Chapter Text
Red Sands
Tonight, was admittedly a night she had hoped nothing would interfere with. The night was cool and fragrant with the smell of lemon and almond trees among her in this pale marble courtyard. Her hair was caressed by the wind as a lover might, a lover she wanted tonight. She sat on a cool stone bench with a much older Lyseni man above her, intermittently caressing her shoulders while he played his lute. Drazenko Rogare was older than her, by decades, the same age her father had been when he died. But much more handsome, with white-blonde hair and calculating if not a bit degrading blue eyes. He had come to Sunspear as a willing envoy from Lys, his brother was First Magister of the free city and owner of one of the largest banks south of Pentos.
Drazenko wasn’t a spendthrift or destitute old man either, serving his brother in the bank. He had at least two hundred slaves to his name - Aliandra was told that was a massive feat - having to feed and house all of them. It disgusted her but it represented the fact that he had the money she required for her eventual retaking of Bloodstone from those pirate kings Prince Daemon left rotting behind.
And tonight, Drazenko had been entirely focused on regaling her of his manses on Lys and in the Disputed Lands, and his plans to join the Triarchy council of magisters once he buys his own title.
Aliandra let him blabber on, her father was the same, old men always had time to speak of plans instead of accomplishing them she had found. Aliandra wouldn’t let it slow her down, she had spent many a day leading him on, seducing him till he would be but a sobering old mess in her beds. She hoped that by marrying him she could foster ties with the Triarchy which has been getting stronger and stronger since its inception. Once the dragons finish warring among each other it was only a matter of time the black or green one looked south again.
Viserys the First of His Name was a weak king who spent his rule on internal affairs and raising the coffers while letting seeds of war be planted. Aegon and Rhaenyra would and would have no such plans to continue that status quo. Once this war was over, they would look to their betters, Lord Otto, or Lord Corlys, to lead the realm while they secured their place on the throne and in history. That venture would most likely be Dorne or the Triarchy. Aliandra could admit she hoped such a thing could not pass, but knowing the Targaryens and men in general it was more likely.
Aliandra could only hope the dragons killed themselves or that the Triarchy becomes a much more important and useful ally than she could ever wish for.
That’s why when she heard the flaps of wings and roar of dragons, she knew her night was over and the peaceful ruling she had envisioned as well. The end if her peaceful rule and lustful night did not hurt as the acknowledgement that all her careful plotting was at an end, years of work at an end.
Aliandra and Drazenko halted all their movements for several moments till her castellan, Lord Miquel Dayne appeared ashen faced. One of the Targaryen factions had decided to end her alliance before its inception. Or force my hand into their war, she gloomily thought. Aliandra attempted to keep a clear mind despite her heart beating through her chest and her ears fogging all noise. She could vaguely see and hear Drazenko sputtering in indignation and fear. A large vein on his right forehead was close to bursting. King Aegon had sent envoys to Tyrosh, and subsequently three fleets sailed north, has that attack failed and now the Queen wants revenge?
“Miquel,” Aliandra called over to her. “What is going on my lord?”
“Two dragons, your highness, a green and silvery-white one. Both very large but not monstrously large.”
That was enough to know it was not the green faction of Aegon II. They had no silvery-white dragons her agent had told her, and their only green dragons was a beast of unparalleled size unseen since Balerion and Meraxes. But it was enough to flame her fears and by the extreme paling of one so pale as Drazenko, she knew this was to be bad night.
“What are they doing? Have they sent a message? Are they burning my people?” Aliandra stood from the bench shouldering the Lyseni out of her way.
Miquel shook his head, “No message your grace, they have landed outside the walls near the north gate. A man from the dragons waving the House Yronwood sigil appeared asking to speak.”
“To speak? He has given no terms? Just to speak? What is a Yronwood knight doing with dragons to begin with?” Miquel and Drazenko had no answer to her multitude of questions. Instead of dwelling on this change to her evening with tears and fear, she decided she will face it head on, as her ancestor Princess Meria faced this dragonrider’s ancestor Queen Rhaenys alone. “Well, let us meet him,” Aliandra told to the men as she set off for the throne room in the Tower of the Sun.
In the throne room before the dais a few members of the court had gathered late in the night. Her grasping brother Ser Qyle was there in his bedrobes with love bits along his neck, Aliandra was glad to see it was not only her entertainment to be thwarted by dragons. Her much younger sister Coryanne by her father’s second wife made an appearance with her ladies as well, though half asleep on the cushions below the dais. Coryanne’s mother was not in attendance, but she was sure Lady Toland would hear of what occurred tonight. Her Knights of the Mountains, Ser Durick Blackmont and Ser Barrick Fowler were holding congress in a dark alcove. Ser Durick was holding the grip of his longsword like a scared mom held a baby, his gold tooth gleaming through the gloom of night. Barrick was gesticulating wildly in discussion.
Looking upon her siblings, the knight of Blackmont, the scattered ladies, her castellan, and Drazenko, Aliandra knew her court looked pitiful for any dragonrider at the moment. But it was late, and it would do for such an impertinent guest. Aliandra took her seat on the throne beneath the Rhoynish sun.
Ser Gyles Yronwood was led into the hall with four guardsmen around him. He was stripped of all weapons. He stood before the high dais for a moment before sinking to his knees and bowing his head.
“The time spent with the dragons has made you prouder my knight of Yronwood,” Aliandra drawled and gestured for the knight to rise. “Your family surely misses you; shall I send them your head?”
“Please, your highness, I am just a messenger-,” he began but she cut him off.
“And a traitor to the sun and spear. Whatever your masters have to say we do not want it. Dornish spears and men will not join this uncivilized war of siblings,” Aliandra made sure to glance at her own siblings with these words. Qyle closed his eyes, but Coryanne nodded to her words. A partial win.
“My prince does not want the spears of Dorne, my princess, he has his own wishes, personal to ask of you. May he meet with you?”
Aliandra crossed her legs and leaned back. Miquel was at her shoulder whispering, “Perhaps a meeting between you two is appropriate, we should not rouse to anger dragons at night.” The warning was heeded for she was already considering meeting with a dragon prince. Besides dragons at night with scorpions and catapults in ill repair… Aliandra had no choice but to agree.
When she nodded assent, her guardsmen left to collect their guests.
When they arrived, it was three of them, Aliandra had expected only two. Two silver haired men and one tall brown-haired man. All three were young with similar features, features Aliandra knew to be Valyrian. Drazenko’s mockery of those features made her laugh a bit. Despite best claims Lysene could not match to the dragonrider families. The two silver-haired man looked to be twins though, one had a droll face and the other a determined face. The droll one had a few burn marks up the side of his neck, still healing.
Aliandra felt her eye drawn to the brown-haired man, perhaps this was one of the bastards who had claimed a dragon for the black queen in the beginning of the war. He had healing arrow scars to left cheek and neck. A gagged scar on the right side of his neck that was healing slower than the arrow wounds. He looked to have been in battle recently. His brown eyes ringed in red, the eyes flat and dead.
The men stopped five paces before the high dais and stood straight staring at her, the droll one complimented this with a smile. Not a one of them bowed or kneeled before her and Aliandra dare not speak and lose the battle of stubbornness. Miquel was restless beside her, a tell-tale sign he was furious. The brown-haired man gave her a searching look, examining her from top to bottom, she reciprocated with a frown. When she looked into his eyes and found trace amusement she smirked at the man.
Miquel became too furious to keep his mouth closed then, “You stand before Princess Aliandra Nymeros Martell, the Princess of Dorne, the Lady of the Sands, Marches, and Mountains, Protector of the Red and White Dunes, and the Lady of Sunspear! We require your respect!” He stomped the pointed edge of Dawn’s sheath upon the dais. The sound echoing across the hall.
Ser Gyles Yronwood with the rest of her court bowed their heads as was the custom when the reigning prince’s titles were announced. The three men did not move. When everyone raised their heads and saw they did not move anger ripped through the court. Ser Durick unsheathed his sword and moved to meet the men; with a flick of her hand her spearmen stopped his advance.
The brown-haired man and the unburned silver-haired man silently exchanged words. The unburnt silver-haired man walked forward and bowed low, voice mild but respectful, “Your highness, I am Ser Addam Velaryon, as my prince is an equal to you, me and my full brother alone shall bow, is that satisfactory?”
Aliandra had found amusement before, now she fumed, “No. I do not find that satisfactory. You have entered my home uninvited with your beasts of war and death on my doorstep, a threat to my tens of thousands of citizens residing in my walls? The least to be done is respect!”
Ser Addam looked back on the two men before the brown-haired one nodded and bowed his head. He did so more deeply than the unburnt one, who gave almost a mockery of a bow, more a nod than a bow. Ser Addam turned back to her, “Now as we have bowed, we do not expect the same in return as our actions have clearly offended, your highness, all we ask is for bread and salt.”
“Guest right? You have the right of guest outside my walls,” Aliandra pointed to a window with a frown. This would be the first-time guest right would be given to a Targaryen since the time of Aegon the Conqueror, she was unsure if she wanted to be the first in over a hundred years.
“For the protection of us all, your highness, we are unwelcome we know, we wish to remedy that with mutual respect.”
“Mutual respect should have begun with your respect to my sister’s position,” Qyle growled. Groping for a dagger between the folds of his bedrobes he obviously left in his chambers. “In the shadow city we handle disrespect with daggers,” he turned to her, “Sister let me defend you against these inbred dogs.”
“We meant no harm,” the brown-haired man stepped forward before being cut off by her brother.
“Are you one of those dragonseeds? Perhaps you should let Ser Addam continue the talking, ser!” Her brother was in a mood, admittedly Aliandra was as well. Miquel had already ordered bread and salt inconspicuously on her orders, though she was tempted to rescind it. But she did not wish to die tonight.
Qyle’s words struck home in the burnt man, “Its time you kneel snake, this is Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, the Black Prince, Heir of the Seven Kingdoms and the Lord of Dragonstone!” A faint dragon’s roar accompanied this revelation. Aliandra now knew why her eyes drifted to the man. He was in charge, and she instinctively knew immediately.
Qyle and the burnt man glared at one another, till Prince Jacaerys put a hand on the man, “That’s enough Alyn, we have disrespected them, but it was not my intent.” The prince walked toward the dais, past her brother and sister and placed a foot on the first step. “This is the first interaction between an heir of my kingdom and the ruling princess of yours. Whatever show of deference could affect decades of politics between our kingdoms.” The prince cocked his head, ignorant of the angry Dornish faces around him. “Perhaps it is best I show personal deference to a ruling princess as I am legally just a lord as of now.”
He knelt this time, and Aliandra felt a shard of respect for the man. “You do not need to kneel, my prince. Legally we are on equal footing. In reality you are less than a lord. You are a traitor to the Iron Throne. You should be groveling and kissing my feet.” She lifted her head haughtily.
He politely smiled in return and rose, walking up the rest of the steps to stand in front of her, “By the laws of the Dornish: the Nymeros succession and the right of the king’s word, I am the one defending my mother’s right to queenship. And that means I am just below you in hierarchy of nobility, your highness.”
“Perhaps you studied law at the Citadel?”
“A prince must govern the realm one day, knowing laws is the prelude to dictating and rescinding charters and stipulations.”
“Yes, that is true,” Aliandra uncrossed her legs and nearly reached out her jeweled slippers to his thigh before stopping herself. He was more handsome than any bastard had a right to be. “Miquel, give them bread and salt.”
The dragon prince walked back down the dais to his knights. And gave introductions as bread was given out and wine was poured. All four did not eat or drink till each had bread and wine fully in hand. Prince Jacaerys raised his wine glass, “we are aware of the Dornish’s reputation, that is why we are here tonight.” He looked at Ser Durick who was still being held back. “Ser, do you know what a dragon does when it’s rider dies or is injured?”
Ser Durick spat, “breath dung, shit fire, I couldn’t care.”
Ser Addam answered, “Balerion killed ten dragonkeepers the night Maegor died, Vermithor killed two hatchlings on Dragonstone when King Jaehaerys died.”
“There are two dragons outside, waiting patiently,” Jacaerys said, “And there’s a third flying above Sunspear. Should we both perish, and our dragons go mad. A raging dragon will be the least of your worries your highness.” That got her hall murmuring in fear.
“A third dragon?” Aliandra asked, there was a tremor in her voice she hoped was not heard.
“After my brothers’ deaths. I took no chances tonight.”
The Princess of Dorne forced a smiled to her face, “Thank you for enlightening us on the bond between Targaryens, or should I say Velaryons, and their dragons, my prince.”
Her uninvited guests ate the bread and drank the wine when no word of protests came from her or Miquel. They ate fast, seemingly hungry. “Thank you, princess. We have flown all day with nothing on our bellies. We had to leave in secrecy.”
“Highness,” Drazenko called, he seemed to have found his tongue. “You have served this meddler food from your ovens and wine from your cellars. But his goodfather is an enemy of the Triarchy. As an envoy of the Triarchy I must voice my opposition of any proposal he brings forth.”
“Your opposition is acknowledged Master Rogare,” Miquel nodded to the man. “Announce your reason for this visit Prince of the Seven Kingdoms? The night grows longer, your highness.”
“I hope to bring this proposal to the Princess alone, for her ears alone. Princess Aliandra, will you hear my words in privacy, or must I air out my words among courtiers who would gladly sell my words to my mother’s enemies.”
Those present in her court made their grievances known and expressed them loudly. Their vehemence to letting her speak with the prince alone raised an eyebrow from her. How many of my own court are in contact with others outside? Thinking about it, Aliandra did not like the answer. Drazenko would send word home she was sure, but the others worried her. She did not like to fret about trust among her own court and people.
“I acquiesce to this proposal, we shall have an hour of the wolf meal together in my chambers,” she rose to her feet. “Is anyone opposed to this proposition?” She asked sweetly, teeth bared. Plots and backstabbing had no place when the lives of thousands were on the line. There was considerable silence to her question about privacy than the dragon prince’s. “Good. Miquel see to our other guests’ accommodations; I think they will be here till tomorrow.”
Higher up in the Tower of the Sun on the northern side of the dome was the Princess of Dorne’s chambers. It was richly furbished in cloth of gold and fabrics of orange. Beautiful rugs covered the floor and several cushions and couches for lounging were deliberately placed in the chambers. In the middle of the entrance room was a circular table. There servants laid out a poor fare. Just some spiced whitefish stew, bread, and wine.
Aliandra ate little, eating only so the prince did not eat alone. Jacaerys Velaryon had a healthy appetite, seemingly forgetting all his courtly manners. He slurped loudly upon the stew and drank heavily from the wine to clear to his throat. When his stew bowl was dredges, he reached for hers and ate from it as well.
Aliandra just stared the whole time when he set down her bowl empty as well. After finishing her bowl, he began panting and licking his lips profusely, reddening them even more. She called for cool sherbet to cleanse the mouth of the spices the prince seemed to feel now. He was drinking heavily from the wine and still panting hard. “Poison?”
“Viper venom,” she answered sweetly.
“Are you mad? I just said-,” she reached out with her foot this time stopping him. Her toes light upon his calf.
“I ate from the same bowl you did, and it came from the same pot. Am I magically immune to the venom?”
He growled, clearing his throat. His hand grabbed her ankle roughly. “You could have built immunity to it.”
Aliandra leaned into the touch, still itching for a night of joy this prince ruined earlier. “I’m sure all Dornish have immunity to it in small doses. We have an itch for the dangerous,” she kicked off her slipper and ran toes along his inner wrist. The prince let go with a curse. “Are you married, my prince? Is your heart already taken?”
“Enough,” he ordered. It was a strong voice. But she ignored the orders from it, he was just guest here, this was her room and her kingdom.
“Don’t tell me what to do Jacaerys,” saying his name with a Rhoynish inflection. “Why have you come to Dorne in secrecy? Surely word of my irresistible charms isn’t the cause. We could have feasted and celebrated for days.”
Jacaerys took his time answering, desperately eating some sherbet, cooling his tongue. When he had his countenance returned, he spoke, “I need the Red Sands of Dorne to paint the halls of my enemies red. I will pay whatever price.”
She giggled, “the Red Sands are a myth dragonrider. They are children’s tales.”
“They say the same for the Faceless Men,” his eyes still looked sad but there was some determination in them.
A determination she understood dearly but could not help, “I cannot help you.”
“Why are you lying?”
“The Faceless Men is a good option for your revenge, use them.” She sipped her wine to betray her features. The Red Sands were a mystery to her, and Aliandra suspected they were an enigma to her father as well. They have been assassins roaming the deep sands of Dorne since the days of Nymeria of Ny Sar. The price one must pay is steep to hire them, in gold of course, nothing was free. Even Meria had not paid the price but once. They were assassins under her control but also fanatics of the Mother Rhoyne. They kept their clientele low and limited by rumors and myths of deep sacrifices. Some say the loss of one’s love – as the Red Sands lost Mother Rhoyne’s – was enough payment for death upon another.
“You don’t want to pay this price. They will take everything you hold dear from you in return-,”
“So, they are real,” he smiled.
“At least that’s the story I was told as a child.”
They stared each other down for a long while. Sherbet melting despite the coolness of the night. She smiled at him and put her foot in his lap again. This time he did not take it off. Instead, he grabbed it and began massaging her foot. “Braavos gears for war with the Triarchy. I have no wish to give my life and face to those assassins, but I am willing to give up love.”
She moaned as he dug his thumbs into the crook of her foot. “So, you know the tales and are still willing to go ahead with it?” She used her other foot to massage his calves. “Braavos won’t attack now. What is there to gain?”
“The majority of the Tyroshi and Myrish fleet is ash beneath Blackwater Bay and the Lyseni fleet is depleted to three quarters of their numbers. The Triarchy and the Stepstones are ripe for the taking.”
“What? How? When did this happen?” If this was true, all she had done in the past year and half since ruling Dorne had burned to ash with those ships. She had meticulously cultivated this plan to ally herself with the Triarchy for a long time. Some of the work done before her father even died.
“We destroyed them. They took my brothers hostage and killed one,” he rubbed the gagged scar on his neck. “They paid the price for that.”
Aliandra snatched her foot back from him, suddenly chilled. She stood from her chair and opened the balcony for fresh air. A moment later the prince came up behind her. Aliandra didn’t like dangerous man. Dangerous men could control her, and she felt she could barely control herself and her own kingdom. The role she has been pampered and primmed to her whole life. “I was going to fuck Drazenko and soon have silver-haired banker rich babes with him tonight.”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. His larger hands encircled hers and his front fit against her back as if it always belonged there. “If I fuck you will the Red Sands kill my enemies for me?”
“They might not succeed,” she sighed as he pressed closer and closer. “They haven’t done much since the time of Morion the Moron.” That was a lie, Dorne had more enemies than the Aegon’s kingdom, many more had crossed them. And even within the northern kingdoms, her first assassination had been the death of Lord Tyrell to destabilize the Reach. The profound effect this had on the civil war was not planned but welcomed for her and her lords.
“When the Moron failed to kill Lord Baratheon and several stormlords before his invasion? That was the Red Sands?”
“Are you having second thoughts on their prowess?”
“Slightly,” he groaned when she pushed back into his thighs.
“Don’t be. Morion’s brother and other lords paid them off to fail. Besides they are the most well-known for almost killing Aegon the Conqueror and his wives several times during our infamous wars of attrition. They will do what they are ordered for the price.”
“And I must give up my love for it? I must give up Baela?”
She gave the killing blow, leaning her head onto his shoulder, “Yes that is the price of the Red Sands. If you love her that is.”
“I do love her. She is the love of my life,” tears trailed down his face.
She wiped them away, “Fret not, my prince, my price to command the Red Sands might remedy that.”
He pulled away, “The price is to never love again, or they take that love away with death, at least that’s what the stories say. And what do you mean your price?”
She laughed into the night air, feeling alive for the first time in a while. “I mean, you have to pay something to me as well. Its only right the procurer gets paid as well.” He rushed forward and grabbed her arms roughly.
“I will fuck you if I must for Viserys and Lucerys, I will do no more. Do not ask for more.” He shook her roughly and Aliandra did not try to control her temper when her hand lashed out slapping him across the face. He retreated backwards clutching his face, staring wide eyed at her. Grief is consuming him, she thought.
“Were the thousands of sailors and warriors that died under your dragonfire not enough to slate your thirst for blood? You are the one looking for assassins. I have my own needs, my prince. Don’t forget I am ruling a kingdom.” She let him catch his breath before continuing knowing he will need it for her price. “Marry me and become my consort, that is my price.”
The silence he gave her made her stomach drop. His golden eyes stared into her black ones. He narrowed them slightly in thought before clutching his cheek again. “Why?”
She beamed at him, “My alliance with the Triarchy has been nipped before the flower could bloom by you and your dragons. And if the Braavosi are truly gathering to reclaim the Stepstones the Triarchy’s days are numbered.” She leaned against the balustrade of the balcony, stretching her limbs. “I have internal division I hoped to quell with that alliance.”
The prince processed her words for a few minutes before responding succinctly in one word, “No.” He turned around and walked to where he left his cloak on the wooden chair.
She caught him by the shirt. “This is where we negotiate dowries and the like.”
“I said no,” pulling her arm away roughly, she nearly fell to the floor. “I have a duty to my mother and the rest of my family. I should not have come here. I will not abandon my duty just for revenge. In fact, I must not. I love Baela, I cannot give her up.”
She slapped him hard, “I am not a whore you can just manhandle Jacaerys.”
“I thought you were going to whore yourself out to that old Rogare? To protect yourself against that tyke you call a brother?”
She struck him again and again across the face, till his lip was bleeding profusely. He was silent as the blood trickled down his chin. Aliandra felt fear for a moment when a dragon roared again in the night. When he looked at her it was not with hatred but resignation. He spat out the blood onto her bare foot, hitting between her toes. She raised her hand to slap him again. “Not again princess. I deserved those slaps but not another more. Three slaps, was it? Was it Rhaenys’ law? I hit your hand away callously you slapped me three times. Even.” He pushed her back. She stumbled slightly glaring at this prince. “You haven’t called your guards. Why?”
The name of her favorite guard was on the tip of her tongue, but it refused to come out. Dragons, she knew. She didn’t answer but to rub her wrist where his fingers dug in painfully. “You are going to walk away from revenge? Like a coward? You’re going to let your uncles kill everyone in your family including your love for some chair made of swords. Be a man Jacaerys.”
“No,” he roared. He started fastening his cloak. “We are done here. We will leave in peace. Your people are safe princess. I am a fool to trust the Dornish.”
“You cannot hope to kill your enemies now, my prince,” she jeered. “Should I let a green prince marry me and hire the Red Sands themselves? Will they deny themselves the opportunity to piss on your graves.” His hand froze by her chamber door’s handle. His body stiff. “I would let one of them ravage me for free to procure the Red Sands, I think. I’ll have a portrait drawn up of it. The Triumph of Aegon II.”
The prince was silent again for a long time. Right hand curling around the door handle. His other hand was gingerly rubbing the scar around his neck. He was breathing heavily by the rise of his shoulders. She wondered if he knew the Red Sands losing your love was a myth and just a myth. A children’s tale, a tale to scare rich but weak men away. Aliandra would never admit it, but she had begun to plan on how the pay the assassins if the prince agreed. She could pay the assassins the money from her dowry and pay her own dowry to the prince from Coryanne’s pile. She had years to build that coffer back up. But Aliandra will not let this opportunity pass her by. Ruling was hard and Miquel was a trusted advisor. But she had enemies everywhere and more goals to accomplish than just settling internal affairs.
It seemed to be ages when the prince spoke again. “I will not give up my kingdom. I will rule, I will follow my mother as king.” There was something unsaid in that sentence she picked up immediately.
It was Aliandra’s time to be indignant. “No, I will not be remembered as the one who sold her kingdom.”
“That is my price. We can arrange a treatise with special privileges but that is my offer. Would you rather be queen of the Seven Kingdoms than a princess of one?”
“My people will not accept-,”
“Your children will ride dragons and rule from the whirlpools of Dorne to the icy Wall in the North, Aliandra,” that was the first time he said her name. She liked the way it rolled off his tongue, she did not like the rest of his words though. “We are young. You will not be bound to me forever, one of us may die tomorrow even. Besides our children might not even like each other and mayhaps one will separate Dorne from the seven kingdoms one day in the future. I am giving up a lot here just for revenge, agree with me on this. I know you want me.”
“I want your dragon, not you,” she said.
“Then give me my revenge and Dorne and you can have my dragon and more. So much more.”
Aliandra dug her nails into her hand hard, painting half-moons into her delicate skin. “I have one impertinent request if I agree to this proposal, a stipulation if you will.”
“One more impertinent request to a night of impertinence is on par for our first meeting,” he chuckled and gestured his hand for her to continue.
“And you cannot deny me it should I ever ask it of you,” Jacaerys gave her an exhausted stare before nodding. “If I ever need your dragon, for any reason, you shall come to my aid.” Having a dragon on call would work wonders for politics.
“Even to kill a bug in your chambers?” Jacaerys genuinely smiled for the first time tonight.
“To smite it with dragonfire is one your filial duties as a husband,” she smiled back.
Jacaerys untied his cloak then before resting it on the chair again. She curiously watched him remove his shoes and stockings. His outer tunic came off leaving him a thin white undershirt. “Done and done,” was all he said.
As he began to untie his breeches Aliandra stopped him, “What are you doing?”
“We must consummate our marriage by tonight. I have to be gone in the morning. So, we shall marry before I set off tomorrow.”
“You will leave before a wedding feast? Leave me alone to the wolves who will kill me for selling our kingdom away?” She was incredulous. Aliandra found herself standing alone in the dark when it came to this prince. He seemed to catch her off her game every time.
“I will leave Nettles here with you,” he said trying to unknot a knot in his breeches ties. “And do not fret, wife, you uphold your bargain to hire the Red Sands, I will return in a fortnight. Can you hold off till then?”
She stilled his hands and leaned into his space. “I’ve been holding off everyone since I was named heir. This will be no different, though more challenging.” She grabbed the sides of his breeches and ripped them as she slid them down. “But I shall have a bigger prize waiting at the end than usual. Even if I must give up my kingdom…”
Jacaerys did not need more prompting than that before ripping her bodice apart and seizing her tiny breasts in his hands and pulling up her skirts to rip her own stockings in his haste to pull them down. Aliandra pulled him close and gave him a kiss, urging patience. Jacaerys did not seem to hear her. She put her arms around his neck as the prince swept his hand across her circular table, spilling the empty bowls, wine and sherbet glasses, and the decanter full of wine to the floor. It all made for a cacophony of noise that surely would have alerted some guards.
And still none came. Aliandra would have been embarrassed by this if not for the pleasure soaring through her as Jacaerys’ fingers found her core and began moving between her folds delicately. He took her roughly on that table, his member entering her gingerly before setting a rough pace. If there were tears in his eyes falling onto her forehead and hair, she did not say anything. When he whispered his brothers’ names, she said nothing to that as well. It was not her place to judge how someone coped with grief. When she heard the name of his love, she did not let that lie between them.
She separated them and pushed Jacaerys onto the wall, she sunk to her knees and took him in her mouth pleasuring him. He groaned and grunted softly then more guttural as his release came soon upon him. She swallowed his release. After rising from her position, Jacaerys pulled her up into a blistering kiss. The mix of their juices, wine, sherbet, and spiced whitefish stew was intoxicating. His smell in her nose was welcoming, Aliandra never knew she could enjoy the natural smell of someone.
They returned to the table, but this time Jacaerys gave her the lord’s kiss between her thighs making her shiver and shake, before taking her again against a wall. This time with the release upon them he came inside her. Panting and lapping at her ear. They were sweaty, tired messes by then, but they continued to seek pleasure. Once more on the table till one of the table’s legs gave out, then they continued on the wine-soaked rug till she was screaming his name and he was chanting hers. He took her from behind on the balcony, torches around them, loud and uncaring, hoping someone would see a snake devouring a dragon.
They finished the night in Aliandra’s bed, her on top of him, hands tight together. It wasn’t love, far from it. Lust, grief, longing, wanting… it could have been either of those things that lead to a successful night that wasn’t their marriage night but was treated as such. Aliandra had not realized how long it had been for her since she began seducing Drazenko. She wasn’t even mad it was the prince. His hands and strokes were a little uncertain, but he had made up the night with his eagerness, lust, and his lovely, well-developed body.
The sun was rising as she reached her climax for the last time. All she wanted to do was rest, but the day had come and with it their duties to their kingdoms. He must return to the front, and she must tell her court and lords the good news. They cleaned themselves as well as they could with a rag and water from the basin near her bed.
As she dressed and had a servant find suitable clothes for her new husband she asked, “Who do you want dead? The king? The Lord Protector? All of them are very unsecure right now.” She hoped he would wonder if the Dornish had spies in both Targaryen courts. Instead, the prince had gone silent and rigid, twitching in anger. He was laid out naked and obscenely on the bed, his member stuck to his thigh, red and bruised.
That deadeye look the prince had when he arrived at her court had returned, he was rubbing the scar on his neck roughly, pulling apart the stitches. Blood dripping down his long neck, some staining her rich Dornish and Myrish laced pillows. Tears welled in his sunken tired eyes, “Kill them all. The women and children. I want them all gone. I want there to be no trace of them ever. I will pay any price they name; my love, gold, anything… anything for my brothers? Anything.”
Before she could respond to his words, he rose from the bed and walked to her and placed a hand on her belly. “Should I die, and you quicken before we can be bond in the light of the seven in front of the kingdom, name him Viserys for the dragon less boy taken too soon by those Essosi dogs.” He removed a black amethyst ring, sapphires beautifully ringed around the amethyst, and the band of the priceless ring was gold and silver, intricately woven in the lost arts of Old Valyria. “I doubt my mother or siblings will ignore a child of mine. But in case I die, keep this for the child and as proof of his lineage. It was my grandfather’s ring and before him Prince Aemon’s and so on till the days of Aenar and his children and the Doom.”
“There is no need, the assassins will end the war for you,” her fingers closed around it anyway. It was too large for any of her fingers, even her thumb.
He kissed her on the lips, and palmed her stomach, “Name him Viserys please,” there was a sense of finality to his voice. Aliandra could detect the voice of a man about to recklessly charge into a fight outnumbered.
Once Jacaerys was able to dress they rounded the court together for a short wedding. The septon had to be convinced with some threats, he had been paid off by Drazenko months ago, as Miquel and the maester hastily set forward to writing out a preliminary contract.
As the court and her guest gathered there appeared to be no one happy about last night’s politicking that led to this, though none seemed surprised. Only one person was both, the peasant girl named Nettles, Jacaerys had introduced them as soon as she landed. She took her orders with some annoyance but accepted them. The other dragonseeds were as mad about this marriage as her court. Whispering admonitions to Jacaerys in hallowed alcoves.
After they married solemnly in the castle sept with incense and anger all around them, they signed their marriage contract. Jacaerys touched her abdomen once more before he left with a reminder that he would return in a month and to name the boy Viserys. It was not to be.
Aliandra met with her assassins on the Greenblood on a hot day. They came out of the sands veiled in grey and blue and green. Beads of all colors lined their veils. Dark and angry eyes met her before they knelt. Her new monicker had already spread to the men of the red sands before she arrived. The Dragonfucker, the Kneeler for Dragons. They were hurtful, especially when news came it was from her own brother in the shadow city.
When she gave her orders the assassins gave deadeye looks and nodded their heads. It reminded her of Jacaerys, and her heart panged sadly. Not in love but more as in reminder of what grief and war between family will cause. Aliandra watched as the veiled Red Sands walked back into the desert significantly richer for whatever they did in the deep sands where even caravanners didn’t go. She felt significantly poorer and even more lost and confused as to what the future held for her and walked back to her barge where the dark girl Nettles sat reading a book, still mouthing the words. Aliandra was at first apprehensive of the young lady but had grown to like her and her eagerness to prove herself and the tenacity to work towards a goal.
On their return to the castle, Aliandra took a line from Nettles book and tenaciously worked to ease relations with her brother and lords. If Drazenko left while she was in the desert, Aliandra decided it wasn't worth mentioning. Aliandra even sent several bands north to harass the Baratheons. It felt good to do something instead of sitting on her hands for a month.
Sadly, that month turned to two to three and then four. Nettles was ready to go back home, pacing constantly, and Aliandra’s belly had swelled too large. Her maesters urging her to caution as it could be twins. Aliandra took that with a hint of fear and some joy. The problem was that she was always hot and aching and found she missed the man she’d only known for one night. She found when her hand rested on her belly her other hand would grip that ancient Targaryen ring she kept on a necklace.
The Red Sands had returned to Dorne fortnights ago, severely depleted in numbers but successful in their assassinations. King Aegon II and Prince Daeron were dead. Aegon dead in some tavern after the Red Sands had found his hiding spot days after King’s Landing was taken. Prince Daeron was found charred but with a dagger in his throat after a fire swept through the Hightowers camp south of Bitterbridge. Prince Aemond had escaped assassins outside the Stoney Sept where he hid in some old caves by the warning of his mistress. That was what had depleted her assassins’ numbers. Several of them dying to Vhagar’s flames.
Jacaerys never wrote any letters, at least nothing directly from him. Word from Dragonstone came often and were informative. The war was nearly over, the continent was ravaged and bleeding deeply. But Aemond was still around burning several castles and towns, recently moving into the Crownlands.
When Aliandra had heard this news, she sent word to Jacaerys she was carrying twins. That was the first personal letter she received from him. He was grim and succinct but expressed much interest in the boys being named after his dead brothers. Aliandra was more than a little angry at this response and said so in her response. That seemed to burn some passion back into the prince who began sending several letters. Writing of his childhood, fears, court politics, the anger of his grandfather for marrying her, and his fidelity to her despite the challenges of her not being there. It was sweet Aliandra could admit but she was unsure if she would be able to stay as loyal as him soon with her body craving touch. But she decided to stay on her path, she was married and pregnant. Searching for a mistress now would not be seen in a positive light. Aliandra began daydreaming of the day Jacaerys would return with the war fully at end.
It was not to be.
As Aliandra gave birth to two daughters word reached them that Prince Jacaerys died in battle to Prince Aemond above Harrenhal. Details relayed to her were blurry as she screamed with each push, something about Prince Daemon jumping from dragon back, Jacaerys and Vermax gripping onto all three dragons pushing them down to their fall. Never to rise himself.
The first twin was silver haired and as lovely as anything Aliandra had ever seen; she named her Eliane Targaryen. The second was black haired and seemed even more lovely to Aliandra as she was placed in her arms. Eliabel Nymeros Martell she named her. Aliandra did not expect to cry, but with her emotions all over it was hard not to. What surprised her the most was the grief at Jacaerys’ death. She didn’t love him, it seemed to be her favorite statement, but in a way, she found she did. She was mourning the life they could’ve had; the lives her Elia’s could have had with him.
As Miquel withdrew to send word to Kings Landing and Nettles cried over the babes as well, Aliandra said a prayer of forgiveness to Jacaerys. She could not give him a Lucerys and Viserys. And she knew she could not give up his ring to her girls either. How else would she remember him?