Red Keep ― Black cells…
In the depths of the Red Keep's third level of dungeons, Beatrice was suspended from a damp, gloomy wooden pillar. The dampness of the black cells seeped into her bones, causing a shiver to run down her spine. The air was thick with the stench of decay and despair, a constant reminder of the fate that awaited those unfortunate enough to find themselves in this forsaken place. The cries of agony that echoed through the chamber were a haunting symphony, a chorus of pain that seemed to seep into every crevice of her being. Her wrists, bound tightly together by unyielding chains, throbbed with pain as she struggled against her restraints. The cold metal dug into her skin, leaving angry red marks that served as a cruel reminder of her captivity. Her ankles, too, were tightly secured, rendering any hope of escape futile. She was trapped, a prisoner in a place she once called home as Queen consort.
As she hung there, Beatrice's mind wandered back to the days when she walked the halls of the Red Keep. She had been the Queen. But now, all that remained of her former life were distant memories, fading like whispers in the wind. The black cells' stone walls seemed to close in on her, suffocating her spirit. The flickering torches cast eerie shadows on the damp walls, creating a macabre dance of light and darkness. The silence was broken only by the occasional drip of water, a haunting reminder of the passage of time. She had heard whispers of the fate that awaited her. The Red Keep's dungeons were notorious for their cruelty and the unspeakable horrors within their walls. Beatrice knew that her days were numbered, that her fate was sealed. But still, a flicker of defiance burned within her. With every ounce of strength she could muster, Beatrice strained against her chains, desperate to break free. The pain in her wrists intensified, but she refused to let it deter her.
"Struggle against your restraints all you like, Beatrice, but it makes no difference in the end." Aeonar emerged from the darkness, his face hidden by the shadows cast by the dimly lit torches. His face remained hidden, concealed by the intricate dance of shadows cast by the dimly lit torches that lined the ancient stone walls. The flickering flames seemed to dance in harmony with the ominous aura surrounding him, intensifying the air of mystery and danger permeating the room. Beside him stood the elders of the Lykirī Mēre, a clandestine group of highly skilled assassins renowned for their lethal precision and unwavering loyalty. Each elder exuded an aura of silent power, their presence commanding respect and fear in equal measure. These individuals were the epitome of darkness, their very existence shrouded in secrecy and whispered tales of their deadly exploits.
Bound and helpless, Beatrice strained against her restraints, her heart pounding in her chest. The cold, unforgiving chains that held her captive seemed to mock her futile escape attempts. But it was not just the physical restraints that held her captive; it was the weight of Aeonar's words that genuinely imprisoned her.
"The accommodations are a bit… sparse, I know. But know this: escape is but a fleeting dream in this place. All you're doing… is simply prolonging the inevitable. All who defy me… end up meeting a fate far worse than death."
"What did… What did you do to my father? To my daughter? Where are they?!" Beatrice attempted to raise her voice, but every word she managed to utter was a struggle, her throat parched and constricted. The pain of her injuries seemed to intensify with every syllable, as if the very act of speaking was a punishment in itself. The restraints, cruel and unforgiving, dug deeper into her flesh, leaving angry red marks that mirrored the torment she felt within. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth, a bitter reminder of the violence inflicted upon her. Her right arm was reduced to a mangled mess of irritated flesh, throbbing relentlessly, amplifying her agony. Her once radiant dress, a symbol of her status and grace, now hung in tatters, reflecting the destruction that had befallen her. The fabric, once vibrant and luxurious, now clung to her battered body, a pitiful reminder of the brutality she had endured. The torn seams and shredded lace mirrored the fragments of her shattered spirit. Every inch of Beatrice's body bore the scars of her torment, a testament to the relentless cruelty she had been subjected to. Her face, once radiant and full of life, now marred by deep lacerations and grotesque swelling, told a story of unimaginable suffering. Once a vessel of beauty and elegance, her body was now a canvas of pain and despair.
"I'd be more worried about myself rather than them right now. Every pain and suffering you're enduring? You brought this upon yourself." Aeonar circled her like an apex predator stalking his prey. "Ooh, I have waited a long time for this moment. You've been a thorn in my side for too long."
The continuous echoing screams from the adjacent cell reverberated through the stone walls, sending shivers down Beatrice's spine. She desperately tried to block out the sounds of agony that filled the air. The confessors were relentless in their methods, inflicting unimaginable pain on the captive Caltrops, showing no mercy as they subjected them to unimaginable torment. In the neighboring cell, Ser Tyland Lannister was enduring unspeakable torture - his screams echoing in the darkness as he was subjected to horrific acts. The confessors blinded him, pulled out his fingernails and toenails, cut off his ears, and gelded him – his senses being stripped away one by one.
Meanwhile, the knights inquisitor were dispatched on a ruthless mission to pursue and locate Aegon Waters. If this was the punishment for others, what awaited her? Beatrice couldn't help but fear for her fate, knowing that blame would always find its way to her, regardless of the circumstances.
"Look at you. You just had to push and push and push… until I've been pushed beyond my breaking point. Beatrice Peake, the bane of my existence, the defiler… the bitch who wanted it all, to become queen, to undo everything my father and the Old King worked so hard to create…" Aeonar's grip tightened on Beatrice's cheeks, his fingers digging deeper into her flesh. The metallic blades on his gloves, crafted with meticulous precision, sent shivers down her spine as they pierced her delicate skin. The cold touch of the blades mirrored the icy rage that consumed Aeonar's heart. "…only to end up with nothing." It was a sight that brought him an indescribable satisfaction, a surge of vindication that coursed through his veins. Aeonar's grip loosened slightly, allowing Beatrice to reprieve from the pain momentarily. He savored the sight of her broken spirit, relishing in the knowledge that she would never be able to undo the damage she had caused. The weight of her actions and the consequences of her treachery bore down on her like a heavy burden. In that moment, Aeonar felt a surge of power coursing through him. He had emerged victorious, the victor in this battle of wills. Beatrice's dreams of usurping the throne had crumbled, shattered like glass against the unyielding force of his determination. And as he looked into her eyes, he knew that he felt he had finally reclaimed what was rightfully his. "Not so smug anymore now, are you?"
With a swift motion, Aeonar drew Blackfyre and pressed it against Beatrice's throat, the cold metal sending shivers down her spine. She knew she was defeated, knew there was no escape from the wrath of the dragon prince. As the realization dawned on her, Beatrice's facade crumbled, revealing the true fear and desperation beneath. Aeonar's lips curled into a cruel smile as he watched her squirm, relishing in the moment of victory.
"Just do it… kill me," Beatrice spat.
"Oh? And give you the quick and easy way out? After what you've done, what your sons did… for what your son did to mine? No… No, no, no. That privilege has been irrevocably forfeited." Aeonar's face contorted into a deep frown, a frown that emanated pure hatred, fury, vengeance, and unbridled wrath. "I told you that you will suffer as no one has ever suffered for that, Beatrice." His words were like a dagger, cutting through the air with a sharpness that left no room for doubt. A deep desire for vengeance and retribution drove him. Sheathing Blackfyre in its scabbard, the Young Dragon was nowhere close to done with Beatrice yet. No, there was still a debt to be paid. As his gaze never left her, Aeonar knew the path ahead would be filled with darkness and despair. But he was willing to embrace it, walk through the fires of vengeance for his family's sake, and punish those who wronged him. With each step he took, the weight of his anger and thirst for revenge grew heavier, fueling his determination to see Beatrice pay for her sins. The world would know the consequences of betraying Aeonar and his bloodline, and they would tremble in fear at invoking his vengeance.
"You… You monster…"
"Huh. When my son was taken from me, my youngest son… well, you couldn't possibly fathom the depths of anguish one feels when one loses a child until you personally endure every ounce of that same torment. Daeron was always impulsive, restless, quick-tempered, and always ready to fight, but he was the blood of the dragon—the blood of Old Valyria ran through his veins. I raised him, trained him, taught him everything he needed to survive. Despite his faults, Daeron's heart was in the right place… and Aemond, your son, took him from me. Do you understand?" Aeonar's eyes, burning with a fiery red hue, grew even darker as the embers of the torch highlighted their intensity. The rage within him was unleashed, his fury uncontainable. "He was mine, and your wretched cur TOOK HIM FROM ME!" With a sudden shift in demeanor, the Young Dragon went from uncontrolled rage to a calculating, ruthless persona before unveiling a small vial filled with a sickly green liquid from his sleeve. Removing the cork, he flung the contents at Beatrice's face, the liquid splattering across her skin.
"Argh!" Beatrice recoiled in disgust as she was doused with more green fluid. More of the contents and the wooden beam she was restrained to were poured around her feet. As the green liquid splashed across her face, a sharp, stinging sensation immediately engulfed her skin. Beatrice's mind raced, her thoughts clouded by the searing pain. She desperately tried to shake the liquid off her face, but it seemed to cling to her skin, intensifying the burning sensation. However, a certain pungent crept up her nostrils. Beatrice gasped, her eyes widening in shock and pain as she recognized the substance. Wildfire! Aeonar's lips curled into a cruel smile, relishing in the punishment he had in store for her. Panic welled up within her, but she fought to maintain her composure. "You… you're mad!" she choked out, her voice trembling. "You're a madman! You wouldn't dare!"
"You and your family have always been a thorn in my side ever since the day we met, a constant reminder of everything wrong in this repulsive world. We all make our own choices. You chose to corrupt House Targaryen from within. Ruin everything the Old King built. You must've felt powerful when you did that. Do you feel powerful now? Well, not anymore. Never again. Now… it's all over. This is it. The end of the line for you, Beatrice. And your little brats, too. Every single one of them will suffer." Aeonar grasped the torch, plucking it off the wall firmly. He positioned himself in front of Beatrice, helplessly bound to the wooden pillar. "You will serve as an example of traitors and false counselors: defy the House of the Dragon, know that you will die… screaming." As the flickering flames illuminated the dim room, it symbolized the culmination of two decades filled with relentless power struggles, bitter rivalries, intricate court intrigues, and deceitful schemes. The air was thick with anticipation as the final chapter unfolded, leading to a climax of brutal warfare and chilling acts of murder. The moment had arrived when the intricate web of betrayal and bloodshed would finally unravel. The final chapter unfolded before their eyes, leaving no room for doubt or escape. Repent for your sins in the next life, you power-hungry bitch. "Burn in hell."
"DAMN YOOOOOOOOOUUUU!" Beatrice shrieked.
Aeonar's arm swung back, the torch gripped tightly in his hand. With a swift motion, he released it, sending the flaming projectile hurtling toward Beatrice. The torch arced through the air, its fiery trail illuminating the darkness of the cell. It found its mark, colliding with Beatrice's figure and igniting her instantly. The flames engulfed her, licking at her clothes and skin with a voracious hunger. The former Queen Dowager's screams pierced the air, a symphony of terror and agony. But Aeonar remained unmoved, his eyes fixed on the spectacle before him. Beside him stood his loyal Lykirī Mēre elders, their stoic expressions betraying no emotion. They stood there, silent sentinels in the face of Beatrice's torment. The crackling sound of burning flesh filled the chamber, drowning out any feeble cries of pain that may have escaped Beatrice's lips. The flames, a vivid green hue, danced and devoured, consuming every inch of her existence. They were relentless, driven by an insatiable hunger to reduce her to nothingness. Gradually, Beatrice's anguished cries and desperate pleas faded away, replaced only by the eerie silence of death. All that remained were the charred remains of the once powerful Queen Dowager, reduced to mere ashes. Aeonar couldn't deny the temporary satisfaction that washed over him at the sight of his despised enemy burning alive. But beneath that satisfaction, an emptiness gnawed at him. He knew that there were still others who needed to pay for their crimes: Aegon Waters and Aemond Targaryen. Aemond, responsible for Daeron's murder, was next on his list.
As Aeonar made his way out of the cell, his Lykirī Mēre elders fell into step behind him, their silent presence a constant reminder of the loyalty and strength that stood by his side. Together, they would hunt down those who had wronged them, no matter the cost. Outside, the night air was cool and crisp, starkly contrasting with the heat and chaos that had consumed the cell moments before. Aeonar took a deep breath, steeling himself for the battles that lay ahead. The flames of revenge burned brightly in his heart, driving him forward. As the moon rose high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the land, Aeonar set off into the night, his eyes fixed on the horizon. The flames of vengeance burned within him, a relentless fire that would not be extinguished until justice was served.
"Āeksio. (Master.)" one of the Lykirī Mēre elders approached with a scroll in hand.
"Skorion? (What?)" Aeonar replied.
"Udir māzigonQelbria, āeksio. DārilarosJāhayressjeva trēsymāzigon dubys Harrenjiōri amp īlva sȳrje gundjasentys. (Word arrived from the Riverlands, master. Your son, Prince Jaehaerys, has arrived at Harrenhal with ten of our finest assassins.)"
Aeonar received the scroll from the elder, who handed it to him with a sense of reverence. Breaking the wax seal, he carefully unrolled the parchment and began to read its contents. The words on the page were written in various languages – High Valyrian, Low Valyrian, Yi Tish, Old Ghiscari, and even the Common Tongue. Aeonar's linguistic skills allowed him to understand each one effortlessly as he absorbed the information, a wicked smirk formed on Aeonar's face. The news from his agents spoke of victory in the Reach, the surrender of the Westerlands, and the imminent siege of Storm's End. Everything was going according to plan. Despite the ongoing search for Aegon Waters, Aeonar's spies confirmed what he had already suspected – Aemond Targaryen was at Harrenhal, precisely where his uncle Prince Daemon had lured him with false reports. There were reports of Aemond's frustration leading him to burn settlements aligned with the Black faction throughout the Riverlands. However, Aeonar dismissed this as a necessary sacrifice for the greater good. Among all his children, Jaehaerys stood out as the most talented—possessing intelligence, agility, a remarkable ability to learn quickly, and trained rigorously in the art of diplomacy and the ways of combat, making him a force to be reckoned with. From a young age, Jaehaerys had shown remarkable potential not seen since the Old King, surpassing even his own expectations.
Aeonar knew that the task at hand was not an easy one. The Lykirī Mēre assassins were renowned for their stealth and precision, but infiltrating Harrenhal, a fortress known for its impenetrable defenses, would require a level of skill and cunning that few possessed. The elders had chosen the assassins carefully, ensuring that they were the best of the best. However, for that to happen, the Lykirī Mēre assassins accompanying his son must eliminate the Caltrops' sentries and avoid being detected by Vhagar before stealthily infiltrating Harrenhal undetected. Any misstep could result in their mission's failure.
"Sȳrī. (Well done.) Prepare my dragon. I think it's time Vaelor went out on another hunt."
The Riverlands ― Near Harrenhal…
After quelling rebellious houses in the Reach and engaging in negotiations with House Tyrell, he journeyed to the Riverlands. With his preparations complete, Jaehaerys set out towards Harrenhal. He knew that the road ahead would be filled with uncertainty and peril. The rebellious houses in the Reach had been quelled, and negotiations with House Tyrell had been successful, but infiltrating Harrenhal was an entirely different challenge.
From a safe distance, Jaehaerys carefully observed the movements within Harrenhal using a specially designed spyglass. This allowed him to study the castle's defenses, the number of troops stationed there, and any other potential obstacles that might hinder his mission. Positioning himself several miles west of the Gods Eye, Jaehaerys meticulously studied the surrounding areas, taking note of the strategic placement of Caltrops that could be exploited. The Silver Dragon meticulously surveyed the surrounding areas, taking note of any potential hiding spots or secret entrances that could aid his infiltration. He knew that timing and precision would be crucial in this endeavor. One wrong move and everything could unravel. However, the sensitive nature of his mission meant that Jaehaerys had to leave his dragon, Vermithor, behind. The Bronze Fury was a formidable, fearsome beast, but his presence in the skies would have drawn unwanted attention and jeopardized the element of surprise. So, with a heavy heart, Jaehaerys ensured that Vermithor remained hidden, ready to come to his aid if needed but out of sight from prying eyes.
To complicate matters further, the presence of Vhagar added an extra layer of complexity to the already dangerous task. The Queen of All Dragons was the largest in the Seven Kingdoms – almost as large as Balerion, a hardened veteran of a hundred battles and the last remaining dragon from the days of Aegon's conquest of Westeros.
"We did what we could, but we had to pull back when we saw Vhagar return," Sabitha Frey informed.
"I understand your concerns, my lady. Your safety and the well-being of your troops are of utmost importance. We'll take care of the rest," Jaehaerys replied calmly. "Rendezvous with the Tully forces and Winter Wolves in the south. I'll catch up with you shortly."
"Gods be with you, my prince."
"Gods be with you, Lady Sabitha."
With a swift and calculated movement, Sabitha and her forces retreated to a secure position in the south, ensuring a considerable gap between herself and the Gods Eye. Meanwhile, the Tullys, led by Elmo and his sons Oscar and Kermit, appeared to be executing a tactical maneuver, pretending to withdraw in case the plan to assassinate Aemond went awry. In response, Sabitha and Alysanne Blackwood prepared themselves for an imminent and violent surprise attack, fully aware of the bloodshed that awaited them. They knew that even the most meticulously crafted schemes could go awry, and they needed to be prepared for any unforeseen circumstances. With this in mind, they assembled their troops, ensuring each soldier was well-versed in the planned withdrawal tactic.
Accompanied by ten Lykirī Mēre agents, Jaehaerys adjusted his silver robe, pulling the hood over his head. The fabric shimmered in the dim moonlight, reflecting his status as a formidable figure in the clandestine world of infiltration, espionage, and assassination. Underneath the flowing robe, he wore a meticulously crafted leather tunic, providing both flexibility and protection. Over this, a shirt of bronze scales adorned his torso, symbolizing his resilience and unwavering determination. The breastplate, engraved with a striking silver three-headed dragon with copper scales, constantly reminded him of his allegiance to his family. His shoulders were adorned with draconic pauldrons, their intricate design resembling the wings of a dragon ready to take flight. These pauldrons added an imposing presence to his silhouette and provided additional protection to his vital areas. As his gaze traveled down, his shins were guarded by graves, intricately designed and etched with ancient symbols, a nod to the mystical forces that guided his every move. His hands, the instruments of his deadly craft, were encased in draconic gauntlets. Each finger of these gauntlets boasted a carbon steel blade, meticulously crafted and razor-sharpened to perfection. These lethal extensions of his hands were a testament to his skill in close combat, capable of delivering swift and precise strikes to his enemies.
Jaehaerys skillfully inserted his ring fingers into the spring-looped mechanism integrated within his gauntlets, effortlessly sliding them in. With a flick of his wrist, he activated the mechanism, resulting in the emergence of two discreet blades. Carefully inspecting the concealed blades, Jaehaerys couldn't help but feel a sense of confidence. Having meticulously coated them with potent manticore venom, he was sure that even if the battle failed to claim Aemond's life, the poison would inflict excruciating pain and cause any wound to decay, leaving him in a state of unimaginable torment. Even if resorting to poison was considered dishonorable from his perspective, Jaehaerys knew the instructions were clear.
Only a sycophant deals in absolutes, Aemond. I will do what I must to set things right… even if I have to kill you to do it.
Chapter End
Author's Note: With that, Aeonar has the other Caltrops' leadership brutally tortured, do you think the punishment he had in store for Beatrice was worse or justified? Let me know what you think. Also, the stage is set for what appears to be a final confrontation between Jaehaerys Targaryen and Aemond Targaryen. How do you think this will pan out? And what are the Lads up to with this contingency plan? Let me know what you guys think.
C.E.W: So Beatrice Peake is finally dead at last, sooner than expected but it was inevitable. She married King Viserys to produce more heirs to build up her family's power. As soon as King Viserys died, she tried to take the throne for an illegitimate son she passed of as King Viserys'. All the deaths and suffering she has caused and for what? For her own insatiable greed. When King Viserys died, she was glad thinking he was in her way to power, when the truth is he was in the way of her facing Aeonar's wrath. Only goes to prove how short sighted she was as much as the rest of the Caltrops' rebellion.
While it is understanding why Aeonar had to kill Beatrice for her crimes, the concern lies with the manner of Aeonar's conducting of her execution. He is losing his sanity, and who knows how much deeper it will go. He's already shown little regard for the lives of his children.
Then there is Crown Prince Jaehaerys leading an assassination mission for Aemond Targaryen in Harrenhal. While the benefits of Aemond being eliminated can't be argued, its still a very risky mission. Harrenhal although a ruin is still a great fortress added with Vhagar being present. Furthermore, there is an army there unless Ser Criston Cole decided to split with his troops already. If Jaehaerys or any of the Lykiri Mere get spotted, then odds of them getting out are going to be rather slim. Even if Jaehaerys did kill Aemond, the Caltrops there are not going to just stand down and let it slide. Although there is a chance that Jaehaerys might be able to get to one of the tall towers where Vermithor can rescue him. There is also the slim chance of Aeonar Targaryen showing up to save him to consider.
Questions:
If the Blacks in King's Landing are now aware of the Westerlands surrender, won't they tell Tyland hoping that will make him tell them where the stolen treasury money is?
―Someone will... if they can get past the Lykiri Mere
Is Ser Criston Cole still with Aemond in Harrenhal?
―Yes
Is Cregan Stark close to assembling the main Northern host?
―Almost
How much of the Riverlands has Aemond burned up with Vhagar since learning of the capture of the Caltrops council?
―The areas surrounding Harrenhal and near the Gods Eye
Jaehaerys has to know that going into Harrenhal to assassinate Aemond is a very dangerous task?
―Yes, he understands it does
Is there major unrest in King's Landing?
―There's trouble starting to brew
Nerokyi: Yo, let not torture Heleana she did nothing wrong.
―She's not being tortured
dragon rose 11: i honestly thought Aeonar was going to execute Beatrice's father and daughter right in front of her but damn
randomdude24: Wow, i had no idea what Aeonar was planning for Beatrice. I genuinely thought he was keeping her alive to witness the end of her line. Burning her alive with wildfire, i can't say he was wrong to do that what she did and her cause got Dareon killed. This is a parent avenging a child. But he's getting closer to mad king territory.
Jay is plotting to kill Aemond. It seems like his plan to do so is possible. Jay is a good man who has the potential to be a good king, but a good king must be willing to dark things for the realm. I'm going to hope nothing bad happens to him, i feel like the blacks will fall apart if he dies.
Questions,
So what has become of the rest of the Caltrop council? Beatrice dead, Jasper dead, Tyland tortured beyond recognition. What of Unwin, Orwyle, and Larys?
―They're being tortured
Aeonar is continuing to let the madness consume him, is there anyone that can get through to him?
―Hopefully
What would be the breaking point that the blacks his children and whomever else would have to stop Aeonar?
―No one knows yet
