essos to advance Westerosi interests.

I think the Great Council would elect to not pursue legitimization of the full Blackfyre line in the interest of not reopening old wounds ala the aftermath of the Dance. Rather, the Council would instead acclaim Aenys by the power vested within the Great Council regarding succession and have him take on the Targaryen name, almost like an adoption by acclaim and assent. I admit, this might be a little bizarre because we don't really see this sort of thing happen in non-marriage scenarios (Joffrey Lydden becoming King Joffrey Lannister), but that's the closest Westerosi precedent I can think of. I don't think that would transform Westeros into an electoral monarchy, because Great Councils still seem like an emergency situation, rather than one that is called every matter of succession.

So the real question is whether Aegon's "half-a-peasant" nature would be more off-putting that Aenys's Blackfyre heritage. Making matters worse, what kind of guy is Aenys? Is he charming or is his nature off-putting? Does he have a strong handle on Westerosi customs and traditions or does he carry himself more with the Essosi style? What is his policy idea? How would he handle the nature of the Blackfyre exiles? What are his domestic and foreign policy priorities? If he's unmarried, who will he select as his Queen-Consort?

I'm not saying it's impossible, he'd almost certainly beat out Maegor Brightflame and Vaella, daughter of Daeron the Drunk. I'm just saying we know absolutely nothing about Aenys, so we have no idea whether or not he'd appeal to the lords assembled at the Great Council, what factions would support him or oppose him. Bloodraven seems to think that there's a large enough Blackfyre loyalist camp to warrant murdering Aenys, but Bloodraven is defined by paranoid overreaction and a willingness to do whatever he thinks is necessary regardless of the consequences, so it's not like he's a rational judge.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

[aegor-bamfsteel]

”Rhaenyra’s very existence seeks to jeopardize that power structure(the patriarchal society of Westeros)” which is why I’m sure she advocated for Rhaena and Baela to inherit Driftmark as the daughters of Corlys’ daughter rather than betrothing them to her sons who aren’t even Velaryon, to cover her own ass? Is it dangerous to patriarchal society to reduce girls with a blood claim to mere consorts? Because that’s happened before the Dance (Joffrey Lydden to Gerold Lannister’s daughter, Alester Arryn to Arwen Upcliff) and by canon era is a despised tactic the Boltons and Lannisters use (wedding Tyrion to Sansa and having Jeyne Poole pose as Arya and wed to Ramsay Bolton in order to claim Winterfell, wedding Lancel to Ami Frey to claim Darry). There’s even being complicit in the death of the male claimants (Laenor and Vaemond; see the Red Wedding and the burning of Darry) as a parallel. We also have this quote to remind us what exactly Rhaenyra, Daemon, and Corlys think about female inheritance:

Lords Rosby and Stokeworth, blacks who had gone green to avoid the dungeons, attempted to turn black again, but the queen declared that faithless friends were worse than foes and ordered their "lying tongues" be removed before their executions. Their deaths left her with a nettlesome problem of succession, however. As it happened, each of the "faithless friends" left a daughter; Rosby's was a maid of twelve, Stokeworth's a girl of six. Prince Daemon proposed that the former be wed to Hard Hugh the blacksmith's son (who had taken to calling himself Hugh Hammer), the latter to Ulf the Sot (now simply Ulf White), keeping their lands black whilst suitably rewarding the seeds for their valor in battle.

But the Queen's Hand argued against this, for both girls had younger brothers. Rhaenyra's own claim to the Iron Throne was a special case, the Sea Snake insisted; her father had named her as his heir. Lords Rosby and Stokeworth had done no such thing. Disinheriting their sons in favor of their daughters would overturn centuries of law and precedent, and call into question the rights of scores of other lords throughout Westeros whose own claims might be seen as inferior to those of elder sisters.

It was fear of losing the support of such lords, Munkun asserts in True Telling, that led the queen to decide in favor of Lord Corlys rather than Prince Daemon. The lands, castles, and coin of Houses Rosby and Stokeworth were awarded to the sons of the two executed lords, whilst Hugh Hammer and Ulf White were knighted and granted small holdings on the isle of Driftmark. —Fire and Blood, The Dying of the Dragons: Rhaenyra Triumphant

Daemon isn’t arguing for the girls to inherit for ✨ feminist ✨ reasons; he’s arguing to do the same thing Rhaenyra did to his own daughters: marry them to loyal supporters (Hugh and Ulf), so they can rule those lands in the girls’ name. What these young girls feel about being married to much older men who had reputations for drunkenness and violence is irrelevant. And of course Corlys is arguing Rhaenyra is the exception because her father chose her, and personally would rather ask her to legitimize the sons he sired on a barely legal teenager than allow his legitimate granddaughter to inherit. Rhaenyra agreed with Corlys, though Munkun was getting most of his knowledge from Orwyle who had a pro-Rhaenyra bias, so we cannot be completely sure why she decided to side with him. Either way, the book goes out of its way to indicate that Rhaenyra on the throne helps no female claimant except herself.

I believe Rhys Ifans’ statement “Both sides are genocidal war criminals… I think we should all enjoy seeing how they die[,]” would be wrong because the entire time the story HOTD is fundamentally about how one group, the greens, IE Alicent, Otto, and Aegon Hightower, seek to maintain the status quo of an oppressive power structure versus Rhaenyra, the blacks, whose very existence seeks to jeopardize that power structure (the patriarchal society of Westeros).

It is made explicitly clear that the chief architect of team green in the usurpation of Rhaenyra’s throne that the only reason that they cannot have Rhaenyra on the throne is explicitly because she is a woman. It’s a theme that is present throughout the entirety of HOTD’s season one as this conflict builds up.

For instance, the conversation between Alicent and Rhaenys at the end of season one where Alicent justifies why she is participating in the usurpation of Rhaenyra’s throne to Rhaenys by saying that it is not a woman’s place to rule the Seven kingdoms and instead it is a woman’s place to gently guide the hand of the men who do rule.

The story of HOTD, the civil war for the succession of the Iron Throne following the death of Viserys, the Dance of the Dragons, is fundamentally a conflict that is built on the foundation of misogyny and the writers are making that explicitly clear.

The weird false equivalency when ppl imply that both sides are equally genocidally crazy, that treads to reduce the nature of this conflict down to just simple good old fashioned greed which it really isn’t.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think Rhaenyra is perfect and of course I understand that over the course of the war, she’s going to do some pretty terrible things but it’s been made pretty clear that Rhaenyra’s done everything in her power to avoid this turning out into a war in the fist place.

I just don’t think by any stretch of the imagination regardless of what Rhaenyra does throughout this war, that you’re supposed to enjoy watching her die. I don’t think that’s how her character is written and I don’t think that’s what the narrative goal of her end is supposed to be. Her character is a character by all accounts some victim of the patriarchal society that she lives in. Even if she does go down the “mad queen route,” it will only be to explore how the patriarchal society has completely twisted her. How this war that was started because she dared to be queen of the seven kingdoms completely ruined her and ruined her family.

I would very much appreciate your thoughts on this and would like to learn more if this take of mine is confusing and blinded.

I think this take might be correct if you're solely going off of the show and its interpretation of Team Black as modern feminists attempting revolutionary societal change led by divinely ordained and pure Rhaenyra vs Team Green as conservative misogynists led by incompetent and unorganized abuser Aegon...

Fire and Blood is not this, though. Sexism and misogyny is one element of power and power imbalance in Westeros but it's not the only one, nor is it the only factor into why Rhaenyra's claim was disputed, despite what the showrunners are trying to portray on screen.

The reality is two ideologically different sides with fairly equal claims to the throne are trying to seize power, leading to a war that ruins the land and the family that started it. Team Green has Aegon, firstborn son of the last king, following Andal tradition going back thousands of years and most recently reinforced in the Council of 101 AC that made his own father king. Team Black has Rhaenyra, eldest daughter named by the previous king but not supported by precedent). Rhaenyra unfortunately also had some political scandals that went against her in having bastards, having Velaryons killed and mutilated, marrying Daemon despite fear of him in power being the reason she was named heir in the first place. Any of these are valid reasons why some people might be against her coming into power. It's more than "she's a woman and I don't like women."

Rhaenyra did not press her claim to raise up the women of the realm, nor did she do it out of a desire to save the world. She wanted it because she wanted power that was promised to her. But the show can't let women simply want things for themselves. Rhaenyra has to be an advocate for peace and want the throne for some higher purpose instead of just wanting power for power's sake.

The Greens were motivated by power to push for Aegon's claim, and surely misogyny in the society helped to get Aegon on the throne, but they also put Aegon on the throne out of fear for the lives of all of Viserys' sons, who would have to be taken out of the picture to secure Rhaenyra's atypical claim lest war and rebellion potentially break out against her at any point in her reign, and Team Black had already shown willingness to resort to violence to help themselves (Rhea's death, Laenor's death, Vaemond's death, Velaryons' tongues getting cut out, Aemond's eye cut out without any punishment and instead Aemond threatened with torture over speaking the truth about Rhaenyra). It's not just "we hate the idea of a woman ruling, we hate women, and we're terrible, incompetent people."

Fire and Blood is a tale of two sides fighting for even more power than they already have who are willing to do horrible terrible war crimes against each other and innocents in order to obtain their end goal of the Iron Throne, and realistically you are interested in seeing all of them die and face the consequences of their actions. The story has weight, the characters are real and human and messy and tragic, the war is unjustified in its means and methods and purpose. It's the failure of Viserys' legacy and a reflection of the flaws of monarchy and specifically the ideals Targaryen supremacy. No side is right and the other wrong. Nobody's a hero.

This is where the show has failed in its adaptation. It has abandoned its themes, along with several characters, characterizations, and plot points, in order to create their own narrative that fits a story that they think will sell best to the casual modern viewer: essentially, redemption for Daenerys fans after the catastrophe of Game of Thrones' ending. By making up prophecy and dream stuff to give to Rhaenyra and also giving her some of that Dany "change the world" mentality that was absent in the source material, the writers can cut apart the character of Rhaenyra and make her into a new Daenerys, and this time they can give the fans want they wanted for Daenerys. Except Rhaenyra is not Daenerys at all, and their only similarity is dragon riding queen seeking to inherit their father's throne. Changing the narrative so Rhaenyra becomes the new Daenerys and a true hero of the story ruins the underlying themes of Fire and Blood and specifically the Dance.

Rhys Ifans likely read Fire and Blood and actually knows what he's talking about. The point of the Dance isn't "heroic woman attempting to overthrow the patriarchy is burned and destroyed by the patriarchy and agents of the patriarchy." The takeaway isn't just "misogyny and sexism are bad and hurt women" like the show hammers in so heavily every single episode. It's "the pursuit of power by the already powerful comes at the cost of innocents, war is never justified no matter what (and certainly not justified by manifest destiny, someone's dream of saving the world, or even 'misogynists stole my throne') and the violence of war destroys indiscriminately." There should be catharsis when gray characters who have done good but also horrific bad in the pursuit of power finally face the consequences and die early deaths. Like, for example, the end of Succession: none of the Roy siblings get what they want, and we understand why, and even though parts of their character are sympathetic and tragic to us, we can objectively view them as flawed and selfish people whose decisions led to this ultimate, inevitable conclusion where they don't get what they want, and it's deserved. This is what House of the Dragon should have been. Tragic, flawed characters on both sides acting selfishly but realistically to seize power from each other and ultimately failing. But the writers opted for an oversimplified morality tale of good vs evil to push their version of feminism into the story where it doesn't belong, at the detriment to the characters and the story to the point it goes against the themes and messages of the source material.

[ao3feed-tywin]

Godrow

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/rpgliF7

by Jofflofogus

Far east of Lannisport lives the noble house of Godrow. In the lavish fastness of Hollowtop, Lord Harold's broken family of daughters and bastards grow increasingly isolated from one another. An impending financial crisis punctuates this rift, stimulating ambitions within previously unexpected corners. Meanwhile, perpetually strained relations with the Tallhammers pose a more tangible threat, which wears upon the soul of Lord Godrow's hostage son. As the pressures mount, each member of the family will be driven to make momentous decisions, that may bring them vindication... Or a tragic reckoning.

Words: 3892, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Original Characters, Robert Baratheon, Cersei Lannister, Tywin Lannister, Lewys Lydden, Leo Lefford, Tytos Lannister, Stafford Lannister

Additional Tags: Prequel, Side Story, Gothic, Family Secrets, Dysfunctional Family, Quests, Politics

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/rpgliF7

[aprilcolours]

blackheart - part three

part one - part two - part four

*warning: some nsfw*

—

Visenya did not sleep well that night, dreams haunted by the memory of warm hands, a sly grin, and eyes that gleamed in the dark. 

She awoke to the arrival of a raven from her mother, the Queen. The message it carried was simple, but a revelation. She dressed quickly, braiding her hair haphazardly before rushing out of her tent. She was greeted by the anxious face of Oscar Tully, waiting straight-backed by the entrance.  

“Your highness…” the knight began, clearly apprehensive, “there is an urgent matter…the Lord Blackwood… that is, well he…”

“Speak plainly, Ser,” she bit out, a stone sinking into the pit of her stomach. The knight straightened his impeccable posture even further and responded,

“Benjicot has taken upon himself to retrieve the head of Lord Lannister. He absconded in the night alone, taking only a horse and his blades. I can assure you, had I been present at the scene I would have stopped this folly—” 

The Tully continued on, explaining that he had already punished those who had not alerted him and apologizing profusely, but Visenya ceased listening. Her heart thrummed in her chest, and the sound of blood rushed in her ears. 

Though they had pushed the Lannister army back at Lydden, Lord Jason Lannister had escaped alive and retreated westward. She had not chased him because she had not thought it worth the risk to her men. ‘Let him run’ she had said. 

Clearly that bloody fool disagrees, she thought. Godsdamnit all. 

“Hold the fort Ser Tully,” she decreed, tone leaving no room for argument. The knight nodded solemnly and bowed, but she had already walked away. She made haste out of camp, grabbing a hood as she went. She had Vermithor in the air and chasing westward in a matter of minutes. The Blackwood had a night’s head start, but the Bronze Fury was not a horse. 

It took into the afternoon at ceaseless top speeds, but they caught up to the vanguard of the retreating army. Vermithor rose high above the clouds so that they might avoid being spotted, taking care to approach downwind. They circled back to land behind the cover of hills, and Visenya threw her cloak over her head. 

This boy will be the death of me, she swore as she crept stealthily into the enemy camp. 

Their defenses were lowered, it was clear they did not expect an attack as they had not been chased. Many tended to the wounded and dead, and many others drank wine to wile away the midday hour. Despite herself, she wrinkled her nose at the indiscipline. 

Keeping to the shadows, and when needed playing at being some nursemaid or other servant, Visenya moved through the lines unnoticed, watching carefully for any sign of the raven-dark haired boy. At the center of camp she reached a tent, featuring an ostentatious display of wealth that could only belong to the Lord of the Westerlands. She circled round the back and tucked under the edge of the fabric wall, her blades at the ready. 

Benjicot Blackwood stood above the still bleeding corpse of Lord Jason Lannister. Blood had splattered across his grim, vicious face. He whirled on her, a dagger swiftly raised to her throat.

“What in all the God’s names do you think you are doing,” she hissed, raising a finger to the tip of his dagger and pushing it down. 

His rabid grin curled higher at the sight of her, stepping swiftly into her space. He did not even seem surprised to see her, simply delighted. 

“I have won you a great prize my lady,” he whispered, voice low and husky. “A lion’s head.”  

“I can assure you that getting yourself killed would be no prize to me,” she muttered back, grabbing his arm and pulling back the way she came. He resisted, gesturing to the body with his dagger. 

Seeing in his sparkling eyes that he meant no jest, she asked, “What madness has possessed you?!”

“I would return a hero, and earn myself honors befitting your hand,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Still, he steadfastly resisted her pulls. 

Visenya Targaryen II did not beg. But here, for only his ears to hear, she breathed a small simple:

“Please.”

Finally, the dark fire in his eyes banked and he relented, allowing himself to be pulled out of the tent and the rest of the way out of the camp. She did not loose her grip once, hands firmly tangled together as they passed between shadows. 

He trudged forward, a sullen silence about him, as though he had failed. 

Silly creature, she thought fondly, as they crested the hill that hid Vermithor. She tugged him forward towards her waiting dragon. Only then did he stop again, tugging out of her grip, brows raised. 

“You would allow me to ride beside you, princess?” 

“I would.”

“It would give a certain impression to the other lords,” he remarked, voice bitter and sharp. She simply smiled a small smile.

“I am aware,” she replied, “They could hardly object to my riding alongside my betrothed.”

At the shock writ across his bloody face she could not help but laugh. With a grin, she continued, “The raven from my mother arrived this morning. I would have told you immediately had you not run off.”

He took a step to close the distance between them, but Visenya lept back— expression playful. 

“Although, there is one left whose approval you should seek,” she teased, taking another step back. She reached out her hand for him to take.

Bloody Benjicot Blackwood was many things, but never a coward. With a breath and the beginnings of a sly grin, he took the offered hand. Together they approached the great beast at the bottom of the hill. 

“Rhaenagon ñuha valzȳrys,” she said as the bronze dragon watched their approach. Vermithor raised his great big head with a shake, and sniffed at the pair. 

“Bloody fucking hells,” Ben swore underneath his breath. Visenya laughed again and raised their joined hands to touch the dragon’s snout. 

After a moment, she gently pulled the boy towards the ropes and ladders that led up onto Vermithors back. He took a moment to look at her and read the challenge in her eyes. Then, with another muttered curse, Benjicot began to climb. 

Visenya followed after, a smug expression playing at her lips, and crouched in front of him when they reached the seat. 

She fastened the belts that anchored to the saddle around his waist, and tried desperately not to blush as her fingers brushed his thighs. 

“Shouldn’t these be for you, my lady?” he asked, eyelids low as he watched her hands and their careful movements. 

“Please,” she scoffed, “I haven’t used the harness since I was two and ten.” She was aiming for nonchalant, but she could tell she missed the mark slightly by the way his eyes narrowed and his grin sharpened. He leaned closer and spoke in a low tone,

“Is there some cause for nervousness, your highness?” 

They were close enough now that they shared breaths, mingling together in the damp air. Visenya bit her lip. Benjicot’s eyes immediately tracked the movement, shifting closer still. She was sure he would kiss her. 

“Sōvegon!” she called suddenly, and Vermithor began to prepare to take off. Ben’s eyes shot wide open and he grasped at her arms. Visenya laughed, throwing her head back, her long braid tossed about. 

“Do not worry Lord Blackwood,” she grinned, shifting around to sit properly. His arms immediately closed around her waist in a vice grip, his warm chest pressed tightly at her back. “Your princess would not allow harm to befall you.” 

She felt his shaky laugh against the shell of her ear, and she shivered. 

Vermithor took two great bounding steps before launching skyward. Benjicot held her waist so tightly she could barely breathe. Visenya laid one hand atop his to comfort, and he immediately locked her fingers between his own. 

They climbed and climbed into the sky, rising above the low lying misty clouds, until they broke through the cloud base and the sun shone upon them. Vermithor leveled out, pace steady and even now. 

“Ñāqa,” she commanded. Visenya turned, intending to speak, but the words died on her lips as she looked at the boy with her. 

His face was aglow with an awe-struck smile, looking down upon his home from the sky. 

He is rather handsome isn’t he, she noticed as the sun shone on his raven dark hair, illuminating the shape of his features— perhaps plain on their own, but thrilling in their vicious combination. So distinctly him. 

She studied him, as he took in the miracle of flight. She had the impulse to kiss his cheek. So she did. I am done denying when it comes to him, she decided. 

His gaze shot to hers, brows furrowed like she was an impossibility. He raised one hand to cup her jaw and neck in his broad hand. 

This time, when he kissed her, it was torturously painstakingly slow. A thorough, languid exploration of all the ways tongues could dance. She gasped at the slow banking fire that smoldered low in her belly. 

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed, even as her neck ached from the angle. 

When she finally placed a hand on his chest and pushed him lightly so that she might breathe, her lips were well swollen and eyes glazed. Their chests heaved as if it had been a tremendous exertion. 

Visenya became slowly aware of something hot and hard poking into her backside. 

No, she thought, It can’t be… But as she peered back into his face and he swiftly avoided eye contact, she was sure. 

She nearly forgot all sense. 

Seven hells. She cleared her throat, turning forward. The motion nestled that part of him even closer. His hands were balled into fists at her waist. 

“Adere, Vermithor!” she called. 

The rest of the flight was spent in a loaded silence, though it fortunately wasn’t too much further. A few hundred yards before they reached the sprawl of camp, they landed. 

Once firmly on the ground, there was a beat as neither quite knew what to say. 

“Should we take a moment?” Visenya asked finally. As if speaking it aloud had made the situation clear, they both burst into raucous, cackling fits of laughter. 

Benjicot buried his head into her hair to stifle his embarrassment with a groan. She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth as the giggles continued. 

They sat there, pressed tightly together, for a time. Their breaths heaving in tandem. 

“I would wed you now,” the Blackwood finally decreed, breaking the silence, “Tonight.”

—

A/N: ta daaaa!! so there will be one more part for sure after this, maybe more we'll see

Rhaenagon ñuha valzȳrys - Meet my husband

Sōvegon - Fly 

Ñāqa- East

Adere- Faster

[myfandomprompts]

𝐀𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐖𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐌𝐞 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟗

Summary: You are facing the Rogue Prince. You are ready to do anything to retrieve your daughter.

Warning: angst, insults. Angst again.

Masterlist (Part 28 - Part 30) [Thank you @enchantingcupcakecollectionfan for beta reading.]

“Lady Y/N Lydden. I would not have thought that you would have come.”

“And I would not have thought you surprised. I have a good reason to be here,” you said defiantly, watching some of your father’s men hastily take place before you to protect you. But Caraxes’ eyes were ever watchful, looking at them like a delicious swarm of flies.

“Still. I would have thought you glad for the opportunity to get rid of the Kinslayer’s spawn. I have always liked you Y/N, and you do not belong with this animal. Any other Lords could make you happy if you just said the word. Give you the children you deserve, not the ones you were forced upon.”

His words hit you as if you had been slapped in the face, not knowing if they angered you more than they pained you. Did every Lords in the Seven Kingdoms still believe that your husband had forced you to marry him after having stolen your honour? Was it so hard to concede that Aemond Targaryen deserved to be loved?

“We are here for the girl Daemon. She is innocent, make the right decision and give her back to us. You will gain nothing from this offence but bring shame to your name,” demanded your father loudly.

Daemon only looked at Lord Donnel with utter boredom, but you knew it to be only a front: the Rogue Prince despised being told what to do.

“Where is my nephew, pray tell?” he asked, ignoring your father, his gaze on you. “He appears to be the only one missing the party.”

“Where is she?” you raged, voice trembling. “I demand to see her.”

Daemon ignored you as well, rather content with the situation.

“I was quite disappointed to discover that it was not a son you have given him. I could not be sure you see, as you had been safely hidden away in those hills you Lydden like so much. But now that I have his daughter, I am curious to see how much my dear nephew cares about her, since he doesn’t seem to be very fond of female heirs,” his smirk grew wider. “Or is it the very reason why he is not here? Because he does not care for a female and only wants sons to succeed him?”

“How dare you-!”

“Enough!” roared Lord Donnel, interrupting you in the process. “Prince, the child is no threat to you, and we have no wish to fight. I am sure we can come to an arrangement, we know you are not supported here.”

“I am King! And no threat?” scoffed Daemon. “May my head be removed from my shoulders this very instant if Aemond the Kinslayer does not intend to take the throne for himself as soon as we are all dead. We may not have killed Aegon’s twins, but I would not be surprised to learn that he did, for his own glory. It would not be the first of his nephews he brings to his death.”

Daemon had a disgusted tone, and no one dared to react. The high-ranked Lyddens and Tarbecks beside you shifting on their saddle uncomfortably, as were your father and Adrian Tarbeck behind you.

Nobody north of Tumbleton knew that the twins were safe in Old Town.

“I demand to see her,” you asked again, burning eyes not leaving the Rogue Prince’s form for one second.

Caraxes squealed, moving its long neck around, eyes darting from his rider to you, the former shaking his head with a defiant grin on his face. You thought he would deny your request once again, but he waved his hand and a black-haired woman appeared from behind him, a babe wrapped up in linen in her arms. You dismounted at once, heart bumping in your chest.

“Y/N, do not!” you heard your father call, and the next instant you were stopped by his men, preventing you from approaching your daughter.

Daemon was enjoying the scene.

“Do not worry Y/N, she is well taken care of, but unfortunately she is to stay with me for the time being,” he said, dismounting his horse in turn and walking to the woman, brushing the silver hair of Naerys with his finger with fake fondness. He then turned to where your father was standing. “Would you like to retrieve your men perhaps?” he asked, now waving in the direction of a group of men on the side that emerged with Ser Sterron and his companions, tied up and rough looking. “It won’t make much of a difference to me anyway.”

Your father, who was seeing his granddaughter for the first time, took a moment to observe both Daemon and his men, his emotions well hidden. He would not play the Rogue Prince’s game.

“We have reached Princess Rhaenys, and your daughters as well,” he tried once more. “They are ready to hear our terms of peace, none of this has to go sour. Jacaerys Velaryon, the first-born son of your late wife, will be restored to you and-”

“I know of those terms you speak of and they are shit. No one believes in them, not even you my dear Lord and my daughters are only kind enough to hear what you have to say because you are losing,” he snarled, stepping away from his horse and walking dangerously toward where you were standing. “You had once supported us Lord Lydden, do not think I have forgotten. It is not too late to change sides again, do not let the Kinslayer intimidate you.”

Lord Donnel Lydden let nothing appear beside the strong clenching of his jaw, and Adrian next to him gave your father a fleeting look, remembering his ally’s previous disloyalty. It only made Daemon smile wider.

“If you are winning, why abduct a babe in its home?” you spoke, tone venomous as you reluctantly detached your gaze from the black-haired woman that carried your child to stare at the Prince. “Surely there are other ways to demonstrate strength.”

Daemon Targaryen wore one of his amused expression, one of those that made everybody fear his next action, but you were ready for anything. He stepped closer, now metres away from you as he stopped before the Lydden soldier that guarded you, making the latter grip his sword in fear.

“You very well know why. When he lost his eye, your husband gained a ferocious beast, the dragon that my father and second wife had claimed, and who should have been claimed by my children in turn. I am a descendant from Old Valyria, and I know better than to underestimate raw power when I see one. I am not my brother.”

“Then you know you do not stand a chance.”

Images of your nightmares flashed in your mind, of Aemond’s blood at your feet, and dread gripped your heart as you tried to convince yourself to believed in your own words.

Daemon only scoffed. “Vhagar is the only dragon still alive that lived during the Conquest. Killing her would be of poor taste. No. I only want her to be free of her rider, and I possess just the right leverage to do that.”

You felt sick. You had no idea how your legs were still standing as you were sure that the blood in your veins had stopped running. Your worst fear was about to unfold before your very eyes, and you could not let that happen.

“You are right. He will not come,” you found the courage to say, reinvigorated by the will to have your daughter safely into your arms before Aemond had anything to do with it. “He does not care for Naerys, he only wishes for a son, she is of no use to you. He might not love her but I do. Our House was once loyal to Rhaenyra, if you give her back to me, I will make sure that this loyalty never falters again.”

You could clearly sense the scandalised expressions of Adrian and his men behind you, looking dismally between you and your father. But you paid it no mind, concentrated on keeping a straight face before the now stern face of Daemon Targaryen, who had leaned even further.

“… why do I not believe you?” he murmured, searching your eyes. But after a brief glance at your father, he turned away, unconvinced, and you knew your lie had failed.

You grew desperate. “Take me instead.”

“No!”

The distraught word of your father rang into your ears but the way Daemon stopped in his tracks made your heart jump with hope. He slowly turned to you again.

“And what would I gain from that?” he inquired, clearly annoyed now.

“He may not come for Naerys, but he will come for me,” you assured. The words had come out of your mouth without your consent, but your priority was to get your daughter out of the Rogue Prince’s grasp. You would find a solution to prevent Aemond from coming for you later, even though you were terrified that you had just made the greatest mistake of your life.

“That is enough, this nonsense stops now!” Lord Donnel yelled, obvious panic in his voice. “Bring Lady Y/N back here this instant,” he ordered his men, and the next moment the riders surrounding you had dismounted and pulled you away by the arms, deaf to your screams of protest. Watching the scene, Daemon had found his smirk again.

“Well, now I am interested,” he stated, looking at the way you fought against the hands dragging you behind the line of soldiers. But everything came to a stop when a loud roar came from above, making Caraxes hiss and spread his wings in reaction, and Daemon’s grin grew wider as he looked up at the sky.

The huge form of Vhagar circled the village, and you were sure that fire would come for a short second, but nothing came as the beast roughly landed on the ground between the woods and the Tarbecks. The tension visibly heightened as men of both sides watched in both awe and fright as the she-dragon roared. Caraxes’ attention was now fully turned to the newcomer, teeth out.

From the distance, you could see Aemond on the saddle, too far to see his expression as you still struggled against your captors and Daemon retreated next to his men, satisfied. Each of the punches you gave the men holding you were expressing all of the fear that you felt at the moment, because from now on, you knew that everything would go wrong.

Aemond stayed upon Vhagar, furious but still wary of his uncle. Only the sight of him standing so boldly close to the Lydden made Aemond jump out of the saddle, going straight to the front line. When his eye caught you, retained by your father's men, his fingers itched to grab his sword and go to you, unnerved that you were treated this way, but he didn’t. Instead he went to the man he considered the greatest threat to his happiness, feeling cold fury come back to him as he got closer. 

“Nephew. Welcome,” Daemon greeted snidely, hands lazily resting on the hilt of his sword. “I have been told by your lovely wife that you would not come. I am glad she was wrong.”

Aemond could hear the faint sounds of your struggles behind him but he did not look back, instead spotting the woman that carried none other than Naerys, and his anger burst out once more, nose flaring.

“Hand over my daughter at once,” he snarled, trying to keep his burning rage at bay, calling for fire and blood.

Daemon arched a brow, satisfied by the reaction of the evidently furious man before him.

“You are in no position to demand anything, Nephew. You are here to answer for your crimes, and for Black Sister to render justice. Surrender to me and your precious breed might be spared.”

Aemond’s stance was stiff, guarded, and his expression was of utter darkness.

But he remained calm. “I will do no such thing, as it is you who is to respond for your crimes, Uncle. None of what I did surpassed any of yours. Hand her over.”

“Oh but they do!” roared Daemon, now all calm demeanour abandoned. “The murder of Rhaenyra is on your hands, my wife. You may have escaped me that day, but I know you responsible. Her death has cursed you further, Kinslayer, and you shall have the right punishment for it.”

Aemond steeled himself, fury bubbling at the surface. “You accuse me of those crimes but what of the murder of my siblings? Of my grandfather? I have nothing to do with the death of the old whore but I wish I had, and I shall not rest until I have my siblings avenged. You didn’t even have the courage to do it yourself, sending assassins to do the dirty work, as you do not have the courage to fight me now, hiding behind a baby you stole from its crib. Acts of a coward, incapable. Come uncle, and let's be done with it.”

In his rage, Aemond had drawn his sword, making Caraxes snarl behind his rider, the sound drowning your desperate cries begging for Aemond to stop. Both men stared at each other, neither yielding under the gaze of the other as everyone around them held their breath.

Daemon’s eyes shot to Vhagar, pointing out to Aemond the one thing that prevented his uncle to fight him right here and now, in the same way Aemond feared for his daughter if he didn’t get Daemon to hand her over before fighting him. When he finally spoke, his tone was as cold as ice.

“I will cut out your tongue for your foul words, your arrogant worm, right before I dislodge your head from your shoulders. If not for your beast, I will have you on your knees. But you will be begging for your daughter’s life if you don’t surrender to me now. Confess to your crimes and I shall reconsider not feeding her to Caraxes,” Aemond’s grip tightened on his sword. “Or maybe I shall start with your wife, the woman you claim to love, as her death would only be justice for mine.”

Aemond did not hear your desperate cry over the sudden loud roar of Vhagar, and he took several angry steps towards his uncle, fuming.

“You bastard! I will have you reduced to ashes!” he seethed, watching with fury Daemon approach the wet nurse and laugh.

“Hiding behind your dragon again, boy? I should not be surprised. Though I am impressed, I didn’t know you had it in you to care this much. But it does not change anything. Surrender and maybe I’ll give you a quick death. I will even let you redeem yourself and pray to your Gods before you are sent to the other world.”

Vhagar roared louder, and you felt sick in the stomach, terrified. But Aemond stood firm, his stance had even changed, now more confident as he listened to his uncle talk about the Gods.

“Or mayhap they will be the one to judge you, Uncle,” Daemon arched a brow, his interest piqued at his nephew’s calm reaction. “I demand a trial by combat. Let us fight and let the Gods oversee my revenge. Or are you afraid of the Gods as well?”

All around gasped in shock at the younger Prince’s proposal, none of them having expected such a turnabout. All were hung to the oldest Prince’s next words, eager to see if he would dare refuse. Everybody knew a trial by combat under the faith of the Seven Pointed Star was sacred, and would render the emerging victor innocent in front of the Gods as well as in front of the Seven Kingdoms of the charges raised against him. 

He did not disappoint.

“You would let your grotesque faith decide your fate? You are more foolish than I believed you to be, Nephew. Why would I accept such a challenge when I have your daughter, and your armies at my mercy?” he mocked, arms in the air as to prove his mightiness. Aemond’s composed expression did not falter.

“You will, because only then shall I send Vhagar away. It will only be us uncle, and the justice of the Gods. Hand over the babe, Daemon, and both of us shall have what we want.”

Daemon was not laughing any more, intensely staring at Aemond as to decipher any deception from him. But the opportunity was too tempting for him to let it pass.

“Aemond no! Do not do this, I beg of you!” you screamed as the people in the field grew restless at the scene unfolding before them. Yet, Aemond did not turn around, tone still threatening and cold.

“Hand over my daughter and accept the challenge, no trial will be held beforehand,” he repeated. “And when I defeat you, every Lords in the Realm will be forced to acknowledge your crimes, and my siblings will be avenged. If you defeat me, however, you will be left to deal with your actions for the rest of your pitiful life. But I would not have high hopes if I were you.”

Daemon was considering it, very seriously. He had come this far, and if his nephew thought he could defeat him in a single combat, he was gravely mistaken, a mistake that would cost him his life. With Vhagar out of the picture, Daemon’s confidence was compounded.

“You certainly make a strong case, Nephew,” he announced, coming closer to face his opponent, but still standing at a cautious distance. “Do it. Send your beast away,” he challenged.

The crowd around erupted in loud murmurs, and your vision was blurred by the tears coming out of your eyes as Naerys cried behind Daemon in the arms of the woman that looked at Aemond with fear in her eyes.

“First my daughter,” Aemond demanded.

The Rogue Prince held his gaze for a while, defiant, before turning toward the wet nurse to whisper into her ear. The black-haired woman then brought the child to Ser Sterron still kneeling on the ground as his captors untied him, and gave the child to the Knight. He was allowed to walk a short distance toward your father before being stopped by one of Daemon’s men, awaiting his Lord’s next order.

The Rogue Prince looked back at Aemond expectantly, watching how his nephew had followed the wet-nurse’s actions and was now looking back at his uncle, sheer determination on his face.

“Your beast,” Daemon repeated, hands resting on Black Sister once more, standing with relaxed confidence.

Aemond gave him a vicious look before turning over to his mount and speaking High Valyrian to the she-dragon, making her look at him with puzzled interest. She raised her head to him as he finished his command, but did not move, her yellow eyes staring at him with perplexity. But then Aemond shouted again, louder this time, urging his command onto her and she finally moved, heavily turning away with a squeal of anguish and in a flap of her wings, flown into the night sky.

All looked up at the sky as she slowly disappeared from view, and Aemond, heart clenching but still resolute, reported his gaze to his uncle. Daemon was boasting, a grin on his face as he looked back and forth between Vhagar and her rider. Then he nodded in satisfaction, like a proud father and turned in order to do the same as his nephew, shouting commands in High Valyrian to Caraxes and making him take off. Only the men remained, and all held their breaths.

“May you witness my Lords, as my nephew so naively puts it, the justice of the Sevens,” Daemon declared, addressing the crowd that had gathered around them. He reaffirmed the grip of his sword in his hand and began to circle Aemond who soon mimicked him, watching intensely at each other’s every move. “Let us see if your faith helps you, nephew.”

Aemond had smiled, confidence emanating from his fighting stance as he removed his eye-patch to throw it away, revealing his sapphire eye that glowed and gave his face a more maddened look, thirsty for blood. “Only I shall be the avenger of the death of my sister,” Aemond lowly replied. “Try not to tire too quickly, old man.”

Then ensued a fight that would be recounted for centuries, for history would remember the legends that surrounded it. But only a handful of people would know the truth of that night.

-0- Part 30

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[redwolf17]

Feast? Food?

Feast:

Lord Mordryd Lydden, the new Lord of Casterly Rock, greeted King Aegon with the most pomp Jon had ever seen. Dinner was a lavish feast inside the Great Hall; seemingly endless platters of fish and crabs and mussels made the tables groan, and both wine and ale flowed freely.

Food:

"Those who survive the road." Toregg shook his head, his eyes distant. "Me mother... she tried to take me south, once, when I were a wee small lad. Father had gone hunting, and most of his men had gone with him. Mother packed up all the food she could carry, bundled me in furs, and slipped away the next morning before dawn."