All Hail The King
Chapter 6
Daemon was wrenched out of his rather pleasant dreams abruptly, instincts already automatically seeking out his weapon. His first thought was this was definitely not his bed, it was far too comfortable and the room was too light. Blearily looking around, realizing that the reason it was so light was because he hadn't closed the bed curtains yestereve. Truthfully, yestereve had been…a peaceful one, normally he couldn't stand sitting around doing nothing, he was a man of action. He had to enquire and see if his grandsire would hire the mattresses from wherever Haera got hers, truly, it was the most comfortable bed he'd ever slept on in his life.
"You joining me for a midday meal?" Haera asked, standing in the doorway, an inquisitive look on her face, uncaring that it was not only uncouth but very rude to all but barge into someone's room, never mind just stand there and stare expectantly, especially as the Lady of the house. Especially when that someone was a guest, more so given the fact it was royalty.
"Midday meal?" Daemon jerked into sitting position, "I slept all morning?" he'd never done that, not since he was one and ten name days old, when he began his training. It was something he took very seriously; he'd wanted to become the best Valyrian warrior ever seen since before the doom. Failing that he wished to emulate Aegon the conqueror. He wanted to be able to protect his family, prove his worth. His grandsire had seen his worth, and he'd been gifted Dark Sister for his efforts.
"You both did," Haera answered, lips twitching showcasing her amusement. "Do you require aid in bathing and dressing for the day?" her tone more sardonic than it ought to be, given her own experience in trying to get those blasted clothes that pass for fashion in this time on. She'd given up very quickly and hired three seamstresses who worked for her on retainer and gave her exactly what she wanted in clothes which were vastly different from what they were used to creating for their Lady's or Lord's. They'd only worked for her six months since the moment she had begun this elaborate ploy to get an in with the Targaryens to save them and their Dragons.
"A Valet but a Squire will do if there's nothing else," Daemon declared, unabashedly removing himself from the covers, if she wanted to barge into his – temporarily – guest quarters, then she deserved this, perhaps she would refrain from doing such again. Not that she reacted, other than blinking, how strange, she wasn't married, so she was a maiden, usually maidens reacted very differently. How fascinating.
Haera sneered, "We don't have knights of the faith here; therefore, we have no need of squires." She didn't hold them in very high regard, a lot of them were paid to be knighted, others did do their best and become excellent fighters, it was their faith she held in seething contempt. "I'll send someone up to help you." With that she spun around and walked away leaving Daemon gaping part indignation and part bemusement. Highly perplexed by her sudden change in attitude.
Ugh, he (Daemon) was just like the rest of them, Andal in all but looks. Shame.
Haera loathed the mere mention of the faith of the seven, they didn't exist, the book was written by a Hightower. The ugly motherfucker had his heart broken by the girl he obsessed all his life over. Who was going to accept the third son of a seventh son? Set to inherit nothing? Certainly not the girl, who was beautiful and could set her sights very high indeed. She chose a Lord and he couldn't hack it, the idiot then proceeded to write, and it snowballed to what it was today. Even if they had existed, she'd hate them on principle alone. The bloody book made women into broodmares without a single thought between their heads…not to mention the fact the damn book didn't even allow them to enjoy sex. It ensured their entire existence was naught but misery. She had never expected anything to be worse than the bible of her original world.
Nothing ever changed though, there was always religion, always aversions to magic, jealousy and spite over the lack of it to be precise. Even before everyone learned to read and write (before it was even a thing) they still worshipped things, gods always speak of free will, but what does it say that humanity constantly sought out signs and thought them to be gods and worship them instead of thinking for themselves?
Truthfully, depending on the religion, it took a certain strength to abide by all the terms and conditions that came with belief in a certain religion. To live faithful to them, to not question things. She'd never had that strength and conviction, not even in her first life. It wasn't as if people like him -her- (who had been badly hurt and abused) didn't believe, because a great many of them did, perhaps it made her weak? No, just indifferent, why care for a god that cared nought for her when she was Harry? No, they'd been an atheist, but now? Oh, now she believed, how could she not when she'd met so many gods, so many religions? Huffing a laugh when she recalled her first thoughts, 'You can't be I'm an atheist!' ah, it was the false gods that demanded such 'restrictions' on their worshippers, gods that had been created by man.
"Gaemond, tend to Prince Baelon, please," Haera requested, as she stepped down into the kitchen, using her hand to instruct them silently to remain seated. "Finish your lunch first." Came the demand, giving a smile to all her people, who were all eating their lunch. "Jace, tend to Prince Daemon," Both young men supported the classic very pale Valyrian features, Gaemond had the purple eyes while Jace had the Velaryon blue. There was no denying who his father was, even if the father hadn't claimed him.
"At once, My Lady," Jace answered, giving a respectful bow as he set his plate in the sink, before leaving the kitchen to begin his duties.
"Bring their clothes to the kitchen, I'll see to them and return them to the rooms before they're done bathing." Haera called out before Jace could leave entirely. She received an affirmative nod before he was gone. They were all very well aware that the constant bowing and scraping was not only annoying but unwelcome.
Jace knew he had it very lucky, with Lady Haera's magic, life here in the keep was a peaceful one, easier life also. Not something he'd known growing up, until his mother had been employed as a Castellan of all things, and with that employment came a property not just on the grounds but in the keep. Not only was he being offered up an education along with the rest of his friends who were employed here. It wasn't normal, they knew, for people of their station to be given the chance of such an education. At least not in Westeros, but they weren't there anymore. He'd been born in Westeros, raised in Spice town, before his mother moved them here, his father had demanded they move, his…parentage was unmistakable. He resembled his father too greatly.
Jace passed an open doorway, hearing Helaerys crying tugged at his heart. She wasn't alone though, so he didn't pause to console her. His mother was there, helping her through the loss of her husband. Those that had lost a relative in the attack had been given fourteen days respite to grieve, and they'd been given leave to visit the fourteen temple and were well compensated with more money than they'd ever seen. His mother was still in disbelief over how much Lady Haera had handed over with sincere condolences over what happened and taking care of the funeral herself. He was honestly surprised not more people had died in the attack. The time of day it happened, there should have been more people there, and for some odd reason, nobody had been able to remember the attack until Lady Haera returned. Days later.
None mourned the former…occupants, everyone had detested them for the way they'd treated Lady Haera. The less said about the half-breed Andal the better. Oh, they were picking up Lady Haera's bad habits. She called Daeleys a half-breed Andal and nothing else when in their company. He may have been an adult age-wise but truth was, he acted like a spoiled three name day old babe. He wasn't sure how many times Lady Haera had taken their ire onto herself, to protect them.
Jace knocked on the doors as he entered the room, moving through to the water closet, after giving a bow of deference to the Westerosi Prince.
Daemon watched him go through to what he presumed was the wash room befuddled, even more so when he heard the distinctive sound of water running. He hadn't had a container of water with him, where was the water coming from? He wasn't going to have to bathe in cold water, was he?
Daemon didn't even think to contain his curiosity, he swaggered through like he owed the place. Truth be told, he'd take a cold bath if need be. The smell of days old smoke and sweat wasn't very pleasant, and he wasn't used to the stink remaining on his body.
He found a copper tub being filled up, extremely fast, water coming out of two spouts, like in the water fountains. However, this wasn't just for cold water, the steam gave away that it was hot water. Just then he got a good look at the boy helping, and straightened utterly as if someone had rammed a hot poker up is backside.
His purple gaze narrowing in on Velaryon blue. He looked so familiar that it was like looking at someone he knew, it took a few seconds for it to click in his mind. Mostly because he was looking at a younger version of someone, he knew only older. A younger version of Corlys Velaryon. This boy was older than his marriage to his cousin, which was the only reason he didn't consider informing her that he had bastards right away. Rhaenys deserved the best, certainly deserved better than someone that would cheat on her. She was a Targaryen Princess, not some lady of a lesser house.
Couldn't blame Corlys for actions he'd taken before he and Rhaenys married. He'd keep an eye on him though. He stepped into the tub; these were like the natural pools in Dragonstone. The smell of pine suffused the room after Jace added the herbs it into the tub.
"I'll return at once, your grace," Jace said perfectly respectful as he picked up the Princes attire, including his small clothes and leaving the room. Lady Haera had requested he bring the clothes of both Princes to her to be cleaned immediately. He set them in the basket before returning to his duties. They didn't need to bow to them, but they did so out of respect, the Princes were in Essos and they were not their subjects, but they could see the way the wind was blowing.
Lady Haera had returned with a dragon, only Targaryens could claim dragons. They needed to be on their best behaviour, not only was Daemon Targaryen said to be impulsive and easily angered, he was also the only male Targaryen left for Haera to marry if it came to that. If so, they were all hoping that he wasn't at all like he was rumoured to be, Haera deserved better than that, especially after all she'd had to endure at the hands of her family. He only knew this because his mother was the Castellan, chosen by Lady Haera herself. She would never let someone hurt her without fighting back, with anyone other than a Prince it would be fine, but a Prince of Targaryen blood? He had images of her dying through dragon fire. Not something anyone wished, all here at the Peverell keep were loyal to her.
Reinforced with magic, of course, not that anyone minded.
Three dragons in their usually peaceful keep were enough to give everyone a sense of foreboding. They'd been told that the dragons wouldn't be able to hurt them, not that they couldn't but wouldn't be able. They were all hoping and praying that they wouldn't be the one that needed to feed them. They were all a terrifying – but also awe-inspiring – sight to behold, none more so than the Black dragon with the eery green eyes.
True to Jace's words despite his thoughts becoming rather overwhelming, he did his duty well and ensured there was no possible way for anyone not even a royal Prince to complain about his conduct. He'd even given the prince a scalp massage while his hair was cleaned with a concoction of Lady Haera's own making. He had so much hair that it was very impractical. He was honestly amazed he could put up with it being a warrior that he was. He had no clue how to braid though.
"Elaenor, ask Gaerra to have three Dornish Sheep killed and brought here as soon as he can," Haera called out to Elaenor who was just finishing tying up her hair and putting a headscarf around her hair to keep it clean. She specifically asked Elaenor because her duties would see her passing Gaerra along the way.
"Yes, My Lady," Elaenor answered, gathering everything up, and slipping out the back door.
Just as the cook and a housemaid and scullery maid begun to collect the food for brunch and take it through to the table. It wasn't every day they had royalty in the keep, and it had them all abuzz and flustered. They were all trying to help each other out to take the stress of it all down a notch.
Haera nodded, pleased with how things were going, she was looking forward to getting answers out those two Targaryens about why they'd followed her – although she had her suspicions – she just didn't understand why they'd risk it, only a fool would send someone – especially the heir of the iron throne – after someone with unknown magical abilities that clearly, they knew about to some extent, the look on Jaehaerys face had been hilarious. She almost, almost wished she'd stuck around to see it properly.
"My Lady, I've put your wardrobe in your room, the seamstress has finished her work, shall I ask Leala to have it put away?" Jaella enquired, the castellan was the one responsible for keeping the running of the keep and seeing to the day-to-day things, such as gifts, parcels, mail and any instructions that Lady Haera would give her. Leala was her Lady Haera's lady-in-waiting, she was fifteen-years-old a little too young, but Lady Haera rarely needed help in that regard, she just took her in when her mother died and she saw the girl on the street. Her Lady Haera knew she couldn't save everyone, but she did her best which was more than most could ever conceive.
Haera's eyes lit up, delighted to hear the news, she'd missed the second fitting due to being kidnapped and all. "Not a fitting?"
Jaella stiffened, a pang of worry shooting through her, not at Haera specifically but just how people would have treated her for any perceived failing in the past. She knew Haera wasn't like that, and it was no trick question or anything of the sort, but her mind and heart couldn't quite catch up with her new reality. "No, should I call…"
"No, not at all, I'm pleased I'll get to wear them today," Haera said, almost hopping on the spot, she had zero decorum and didn't pretend it either. She was still young, her people believed she'd calm with age. "I'll go re-dress now, is there anything that needs my attention this afternoon?" they'd learn the hard way that there was no calming Haera Peverell, she was naturally chaotic in nature.
"No, my Lady," Jaella answered right away, getting used to saying My Lady properly. The elocution lessons she had received were…eye openers to say the least. As well as the lessons they were taught, as if they were high born, but Lady Haera insisted that everyone – who was interested – learn. Jaella had been beyond shocked, apparently it wasn't common but also not rare for staff to be educated in Essos. In Westeros they would never do such a thing. She and her son were getting a high-born education. There was only one thing this afternoon, and she would see to it, time to restock the pantry with the cook. They always liked to keep at least a month or two supplies (three in winter just to be safe). Her education had seen her elevated to Castellan. Which was more than she'd ever considered for herself.
"Very well, thank you, Jaella," Haera called out, as she made her way to her bedroom, she had on a plane grey day dress. It was the material and colours they usually gave to orphans or donned by Septas. Honestly, it was a bit too much, this ruse, she tired of it already, but needs a must. She didn't want to spend too much time with them though. Baelon and Daemon seemed alright. Narrowing her eyes thoughtfully as she dressed, she needed a way to find out more about the conspiracy surrounding the Citadel, the Hightower's and the faith. That would definitely keep her busy, she was going to look forward to it if she was honest. Maybe Daemon would like to join her, he wasn't one for courtly life. She knew nothing would give him a greater thrill than getting rid of his families enemies. It would also help keep him out of trouble.
She had ordered a lot of clothes; they took up room on her entire four poster bed. The seamstress had been completely befuddled when she asked for certain items. More so when she began asking for clothes that men wore. The poor woman knew better than to say anything though, and had hunkered down, between the two of them they'd come up with designs she'd roughly sketched. The underwear design had the poor woman completely flustered to the point of wishing to deny a Lady her wishes because of the impropriety. Haera had just laughed and told her she wouldn't say anything about her designing the underwear. However, seeing how pleased Haera had been with her initial design and how unhindered she walked she'd actually been tempted to create some of her own, with Haera's blessing to use any fabric she pleased if she desired to. Haera could easily create more fabric, the only thing she couldn't create would be food, although, she believed the gods could create food, it just didn't have the same taste as the real thing.
The gods themselves had created something that humans would desire above all else.
Red and gold had been her first colour of choice, it's the Peverell family colours, and she had stayed true to that. The Potters when the name changed, did the same, kept the family colours. It had nothing to do with his placement in Gryffindor, but it did cause a pang of nostalgia for his younger years, naïve as they had been back then. Most of it was leather, but she had a lot of other different materials.
Her underwear was made with the finest Myrish silk, it was a little difficult to get into the medieval sports bra she'd designed on, but it would give in time making it easier. As someone not used to such finery, even a boy, it was…a little out there but it was nice, anything not full of holes was great in her estimation. Next, she tried on her red leather leggings, which fitted to perfection, she'd chosen her seamstress' well. It was a mahogany red though, not the bright blood red her house was known for. Leather faded in the sun, it would look bright red for a few weeks before fading, at least this mahogany colour wouldn't fade quite so easily or notably. Her top was yellow/gold leather, which acted as a bodice with zero sleeves, but two straps that went around her neck and looped through the back of the material, then zig zagged through the back and tightened up, which she was able to do with magic on her own.
"Thank Merlin for that," she exclaimed quite pleased, anything was better than those constricting dresses she'd seen in movies of medieval times or worse, the dress she'd been given by the Queen. Honestly how did these women breathe? Let alone dance or any of the shit they had to do? Whether they were royal or not? She couldn't imagine actually wearing those things, let alone actually doing so. Shaking off her thoughts, she put her leather jacket on, it was black, and down to her ankles, and most definitely not something a women would wear in Westeros. Which brought her great delight, she must confess.
The urge to go down into her trunk was massive, but she decided to nix the idea. These were Targaryens, to see their symbol used as a pair of boots might be a step too far for them. Even if the dragon parts were only used upon their deaths. Mostly sold off in an attempt to ensure the future of the dragon sanctuary and thus their protection.
Shrugging, she just put her new black boots on, all the material had come from her own keep (sheep, goat, cows) she'd only paid for the usual, tanning, design, seamstress, they got paid well for their work compared to mass produced stuff in his original time which you could buy for the next of nothing… It was why things were always sent out to be mended, never just thrown out. She threw the slippers on the bed; she needed them when she didn't have her boots on shoes on. They didn't have carpets here, so it was bloody freezing, and not to mention the odds and ends that you ended up stepping on. Rugs helped, there was no doubt about that, but only just.
Moving to the drawer, she removed two Valyrian daggers, and slid them into her boots. The boot itself acted as a sheath; the actual sheaths were kept in the drawer. She was pleased the handle of the blade wasn't too big, but had a good grip to it. Now, it was time to find out why they were here and deal with it.
Haera nodded firmly after glancing in the looking glass (mirror she mentally thought) her hair was down but she couldn't be arsed trying to do anything with it if she was honest with herself. Her stomach grumbled loudly, right, breakfast, then finding out.
Entering the dining hall, she moved towards the seat at the head of the table, the candles were all alight, and only the top of the table was filled with food. A mixture of breakfast and lunch foods as Haera had asked them to make after letting the royals sleep in.
Luckily, she didn't have long to wait until they joined her, an air of amusement surrounded her as she watched them walk further into the room behind Lia. Lia bobbed a curtsey before leaving the room, to see to her duties. They both claimed a seat at either side of her.
"Eat up, we can talk once we're done." she told the men, who were looking at her completely unabashed, their eyes broadcasting vastly different feelings. Oh, they were good at concealing their true feelings on their faces, but there was a reason they said the eyes were the windows to the soul.
Baelon felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest, he'd never been more vividly reminded of his wife in all his years. Twelve years he'd had to live on without her, and that ache had dulled over time, but this girl? Oh, she brought all the sharp edges roaring back, cutting him all over again. That reckless confidence, the immediate proficiency of dragon riding, oh, he missed her so much, his heart positively ached. He often prayed to go back in time, to put a stop to her third pregnancy, he'd be forever content with Viserys and Daemon as long as he had her in his life. He had been quite happy with just the two of them to be perfectly honest. His wife had wanted a whole army of children she'd said. She'd wanted to give him that. One day he'd rejoin her in the halls of his ancestors, one day he'd see her again, and he would be able to do that with naught but pride on his side that he'd done everything for their sons.
Daemon watched her with utter fascination, there weren't many women in his life that were this confident and secure in themselves. The only one he could truly say who was would be his grandmother, she had every right to be though, she was the queen consort, nobody other than her own husband was above her. Then again, even she bowed to the whims of her husband. Even Rhaenys was the same bowed to the command of her husband. Rhaenys nor the queen would have been able to endure that injury silent. This woman in front of him, she seemed ethereal, untouchable, truly confident in herself. Everything seemed to amuse her, he could not help but desire her, she was everything he wanted in a wife. A dragon-rider, Valyrian, the fact she had her own keep or fortune truly didn't factor in although it certainly didn't hurt.
Anyone was better than that Bronze Bitch his grandparents were forcing him to marry.
Breakfast was quiet, the quiet hum of people going about their tasks behind the closed door and the cutlery the only sounds made. If one strained to hear better, they'd make out the sounds of children playing outdoors the orphanage Haera had opened up for all children. Helped along by actually using magic, giving children their own space, their own room, and an actual education as well as apprenticeship to aid them in life. She couldn't help everyone but she was determined to help those she could.
"Does anyone in your family still practice magic?" Haera asked, after they were done, and sitting in the sitting room the fire was going making it quite cosy.
Daemon's eyes lit up with fascination while Baelon winced, "It's best not to bring up magic in Westeros," naturally trying to protect her.
Haera's eyebrows shot up, "I'm going to take that as a, no?" sighing in disappointment, "You've even abandoned your magic?" tragic, they were Andal's with white hair and purple eyes, the shame of it, the Targaryens were rolling in their Obsidian urns in Dragonstone.
"Why do you want to know?" Daemon desired desperately to know how she thought, what she thought and oh, the idea of learning more about magic…he'd do anything to know more.
"Queen Visenya Targaryen liked visiting my great-grandsire," Haera answered wryly, "It's the only time she knew peace, clarity, oh, she pretended to convert to the faith of the seven but remained true to herself. By the end of her visits its said she wished she had never left Valyria and had gone with the rest of her family in the doom. That coming to Westeros had doomed them all, she was right of course, sad to say." a sad and sombre look gracing her features. "Her books on magic were left with us, her journals as well, she knew her son would die without issue, and there would be nobody to carry on her legacy." There was no branch of family for her, it stopped with Meagor.
Daemons breathing hitched, journals? Actual journals written by his ancestors? Yes, they had books on the conquering but those were written by Maesters, not his family themselves. It's said Aegon had written journals but none had been found. "Can I see them?"
"You may have them." Haera replied, she would keep a copy of them though. "Now, why are you both here?" not even pretending stupidity, she gazed Baelon a shrewd knowing look.
"The Queen has ordered your return to Westeros," Baelon told her.
Haera laughed, it was a cruel mocking laugh filled with derision, "She must hate your guts," crossing her legs, her gaze never wavered from the older man.
Baelon flinched, he had considered that possibility very frequently as of late.
"History isn't the Queens strong suit; she doesn't know what the Peverell's are capable off." Daemon informed her, almost salivating over actually knowing more himself. Was it possible that he had magic running through his veins? Could he do magic himself? the very idea of it excited him thoroughly, he wished to see the journals immediately.
"Do you?" Haera asked, eyes twinkling deviously.
"We've got a rough idea," Baelon replied, Daemon was too busy just staring at her delighting in her conniving teasing nature. Then again, Daemon did delight in gathering a terrifying reputation outside of the family. He wasn't blind to all he heard about his son but he could feel nothing but proud, especially since his firstborn was too soft, he would need someone fierce at his side.
"You really don't," Haera replied, "You've NO idea."
Baelon swallowed, "What did you mean by what you said about the king taking down the Targaryen dynasty?" his purple eyes unconsciously pleading for the lady to take pity on them and tell him. The king might not take her serious but he would, even if it was only the possibility of something happening to his family. Naturally doubt crept up, who was she to know what would happen to his family?
"It starts with him, but it doesn't end with him." Haera corrected, "You doubt my word, perfectly understandable."
Baelon opened his mouth to deny her words, not wishing to antagonise and find out just how powerful this Lady actually was. He needed to get her onside and take her back to the Red Keep.
"You really are the perfect little heir, aren't you?" Haera couldn't help but comment, a sad little grimace on her face. "I mean the very idea of going against anything your parents say is intolerable to you. Where is the man coined Baelon the Brave? Where is the man who slaughtered hundreds of pirates in defence of his brother? Who was determined to have his sister as his wife? Instead, what have we got? A man who would stand in three months' time as his youngest child was brought to the alter at sword point by three Kingsguard still drunk and do nothing as he's forced to marry Rhea Royce, even then your son refused to say the words, your mother in the end said then and that's it, chained to an Andal for sixteen years, until she dies, the marriage unconsummated."
Daemon swallowed thickly, the very idea of being married to Rhea Royce was disgusting, let alone for sixteen years.
Haera leaned over, whispering into Baelon's ear, "If you think your wife is going to greet you with open arms…think again. She is furious with you. You'll spent an entire century sleeping on the floor begging for her forgiveness and still not receive it in the halls of your ancestors. Your sister though, she forgives you, she wishes for me to tell you that she didn't mean anything by it, certainly never intended to disrespect Alyssa. Oh, don't get me started on your brother, he's furious with you, silver springer."
Baelon paled drastically, jerking away from her, suddenly having zero doubt about her abilities. Nobody, absolutely nobody knew about what his sister attempted except their parents. They certainly wouldn't have spread that information around. Nobody knew of his brothers nickname for him, it was only used when they were on their own. He was the spring prince, and before he became Baelon the Brave, his brother had called him springer, silver springer, he'd followed his brother everywhere, springing up when Aemon was training. It became silver springer; he'd never thought he'd hear it again. He felt sick to his stomach though.
"So, the journals?" Haera questioned Daemon innocently, not acting as if she'd literally destroyed a man with a dozen or so words. Standing up facing Daemon so he didn't quite notice just how devastated his father was.
Naturally the idea of seeing more magic, of getting his hands on his favourite ancestors own written words was too enticing. Daemon was up and moving out the room immediately.
Baelon's hands rose to his head, hiding his face, his shame, his tears, a sense of crushing defeat suffusing him.
A/N I'm learning more about the good old days by writing this lol my google searches are becoming more amusing to say the least! I keep getting different results though, when I try to find out what words you'd use to greet a Prince of royal blood, but I'm not having much luck, like 'Your grace' I thought it was only applied to the king or queen…but as I said I'm getting a whole load of different results, which is irksome I prefer to know these things and them be accurate, but oh well? What can I do if I'm getting a load of different stuff if you know the answer (and really know it) let know, and if you have any good links to site that would help would be amazing too history might not be my strong suit, actually it was one of my favourite subjects at school, but when I go down rabbit holes, I end up knowing it well – here's looking at the world war two for my story Lord of Time LOL) even knew what kind of food they'd eat LOL
And okay, I didn't mean to bully Baelon LOL but I've already got a means of apologising to him in future *grins* gosh I have scenes in my head for this story I just want to rush and write! GAHHH but I'm probably a dozen chapters away from those ones, but one I might be able to fit in next chapter *rubs hands together gleefully mawwhaha* I guess I'm just pissed that he didn't fight for Daemon or Aemma, he was the last bloody male heir, I reckon he could have got Jaehaerys to bloody listen to him or threaten to leave and destroy what was left of the Targ dynasty. I know, I know it's not that simple *scowls* still, at least I'll get to stick up for them hehe
I wonder do you guys want to see Vis still marry Alicent and the civil war that comes with it? or would you actually enjoy a story where the Hightowers don't get anywhere near the throne? I've read so many time-travel stories where they know what's going to happen but they don't even attempt to stop their births (with each birth bringing a dragon rider into the frame) but still they're all born *shrugs* never really understood that myself, don't get me wrong I love the stories it's just something that I'm noticing a lot there's one though where Rhaenyra literally goes and kills Allicent and then Otto the moment she gets back and it's the only one of a kind (if you know others left me know) the title is called Rhaenyra comes back feral or something close to that! R&R
HAPPY NEW YEAR WHEN THE TIME COMES GUYS ALL MY LOVE 3 3