Ruby and Onyx (SYOC)
Chapter 2
Part 1: Blood
The air smelled of salt, as the water from the sea washed against the aching boards of their ship. The wood itself seemed to be coated in the white substance, the sailors watching overboard. Small islands had begun to pop up at the very horizons – the Stepstones.
Fear was palpable among those on the ships. They had great vessels, yes, hulking ones sworn directly to the isle of Dragonstone. But tales of the great Velaryon fleet crashing uselessly against the islands and swept away by the Blackfyres still haunted them. But one gave them hope.
Leaning against the prow of the lead ship, Visenya, a woman with water-soaked black clothes stood. Tight leathery-like clothes adorned her, windswept white hair blowing in the wind. Fierce violet eyes looking at the islands they were coming towards. Her hand slapped the wooden planks that were acting as railings. "Bring us victory, Visenya," The woman whispered.
Visenya led the pack, flanked by three ships on either side. To the right were the King Aenys, Starfyre, and Black Dread, and to the left were Iron Claw, Damsel's Delight, and Rhaenys. Their hulls chopped into the water, moving silently towards the island. Their mission was clear: retrieve the body, pacify the island, and retreat.
"Princess," A sailor rushed to the woman on the Visenya. "Our scouts see clusters of men on the shore. They're waiting for us."
Rhaena rubbed her hand along the chipped wood, her teeth nibbling at her pink lips. "We will have to fight," Rhaena replied. "Tell the swords to get to the front, bows in the back. We never thought this would be easy."
She did not have a Valyrian steel blade like her brother Baelon, nor like her Blackfyre half-brother Daemon. Rhaena pulled a longsword from her belt, aptly named, Viserys. She looked at the blade, where his name was carved into the steel. Her little brother had died with it. Rhaena had asked for the sword when he had passed, and the wish was granted. She had better swords hanging in the armory in Dragonstone, but this one was special.
They were closing in on the island. Rhaena herself could see the black dragon on red – the sigil of the so-called House Blackfyre. By her estimate, there was a hundred and fifty swords, with roughly fifty bowmen in the distance. If she could get her fleet to shore, it wouldn't be a problem. That's when she saw him.
Daemon Blackfyre was the only one on horseback, his silvery blonde hair cut rather short for one of Valyrian background. A huge shield was on his left arm, coated in rubies and onyxes. An arrogant smile laid on his face.
"Save him for me," Rhaena spat at her crew. "Oars!" She cried, and the huge rowing planks dropped into the water with a thud, beginning to plow them forward. The sounds of wood slapping on water echoed through the morning air.
"No," Rhaena whispered, seeing the Blackfyre fleet coming from the east. Ten huge ships, each one bigger than the Visenya. "Prepare to be boarded!" She screamed at the Iron Claw. The ships were coming fast – perhaps even quicker than they were going to reach the shore.
She saw huge pikes with steel on the end jutting out from the Blackfyre ships. They intended to sink what fleet that Dragonstone could muster. "Landing gear! Go!" Rhaena shouted at a handful of sailors going past her.
She watched from her place on the prow, seeing the huge spike gut into the closest ship to the enemy – the Rhaenys. Mercenaries were beginning to leap onboard, and even from this distance she could see blood spraying. The ships on the edges weren't guarded by great fighters, having kept most of the warriors on the three interior ships of the Visenya, King Aenys and Iron Claw.
Rhaena could hear gurgling water, and cracking of wood. The mast fell from the Rhaenys and fell uselessly into the water. "Stay the course!" Rhaena shouted up at the ship's captain, getting nearer and nearer to the shore of the island.
"Shields!" Rhaena cried as planks were driven into the sandy ground of the Stepstone island. Hulking black shields raised above their first row, and they pressed forward. Rhaena lifted her sword, and the landing crews from the King Aenys and Iron Claw followed.
The Blackfyres fell upon them with a vengeance, the shields clanging loudly, and the sounds of men's screams began to fill the air. Rhaena herself launched into the fighting, her sword swinging in a wide arc and cutting a man from navel to neck, slashing the next threw the belly and continuing to climb up the island. It was clear that there were not enough Blackfyres to contend with the number of true-blooded knights that Princess Rhaena had brought with her. Corpses littered the ground, Blackfyre and Targaryen supporters alike, leading to dwindling numbers left.
Behind them, sounds of people jumping into the water were heard, sailors fleeing the Damsel's Delight as the Rhaenys had already sank. They heard a crunch, and the spike was being driven into the poor ship. Rhaena began to worry if they would have any ships to go back on whatsoever.
"Dragonstone!" Rhaena shouted, and men took up the cry and pursued the fleeing Blackfyres. "Targaryen!"
But her men weren't very fast. Weighed down and still having sea legs, the Blackfyres disappeared into an abandoned town on the opposite end of the island. Rhaena was the first to arrive at the town's outskirts, seeing several ships lying in the harbor. Wounded men were pouring into it.
Rhaena barely had time to register that a sword was coming at her before it was upon her. Crying out, Rhaena rolled out of the way as the steel cut a white-hot wound in her shoulder. Daemon Blackfyre smirked at her, the king's blade blinking in the sunlight.
"I killed your brother," He said, walking towards her. "And I'll kill you too."
Rhaena snarled and lashed out with her own blade, easily parried by the bastard. Daemon kicked at Rhaena's knee in an attempt to shatter it, but she managed to jump out of the way just in time. His sword slashed at her three times, the first cutting a thin wound on her chest, the second and third narrowly being avoided as the Princess of Dragonstone leaped out of the way.
"My," Daemon had barely broken a sweat. Up close, Rhaena could see what everyone had been saying. He looked…Valyrian. His hair was pearly white, his eyes a lilac, and he was as muscular as her brother Baelon. People liked to look up to that. "I thought you'd be harder to kill than Aenys."
"Bastard," Rhaena spat at him as she lunged towards him with her sword. Luckily, she caught him off-guard, who hadn't expected her to go with such a blunt-force type of attack.
The shriek of Daemon Blackfyre echoed through the street, the sword lodging into his shoulder. Rhaena yanked at it to try and get it unstuck, but it was no use. It was in there badly. Curses and spittle alike flung from the man's mouth, and he grabbed a dagger with his other hand and plunged it into Rhaena's side.
Rhaena screamed and hit the ground. She could only dully watch as her sailors carried her back to the ship, calling for a medic. I lost Viserys, she thought as tears came to her eyes unbidden. I lost him.
The ailing Princess of Dragonstone was placed in her bed, the maester working at her wounds with half a dozen sailors. The Damsel's Delight and Rhaenys were utterly destroyed, the Iron Claw having some damage as well, but the Blackfyre fleet had fled to protect the men that were fleeing from the southern part of the island.
Sailors stood on the deck of the ship, craning to get a look inside the captain's chambers. "Aye," A scruffy-looking man said, pointing a knobby finger at the room. "That is a true leader, there. That is a Queen that I could get behind."
The sailors and knights alike nodded in agreement. "She's like Aegon the Conqueror with teats," One jested lightly.
"Or Visenya," Another replied.
The sailors guffawed and laughed, celebrating the victory that they had won. Everyone seemed to forget the body that laid in the bottom of the ship. Everyone, that is, but Rhaena herself. Against the advice of the maesters, she got to her feet. Pang sprung up all over her – her chest, her arms, her legs. Her body didn't want her to go. But she knew she had to.
The sight must have been comical, the princess shuffling along like an eighty-year-old grandmother, taking careful steps down to the hull of the boat. Aenys Targaryen's body laid there, atop a stone that they had been able to find and push down there. Blood had been covering his body, so Rhaena had insisted upon a crimson sheet being pulled over him. His face was unmarked.
"Stupid," Rhaena whispered as she stood beside it. "You were stupid, Aenys."
The little smile that he had died with seemed to argue back with her, "You're stupid, Rhaena."
The sailors watched as Rhaena emerged, no tears on her cheeks, just a somber expression as she went back to the captain's chambers to rest for the night. "Not many men can duel with a Blackfyre," The captain of the Rhaenys said to the sailors. "Our Rhaena is a true warrior. A dragon, through and through."
. . .
Part 2: Iron
The morning in King's Landing was very different than the one in the Stepstones. A coronation was hardly a dull affair – lords and ladies of all over the Realm had come to see the crowning of King Aegon V. Though, many noticed, not many of his kin.
The noticeable absences of Princess Rhaena and Ser Baelon were keenly felt, particularly among the higher born lords. Some hadn't bothered to show either – the Arryns, Starks, Greyjoys, Martells, and even House Hightower hadn't sent any to have joy with the new King.
The High Septon was a fat man, with a gorging belly and the crystal crown on top of his head looking rather unsteady. The Grand Maester was always by his side, and some jested to keep the crown from being completely destroyed once it finally fell.
The new king was just a boy – four and ten, a few years younger than when his father had ascended the throne. He was handsome, like Aenys, with a set jaw and all Valyrian features. Some whispered that he had already had experience in bed, but those rumors were quickly snuffed out by the gold cloaks who were keeping watch of the whole affair.
"King Aegon of the House Targaryen, Fifth of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men! The Protector of the Seven Kingdoms! Long may he reign!" The High Septon cried out as he placed the crown atop the boy's head.
He turned and gave a somber look to the crowd. Hand of the King Rogan Celtigar watched closely, his blue eyes skirting over the new King. He had been Hand for the entirety of Aenys' reign, and for the twilight years of Aegon IV's. He didn't trust this new king. He was cruel, angry, prone to sparks of madness that were hard to dampen. He had no family besides his brother Viserys in King's Landing, and few allies.
Celtigar knew he had false friends and people who were quite willing to kiss the ring and make a big show of it. He knew that Aegon was particularly preferential to those that did. He was worried that any show of admiration for Aegon would result in new titles, new lands, or even knighthoods for those that professed a good word about their king.
The day he'd always been worried about had come. That afternoon, many of the lords and ladies had already turned back on the Kingsroad to leave for their keeps and castles. But Celtigar stayed, sitting at the side of the Iron Throne while Aegon V played at being king for a day.
"Your Grace," A man in finely dressed clothes sunk into a deep bow. Aegon was intrigued, seeing the man was sporting silvery clothes, shimmering with a kind of brightness that he hadn't borne witness to yet.
Lord Celtigar barely looked up from the papers he was writing. He was more concerned with the state of the treasury, with the amount of money they had paid for the coronation, plus what would need to be paid to Princess Rhaena for retrieving King Aenys' body…he wondered if they'd need to borrow for the wedding that would surely be following.
"I pledge my sword to you," He said, a hood over his face.
Celtigar slowly began to glance at the man. He put down his quill. He got to his feet slowly, having been a long time since he had heard that voice. "Unmask yourself." Celtigar said to the man, wary.
The man's slight fingers slowly pulled back the hood. Silvery blonde hair tumbled down to the man's shoulders – a beautiful sight. Violet eyes met violet eyes on the throne, and an understanding was passed between them.
"Traitor," Celtigar said slowly, advancing on the man. "You are banished from the Seven Kingdoms. Throw him in the black cells!" He called at the Kingsguard and the gold cloaks that were assembled in the room.
No one moved. Wheeling about, Celtigar was growing infuriated, his face turning red with anger. Shock crossed his face when he glanced up at the throne and saw that King Aegon had his hand up, stopping anyone from any action against Prince Aeryn. It seemed that the young king was processing it as well.
"Your Grace," Aeryn said to him, bent in as low of a bow that Celtigar had ever seen. "I ask forgiveness for my crimes. I will serve you as ably as I can."
A look of delight flickered on the king's face. He had no father, after Aenys died, and he had always heard stories that his father was weak. His mother had died years ago as well, hanged on the orders of Queen Rhaella. Aegon had only heard stories of Aeryn, and in his sick mind he had thought the stories were romantic. "I pardon you." Aegon told him, sitting up clearer on the Iron Throne.
"Your Grace," Lord Celtigar argued, turning towards him. "He defiled Queen Daenyra, and resulted in the death of Prince Viserys. He has caused untold amounts of pain and sadness on this kingdom. He should be clapped in irons and sent to the black cells, or the Wall if it suits his fancy."
There was an audible breath that was taken by everyone in the hall. Few dared challenge a king in front of an audience, even if it was his Hand.
"There is only one traitor in our bloodline," Aegon said slowly, as if thinking it through while he spoke. "And that is Ser Baelon, for murdering one of his own kin. He is a kinslayer." Then his voice spoke up and said to the crowd. "I sentence Ser Baelon Targaryen to death for his crimes! I name him a kinslayer and an enemy of the crown! Five thousand gold dragons to the man who can bring me him."
Celtigar let out a sigh and put his chin to his chest. A single tear went from his right eye down his face as he wrenched the Hand sigil off his breast. He set it on the desk quietly that he had been working at. "I am done, your Grace. My time has been served."
Eyes flickering with delight, and a bit of evil as well, King Aegon regarded Lord Celtigar. "Bring him to the castle steps," He ordered his kingsguard. One seized the Lord of Claw Isle, holding his arms behind his back. "His charge is treason."
The Realm was in serious danger, Celtigar thought as he was hurried out to the steps. He knelt there for nearly an hour as a crowd pooled around him. Gods be good, he thought, protect Ser Baelon. Protect Princess Rhaena. It would be some of the last thoughts he had, as his head would soon be adorning a pike outside the Red Keep. A warning to the lords of the realm, it was thought. Insufficient service would be punished. But the fires had been stirred. It would take a war to put them out.
. . .
Part 3: Gold
Baelon had been walking for days. He only rested his feet at times when he stopped for the night, whether it be at an inn or just a spot on the ground that looked particularly comfortable. He knew that he probably reeked as well, wearing the same smallclothes that he'd been wearing since he'd left King's Landing.
Baelon was nearing his prize, however, and was beginning to feel like he was in the downhill stretch. He could see the mountains in the distance – towering over everyone and everything, a sign that he was about to enter the Vale of Arryn. He had only been to the Vale twice, both when he was much younger.
"Who would pass the Bloody Gate?" The knight demanded at his entrance to the Vale. The Knight of the Gate was an Arryn, Baelon believed, a cousin of some sort from Gulltown. A decent sword, but not altogether the best the Vale could field.
"Ser Baelon Targaryen," Baelon replied, knowing he must've looked worse for wear as well. "I wish an audience with Lady Arryn."
The Knight of the Gate pondered it for half a minute. "You may enter," He stepped out of the way and Baelon made his even more treacherous ascent up to the Eyrie. It took him nearly a full day to scale it, not the best climber.
The steward of the keep stopped him when he was nearly there. "State your business," The weaselly-looking man stated to him.
A sneer couldn't help but find its way to Baelon's lips. How many times must he tell these people what his business was? "I wish an audience with Lady Arryn. I am Prince Baelon Targaryen, second born son of King Aegon IV and Queen Rhaella."
The steward rushed from the hall, disappearing into another door. Baelon looked around the place. It was dark, with pictures of past Kings of the Mountain and Vale littering the walls. He took a seat on a bench that was conveniently beneath one of them and waited. It was nearly twenty minutes when Lady Arryn appeared.
Baelon couldn't help but look at her. When they were young, she was known as Alys Blackwood. She had been in King's Landing, attending his sister Rhaena, when they had first become friends.
The pain was fresh in his mind, still. He had been eighteen and begging her to stay in King's Landing. He had just had a horrendous fight with his brother Aenys and was sure that he was going to be dismissed from the Kingsguard by dawn. She had relented and stayed, hoping that the two of them could marry. But Aenys didn't dismiss him, and instead forgave Baelon. The next morning, she was gone without a word.
"Ser," Alys said in a crisp tone, her black hair framing her face. She was as beautiful as ever, Baelon thought.
"My lady," He knelt and gave a gentle kiss to her knuckles.
"None of that," Alys scolded and withdrew. "Why are you here, Baelon? After all this time, you come to the Vale."
The last letter that he had ever received from her was that she was to marry the future Lord of the Vale. He was handsome, with dark hair and a proud stature. A good marriage. She said that she could wait for him no longer, and that her father had secured her the match. She was to leave for the Vale and would not be returning to King's Landing to attend Rhaena.
"I was dismissed from the Kingsguard," Baelon said, scratching the back of his neck. "By King Aegon. My brother's dead, my sister's gone to fight in the Stepstones, and the king is insane. I didn't know where else to go."
"Come here," Alys Arryn said, tugging him by his hand towards the door she had come out of.
The room was pleasant, an open space where the air came in through the outside. Pale blue furniture was set up in the room, the bed adorned with the symbol of House Arryn. She took him into the washroom. "You smell disgusting," Alys said, holding her nose. "Clean up, and then we'll talk."
Baelon complied, Alys disappearing back into the room while he undressed. He sighed in relief as he sank into the warm water, feeling it soothe his aching muscles. The dirt and grime washed off with a bit of scrubbing, and Baelon began to feel bad as the water turned a dirty brown color. He washed his hair, running the wet material through his fingers.
"Alys!" Baelon called, wrapping a fluffy blue towel around his waist. "I don't have clothes."
"I'm getting there," She said begrudgingly, walking into the washroom. "Oh." She squeaked, seeing him standing without a shirt and in just the towel.
A smile began to bloom on Baelon's face. She hadn't forgotten. Pale skin with corded muscle underneath shone in the sunlight, Alys taking a moment to look at him. She shook her head and tossed the clothes at him.
"They're my husband's," Alys told him. "They may be a tight fit."
Yeah, Baelon thought dully as he tugged the clothes on. The powder blue and silver garments fit tightly onto his bulkier frame. He remembered that the Lord Arryn was slim, explaining why it was so hard. Luckily, it covered everything it needed to. He didn't attempt to put on the doublet she had offered, instead pulling on the black one that he had brought with him. It was a bit dirty, but it still showed his house's sigil. He wouldn't be made into an Arryn just because he was in the Eyrie.
Baelon sat on the edge of a chair, facing Alys. "The King is not of the right mind, Alys. I've witnessed it with my own eyes."
"Have you heard?" She asked, sighing and looking around the room to make sure no one was listening.
"Heard what?" He was intrigued, his eyes flickering.
"Aegon wants your head," Alys replied. "You ought to be careful. Prince Aeryn has returned from Tyrosh and is serving as Master of Coin for Aegon. Lord Celtigar was beheaded on the orders of the King as well, for treason."
His head spun, attempting to process all the information at once. "Aeryn?" He whispered. "It cannot be." He shook his head firmly, not believing her. "No one would be stupid enough to ask him to come back to the Seven Kingdoms."
"He is," Alys replied firmly. "Lord Coldwyne was there. He reported it to Lord Arryn, and said he feared for his own life. Luckily, he's on his way back to the Vale."
"If that's so…" Baelon said uncertainly.
"It is," Alys said, confident as she got to her feet. "You need to look for your own alliance now, Baelon. A wife would do you good. Not just any girl either, but a powerful one. A daughter of a lord paramount."
Baelon frowned, getting to his feet. "There has only ever been one that I desired." He walked to her and stood beside her. "You know that, Alys."
"This isn't about love, anymore," Alys told him. "And I love my husband. This is never going to happen, Baelon. You need to give it up. I moved on ten years ago, you have to move on now. If you don't want Aegon to tear the realm apart, you'll need to do something about it."
"Alys…" He protested, running a hand through his hair. He didn't know whether he could speak his fears or not. He was thirty. All of the girls that he knew when he was young were married by now. He was a Kingsguard, and a Targaryen as well. Not all houses wanted to be involved with the mess in King's Landing. What would a maid of four and ten want with him?
"Baelon," Alys put her hands squarely on his shoulders. "I may not want to marry you, but you are still one of the most eligible men in this entire Realm. You are a Targaryen. Act like it."
He didn't even stay for dinner before Alys had sent him with a pack of food and directions to find a lady that he could marry. His heart ached, but his mind was clear. To the south, he went. Some may have called it a wasteful trip, but he knew that he had learned more from the trip to the Vale than he could've ever hoped.
A/N: Thank you to everyone who has submitted thus far! I need great houses particularly right now, so please submit. The form doesn't take a whole lot of time, I did that on purpose, so even if you have a half hour, send it in. Let me know what you think of the characters, who you like, who you want to see more of. Thanks, have a good day.
Son of Arryn