Update, reposting due to changes. Sorry.
A/N: Hey everyone. Hope y'all are staying safe.
Good news guys! My short story The Mystery Knight has been published! Be sure to check it out :)
Aerys is his own warning in this chapter.
Enjoy and please comment :D
Chapter 34: The King's Madness
"He hasn't left his quarters all day?"
"No, not even to break his fast." Jaime Lannister looked at his mentor with worry. Unlike him on his shift off, Arthur Dayne refused to even rise. "Both Oswell and Stark are also concerned."
Barristan Selmy ignored the reference of Ser Benjen as 'Stark.' Unlike Jonothor and Lewyn, Jaime actually was trying to get to know him - besides, a morose Sword of the Morning was more pressing. "Go about your business, Jaime." He patted the golden knight on the back. "I'll handle this." There was little doubt as to why Arthur was in this mess - his lover's quarrel with Lady Dacey was already legend within the Red Keep. Many rumors wafted around. Barristan believed none of them.
Opening the door to their dormitory, Barristan found Arthur laying flat on the bed with his arms folded above his head, staring at the ceiling. "Dear gods, what happened to you?"
"Leave me alone, Barristan," Arthur drolled, waving him away.
"Don't you speak to me that way." Barristan wasn't about to let Arthur be a little bitch to him. "I was slaying Blackfyres while you were still in your swaddling clothes! You will treat me with respect!" Arthur glowered but said nothing. "So that's how it is? The Sword of the Morning laying here like a pathetic child? Get up."
He groaned. "What's the point?" But Arthur gave no resistance when Barristan hauled him till he was sitting up.
The older knight sat next to his brother in white. "I've seen men pine over lost women, but this is too much to be simple heartbreak." Silence - Arthur not even looking at him. "You're not going to get anyone…"
"Dacey is with child."
If Barristan would choose a rumor to believe, that wouldn't have been one. "With child? Yours?"
"We were both each other's first lover. There's no one else."
The older man clasped his forehead. "Gods, Arthur. What have you done?"
Arthur chuckled dryly. "I swore an oath to keep chaste… to never wed or father children. Guess I broke it."
"Aye, you did. Never would have expected you to do it, though."
A shrug. "Guess I was never as honorable as people thought I was."
"No, I suppose not." Barristan regarded the man - this wasn't simple guilt… or the guilt was of a different sort. "Unless you love her." He sensed a tension in Arthur. "You do, don't you? Her and the babe."
His gaze shifted wistfully to Barristan. "Yes. I've grown to truly love her."
Barristan's chamber was next to Arthur's, so he had an earful or theirs. He didn't doubt his declaration. "You are in quite the conundrum, then. Kingsguards have broken the oath before." Everyone thought it was Harwin Strong that fathered the Velaryon children of Rhaenyra Targaryen, but it was known in the Kingsguard that Ser Criston Cole was the true father. That was the most flagrant, far other… less consequential acts having done. "But it seems to me that you will have to acknowledge the bastards, which complicates everything."
Arthur looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Complicated everything? That's a fine way to put breaking my oath. Where I'm not supposed to marry and father children?" Arthur buried his face in his hands. "I'm so broken now, Barristan, all my life I aspired for this cloak, when I earned it I was determined to uphold my oaths... but then the she-bear came and my world was turned upside down. I love her, I really do, but all I kept doing is shaming her and my cloak." For someone as chivalrous as Arthur, such was a major issue to deal with. Close to destroying him.
There was a silence. "As far as I'm concerned, that oath was meant to prevent a Kingsguard from developing bonds that would affect their loyalty to the King." He looked at Arthur poignantly. Voice dropping to a whisper. "Do you feel conflict about what we are about to assist Rhaegar in doing?"
Arthur looked up at him. "No."
"Why?" They were betraying their King. Far worse oathbreaking than simply fathering a child with a maiden one loved.
"Because he is not our King. The moment his mind destroyed itself… the moment he almost became a kinslayer, he lost the right of the gods to hold our loyalty." A very First Man way of thinking, steeped in the ancient codes, but one that fit their times quite well. "Rhaegar is my sovereign."
"Very well, then. Is your oath to Rhaegar still strong?"
"As strong as when I first said it," he answered.
"Is Dacey sworn to Rhaegar and Lyanna?"
"I think she'd kill anyone that hurt them." That put a small smile on both their faces. "Love… it's a beautiful thing, Arthur. For those kind and just, it is the bane of duty as greed or sloth is for those weak of heart."
He hung his head. "It's led me to betray my oath, aye."
"Don't speak rashly. I've never loved truly, and neither have most of our brothers, but I can see that for you it is genuine. You have a choice before you, and you will have to live with the consequences of each." He didn't respond. "Would you have resisted Dacey's advances if you knew this would be where you ended up?"
The wait for an answer was interminable. "No," he breathed.
"Seems you've made your choice." Even in the situation, Arthur did the honorable thing. Barristan… he never held such love but knew it to be true. The woman who fancied him and he her hadn't been love so his honor led him to set her aside - but Arthur's was true, and the proper course for the chivalrous was not to deny, but embrace. "Then why aren't you, well… locked in a lover's embrace at the moment."
"Let's just say… I didn't react the best when I heard."
"Oh Arthur, what is wrong with you?" He groaned.
"It's not that simple," Arthur protested. "Dacey is a highborn lady from a noble house. She deserves someone that can give her a keep she deserves and proper wealth and influence to protect her. Who isn't conflicted." He sounded completely broken.
"All of that… it's fleeting. You can't take wealth or influence into the afterlife, but love lasts forever." Something Rhaegar told him once, when they were chatting in the streets of King's Landing that stuck with him. He felt glad to pass it on to Arthur, especially apt for the situation. "As for the rest, she'll understand your conflict."
The Sword of the Morning glanced at him, eyes sunken. "How do you know?"
Barristan clasped his shoulder. "Because everytime that girl passes us, her eyes are locked on you with that same look the Princesses give Rhaegar. Adoration." Arthur blinked. "She does it when you're not looking." At his contemplative silence, Barristan chuckled. "You have nothing to worry about. Go to her. Go to her... or I'll drive my sword up your ass and take you to her," he said seriously.
For the first time since Dacey left, Arthur cracked a genuine smile. "I will."
The King of the Seven Kingdoms glared hard at the glittering green flames from the hearth. Logs, fetters, and the black-red dragon egg lined with a very thin film of wildfire, needing the strength it seemed to give him. Never enough… never enough… By Balerion, show me your secrets!
"Your Grace," came the voice from behind him, raspy. "How would you like us to serve you?"
Aerys turned to the gaunt, hunched forms of his new guests. "I was told by my advisers that your kind can perform miracles."
Sailing all the way from the great and mysterious port city of Qarth, the three warlocks were some of the strangest people he had ever seen. Slender as skeletons, wrinkled faces stretched tightly over their skulls and eyes both bugged out and sunken… if that was possible. Their lips were shaded a rather strange shade of purple-blue. "What we some can call miracles, we call enlightenment of the mind."
"Fuck the riddles. Tell me the damn truth."
Each of them possessed some sort of physical disfigurement. A man with extensively pierced lips - rings and studs of jade and iron mutilating his flesh - spoke up. "We cannot provide you the glory you seek, only open your mind to the potential your blood gives you. All the answers you seek lay within."
Almost screaming at them again, the King demurred. Pondering what he said. "You allege that my blood holds all I seek?" It would mean he was a dragon after all.
"Aye, your Grace," stated another, this one missing his nose. "Your blood is that of the Conqueror. The marring of Old Valyria's children has locked your truth."
Aerys clenched his fists. "Fucking father, fucking grandfather!" Three generations of Targaryens that married Dornish and Wildling scum, destroying the pureblood Valyrian strength of their seed. "What must I do?'
The lead warlock had marred his face with various tattoos. "You are the blood of the dragon, so all we need is a drop of your blood."
"Yes, yes, get on with it." The noseless warlock produced a knife of the sharpest bronze - chanting incantations under his breath as he approached the King. Taking Aerys' hand and pricking it. "Agh," the King exclaimed, watching as a tiny trickle of blood fell from it and into a bowl the pierced warlock held underneath. There was a muted blue liquid within. The blood hissed and sputtered as it landed. "Is that good?"
"Quite good, your Grace. The dragon reacts with the godly brew." Dilute… weak… pathetic. Blood of someone pretending to be his great ancestors, but the lead warlock wouldn't tell Aerys that. Wordlessly, he and his comrades gathered their collections of dried herbs, minerals, and poultices to toss into the bowl. Hearing the bubbles and cracks as the liquid changed color and mixed… suddenly growing cold in its final form. "Here, drink this."
Aerys narrowed his eyes. "What the fuck is this?" He took a sniff, blanching. "Smells like shit."
"Shade of the Evening, your Grace. It shall open your mind to the truths held in your blood."
"Be warned," said the pierced warlock. "If you dive deep into your blood truths, you will be lost forever."
"Fuck you, I'm the damn dragon." Grabbing the bowl, some of the brew spilling over the sides, he downed it in a few gulps. Purple liquid trickling down his chin and neck. "Fuck!" he gasped. Waiting for the reaction...
"Kostagon se drēje pryjagon se pirtir," chanted the warlocks. "Kostagon se drēje pryjagon se pirtir. Se drēje. Se drēje…"
Suddenly Aerys found his world spinning - shaking beneath him.
"Se drēje. Se drēje…" He opened his mouth in a silent scream before the floor fell away.
With a jolt he slammed into the ground. Hands scrambling to feel his injuries… only nothing. Aerys was fine.
"Hello, my son."
Blinking, he found his father seated across from him. Aegon V, still dressed in his royal robes, immaculate silver hair pinned back. Just as Aerys remembered him. His eyes narrowed. "What the fuck do you want?" A quick look around found him in his childhood solar.
His father reacted not to the hiss. "I am looking at my beloved son." His smile was filled with love and warmth, something Aerys hadn't felt in decades. "I haven't enjoyed such since that fateful day at Summerhall."
Aerys scoffed. "It was your own foolishness that caused that. Thinking a three part Dornish pretender could be a dragon."
"Then what does that make you, little brother." Stiffening, Aerys found Duncan looking at him jovially. "You have my blood, yet you are a dragon while I am not?"
Aerys only snorted. "And what are you doing here?"
"Waiting," Dunk responded. "Waiting for my brother and friend to return. For mother's beloved to return." Such was the shocking truth to any currently alive. Young Aerys has been his mother's favorite.
"Don't speak of our mother!" he snarled, only to be enveloped by two slender arms. "Don't touch your King…" he trailed off when meeting two grey eyes. "No… You're not real…"
Betha Blackwood looked exactly like Rhaella, minus her coloring and cheekbones. Soft, kind, supremely caring. "My beloved," she cooed. "I'm here."
"No, you can't. You left!" The death of his mother when he was young, a decade and a half before Summerhall… Aerys hadn't known joy since. "Why do you care?!"
"I never meant to leave, my love."
"Of course you did!" he shrieked, tears in his eyes. "First Man whore!"
She ignored it. "I love you, my son."
It was too much. Too much. "Muna…" suddenly desperate to see her smile, Aerys looked up only to see... "Demon!" His mother had morphed into Serala Darklyn, kindly smile replaced with that lustful malevolence that had so tortured him for years. Her hands grew closer, ready to consume him in the same abuse he had endured at her instigation.
Surrounding him was a black mist, tendrils wrapping around Aerys. "They threaten you. Fire and Blood, my King." Her cackles filled his ears. "Burn them all, your Grace… BURN THEM ALL!"
In an instant he was surrounded by green fire. The happy family incinerated in the towering flames, Aerys gasping as he tried in vain to find his way out of the inferno.
"Muna?! Muna!" he kept screaming over and over. "Where are you!"
But instead of his mother's sweet voice only a roar burst out of the haze. A massive black dragon, draped in flames as red as the setting sun emerged from the cracking ground. It dwarfed even Balerion the Dread. Following it from the gaping earth were two other dragons, one a glaring silver and the other a stormy blue, wings extending as they roared to the heavens.
But Aerys could only stare at the largest beast. His dragon… the dragon of the greatest Targaryen… He could feel it, it would bring his mother back, his House back to greatness…
But the flames only increased, spreading across the entire landscape as the houses of King's Landing emerged. Flames covering them, breathed onto his kingdom as another dragon swept down. Almost hollow, translucent with a heart of black fire within. Black fire… blackfire… Blackfyre! Aerys glared at the rider destroying the capitol of his realm, unable to see the face but knowing this was the false dragon.
"High in the halls of the kings who are gone,
"Jenny would dance with her ghosts."
Clawing through the rubble of his kingdom, Aerys found the Red Keep itself. A lone figure where his throne was supposed to be, dancing with the ghosts of his family. Jenny. "JENNY!"
"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,
"And the ones who had loved her the most…"
Aerys shot to his feet, almost doubling over as he gasped for air. It was like he was choking and drowning at the same time. But there was no water, no food in his throat… just the same room with the three warlocks staring at him. "Se drēje," said the lead. "The true shall witness greatness."
"I'd advise against this, your Grace."
"What use is being in the training yard if I can't train?"
"At least let us accompany you."
"That won't be necessary, it's just a stroll in the gardens."
"I don't like this, sister. I can train later…"
Lyanna scowled, crossing her arms. "Benjen, no. Do not stop your training on my account." Rhaegar and Elia may have barred her from strenuous swordplay because of the hatchling pup growing in her belly, but she wouldn't let Benjen's kingsguard training suffer. "I'm going for a walk in the gardens."
"Lya…" behind her brother, Oswell was more formal yet no less conflicted.
The Princess was in no mood. "No, you are going to train here. By my decree." Grinning at her sullen brother, Lya blew him a kiss as she left. Just managing to hear Oswell's chuckle. Least he has a sense of humor about it.
Walking through the still vibrant gardens of the Red Keep, Lyanna could allow herself to be carefree. No one was allowed here that did not have the permission of the royal family. The perfect day to simply relax. The gardeners had planted flowers and shrubs perfectly suited to winter, and the lush vegetation was blooming colorfully around her.
"Gods," she mumbled to herself. "I'm not an invalid." While Rhaegar officially finding out had led to a night of the most frenzied lovemaking they'd ever shared, the morning brought not only a delicious soreness between her legs but a concerned husband and sister-wife insisting that she take it easy. It took me an hour before they allowed me even to ride!
"They're just looking out for you, sister," Bran had told her the moment she unloaded her frustrations on him - she knew her father would only agree. He naturally had taken it well, speaking to little Visenya and promising to teach her "All the things that your mother is too strict to teach," which led to Lya smacking him.
Her family were a bunch of paranoids but she loved them. Especially Rhaegar… my Dragon Prince… and Elia, who had grown to be her best friend. Closer than most married couples, Bran would joke, though it made her blush with… untoward thoughts.
Shaking her head, Lyanna gasped as her eyes settled on something. A bush of winter roses, planted in the middle of the garden. "Oh husband, I know this was your doing," she said with tears in her eyes. Seven Hells, Visenya. What are you doing to my emotions?
The roses were beautiful. Pale blue, the color of frost. She bent down and took a sniff. Smelling of a chilly ice and peppermint - the scent of her childhood, when she would often spend wintertime dancing through the glass gardens of Winterfell. Spontaneously, Lyanna picked off one of the flowers and tucked it behind her ear. Feeling just as beautiful as she did when Rhaegar crowned her at the tourney. Seven Hells, it feels like a lifetime ago.
Turning, a flash of silver hair caught her eye. But it wasn't Rhaegar, but rather the youthful Prince Viserys. She smiled as he played in the gardens. "My Prince!" Lyanna called out, walking to him.
Viserys stilled, looking up at Lyanna with wide violet eyes. "Good morning, Lyanna," he said, bowing. As a second son, he was ranked underneath the future Queen.
"None of that with me." The Starks never used such formalities with each other. "Enjoying your time in the gardens?" The boy was her child's uncle and she would be remiss if she didn't have a good relationship with him.
"I suppose so." Gaze angled towards his feet, shuffling them awkwardly, Viserys felt conflicting feelings for his goodsister. His father found her and the entire North distasteful and the Prince wanted to make his father proud of him…
But Lyanna - and Elia for that matter - was the sweetest person he knew aside from his mother. Always with a kind word or an intriguing story, Rhaenys absolutely adored her and the little girl was Viserys' only friend. How could father and Rhaegar think of her so differently? Both his father and his brother were his heroes.
And so, what conversations they had were… complicated. Not cold but… not inviting. Often, he just tried to stay away from her. Today though, he saw something of interest. "What's that?"
Seeing he was pointing to the flower tucked behind her ear, Lyanna chuckled. "Ah, that. Dear goodbrother, that is a winter rose."
"You wore it at the wedding… and at Harrenhal. Why?"
"Well, at Harrenhal your brother used it to crown me Queen of Love and Beauty…"
"But you seem to like them. Why?"
Smiling, Lyanna gestured for the boy to follow her. Curious, Viserys did until he saw the bush. The roses were pretty… "They are the only flowers that bloom in winter. That's why we consider no flower as precious as they."
Reaching out to touch the petals, Viserys giggled at the sweet scent. "You had them in the North, Lyanna?"
"Aye, of course. They are the most beautiful of the flowers grown in the glass gardens of Winterfell."
"May I have one?" he asked sheepishly, almost embarrassed for such a guilty pleasure.
Thinking for a moment, Lyanna took the flower from her ear and tucked it behind Viserys'. Leaning down and pecking him sweetly on the cheek. "There, now we have the second dragon since Alysanne to hold the beauty of the North."
Breaking through his walls, she was rewarded with a brilliant smile. "Thank you!" Viserys hugged her hip and then dashed off. Practically skipping.
Laughing merrily, Lyanna patted her belly. "You have the best family, little dragon."
Much as it would displease his wives - Elia undoubtedly telling his fierce she-wolf about what she very nearly walked in on - Rhaegar knew they trusted him. Had there been any doubts between any of them, he wouldn't be here. "So I am who you've been searching for?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.
"One of those I seek, yes," answered the Lady Melisandre, gaze smoldering in intensity.
Rhaegar was used to the lustful stares of women who wanted him yet couldn't have him. This woman's was… different. "How do you be sure?" he asked, skepticism dripping from his tone. "Why the fuck should I truly believe a word you say? There really isn't any reason for me to believe you, nor any of your kind."
The Red Woman only offered a laugh, unmoved by his words. "We all doubt what we can't understand… as I am sure the armies of Westeros disbelieved the dragons until Aegon the Conqueror set Belarion upon them." They were in the throne room, a single brazier baring a single egg set just in front of the steps leading to the Iron Throne. "What if I could show you?"
"What? A vision in the flames? That would sure clarify things," Rhaegar sarcastically replied.
Her wide smirk was quite unnerving. Melisandre knew the effect she could have on people, and took advantage. "Come here, Prince Rhaegar." Without waiting for his reply, she placed her arm around his waist and guided him to the brazier. "These flames are not the false ones fueled by his abomination… but rather those blessed by the servants of the Lord of Light. Visions can only be seen in the purest of flames."
"I don't see anything."
Melisandre's hand slithered along his shoulders, voice almost seductive. "Look into the flames, my Prince. Let the Lord show you the way."
Eyes glazing over, orange flames glinting against the shiny scales, Rhaegar unavoidably found his gaze fall deep into the fires...
A battlefield, location unknown from tens of thousands of fields across Westeros. Tens of thousands of men locked in pitched combat. Frenzied, brutal, blood of countless men and boys spilled in the prime of their life.
"Go on, my Prince," Melisandre continued, voice echoing… as if she was speaking to him underwater. "Search the flames. Find what the Lord of Light is trying to tell you."
Rhaegar's waded through the clashing swords and shields. A drab northerner, greatsword in hand as he engaged a trio of men-at-arms. A figure in golden armor, lance depressed as he charged through masses of men. A sudden charge of knights, plate and mail weighing down their bodies and horses charging headlong into the fray - an imposing bear of a man with a helmet of antlers at the van, snarl audible as he barrelled headlong at…
Suddenly the battlefield pulsed. Shields of one side and one side only erupting in light. Blinding him slightly, forcing Rhaegar to look away as a shrill shriek warbled loudly over the hellscape…
"Kepa." In an instant Rhaegar found himself catapulted to a new scene. The flames changed, serene almost. As if immersed in a cloudless day. "What if I fall off?"
"Don't fall off then, my son." He heard his own teasing voice. Older, deeper with experience and yet carefree with a contented happiness that was largely alien to him. "It's in your blood. Sovegon!"
"Sovegon!"
The air passed him by, like a sudden wind… almost as if he was flying… Rhaegar felt powerful. Rhaegar felt free…
"I'm doing it, kepa!"
Warmth filled him. "That's it, my son. You are a dragon!"
"Higher, boy, higher!" In the edge of his vision, Rhaegar saw a massive wing of green. Partially blocking a smaller form in the distance. A dragon. Black and red, atop which was a young man with dark hair…
Lyanna's hair…
"I can't wait for them to see!" the boy shouted. "To share this with them, like you and munas."
"My son…" he murmured. But the flames slowly rose. Heat slowly built up until unbearable.
Until a voice emerged, one unknown to him. "Fight, Rhaegar Targaryen," it shouted. "Fight for this. Fight. Fight! FIGHT!"
Followed by a female scream, one like a knife to the heart…
Back in reality, Rhaegar pitched back, drenched in sweat. Scream echoing in his head. "My Prince," Melisandre said, kneeling beside him. "What did you see? What did the Lord show you?"
It all suddenly clicked. The fires of the Red God meeting their match as his blood turned cold. "Lya!" Without even bothering to look at Melisandre, Rhaegar raced out of the throne room.
The word of mouth spread quickly in the Red Keep. Whispers found servants and guards fleeing for elsewhere. For those unlucky enough to be unable to dash away, they simply bowed or curtseyed as low as possible and said nary a word. Frantically praying under their breath.
For the King was in a mood. It was as plain as anyone could tell. Kingsguards dismissed. Sunken look in his eye, he was just looking for a fault to explode over. Anything from a tongue lashing to being drawn and quartered was a possibility, and everyone from the lowliest maid to the members of the small council knew that he would just need to get to his chambers and burn it off.
Aerys' mind was a cauldron, barely able to see where he was going as he marched towards his chambers. The aftereffects of the Shade of the Evening both gave him a headache and made his eyelids droop, while the weight of the vision made him jumpy in contrast. Willpower fighting between seeking out rest in the cot he called a bed or the desire to deduce the secrets of the vision - it had taken all the urgings of the Warlocks and Ser Jonothor to not drown in the vile purple brew until all was exposed in his consciousness.
And his mother… why was she there? Why couldn't he see her? Muna… why did you leave me? He was a barrel of wildfire ready to ignite… and all that was needed was the tiniest spark…
"And she never, wan...ted to leave…" Aerys halted. "High in the halls of the Kings who are Gone…" His eyes widened. "Jenny would dance with her ghosts…" The King heard enough, marching down the corridor to find his son Viserys. Skipping happily and singing softly… until he caught sight of his father. "Your Grace, he bowed."
The barrel had found its spark. "What are you doing?!" He shouted. "Where did you hear that song?!"
Suddenly set upon by his father's bombardment of questions, Viserys froze. "Umm…"
Aerys' eyes drifted to the flower and he went white. "What the fuck is that?" He had seen it before, in the crowns presented at tourneys, but only one person ever wore a single blue rose…
"Lya gave it to me…" Viserys was clueless of the storm he was bringing down upon himself. "The flower is very pretty, kepa."
He was cut off with a sudden backhand to the cheek. The King's rings cut open his cheek. "You are a Prince! Not a Dornish sword-swallower!" Aerys screamed. "We'll just see about this fucking flower business."
Viserys sobbed, tears mixing with blood. "Please, kepa…"
"SHUT IT!"
Sighing in joy, Lyanna rubbed her clothed stomach. My dragonwolf… "I love you so much, Visenya." She thought of a beautiful girl with silver hair and grey eyes. Oh, how the world looked brighter after a stroll in the gardens. Stress of her royal duties washing from Lyanna as she walked towards the library. Her library. Eager to scour the thousands of texts to find out the history of the construction of King's Landing and how the aqueducts could…
Turning a corner, Lyanna barely caught a flash of the red royal robes before Aerys' fist crashed into her face. Breaking her nose and sending blood splattering. "YOU WHORE!" she heard him scream. Yanking her up by her hair and slapping her hard as she cried out.
Vision blurry, the northern Princess caught a glimpse of Viserys, trembling with eyes rimmed with tears. "Kepa… you're hurting her!"
"Be a man, you little shit!" Aerys pulled the chestnut locks higher, making Lya scream. He liked the sound. "Why did you do it! Why are you corrupting my son, you wildling slut!"
"Your Grace," she wailed. Tasting blood in her mouth. "I didn't…" He punched her again, making her see double.
"I know it's you, Jenny!" His vision tinged red, mind swirling. Be it the effects of the Shade of the Evening or the fury of how warped his thinking was, all he could see was his gooddaughter being taken. Her soul enveloped by the dark magic of his brother's late wife. Someone that court rendered him unable to properly deal with and the whirlwind being reaped now. Over and over he slapped her, tossing her to the ground and kicking her in the shoulder. "You will not corrupt my family!"
Panic flooded Lyanna, hands quickly covering her stomach as the pain stabbed through her face and upper torso. Almost blacking out as another kick slammed into her breasts. "Please, your Grace," she begged, trying to meet his eyes. Finding nothing but a crazed madness - nothing like the loving violet in Rhaegar's. "I carry…" Blood spat from her mouth. "Your son's child…"
In mid-kick, Aerys stopped. Digesting the words from the demon before him. False dragon… false dragon… The fires that consumed King's Landing, the dragon controlled by Jenny…
"High in the halls of the kings who are gone,
"Jenny would dance with her ghosts."
"No! No, it can't be!" His head pulsed in agony, as if thousands pounded away within his skull. Aerys clutched his head, staggering.
"The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,
"And the ones who had loved her the most…"
Rage blasting through his headache, Aerys' eyes almost glowed a blazing purple at Lyanna. No… not Lyanna Targaryen, his Stark gooddaughter - no, Jenny had taken this woman. Used her as a vessel for the false dragon that would destroy the world. That would bring the doom.
"You know what you must do…"
"Goodfather," she begged, voice soft and halting. Barely able to rise from the pain of her injuries. It was as if her body was on fire, being struck all over with a training blade. "Please… mercy…"
"Mercy is for the weak!" Shoving the crying, shaking Viserys aside - ignorant of the rapidly expanding puddle of piss from the poor child's soaked trousers - and grabbed a candlestick mounted into the wall. Snapping the metal staff out of sheer anger. "You will not destroy my realm, Jenny!" He raised the candlestick, a feeling of smugness filling him as Jenny's grey eyes went wide with complete terror. IT'S MINE! MINE!"
If the pain from before had been unbearable, this was excruciating. The metal crashing against her face, her shoulders, her arms and legs. The crunch of bone filling her swollen ears. Lyanna heard a hoarse scream… realized as her own. Howling a blood-curdling echo into the hallway as the King continued to beat her. Screaming incoherently.
"Do it… cleanse her…"
"DIE JENNY! DIE JENNY! THE FALSE DRAGON WILL DIE!" As her hand moved to protect Visenya, Aerys kicked the hand away. Boots stomping on the digits - breaking them. "I AM THE TRUE DRAGON. CONDEMN THE FALSE ONE TO THE SEVEN HELLS!"
No… stop… please… Lyanna barely managed to hear a sudden cry from someone… Rhaegar, Bran, she did not know… just as the candlestick crashed down into her abdomen…
A/N: Well... I doubt there's much for me to say. Be sure to leave s comment with your thoughts.
If I can get 35 reviews, I'll update Wednesday.
