After a long hiatus for exams, I'm back. Ready to get my Crab on.
Also, we're back at Harrenhal. It seems like all my fics are predetermined to end up here. I swear it's just a coincidence.
101 AC - Harrenhal
Gael missed her children.
Maekor had been too young to even appreciate a goodbye, but Aethan's two namedays meant he had fully realized how much his mother would be missing from his life. She and Malden would be gone for some moons, leaving their servants and attendants to tend Claw Isle in their absence. It was odd how three years ago Gael hadn't a single thought about motherhood, and now it consumed a huge chunk of her thoughts.
"Hey," said Malden. He reached out from beside her, his hand squeezing Gael's shoulder. "They'll be fine. We're the ones diving headfirst into boiling water. Claw Isle is safe."
She smiled at her husband, dearly wishing she could leap from her horse to his, and sink into his broad, solid frame. Alas, they were at the very head of their convoy, with both their vassals and allies arrayed behind them. Darry and Waxley, Staunton and Brune. They would all see. "How did you know I was worried?"
"Because you have a tendency to speak aloud without your realizing." Gael thought about his meaning for a second, before she blushed. "It's fine," he continued, amused, "I'm concerned too. I guess that's just what it's like to be a parent."
Gael laughed, jubilant not to be alone. "Two years and as many children, and it still seems as if we're just beginning to figure the whole thing out."
"I suspect that is the case for more people than you think."
The outriders returned, Darry and Celtigar men moving together in a solid mass. The men-at-arms in their company japed and riffed, their camaraderie evident even from a distance. It seems as if any old rifts or rivalries between the two houses had mended. Good.
Good relations will be valuable in the wars to come.
As they rode their palfreys into Harrenhal's scorched outskirts, a call rang out from above. It was a call she hadn't heard for years, not since her departure from King's Landing. It was low, alien, and predatory. A sound she had been dreading ever since the council was announced.
"No," Gael whispered, heartbeat rising in her ears. "Please, not him."
Like lightning, the Blood Wyrm was upon them, falling through the mist that lingered around Black Harren's tomb. Ground and dust shook as the great drake thudded down before them, flapping its wings to make landfall. Many of their men cried out in alarm, their horses rearing and whinnying. Caraxes herself, the mount of Prince Aemon, Rhaenys' late father, towered over them. Though it wasn't Aemon who sat atop her back anymore.
Jonah rode his destrier up the road to stop beside them, black-and-gray Waxley sigil fluttering across the horse's side. "Prince Daemon," he breathed.
"Indeed," said Malden, swallowing. Her husband had been around dragons before, she knew. Gentle Silverwing, for one, was a constant presence in his life. The newly hatched Archal as well, from an egg of Silverwing's left in Maekor's cradle. Even Balerion the Dread had flown over Claw Isle once or twice in his early years. But those all paled in comparison to the openly hostile Caraxes, whose frills flayed out around her neck, and who sent undulating sounds thrumming out her open maw.
Daemon slid from his mount, coming to stand before them with a cocky stance. One hand rested lightly on the hilt of Dark Sister, while the other dangled loose at his side.
"My prince," Malden bowed his head, the associated lords and attendees following suit. Lord Desmond Darry, Lady Rosamund Staunton, and aged Lord Robin Waxley, all of them bowed before the prince. Gael regarded him coolly, before making the smallest of tilts to her head.
"Rise, please," Daemon drawled, a coy smirk on his handsome face. "And welcome to Harrenhal. His Grace my grandfather is grateful for your attendance, as is the future king."
Gael felt her temper spike, welling up inside of her after so long a wait. "The future king?" she laughed. "I don't believe my father's successor has been chosen. Is that not what this entire council is to be about? You may have forgotten that, nephew."
Rosamund groaned, and Desmond gasped. But Daemon didn't even acknowledge her words.
The prince continued to address Malden. "Lord Celtigar, I do believe that His Grace wished to have a word with you upon your arrival. May I escort you?" He did a half turn, sweeping out an arm towards the interior of the ruin. "I'm sure that your party can find an adequate spot on the grounds."
Her husband hesitated, looking at Daemon, and then to her. Gael knew as well as he did that there was no sense in refusing a king's summons. "Do you think you can manage setting up on your own?"
"No." This time, even Gael was shocked by her audacity. "That is to say, I will not be setting up. Our men can handle themselves. I will accompany you to my father."
Daemon raised an eyebrow. "Very well," he said.
The mist swallowed them whole.
…
"So, did you bring your wife's bastard with you?"
Gael watched as Daemon sent barbs at her husband, one after the other. As always, he was being blunt, arrogant, and most of all, cruel, and was not sparing Malden any exception. The man took the blows admirably, however, just as she knew he would. "No, I can't say that I did. The boy has only two namedays under his belt, and we didn't feel such a trivial matter would be worth the trip. Tell me, my prince, did you bring any of yours?"
Gael smiled broadly, holding it until she was sure Daemon saw. The Celtigar men, their escorts and guards, laughed as well. The Targaryen men, on the other hand, not so much.
"The blood of Valyria is made of sterner stuff than you might expect, Lord Celtigar. Perhaps you crabs have forgotten your roots, all trundled up in your northern isle. Gael's boy would be fine making the trip. And he is King Jaehaerys' grandson. By all accounts, Aethan Waters has a claim on the Iron Throne, as strong as any of Saera's bastards, or that lad who claimed he had Maegor's blood."
Malden grimaced, before waving a hand. "With all due respect, my prince, it matters not. Aethan is not here, and calling him now would serve no purpose. A sail from Claw Isle to Maidenpool, a ride down the Kingsroad? The Council would be over and decided before he'd arrive."
Lips pursed and eyes pointing to the sky above, Daemon hummed. "There are other options. The bastard could have flown, perhaps."
Coughs and flinches were the reactions he got, both from Malden, Gael, and their men. Metal clinked as hands flew to waists, both Celtigar and Targaryen men sensing the sudden air of hostility. They stopped walking, standing stiffly on the mossy path.
"Come now," Daemon laughed at Gael's stony face, amusement evident. "Did you honestly believe you could keep that little secret from the King of Westeros? We have a Master of Whisperers for a reason, you know." He rolled his eyes. "The moment my Grandmother left Silverwing at Claw we had eyes on her. And your bastard."
Gael's inner flames sputtered and died. The Targaryen policy on dragons was clear: none were allowed them but the royal family. The Velaryons had managed to get ahold of some eggs on account of being in line for the throne, but beyond that the dragons were kept very insular.
"W-what is to be done?" Malden asked, struggling to keep his voice stable. His hand found its way to his sheathed flail, and suddenly the misty ruins of Harrenhal became all the more foreboding.
More laughter was his response. "My grandfather wanted to see you for a reason. Did you believe he wanted to secure your vote? No, this council's outcome is sure with or without the names you could bring. We wish to discuss your dragon."
A shadow blocked out the sun, choking the beam that had previously shone upon them. Harrenhal's dark, musty walls closed in, and Gael's sinking feeling reached the bottom of her stomach. More Targaryen guards joined their escort, and the next few minutes were spent in complete silence. Daemon whistled quietly, not a care in the world.
Gael hated him.
They passed dozens of halls, hundreds of doors. Her father's men were everywhere she looked, easily outnumbering the guards of House Strong that marched alongside. She and her husband would find no allies here. No, they'd foolishly left them behind.
Her father was in far rougher shape than he'd been at her wedding. Jaehaerys' face was sunken - shriveled, even, a husk of its former shape. The seven-jewelled crown rested atop his brow, but it slumped, tired from years and years of work. Dark bags clung to his eyes, and he hunched rather than sit up straight. "Gael," he rasped.
And her walls tumbled down like an avalanche.
This one took a bit longer to get out than I would have preferred, but I'm pretty happy with the results. Part 2 of the Harrenhal chapter should be out sometime next week, this time from Malden's POV.
As always, follow, favorite, and review as you see fit. Peace.