- Dragonstone -
As the dark silhouette of Dragonstone loomed ever closer, Addam watched from the creaking deck of his father's ship. The night was somber, a veil of shadows cloaking the land with an ominous stillness.
He had no desire to leave, even when his Grace departed with his family, servants, and a retinue of some two hundred guards plus the Kingsguard—save for the stoic Ser Barristan. The weight of abandonment pressed upon his chest, relentless as the encroaching darkness.
His mind drifted back to the nightfall when his father came to him, the whisper of his footsteps echoing through the silence. "We depart at dawn," his father declared, his voice a rasping command edged with urgency. "Pack what you need."
Addam's heart clenched. "Why must we leave?" he implored, his voice quivering under the strain. "Your duty lies here in the Red Keep. Why abandon it now?"
"Do not question me," his father snapped, irritation simmering beneath his stern exterior. Addam expertly hid the reason behind his agitation, it was because of Rhaenys. She could not leave with them due to her duties to the Sept.
She was still a Targaryen, his uncle would doubly know if she ran from this place.
Rising from his bed, Addam's suspicion spilled forth. "Is it because of what you and Lord Arryn have been plotting?" he asked, the words hanging heavy in the air. His father halted, his eyes narrowing with unexpected fear—a look Addam had never before seen on the face of the unyielding man.
"How do you know of this?" his father demanded, his voice jagged.
Addam's courage wavered, but he spoke the truth. "I followed you on the day Lord Jon died," he confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I wanted to understand why you had been absent for so long."
For a fleeting moment, the iron mask his father wore seemed to soften. A deep breath escaped him. "All will be explained when we are away from this place," he said, his tone gentler than before. "Now do as I commanded. We leave at first light."
And so they did. Within a few hours, they were well away from King's Landing. Addam had not even had the chance to say goodbye to Rhaenys as they moved swiftly to the ship where Davos awaited. He leaned over the rail, watching as the smoke of Dragonmount obscured the sun on their approach.
The ship laid anchor, and they descended into a skiff to reach the shore. Addam leaped from the boat before his father could, his youthful impatience driving him onward, despite feeling the heavy gaze of his father drilling into the back of his head.
A smile broke across Addam's face as he saw his younger sister racing down the steps. "Big brother!" Shireen cried, her voice ringing with joy as she launched herself into his arms.
Shireen Baratheon was now eleven, her slender frame growing tall. Addam pressed a kiss to her scarred cheek, marred by the remnants of greyscale, without hesitation. "I missed you, little sister," he murmured, and she blushed with shy delight.
There had been a time when she feared stepping outside her chamber, but Addam had reminded her that true warriors bore their scars with pride. The ordeal she survived was a battle that could bring even the strongest men to their knees.
"You should be proud and hold your head high, sister. You are still a Baratheon," he had reassured her once, finding her weeping by the hearth in her chamber.
Shireen then ran to their father, the Master of Ships, who embraced her with an awkward tenderness. "Father!"
By the entrance, Lady Selyse Baratheon and her brother, Axell Florent, awaited. "We are glad to have you home, Lord Stannis, though it was quite a shock to hear of it," Lady Selyse greeted.
"The death of Jon Arryn has wrought chaos," Stannis replied tersely. "Let us go to the keep. It has been a long journey, and I am hungry." With that, he brushed past his wife and began his ascent up the causeway, leaving the rest to follow in his wake.
As the savory aroma of cooked fish, fresh and fragrant with lemon, wafted through the dining hall, Addam relished the simple pleasures of the meal. He eagerly piled his plate with a baked potato and as much butter as he could muster, regaling his sister and their companions with tales of his recent tourney triumph.
Day surrendered to night, and he wandered through the dimly lit corridors toward his chambers—rooms he had not entered since his boyhood days before he left for the capital.
Once inside, he shed his clothes and settled into the bed. For the first time, he found himself yearning to pray to the Seven.
Kneeling, he clasped his hands together, feeling the gravity of his words as he whispered, "Seven protect me, protect my uncle and his family traveling North, even my arse of a cousin, Joffrey." His frown deepened as he listened to the crackling hearth, fresh logs blackening under the relentless flames.
"And protect Rhaenys," he continued, "ensure we meet again after whatever Father is fleeing from passes."
The weight of his whispered prayers hung heavy in the air, mingling with the flickering shadows cast by the fire—a somber plea to the gods for guidance and protection in uncertain times.
- King's Landing -
Rhaenys returned to her hovel, her cloak billowing behind her as she stepped inside. She meticulously set the table, her hands trembling slightly as she placed a dish specially prepared for Addam in the center. Beside it, she uncorked a bottle of Arbor Gold, procured for the occasion. The sweet scent of the wine mingled with the aroma of the food, creating a heady blend that filled the room. She lit the candles, their flickering flames casting dancing shadows on the walls, and sat down to wait.
An hour passed, then two, then four more. Each crack of burning wood in her hearth was a needle pricking at her anxiety. Finally, a knock echoed through the hovel. Her heart leaped into her throat as she cautiously approached the door, a knife gripped tightly in her hand.
"Addam?" she called out, her voice wavering.
"No, Princess... May I come in?" The voice was eerily familiar, sending a shiver down her spine.
With a sense of foreboding, she unlocked the door and allowed the hooded figure inside. As the door closed, he pulled back his hood to reveal a bald head and a serpentine smile. The Master of Whispers stood before her.
"You are the spider, my grandfather's lickspittle," she spat, her words laced with venom.
Varys sighed, shaking his head. "I was merely a servant, doing what I could for His Grace until I saw where the winds were heading." His tone betrayed the truth of his betrayal. "You expected Addam Baratheon, such a polite and courageous boy."
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice trembling with emotion. "Where is Addam? He was supposed to come to me."
Feigning ignorance would be futile—Varys knew too much. She steeled herself against the inevitable.
"He is gone from the city, my dear. Left this morning with his father and household, in a rather rushed manner without the King's leave." The news hit her like a blow. She could hardly believe he had left without a word.
"Why?" she asked, curiosity and fear intertwining in her voice.
Varys took Addam's seat, folding his hands in a gesture of patience. "The Hand is dead. His Grace departed for the North the next day and will not return for at least a month, perhaps longer."
Fear gripped her heart. Jon Arryn had been her protector, the one who vouched for her safety when others sought her death. Without him, her fate was uncertain.
"What will happen to me?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Varys rose and gently took her hand, his touch cold and calculated. "I have a plan should harm come to you. A ship and a trusted captain will take you to Pentos."
"Why there? Why not Dorne?" she thought of her mother, her cousins, and her uncles in Sunspear, far from the reach of King Robert and his allies.
"To go to Dorne would surely lead to war, Princess," Varys replied, shaking his head. "In Pentos, your remaining family awaits—Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys."
The weight of his words settled over her, a cloak of uncertainty and dread. The future was shrouded in darkness, and she could only trust in the plans of the Master of Whispers.
"How do I know I can trust you?" she asked, her voice tinged with skepticism.
Varys's expression softened, a hint of genuine concern in his eyes. "Trust is a rare and precious commodity, my dear. But know this: I have no desire to see you harmed. The realm needs you, and I will do whatever it takes to ensure your safety."
Rhaenys pondered Varys's words, the weight of her decision pressing heavily on her shoulders. How would Addam feel if he discovered she had fled the city without coming to him? The thought of his pain gnawed at her heart.
She sighed deeply, sitting on her bed as Varys watched her with a mixture of concern and detachment, unaware of the turmoil within her. "You must decide now, and I will see it done, Princess. Or wait, and leave it to the gods," Varys said, pulling his hood back over his bald head. "Stay safe, Rhaenys, the realm may have need of you in the near future." With that, he departed, leaving her alone with her thoughts.
Rhaenys continued to sit in silence, her mind torn between two paths: fleeing to her family in Pentos, or remaining in the city and hoping against hope that things would not take a turn for the worse. The flickering firelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, reflecting her inner conflict.
She knew that each choice carried its own risks and consequences. To leave might mean safety with her kin, but it could also mean abandoning Addam and the life she had known. To stay might offer a chance to be with him again, but it could also spell danger if the tides of power shifted against her.
As the night deepened, Rhaenys weighed her options, her heart heavy with uncertainty. She wished Addam were there with her, to offer comfort and guidance in this moment of despair. Would she place her trust in Varys's plan or gamble on the unknown, hoping the gods would favor her? The future lay shrouded in shadows, and only time would reveal the path she must take.
(Author's Note)
Hi, hope everyone is enjoying the story. Now I'd like to bring attention to a few new potential fics in asoiaf/got/hotd fandom and I'd like input on what you all would like to see out of them, I have written a first chapter for each and prepared to publish them (All of them will end up published but I'll be favorable on the first of them).
Aside from that, The Three Heads of the Dragon is reaching half-done with two arcs left.
P.S. So FFN is being weird again so I am putting the ideas here.
1. A Crown of Bronze and Blood - Maekar Royce grew up in Runestone, cherished by his mother but neglected by his father. In exile, Daemon Targaryen unexpectedly reunites with his Lady Wife and their son. His sudden involvement in his son's life raises Lady Rhea Royce's suspicions.
2. The Ballad of Talons and Feathers - Edrick Arryn, son of Jon and Rowena Arryn, assumes the title of Lord of the Vale following the untimely death of his father. As he begins his rule, he finds himself at odds with his mother, Lysa Arryn, who conspires to replace him with her own son, Robert Arryn.
3. Blood is Thicker than Water - Gael Targaryen's son survives his birth, naming him Aenar Waters and raised on Dragonstone with his mother and grandmother, he is one of the only acknowledged dragonseeds since Orys Baratheon, half-brother to Aegon the Conquerer but make no mistake, he is still a dragon, the blood of Valyria flows within him.
4. Of Silver Seas and Blue Skies - Corvus Velaryon is the eager and ambitious second son of Corlys Velaryon and Rhaenys Targaryen, envious of his brother and disapproving of his bizarre nature covets the seat of their father and will do all he can to earn it, and the first of these steps is to claim a dragon as his siblings have done.
5. Our Way is the Old Way - Henrik Harlaw, son of Rodrik Harlaw, became the heir to Ten Towers following the tragic deaths of his brother and older twin, Baldric Harlaw. At twenty years old, he was well-versed in sailing and raiding, seizing plunder and women as per the old ways but he dreamt of a new way but no less bloodier than their forebearers.
6. Heavy is the Head that Wears the Crown - Robert and Cersei's firstborn son, Tybolt, survived the fever that nearly claimed his life. Although Pycelle predicted that the illness would leave him weak and changed, Tybolt thrived instead. "That boy is blessed by the Gods!" Robert exclaimed joyfully.