Just a disclaimer: this chapter is not for the faint of hearted. I'm pretty good with horror and gore and stuff, and I found this awful to write. So, you have been warned.
Lucian Lannister – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands
I finished talking with my idiot of a nephew, Addam, about positioning the troops. The boy had no head for battle. In fact, he lacked the mind for anything of great import, but he was a Lannister. We were the Wardens of the West, and he would represent the House on the field of battle beside me.
The Lannister forces would remain at Casterly Rock, protecting my lands from the villainous Ironborn attacks. Meanwhile, the men I'd supplied to the Royal Army would march south to Storm's End, and take it by force.
I'd talked with Lord Oroville before he departed for Braavos, and he had agreed to station a garrison of five hundred men to hold the keep, while Oroville used the Tyrell forces to hold the Stormlands and the Reach against the Dornish hordes.
King Aeron sat in his chair, tapping a finger against the table as he nodded, listening to our advice and pausing to ponder it before agreeing. The boy had no experience in war, but seemed to grasp the basics of tactics and strategy fairly quickly. Everyone began to leave, until it was just Aeron and myself left.
"Your Grace?" I cleared my throat. "I wished to talk to you about my daughter?"
"Lyra." King Aeron nodded. "I remember her. She disputed my legitimacy, if my mind serves me accurately."
"She's always been troublesome…" I shifted in my chair, "too much of a mind, that girl. Too… boisterous. I had previously hoped she may learn grace and courtesy as a handmaiden-"
"As a handmaiden to the traitorous Baratheons." King Aeron cut me off. I kept my mouth closed, examining exactly how to word my sentence before daring to move my tongue.
"I had chosen to believe the best in Rylon, My King."
Aeron's eyes studied me intensely. The violet darting around my face, examining the smallest twitch of a cheek or lick of the lips. I couldn't help but realize how little he resembled Rhaegon. Some saw the resemblance, but I suppose that was simply the silver hair and violet eyes. Though his face was pointed, true; like most of the Targaryens. Aeron eventually gave me a warm, friendly smile.
"You are truly a shrewd man, Lord Hand. But I prize absolutely honesty and loyalty before ought else."
I nodded, taking his smile as a gesture to mean I could speak freely. Even so, I still took a moment to form a sentence in my head.
"Rylon Baratheon was not always dubbed a traitor, My King. He served in my position as Hand for twenty long years."
"And yet, he did nothing to quell the War in the North. Nor did he settle the Ironborn Raids of the South. In fact, I believe it was a Stark who rode South to repel them near two decades ago?"
"That is correct My King…" I tried not to grit my teeth. Hearing him praise the actions of Stark men… the Northerners didn't understand finery or subtlety. No, they were brutes and beasts, who spent most of their time fighting each other.
"He even travelled to Dragonstone to herald the birth of my half-brother. Before he knew of his death, of course." Aeron continued.
"As did I, My King!" I hastily informed him. "I was among the first to offer my condolences, before Lord Oroville or the traitor, Rylon." Aeron smiled and nodded, standing up and going to leave the chamber. "My King?" I stood up. "My daughter…?"
"Ah…" Aeron stroked his chin in thought, "she served Haylise Baratheon."
"I know, but she will learn humility!" I pleaded with him. I had heard of Elecia Tyrell's attempt which had been successful, to an extent. "I intend to wed her to Raff of House Bolton."
"Bolton?" Aeron thought for a moment. "Ah, the Northern House."
"She will learn what it means to be a Lady there, I assure you. The Boltons are a true and loyal house, and she will be educated-"
"Forgive me, My Lord, but aren't the Boltons currently rebelling against House Stark? Therefore, they are in open rebellion against the Crown?"
"Bennard Stark stole Lord Alvar Bolton's sister, and put a baby in her belly. He then exiled his own ba-" I caught myself, "his own natural son, Finn Snow."
"Starks…" Aeron shook his head. As he opened his mouth, our future queen, Delyth Tyrell entered.
"My Dragon!" Delyth curtsied.
"My Rose." Aeron bowed, taking Delyth in his arms.
"My Lady." I bowed deeply to Delyth.
"Lord Hand. I wanted to talk to you about our impending wedding…" Delyth began to stroke her light ashen-brown hair curled and worn like a proper Southern Lady. However, she wore her hair like a woman from the Reach – like her mother. Not like the traitors Haylise or Visenya. No finery or intricate braids woven together. Just her beauty.
"I'll dwell on the matter, Lord Hand." Aeron informed me. "You have my word."
"And you have a wisdom few men manage to find at twice your age." I pressed my arm across my chest, bowing once again. "Now, My Lady, what did you want to discuss?"
"We need to re-plan the wedding. I won't just be a Princess, I will be Queen."
"Indeed you will, My Lady," I offered my arm, which she took, "and what a Queen you shall be." I looked to Aeron, who simply chuckled.
"I'm afraid that Delyth has her mind settled on a particular wedding. Let her have whatever she wants – you are Hand, after all."
I bowed my head. "Your Grace."
Delyth curtsied, "My Dragon."
"My beautiful Rose." Aeron bowed back as we left the chamber.
Ashriel Tyrell – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands
I had been moved from the black cells to another chamber – a forgotten dungeon that was the size of an old chamber. Straw was strewn across the stone slabs, and the only light came from the torches that burnt brightly all along the walls.
It was in this time I had, waiting for the meal to learn what time it must have been. Maggot-ridden bread meant it was lunch, and therefore just after noon. I wondered how well Laena must have been eating. She had betrayed me, and therefore, must have been returned to her former diet by that traitorous bastard, Aeron.
All Targaryens had traitors blood, it seemed. All except Viserys. Beautiful, brave and noble Viserys. Viserys the Bold. My Dragon. Just thinking about him, alive, out there somewhere, was enough for me to endure the pain and starvation.
The iron door clanked open and Laena was led inside by Ser Howland Swann.
"Laena?" I asked. "Your Grace. Why are you here?" My heart leapt up and hammered against my bones. She must have come to rescue me. I knew my hope was not misplaced.
How foolish I was. Aeron sauntered inside after her.
"We thought you may enjoy the company." Aeron stated, looking around the chamber. "Gods, this is dismal… it's like I'm back in the Fingers." He let out a small chuckle. I remained silent. I would not give in to his taunts. "No clever jibe? No witty retort? You won't call me 'bastard' or 'murderer'?"
Murderous bastard indeed. I wouldn't talk to him. I refused to give in. I would not say a single word to the man, I would steel myself against him.
"Well… no matter. You don't need to say anything." He nodded at Ser Howland, who chained Laena to the wall. Aeron walked towards me, letting a hand lie on my hip. "Your mother begged for me to spare your life, you know. She wanted you to live in exile." I refused to look at him. "Still… I suppose she believes that you have come to your senses. Viserys is a prince, after all. How many bedwarmers did he have?"
"I was no bedwarmer." It slipped out. I couldn't stop my own mouth from rebutting Aeron.
"No? Well, you certainly weren't his wife. No, that's a title Haylise the Ruined holds." I felt my jaw clench and my hands ball into fists. I did not need reminding. "Of course, you know this. Viserys toyed with you, Ashriel. Just as your beloved Laena betrayed you." Aeron turned to look at Laena, who watched the flames of the torch with great focus and terror. "They'll never want us, Ashriel." Aeron crooned into my ear. "But I am a merciful King. Pledge yourself to me, and I will be lenient. You are to be my sister. I do not wish to remove such a pretty head. And it is a pretty head…" I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from replying. I felt my stomach lurch as Aeron gently slipped a finger across my jaw, the other hand removing a knife.
"No…" Laena let out a short whimper. Aeron turned to her with a grin.
"Gods… I'm not going to kill the girl." Aeron chortled, turning back to me, and jerking a thumb to Laena while he shook his head. He then took the knife, and slipped it across my kirtle. My bare skin touched the cold stone behind me, and I could feel the dirt and grease creep across my skin. Aeron turned back to Laena, unbuckling his belt. "What do you think Viserys would do, if he found out his favourite whore swaddled my bastard?" He gave a sickly grin of perfect white teeth, before turning his pointed, knife-like face back to me.
'Just tell yourself it's Viserys'. I thought, scrunching my eyes shut. 'Just tell yourself it's Viserys.'
Yeah, this chapter got dark. Like… I've done sadism and psychological torture, but this is on a whole other level.
I hope no-one's offended. If you are, please tell me why, and accept my apologies – I've tried to be as unbiased and realistic in depicting the awful things people can do, as well as not trying to turn it into a cliché.
Moreover, I'm thinking about releasing an appendice of sorts after these stories are finished – they'll basically be all about the symbolism I lace into these chapters, my own thoughts on the characters and their motivations, as well as historical figures / times / places that I drew influence from. Let me know if you guys would enjoy reading that.
Leave a review detailing your thoughts, and what you think of the plotlines so far. The next chapter is named 'A Dragon's Storm'. And yes, we're back in Storm's End.