Thanks to everyone who reviewed, it matters more than you know!
Storm Untamed
Chapter 3
When her father's men had left for Dragonstone, Argella had been repulsed, indignant, resentful. Hateful of her father, even. Politics or not, becoming the third wife of a man who also had two living ones – and his sisters, no less! – was demeaning to her, yet she had understood the necessity of it. Competing with two other women who'd give him an heir was not a prospect that appealed to her but she supposed she could even do this. And she had been forced to admit, secretly, that the thought of a child from her body riding a dragon was not a perspective that repelled her.
Until the dragons had come knocking at their doors, of course. Or knocking their doors down? Not literally, of course, and she had been left with the meager satisfaction of knowing that as fearsome as dragons were, Aegon and his sisters had made use of the time-honoured method of treachery to take what was rightfully hers – something that she never forgot to tell Orys when the sore matter of their wedding came up. To his credit, he never told her that the very next day, Rhaenys' dragon would have subjected Storm's End to the same fate as the other great castles – a mercy that never failed to enrage her further, although her husband, of course, had no idea.
But she had never expected to be rejected. By the Seven, it had stung! The shame! The humiliation had been made worse by the fact that her father had received his men in the great hall, with his entire court in attendance. So great had been his confidence in the future of the match that Argella had had to learn before everyone that the man who frequented two beds, the product of generations of incest and practicing incest himself, had found her unworthy.
"At least they knew better than offer a second best." There was pain and long-buried, never truly forgotten resentment in Orys' voice as they stared at the Lord of Storm's End and his pale daughter.
"I was quite pleased with my second best," Argella said absent-mindedly. "If only my father had accepted…"
His silence made her glance at him, his surprise obvious. Her own shock was no lesser. Never before had she put the blame, any blame, on her father. Even when she had started loving her husband.
"I wish them all the best," Jocelyn finally said, her voice not even shaking, the perfect lady. Her chin was up. The perfect warrior. There were no tears in her eyes, even, although the stunned, hurt shock was something that she couldn't conceal. "They will need it, with him refusing the crown."
"Refusing the crown?" Argella hissed. "Wasn't it more wanting to keep both the crown and his peasant girl?" It was well-known that only when it had been made abundantly clear that he couldn't keep both had the Targaryen prince chosen the girl.
How could Jocelyn stand it? How could she be so gracious knowing that her betrothed had wanted to force a peasant girl as queen one day? That he had refused a crown only to be able to get rid of her? But Argella was surprised by the sudden strength in this girl who in the last few years had turned quite unattractive, plump, awkward and shy because of it. Her own reaction at Aegon's rejection, she was ashamed to remember, had been unbridled fury that had waned away only when she had realized that her father's fury was far greater.
"It's a good thing that he did," Jocelyn said with the same even voice. Argella could see her hands reaching to clutch fistfuls of her gown but she forced them in place. "Else, it would have been a grave insult to House Baratheon."
Argella couldn't help but admire her attempt to reign her father's fury in before it even rose. She hadn't been able to make such an effort and she had not even been Aegon's betrothed but simply one that he refused.
Lord Lyonel's fist collided with the table with such force that Argella jumped high in the air – well, higher in the air. "It is a grave insult to our House and I won't leave it unavenged!"
Argella gasped with both horror and delight. She didn't want a war, she truly didn't and yet she flew into a rage at this new offense. Again! Unworthy once again! She, Rhaenys, and now Jocelyn – would it ever end? And of course, there was the matter of the first Jocelyn, Aemon Targaryen's wife. Alyssa and Baelon – and a good deal of the rest of Jaehaerys and Alysanne's offspring – had always considered her lesser. Too lowborn to be queen compared to their own pure silver Targaryen heritage…
This insult was almost as bad as the injustice done to Rhaenys and much worse than Argella's own rejection. A peasant girl deemed better than a Baratheon lady? Jocelyn would be the laughingstock of the Seven Kingdoms – she was probably turning into one right now! That was indeed a misdeed that deserved avenging.
Silently, they followed Jocelyn as she finally felt that she couldn't control herself, lest her father. But save for a single, hoarse howl in the privacy of her bedchamber, she didn't give any other sign of the rage that was surely ripping her apart. She was hurt but not disappointed. As if she had known that it had all been too beautiful to come to pass.
"He didn't break my heart," she said impatiently as her wetnurse tried to comfort her. "How could he? He never gave me a second look."
More fool he, Argella thought. Jocelyn would not believe it now but Argella could see the beauty she'd become one day when she finished growing up. The spots that had despaired her in the last few years would disappear. Her plumpness would fade and then she'd break many hearts with that black hair and fine features of hers, the clear blue eyes that could hold so much compassion.
"I might have lost a throne," the girl said bitterly, "but at least so has he. I'll never have to throw myself from the cliffs when demanded to curtsey before her."
The wetnurse screeched with horror and grabbed her hand.
"He will regret it," Orys said furiously. "As he should. How dare he?"
Argella felt a pang of triumph and bitterness. Triumph – because he had never admitted that the slights the Targaryens kept dealing their House were slights and the dragon kings knew it and didn't care. Bitterness – because in those dark days, weeks, and months after his return from Dorne, when he had constantly been a captive of one fever or another, a nightmare on top of a nightmare and it had been a choice between having three men restrain him and laying down next to him and hold him in her arms, soothing him with her voice and caresses, she had come to know that she hadn't been the first woman he had loved. He had never said it aloud, of course, always mindful of the place fate allotted to bastards and painfully aware that this was the fastest way of losing the privileged station he had paid with years of efforts and blood. His father and Aegon would have turned him out of Dragonstone if he had as much as hinted of looking at someone so above him. And so he hadn't - never said a word, never made a gesture,just waiting for Visenya to look at him with the eyes of desire, and she had, all too late… She had looked at him from Aegon's chambers. It had surprised Argella to hear that he had harboured any hopes – he was always so eager to prove himself that she had assumed he knew the realities of what being a bastard truly entailed. Considering him worthy of a daughter of Aerion Targaryen's love? Her plaything, he could be, for sure, but love? Over the time, Visenya had started feeling something for him and that was one of the reasons Argella had hated her far more than her whore of a sister – but not when he had wanted and needed it. Not when he had been no one.
Only when she had been too disappointed already. Only when he had proven his worth. Argella had felt no compassion for the woman of no compassion when she had seized Orys' love for herself.
"I know I've always tried to see things from where they stand and not be rash…" Orys started, "but it's…"
"I know," Argella sighed. "It's hard to see them do it again and get away with it – again."
"I wouldn't call what your father did let them get away with it," Orys said. "I've never seen a more formidable warrior – and he did it for you."
"For our House," Argella corrected. "House Durrandon."
After all those years, it still gave her a thrill to say it. She had avoided it for so very long. Even as the maester taught her children their history, she had always declined their pleas to tell them stories about their ancestors. With the grandchildren, it had been easier.
"I won't be disgruntled for her," she went on, looking down at Jocelyn's straight back and the tears that she refused to let fall, "if she ends up like me after I got rejected."
"Or me," Orys agreed, taking her hand.
A.N. OK, as I was writing this, I came with an idea about a Duncan oneshot – ONEshot, ONE, ONE – that will follow canon and at the same time, go against it. I might be crazy enough to go with it soon. With all those stories I have yet to finish. I never learn. ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
