Chapter Text
"It's time my prince." And so it is. After sixteen years of neglect and indifference, my father has found a use for me. When Arthur Dayne placed me in King Rheagar's arms his only question was 'where is Lyanna?'. I have often wondered if the king ever really cared for my mother, after all, he left her in that accursed tower in Dorne with only one common guard and a wetnurse for protection.
There were to be three kingsguard, but he sent Hightower and Whent to protect his 'true' children and he had Ser Arthur to protect himself. Rhaegar may be known as a great King, but a swordsman he is not. He could never have defeated the usurper by his hand, he needed the Sword of the Morning. According to the songs of the bards, the King and Arthur were separated on the banks of the Trident, and Robert's hammer clashed against Rhaegar's sword. The once Prince of
Dragonstone was no match for the Lord of Storm's End, as the hammer was raised, it was met by Dawn. The sword of the morning saved his king and slew the rebel in single combat. With Jon Arryn dead and Eddard Stark and Hoster Tully in chains, the rebels had no choice but to surrender. The only obstacle to the start of Rhaegar's reign was his mad father. Luckily for him, and the whole of Westeros, Aryes was stabbed in the back by Tywin's golden heir, the man now known as the Kingslayer.
He was to be put to death but he revealed the plot to burn Kingslanding to ash, so instead of the block Jaime got to be the future warden of the west. With my grandfather, dead Rhaegar was crowned King in the Sept of Baelor with a promise to bring a golden age for the Seven Kingdoms. That of course was not to be. From what grandmother said, the only member of my southern family I have ever met, Rhaegar was persuaded by Jon Connington to severely punish the rebels.
The Tullys were judged to have rebelled for personal gain so Hoster was put to death, and his son Edmure was taken as a word of the crown. A hostage in truth, and the Tullys now lords of a much smaller domain and no longer lord paramounts. My uncle, on the other hand, had a valid reason so he was 'gifted' his life. A life spent serving the realms of men, at the edge of the world.
With Lord Stark swearing his vows to the night's watch and his wife and son dying during childbirth the King saw an opportunity. What does one do with a son they have no feelings for, but can use to enhance their power? Send him far away, to the land of his mother, and use her blood to lay claim to the land of her ancestors. It was considered a stroke genius by the bootlickers in the court. In one fell swoop, he removed an enemy from power and replaced them with a Targaryen.
But one with a blood claim to the lands he means to steal. Iam sure Rhaegar felt quite proud of himself for such a plan, but it lost him his greatest friend. Arthur has never told me the story, but one night Lord Manderly deep in his cups told me the tale. The whole of the Red Keep was treated to the sword of the morning screaming and furniture being thrown against the wall. Arthur threw his cloak at the Kings feet and stormed from the solar. Rhaegar didn't have the nerve to face his truest friend, he sent his wife the newly crowned Queen Elia.
She found her countryman in the tiny room that I had been placed in. He was cradling me in his arms, asking the gods for forgiveness for failing my mother. He and the gentle queen had a long discussion about what it would look like to the realm if Rhaegar's strongest ally abandoned him so early into his reign. The knight had some choice words for the new King and his reign. It was finally decided that Arthur would keep his cloak and head north with me to Winterfell.
And that is where we both stayed, with my Uncle Benjen as regent until I came of age, at such time he will take up his seat at Moat Calin. Both he and Arthur would teach me, my uncle would show me the ways of the North. Its history, its faith, and its people. He always strived, he later told me, to make me a northman, not a Targaryen. And for that, I will always be grateful. For my way is the old way, my gods are the old gods.
As for Arthur, he tried to tell me not of my father, but of the great history of my ancestors. The conqueror who made the Seven Kingdoms into one, or at least six. Daeron who finished his work, and Jaehaerys the first, who healed the realm after the reign of Maegor. That is how I spent most of my youth, if wasn't in the library with Maester Lewin, I was in the yard with Arthur. As much as I enjoyed my studies, and to hear Luwin tell it I was quite good at them, my real passion was in martial training.
The King at least had the grace to return Ice, the Valeryian steel sword of House Stark, so I was always destined to wield a great sword. So before I was old enough to train with a wooden blade I was made to run around the battlements of the castle with buckets filled with water. I had to run until I dropped, and if Arthur thought too much water had spilled I had to do it once more before I went to bed. For the longest time, I feared he hated me. That could be the only reason he treated me so.
It wasn't until Uncle Benjen found me one-day crying in my bedchamber that I learned the truth. The people of the North mistrusted me, and the South outright hated me. I was seen both as a foreign usurper, and the cause of of Robert's rebellion that tore the realm in two, and the death of many of their loved ones. And only with a great reputation would I even begin to change their minds. Therefore Arthur planned to make me the greatest swordsman the world had ever seen.
That plan, however, would take years, in the meantime Arthur was unsure if the Stark men could be fully trusted. He felt I needed my own men. Men loyal not to the Starks of Winterfell, but to the Targaryens of Winterfell. He sent ravens and riders throughout the north, any man with 12 to 25 namedays to come to Wintertown. Learn a trade and a chance at a new life. He later told me he was not sure if enough men would come to form a household guard. But within two moons more than a thousand men and boys had made their way to Wintertown.
And not just smallfolk, but a few third and fourth born sons. So the Dragon Guard was born, and Ser Arthur took off his white cloak once more, replaced with a black one. The same cloak all his men would wear. So in the years before I was old enough to train, he spent his days turning a mob of untrained farmers and dock workers into a true army. The best trained in the north, and today Wintertown has doubled in size and is not just for winter but houses 5000 men. Men that I would put up against any army in the Seven Kingdoms.
When my training began at six, he gave me a wooden great sword that I was to carry all day long. I was to bring it to meals, to my studies, and even when I was riding or playing. It was quite the spectacle and my cousins never let me forget it, for a time I had to drag it behind me. Sometime after the rebellion, Benjen married Barbrey Ryswell, the newly widowed Lady of Borrowtown. From what I've been told their marriage was quite rocky at first.
The Lady had a deep resentment of the Starks, something to do with my Uncle Brandon. But as early as I can remember she was a mother to me. Perhaps the years she spent not sharing my Uncle's bed and the lack of any children of her own she came to love an innocent babe for she has been very kind to me. But that is just the gossip of servants. All I know is that three years into their marriage my Aunt was with child and now I have three cousins.
"My prince, you really must get up." The servant must have given up, for its Ser Arthur's turn to try and wake me. I suppose I should get dressed, this meeting can't be avoided. All this trouble goes back to that damn egg. The dreams started not long after the sword training began. Flying high in the air, the snow and trees far below. Every night it was the same. 'Free me' 'Free me' screams coming from the crypts. This went on for moons until one day during training Arthur struck me across the face.
I finally broke down and told him everything, the voices, the flying...the dragon with green scales with bronze spikes and eyes. Through my tears I told my tale, I could only stare at the ground for fear I would see the terror on Arthur's face. I have heard the whispers all my life, from the servants, the guardsmen, and even the lords sworn to serve me. That I could turn out like my mad grandfather. When I mustered the courage to look into my friend's eyes, I saw not fear, but compassion.
He assured me I was not mad, that all men had dreams. It did not mean anything bad. He offered to take me down into the crypts and show me there was nothing down there but the bones of long-dead Starks. So torches in hand, we went down to the final resting place of mother, uncle Ned, uncle Brandon, and my grandfather. Along with much of my mother's kin. I was met with only silence, and the family that was killed, by my other family. I was kneeling at the statue of mother.
I have always found it quite beautiful, but Benjen said she never looked so sad. As I turned to leave the crypt I heard the cries of 'Free me' for the first time outside of a dream. I ran from Arthur ignoring his angry calls, to one and for all, find the source of my torment. I found myself at the tomb of Cregan Stark, the demands of freedom had never been so loud. Coming from behind the final resting place of the old man of the north.
Arthur found me on my hands and knees looking for the source of my many moons of agony. Three eggs...dragon eggs. One the color of a sunset. Another the same purple of my eyes. The last one, calls to me much louder than the others. Green, with veins of bronze. Just like the dragon in my dreams. The moment I touched the egg, I could feel my torment end.
It was agreed by all that the eggs should remain hidden, Barbrey wanted them smashed to bits but she hates all dragons save me.
They must be hidden from the lords of the north who need no more reminders than iam, not a wolf, but most importantly from the King. Who no doubt would take them for himself, or his perfect silver heir and my sister. I guess I should not resent my brother, he's never done anything to me. We have never even spoken. Although I would quite like to meet Rhaenys, on her visits to Dragonstone, we would trade letters. But that was when we were children.
For the first time in moons, my dreams of hissing screams from the crypts stopped. They were however replaced with a feeling of being enclosed...Claustrophobic, and a constant chant of 'fire and blood'. It haunts my dreams and later my waking thoughts. My training and studies suffered to the point that Benjen and Arthur demanded to know what was wrong. And what could I tell them? That iam as mad as Aerys. That their secret fears have come true.
On the night I reached the end of my rope, in what I can only describe as an uncontrollable force I cut my hand and bathed the egg in my blood. With the last of my strength, I placed the green egg in the brazier just before I lost consciousness. Aunt Barbrey pounding on the door woke me, but it was the bronze slit eyes of the tiny dragon that truly shocked me. A living symbol of my dragon blood. From a time when the Targaryens were great, not the shell of what they are now.
For the first time in over a hundred years, a dragon would grace the skies once more. Brought back by the Prince whose father sent him away without a second thought. In sixteen years never a visit or even raven. There was a time when all I wanted was to win the love of King Rhaegar. For an embarrassing amount of time, it's what I wanted more than anything in this world.
It was decided that the dragon must be kept secret from the south and the north. And that was the plan...until the wildlings banded together under a single banner. A former brother of the watch, Mance Rayder gathered every gods damned clan in the lands of always winter and marched on castle black. There was some warning, a patrol of black brothers captured an advance party. Looking for a way to sneak men to the south side of the great wall.
I don't know all the details, but they were 'made' to talk. We had around three moons to prepare. I sent a raven south for aid, in a foolish hope that Rhaegar would at least not want to lose me before I sired an heir. The only response was from the hand of the King, Jon Connington. There were no troops to be spared to fight savages for traitors. So I called my own banners. In the short amount of time, we had, only Dustin's, Karstarks, and the Dragon Guard could meet the Umbers at castle black.
My Uncle Ned, who since swearing his vows had risen to the rank of Lord Commander, informed us that there was an attack the night before we arrived. The watch survived...only just. I had gathered over 15000 men to battle the wildlings, but with only a third cavalry they were no match for the 100000 barbarians who mean to rape my people and burn my lands.
My Uncles and Arthur tried to talk me out of it, we had been surprisingly successful hiding the dragon these last ten years.
He had made a nest in the mountains as soon as he could hunt on his own. It was over a year since I had seen him with my own eyes, just skinchanging in my dreams. There could be no peace with men such as these, so when I mounted the great black dragon and flew over the wall I looked down at the host.."Jaehaerys!!! You will open this door right this instant." It is unwise, my subjects have learned, to keep an angry dragon waiting.
"I'll be out in just a moment Grandmother." A huff is the only response from the eldest Targaryen. She arrived in quite a foul mood, roth that I had not informed her of the dragon in our many ravens. Refusing to accept my reasoning that it was not a good idea to write a secret down. She was the only member of my other family that I knew at all, so I was still sorry for the deception. The ravens started before I could read, at the time I still was sending messages to my brother, aunt, and uncle.
Of the dozen or so I sent to my father and brother. I received not one. It took a few years before I sent just drawings, but the knowledge that a Targaryen didn't hate me meant the world to me. Especially after the letters from Rhaenys stopped. When I asked grandmother she said one of the letters I sent her was discovered. I was too young to understand that she would have to hide our correspondence. The Targaryen children teased her until she had enough. Or that's what Grandmother said, I've always suspected it was Rheagar. Either way, there was never another raven, and I stopped trying soon after.
There will be no greys or wolves today. I usually prefer to wear the colors of my mother's people, and not just because it pleases my bannerman. I have never felt like a Targaryen, even though I am the only true dragon in the last century. But today I must show the world who I really am, not who I wish to be. So it is to be my red silk shirt and black leather jerkin with black pants. I decide to wield Ice today, to show my strength even more.
Opening the door slowly, in the hope that Grandmother has gone ahead to the small hall, I find only Arthur and Rickard. The boy at 12, has recently become my squire after being my paige since his sixth nameday. Despite being high born, and my heir until I have a son, he is a most diligent squire. I hand him Ice and we make our way to break our fast. As always, the image of my cousin having trouble supporting the almost six-foot greatsword brings a smile to my face. I should not poke fun, but today is sure to be awful so I must enjoy what I can.
"Will Her Grace be joining us in the hall Rickard?" I chuckle once more at the look on the boy's face, in the fortnight since she arrived Grandmother has already acquired quite the reputation. "Queen Rhaella said she could wait no longer for...for her grandson's beauty rest to end." It is something I have heard many times before, that iam pretty. Being raised in a land that is cruel and unforgiving can be hard for a boy with a 'pretty' face as they call it.
I still remember when Domeric Bolton was visiting his aunt and cousins, he said no real northman could look like a girl. The first punch caught him by surprise, and the second and the third too. I showed him and all the north not to be misled by my royal features, this dragon has fangs. My aunt and uncle were worried that I had made a powerful enemy that day, but it was actually the start of a great friendship. Once cooler heads prevailed. What was to be a short visit turned into a two-year fostering.
I have not seen him for years, but he remains one of my best friends. The two black cloaks standing at the entrance of the dining hall bow and open the doors and I can't help wanting to switch places with them. For they don't have to meet with a rooster this day. It seems Grandmother might have a point about waiting for me, as iam the last to arrive today...and on many occasions. My uncle Benjen is no longer sitting at the seat of honor, now that his regency has ended that seat is now mine.
Although he is not at his usual seat at my right, it appears the queen has claimed that place for herself. My aunt and uncle were seated to her right followed by my cousin Alric. A crash in my gut answers where my cousin Lyarra has gone to, as she leaps into my arms. "Can we ride on your dragon today Jae?" The question that greets me every morning since I returned from the wall some months ago. She's been up a few times, to the great displeasure of her mother, and she is without a doubt the most excited that I have a dragon.
"Iam sorry little wolf. I told you the King's men arrive today." She goes into her practiced routine, hugging me close and making her eyes wide. She thinks this will work, most likely because it always does, "Not today, but tomorrow I swear." She jumps in my arms as I sit down, she knows what she's doing. I can seldom tell her no, cousins they may be, but in my heart, they are my siblings. The queen scowls at the young Stark, she thinks six is too young to act like a baby, and she's right but Lyarra is the princess of Winterfell and never lets us forget it.
"We need to talk." She tells me, not so subtly looking at Lyarra. "So talk." I almost yell and proceed to apologize onto my porridge. She may be small and older, but my Grandmother is a scary woman. Although we have just met in person, I have grown to love her from our many letters. I would have been lost without her advice these last few years. When I started to take more control of the north. "I know we have discussed this many times grandson, but we shall go through it once again."
We have had this talk so many times, I know all this already, but she goes on anyway. Connington is no friend of mine, he greatly protested my being named warden of the north. She must have noticed me not listening as she slaps the back of my head. "They will try and take the dragon Jaehaerys. But we will not let them." I value her support, but not the gods themselves could take him from me. She continues with her plans, but I have my own.
I nod and keep eating, or attempt to as Lyarra takes all my food and my sworn kingsguard only laughs at me.
The party of the hand of the King was spotted on the road shortly after breakfast. My father's Griffen seems to want to intimidate me. For he rides with over 200 men. But he has no idea the power I wield. The protocol, iam told, is for me to meet him outside. I greatly disagree. The hand he may be, but iam a prince and a dragonlord. So I await him on the throne of winter. The ginger lord enters my hall with a smug look on his face. A look of superiority as he looks at my 8000-year-old castle.
While this fool's family were fucking sheep in the storm lands, mine were the masters of the largest kingdom Westeros has ever known. Grandmother notices my rage and places a calming hand upon my shoulder. She has counseled me often, in her ravens and now in person, that I must master my Targaryen temper. Grasping the hilt of Ice as it lays across my lap, I study the puffed-up lord. He is like everything the north believes the south to be.
Pompous, superior, and unwilling to dirty his own noble hands. He does not even don a sword. Preferring to let his men do his fighting for him, the king even sent one of his little kingsguards to protect him. Barristan Selmy, a great man asked to give his life for such a pathetic lord. "Is it not the custom to bow before your betters Lord Connington?" I decided to needle him. His smug smile turns tight as his focus turns from the dozen Dragon Guards lining the hall to me.
A slow shallow bow is all he can muster. "Thank you for having us to your home My Prince. It is quite a castle your father has given you." He needles back. "Yes, King Rhaegar is generous. Iam unsure if he regrets his gift though, for we have never spoken." I can do this all day cunt. "If you two are quite done." The Queen shoots us both a look that could melt the wall. "Spare us your false courtesy, Griffin. We both know you have no wish to be here. So do my son's bidding and be gone."
It's would seem iam, not the only dragon the ginger despises. Stepping forward to stand at the foot on my throne he finally gets down to business. "We have heard some...rumors from the far north. I know the northman are a wild and superstitious people. And no matter how unlikely this talk is to be true. When the spider hears a whisper the king wishes to know the truth." So it was the bald spymaster that sold me out. I shall be sure one day to repay the favor. Felling the need to stretch my legs I walk down the stairs and pace around the Hand.
I have found in my time as the Prince of the North that doing the unexpected puts me off, and makes them nervous. And when men are nervous, they sometimes say what they should not. Especially when holding a very large Valyrian steel sword. "And what pray tell, did the spider's little birds hear?" I can see the disbelief in this small little man that fancies himself important. All because he serves a once-great dynasty. "That a banished prince flew to the wall on a green dragon and burned an army of savages."
I can feel his presence in my mind, begging to burn Connington to ash. I have always been able to sense his thoughts, and he, mine. "So tell us what really happened boy." He continues, the snear back in his features as he steps into my face. "So we can be gone from this heathen land and leave you to your piles of snow." He's breathing heavily at his false display of power. This man is nothing, but I can hear the voice of Grandmother, Benjen, and Barbrey.
Telling me to let him leave and bring back word of the lie they had come up with. Let him go back to the King and leave me in peace. I close my eyes, and the hand falls to the floor at the loudest sound he has likely ever heard. As the song of dragons is heard once more. The men in his guard draw their swords, and my men do the same, Dragon Guard and Stark men alike. Iam, not the outsider I was when I first got here. These men are my men, they will die for me, and I them.
"What in the Seven hells was that." The piss-soaked lord asks from his rightful place on his knees. I walk to his shaking body and kneel, "That is Vermithor, The Bronze Fury reborn. And I." Taking the achient blade, drawing Ice from its scabbard, "I am Jaehaerys Targaryen. Dragonlord of old Valeryia." A final glare to Connington and I take my leave of these southern cuts. Vermithor has always enjoyed a good scratch on the snout. Almost as much as he likes aurochs.
I have spent a fair amount of gold dragons paying off farmers and shepherds these last ten years. "That wasn't the plan you foolish boy." I don't have to turn to know who's scolding me. A slap to the head tells me grandmother is not alone. "Did I raise a simpleton Jaehaerys?" Only Aunt Barbrey slaps me that hard. "That was not a rhetorical quest 'my prince'." Sighing, I thought being a Prince and a warden meant people would not question me at every opportunity.
I grab their hands in an attempt to calm them and stop the slaps. "I know we had a plan, but it was never going to work. At best it was a delay. That only could have led to the king thinking I was planning something." Their looks soften when they realize iam right. "Rhaegar will make demands Jaehaerys. He can never leave well enough alone." Yes, I knew that the moment I climbed up on Vermithor's back. It would be more than a demand, I will be forced to meet the man that sired me or break the peace. "I know grandmother, we shall listen to what the man has to say."
"Don't look at your feet. If you take your eyes off your enemy for one second, you're dead. Understand me, boy?" A nod and a reset of his stance is his only answer. Despite being a jovial lad, the life of the party, Rodric takes his duty very seriously. The boy rises every morning before the sun, he polishes my armor and Ice. Then he practices his forms until breakfast. He will be a great warrior and future lord of Moat Cailin. Once he's old enough to take up the seat it might even be finished.
We've been sparing for over an hour, I like the
work the boy pretty hard, build up his endurance. He dips his shield again and I slam my blunted sword into his shoulder. He falls to the ground, Lyarra snickers up from her hiding place, she thinks she's so clever. I'll deal with her later. Rodric picks himself up shamefaced. "Keep your shield up or I'll ring your head like a bell next time." She starts to storm out, "Rodric. When I was your age Arthur beat me black and blue every day."
His anger is replaced with a small smile. "You will be a great swordsman in time. And you are a much better squire than I ever was." His smile is now beaming. The north is a harsh land, and compliments are few. "Now go clean up, and polish my boots." He skips into the castle, maybe iam too hard on him. "The boy has natural talent. In a few years, he will be a great swordsman." The voice of Ser Barristan startles me, in the time he has been in my home he has not approached me.
Just watched it from a distance. Now he stands before with an easy smile on his face. "Ser Barristan, that is high praise, from a man with your reputation." He bows at my compliment, "My Prince, you must excuse my... silence these last few days. I was curious about who you really are, the rumors in the south..." You mean that iam a heathen, an uncultured, uncivilized, exiled bastard 'prince'. That will one day try and steal my brother's throne." He at least has the grace to look down,
"Those would be the rumors yes. Please forgive me, I have spent too much time in the capital. It tends to make one...suspicious." I guess I can't fault someone for wanting to take the measure of a man he's never met. "It is forgiven Ser." Before I can take my leave he calls to me, "Would you care to spar My Prince?" I grew up on stories of The Bold. A man who jousted in borrowed armor against Prince Duncan the small at ten. A man who scaled the walls of Duskendale to save his King. A man who slew Maelys the monstrous, the last of the Blackfyre pretenders. I guess you could say he was a childhood hero. "It would be an honor Ser. To five...or yield?"
The hero worship fades away when the match begins. The Bold uses a long sword, it has many advantages over a great sword. Speed chief among them. While he may be faster, iam stronger, and at least a head taller. I will have to end this quickly or I have no chance against a man with his skill. We start by circling one another, no doubt he thinks iam intimidated, so I feign low and attack with all my might high. The trick works as I make contact on his shoulder with my training sword.
"Well done Prince Jaehaerys, you are much faster than I would have thought with that shovel you call a sword." He japes, "you should see me with Ice." His next slash I can just defend. But the next two, to my left and right legs I don't even see coming. How can a man that old be so fast? "Your reputation is well earned Ser." Two to one. Iam just happy I got any points. We trade off the next three points, with him getting the first and third and I the second. Even with him having dozens of namedays on me, I think iam more tired than he. Swords clashing and sparks flying fill the cold morning air.
I manage to break his defense and give a hard slash on his wrist, but he spins and slashes my thigh. "Well done Ser, the day is yours." A groan behind the weapons wrack comes as little surprise. "Not truly my Prince. If that was a real sword, my hand would have been on the ground." I smile at his concession. Handing him a mug of water. "Do you spar with my brother?" I ask though I know not why. I try to not care about my family, they made their choice. I just can't help it.
"The Prince Aegon has...other...pursuits." He finally says, with a strange look on his face. "The small council you mean?" A small shake of his head. He does not train for war? He does not help with the running of the realm? He has eighteen namedays, what does he do all day? A raised eyebrow ends his silence. "He is still a young man. His focus is mainly. Women. And feasts." There is much shame on his face. The crown Prince of the 'great' king Rheagar, a drunken whormonger.
Aegon the unworthy come again. It's not my problem... for the moment."Can I ask you a question Prince Jaehaerys?" He continues at my nod, clearly wanting to change the subject. "Ser Arthur, he wears a black cloak, like your men. No longer a white?" Iam amused by the question, I told Arthur it would trouble his brother, and maybe he should don the white. He refused. "Ser Arthur still serves the royal family, just not all of it." A single nod as he turns to walk away. "Ser Arthur wasn't the only one who protested your exile, My Prince."
"Now you! Aren't you supposed to be at your lesson just now?" I yell to her in poor hiding place behind the sword rack, her eyes widen, she knows I let her do what she pleases, for the most part, but skipping lessons is not one of them. "If you swear to me you shall not do this again, I will let you clean Ice." She jumps in my arms, "I swear, I swear, I swear!" It has been a week since the hand pissed his breeches in my hall. In that week I have been blessedly free of the man.
He has however made use of my ravens. One To Kingslanding, and last night a response. I fear I will soon be 'treated' to a meeting with a ginger. "Jae, why are you walking so slow?" I scoop her up and quicken my pace. "You would walk slow too if you had to carry this huge sword little wolf."
The godswood has become a place of peace. When I was a child it was merely a wood to play in. With the castle children, and later my cousins. That all changed when I took my first life. The man was a raper, but I still had to use all my will to keep from emptying my stomach in front of my Lords and guards. Till the day I die, I will remember the terror in his eyes. The way his head rolled down the hill and landed at Uncle Benjen's feet.
"You said I could clean it." The pout that always works graces her adorable face. Placing her in my lap, I lay Ice across our legs. "Dip the rag in the oil, and rub it like this." Like all of the Starks, when given a task, it is taken very seriously. With all the stress of the last three moons it's soothing to sit in this sanctuary with my sister. But such a thing is not meant to last. I hear him long before I see him. These southern 'knights' should learn how to walk quietly if they ever wish to fight a real war.
Watching his shallow bow, I recognize him. He's the one who follows the rooster around as he slinks about my keep. "My prince, the hand...requests your presence." Lyarra groans and protests, she hates to have our time cut short. Rising with her and ice l, she wraps herself around me. "Tell your hand to meet me in my solar.
"Your maester told me my son's letter had arrived, I knew it was only a matter of time before the fool 'summoned' you." I'd rather take this meeting alone, but not even I have the courage to tell Rhaella Targaryen no. She is, however, they only family in attendance. Unlike her, iam my aunt and Uncle's lord. "Let us get this over with, I grow tired of these people in my home." I nod to the Black Cloak and he opens my door. Connington is sitting on my chair and drinking my ale.
As much as he mislikes the north, he certainly has made himself at home here. Sitting across from him I say a silent prayer to the old gods that at least the meeting might be brief. The walls shake when Vermithor lands on the broken tower, it's become his favorite spot to sleep. Especially when he senses my displeasure. The Griffen gulps and continues. Taking a raven scroll from his jerkin, "I was sent here by your father, against my counsel. But I suppose that doesn't matter now."
He hands me the letter from the King and slouches in his chair like a beaten dog. The King's puppet does not appear to enjoy being civil to me. The spies I set on him have heard him call me a heathen bastard many times. No doubt a common occurrence in Kingslanding. "Here Grandmother, I have no wish to read his words." Not even attempting to hide the eye roll as she snatches the scroll. It is a long letter, whatever it might say.
I doubt it's a personal message, but the Queen looks troubled. "We need the room Connington." I have not been around her for a long time, but I have learned that Rhaella fears no one. Especially not the spineless hand. "That foolish man thinks he can control everyone and everything." Never have I seen her so angry. Perhaps I might read the missive if she had not thrown it in the brazier. "What is it!?!? Taking my hands in hers, "He has betrothed you to Rhaenys."