First of all the bad news: I am so sorry for not updating Aerys the Great, my old laptop finally kicked taking all of my drafts with it, forcing me to rewrite it all on my phone. Not making an excuse, just giving an explanation (I'd be frustrated too)
Now for the somewhat good news: I found my old flash drive with all of my fan fics that I never had the nerve to post anywhere, cleaned one of them up and here we are.
P.S: I'm doing the best with what I have, thanks for the likes and reviews.
Dragonstone
Stone Drum
The Lady's Apartments
110 ADV (After the Doom of Valyria)
The entire keep made clear why it was named the Stone Drum as such through this storm, one of the worst in recent memory. Walls booming with every gust of wind like the god Balerion, beating the castle with his mighty fists.
But through the gale and the claps of thunder, a womans pained scream could be heard inside the castle walls giving the place a dread that only comes as an ill omen.
Oblivious to these tales only fit for fish wives the castle's lord, Aegon Targaryen, paced back and forth in a room across to what seemed like the origin of the screams.
The room if you could even call it that, was cold, it's walls drab and sparsely decorated, this is in no means appropriate place for the Lord of Dragonstone to reside, but it was the closest possible to his wife's chambers and the gods dammed Maester insisted his absence, claiming him being a hindrance.
Then the wailing stops and soon the door slowly opens and a bloody midwife a decade or so older than himself entered the room where he waited. She was smeared with blood in the bottom of her bodice, in her hands, parts of her face...
"Gods!" he thought "What in the name of Syrax happened?"
The womans pale blonde hair clung to her head wet with what he assumed was sweat, her pale blue eyes is blood shot streaked with red and moist when she talked.
"My lord...the lady Rhaenys..." She started.
Not letting her finish, he pushed her aside and hastily made his way to her wife's side.
Pushing open the doors like a man possed, Aegon entered and he was greeted with a with warm light from a brazier and candles, it contrasted with the weather outside.
The maester and several serving women hastily bowed clearly not expecting their lord to enter just yet. All had blood on them, especially the maester.
For all the pomp of his titles, it was all meaningless, for the sight before him; Rhaenys, his dearest younger sister, his wife, his beloved, his everything, laid on her bed bloody and barely moving, clutching a bundle of cloth. Seeing that, turned him nothing more than a man, pleading to whatever god that would hear to his silent pleas, to not take the woman he loves so soon and take him instead.
Tears welled on his eyes not caring what the occupants of the room thought of their lord shedding tears for his lady wife.
Trying his best to feign optimism he knelt beside her bed "Gods sister! Look at the mess you made!"
Rhaenys turned her head to her brothers voice and grabbed his hand smiling as she did in their youth; the teasing, the roughhousing...
She chuckled softly "There wouldn't be a mess if you weren't such an insatiable beast"
The two shared a laugh making the nearby servants confused as to what they were supposed to do. This continued for a moment until Maester Claemon ushered them slowly to the door.
He interrupted the husband and wifes conversation trying to sound as calm as possible "My lady, I would like to have a word with his Lordship if it wouldn't be a bother"
Her ladyship shook her head weakly "After your talk with my husband, would you please take this little one the nursery maester? It seems the poor thing has fallen asleep"
"Of course my lady"
Though annoyed with the intrusion, Aegon complied with Claemons request and followed him to a far corner of the chamber. Anxiety made the learned man forget his letters at first, much to the lords irritation.
"Speak sense maester!" Aegon said incensed. "What has happened to her?!"
The sudden outburst made the man stutter out his response "Apologies my lord... The birth was...it had complications that gave us much grief"
"What sort of complications?" He failed to hide the seething anger in his voice, an anger not directed at anyone in particular.
Claemon winced "The afterbirth remained within the lady's womb for some time, causing heavy bleeding..."
"You're a maester! It was your duty to see your lady through this, yet you'd let such a thing happen?!" he pointed to the bed.
Claemon didn't respond and just kept quiet and let his lord rage pour out. Only a maester just earlier this year and a arriving naught Moons turn past he knew how this castles lord behaves and this was a drastic change from his calm demeanor. Incest was to him, like everyone in the Seven Kingdoms an affront to the gods and unseemly as a whole, but one does not need know of love to see the genuine affection between his lord and lady.
"The amount of blood made locating the cause of it... ambiguous" Claemon started to say.
Aegon remained silent making Claemon wince slightly knowing how his
"Apologies..."
"I have no need for your apologies, tell me what is to become of my wife!"
Again Claemon remained silent.
Aegon balled his fists in recognition of the maesters response.
His face looked sullen "My lord..."
"Enough!...just enough, is there really nothing you can do?"
"None within my capabilities nor my predecessors, my lord"
"Then leave Maester Claemon, I wish to be alone with my lady wife."
Claemon bowed low "As his lordship says"
As the maester left with the yet unnamed babe, Aegon and Rhaenys remained in the room. She's in clean sheets that was probably changed during the exchange with the so called maester.
Wanting to deflect their collective worries Aegon tried to sound cheerful once again "These Westerosi and their countless titles and honorifics never ceases to astound me, when have they started calling as such?"
"Our great-grandfather started inviting people of the west years ago and their ways remained. And I see nothing wrong, we are lords are we not? Dragonlords certainly!"
Their informal conversation lasted, to them, far to brief a time.
Rhaenys' face turned somber "Forgive me, my love..." she said through her tears "... and... may Visenya..."
"Hush now, let us not speak of such things, my dear!" woe palpable through his voice "You will recover from this and... and... our daughter will live... and..."
"Laena. I want her name to be Laena" she said weakly.
"Yes, she's beautiful..."
Her expression darkened "A very quiet babe"
"Proof of her intelligence my love" he smirked "She must have knowledge of her status..."
She looked at him lovingly, knowing he was lying to spare her more grief and gloom seemed to fall over the couple.
"Apologies..." She said finally.
"Whatever for? You have no reason to, hell's if anyone is..."
"Gods! Cease your mummery, Egg! This is neither the time nor place!" She yelled annoyed.
The look of her eyes further pleaded to take this matter seriously "Please, no more. I can't fly by your side to the western kingdoms, I can't..."she started to say, tears fell once again from her pain stricken in her face.
"You alone will have to keep our promise to Visenya, for that...for that..." her grip loosens before she could finish the sentence she closes her eyes and dies shortly at the age of five-and-twenty.
The Castle Gardens
Two days later
Lord Aegon Targaryen purple-eyed, tall, broad-shouldered, short-cut silver-gold hair and powerful in appearance normally charismatic and commanding, gazed upon his wife with sorrow, his Rhaenys; beautiful, fierce and kind. It made his marriage to her one more of desire than of duty, making her death all the more heart retching for the dragonlord.
Lying in the pyre looking peaceful as though in deep slumber, dressed in fine silks she so loved in life, he stood as the Lord of the castle and land, while keeping his grief from being evident. Nearly the entire occupants of keep stand in witness as their lady will soon be taken by fire and if the priest of the old religion is to believed, doing so would release her soul from its mortal bondage.
Any evidence of the worst storm in recent memory was quickly cleared by servants in the days following the death of their lady. Broken branches of the few trees in the garden were trimmed, the overturned exotic statues from Old Valyria made upright though the one depicting a dragon and it's rider was noticbly absent much to Lord Aegons displeasure, it was his wife's favorite one.
The whole ceremony was organized as such that the Pyre was at the gardens north side with most of the plants were and all the mourners true or otherwise face the dearly departed Lady's corpse. The Priest of the Valyrian gods is in the forefront. Aegon, his children and handful of guards stood at the gardens centre flanked with members from houses sworn to his family; Velaryon , Celtigar, Sunglass. Meanwhile the heads of houses; Massey and Bar-Emmon both came, having friendly relations with the Targaryens for nearly two decades stood at their rear.
Among the observers were two of Aegons and Rhaenys's children, the oldest Elaena put on a brave front looking like a little lady she aspires to be, his heir Aenys, a child of four, was sobbing softly while trying to hide behind his father's cloak, the youngest two Velena and the newborn Laena were inside, oblivious of the happenings just outside of the nursery.
Thoughts of that infant stirred emotions of resentment and anger within Aegon, a babe birthed far too early resulting in his beloveds' death. Being born to this world as a sickly little thing unable to make a peep yet stubbornly clung to life. The infants persistence reminded him so much of their older sister long since dead.
Mayhaps we should have named her Visenya.
The thought gave the Lord of Dragonstone a melancholic smile in his nostalgia.
He was retched from his reminiscence by the priests' murmurings about the afterlife, lighting a torch and handing it to him with all the pomp that came along with being a priest of Valyrias gods and the ritualistic religion surrounding them.
"A relic from past glory" he thought. He always hated that priest, droning on and on about a resurgence of a New Valyria here and their dragons flying east to bring back it's quarreling daughters in a new freehold. All that repeated again and again since as far back he can bloody remember.
Haegon was the loudmouths name, claiming to decend from a line of powerful valyrian mages and allegedly can commune with the gods, hence his ramblings of reforging the empire of the dragonlords, with him being high priest of course.
Aegon was among the many in his family to refute Haegons claims despite holding many lowborn and highborn alike in his sway.
A man aged around four-and-fourty, middling height with a head of matted pale blonde hair and clean shaven with a body fat from his father's feasts.
The fine silks and golden ornaments he wore swayed with his movement "My lord, your wife's soul yearns to be one with the gods" the holy man said "May she find peace with the great goddess Syrax in her realm of eternal bliss"
The Lord of Dragonstone gritted his teeth and took the torch to the pyre, keeping the pace slow for ceremonies sake, keeping all emotions hidden from the lords and ladies, though currently loyal, watched him through the crowd; judging him, looking for some weakness to exploit. He won't give them a thing.
In a traditional valyrian pyre, the one closest to the deceased would exalt their virtues to let the gods know of them thus gaining access to the heavens.
But Aegon just wispered "Till we meet again Rhae"
Dragonstone
Stone Drum
Chamber of the Painted Table
A Moons Turn Later
Aegon sat alone in the highest level of the Stone Drum, Chamber of the Painted Table as some call it. To him, it is and always will be simply called the War Room.
Though it was midday, the whole room was cold and dark. It's windows facing the four primary directions gave only giving a small slivers of light, forcing anyone planning on using the room to have its hearth lit, a few braziers alight, and place candles on the massive table to read anything.
A stack of letters was piled infront of him, but one in particular piqued his interest. It was a perfumed letter delivered by a pompous courier, dyed beard and all, demanding to have it delivered directly to him and not to any intermediaries.
Heavens only know what could posses a man to dye his beard in any color, let alone purple. The stamp clearly Tyroshi and not just any lowly merchant prince either it was from Orello Adarys, the citys Archon and most prominent citizen.
"What in the gods's name does he want this time" nearly crumpling the paper as he said so "Do they need a taste of dragonflame to remind them of my interest in their trinkets!"
He had reason to be annoyed. As word spread that his family still owned dragons and dragon eggs, every Archon, Triarch, Master, Magister, and tribal chief in Essos offered to purchase them.
Be it ships filled with slaves bred for beds and wars, mountains of gold, silver, precious jewels, promised their daughters for marriage or concubinage. He and his father rejected them all. Dragons aren't plain cattle to be traded, whatever the price as the late Lord Aerion yelled at Lysene cheese mongers offer. These were his father's words one of the few things he and his sire could agree on.
But for some, thinking their wealth entitled them to whatever they desired, decided to steal their dragons and dragon eggs. All attempts failed, but the last one was faced by his fiery sister Visenya and while thwarting the theft, she was left horribly wounded but only after felling five armed men wearing nothing more than a light dress and her bloddied sword Darksister in hand. She died of a fever caused by her injuries a fortnight later. They were to be married in six moons time as valyrian customs dictate.
It was a forced marriage and love as the bards tales would have interpreted it was not yet present between the two, but a love of siblings can burn as hot as any from the song of a drunken Bard. When he heard a pompous Volantene orderd the attempted raid, he nearly rode on Belarion to where the whoreson resides.
His anger only temperd by his father's harsh words and an even harsher reality of taking the life of an influential politician from Volantis and a disastrous war with a powerful free city. Even with dragons, all would suffer in such a war.
Aegons frowned at the memory of his near incapable father chastising him as he were a disobedient child.
Laying the letter in the newly finished table he pondered what a good lord should do. His mind wander as he was accustomed to this chamber in particular. Gazing at the masterpiece of furnishings shaped to form a map of the great western continent with its physical features; rivers, its hills and mountains, it's cities and castles accurately depicted.
Started by the castles aged maester nearly two years ago, old Harys died before it's completion leaving the task to his successor, the young maester Claemon. The stormlander, though newly anointed to the order of maesters, showed great intelligence for someone his age of one-and-twenty, already having several links of; iron, brass, copper and one link of valyrian steel, making him the best qualified for his machinations. Now he wished the boy had more knowledge of healing.
Aegons musings ended after nearly an hour of thought, a bad habit from his mother.
Sighing he took the letter in the pile. The missive from Archon Orello was long winded and dull, filled with empty praises and meaningless pleasantries. Aegon nearly threw the gods damn thing in the fire, until he read the last parts of the letter:
We the Alliance of Free Cities request aid from you Lord Aegon of Dragonstone against Volantis and it's tyrannous ambitions of empire. We are willing to provide compensation for the troops sent, all booty taken by said troops will be yours, and promise of support for whatever endeavour you have in the future... The army of Triarch Horrono Qaedar numbers in the thousands but...
Those last words rang with resonance in Aegons mind; of a man's greed, of plans for dreamt up by children, of promises to be kept and of a sister dead and gone.
Horrono Qaedar... the whoresons very name invoked a burning rage buried deep within him. A jumped up flesh monger specializing with the breeding slave soldiers and claiming them to be equal, if not better with the Unsullied of Astapor
"So the bastard became a Triarch" he smirked through the anger palpable I'm his face.
"Horrono Qaedar of Volantis! He hired us!"
"We were only meant to steal the dragon eggs!"
"It was in self-defense! She wasn't supposed to die!"
Screams of the only man living after Visenya slaughtered his compatriots. The memory; although nearly a decade old, was as vivid as it were yesterday.
"The gods have a sense of humor" he thought. "It seems I have some letters to write".