An Aeryl Backstory (1/3) ; The Dragons of the Red Fringe
“Today’s the day!” Rogue lips stretched wide into a brilliant smile, Aeryl sang to herself. Well, to be honest, it was more of a squeal than any verse in a tune. She was positively glowing as she continued to brush her wavy ivory locks in front of her dresser.
“You seem, for a lack of a better word, happy, sister.”
Aeryl paused at her ministrations as she looked to her brother’s reflection in her mirror, amethyst eyes twinkling with barely concealed excitement.
“Of course I am!” she uttered with her hands held together in delight. “It’s not every day you meet the man of your dreams!”
“Um… I’m not entirely sure that –“
“He will be my husband. It is only obvious for him to be the one.” She cut him off, not willing to be an audience to her brother’s constant doubts about her fiancé.
“I’m just saying,” Khaigar pursed his lips as he scratched the back of his neck in discomfort. They have had this particular argument far too much. “He may not be who you expect him to be… I mean, I love you sis and I don’t want you to get hurt by some stranger, and by stranger, I mean the man whose name you haven’t even known yet.”
“Oh come off it, brother. Its love! How can such a wonderful thing hurt me?” Aeryl turned around to meet her brother’s miffed gaze. “Now, why don’t you go and do stuff with father or something. You’re bothering me.” Aeryl dismissed him with a small wave of her hand.
“It is because we love that we get hurt, you know?” Khaigar shook his head with an exasperated sigh but stood up to leave regardless. “See you at the Great Hall, sister.”
A curt “See you.” Was said as she tried to ignore the hurt in her brother’s eyes.
It was her day, damn it and she has waited far too long and fantasized of this day far too much. The day, as the stories the castle servants keep telling her about as she would often cajole them into telling a tale or two; the day she was going to know love. Oh how she knew it was going to be incredible.
“You may enter, Lords of the House Baelish.” The stout stubbly squire bellowed with a voice contradictory to his stature.
Lord Francoise Baelish strode in the Great Hall of Dragonstone castle with an air of arrogance as though he did not just take a foot inside a dragon’s great maw. He was tall, of a slim physique that was obviously not made for the rigours of battle.
Although he did not look his age, his receding hairline belied his true years. With his aquiline nose raised in the air, steeple fingers upon his robe, charcoal eyes narrowed in determination, he addressed the hall of dragons.
“My lord Jobaeron,” He gave a shallow bow to the head of the Targaryen House on his throne. He then tilted his head to his right, an almost dismissive gesture. “My son, Matthias.”
Matthias felt cold sweat appear on his neck as simultaneously all eyes were suddenly upon him. Each of their gazes weighing upon the young man not unlike bags of iron onto his shoulders. His knees threatened to buckle due to the weight.
“I…um. Good evening my lords and Ladies.” He finally managed, voice a bit hoarse and shaky, amber eyes blown wide.
The longest minute passed for the young man.
“You have raised him well, Francoise.” Jobaeron Targaryen finally spoke and a dizzying breath escaped him.
“He will do just fine for a son-in-law.” Jobaeron smiled directly at him this time, warmth creeping into the man’s violet eyes. “Now let us celebrate and feast in the honor of my daughter’s betrothal.” The silver haired looked towards the young woman to his right, a cup of wine held to a toast in his hand.
His father gave him a wide grin and nodded.
He looked across the table of silver dragons, towards his future wife and their eyes met. Amber and bright amethyst.
‘Oh Gods, he was looking this way!’ Aeryl practically vibrated in her seat. The sixteen year old gave the young Baelish lord a giddy yet shy smile, eyelashes batted a bit more than necessary.
He was… he was. Not exactly what she had been expecting. He was not the wavy haired, purple eyed blond she had dreamed of. But this was her true love! He had to be perfect. He couldn’t be anything but perfect. Maybe she just didn’t know her true preferences yet. She looked him over once again, more appraisingly this time. The young man looked to the floor in her scrutiny.
He was built like his father, slim and tall with a head of brunet hair, but that was where the similarity ended. His jaw was softer and his features far more gentle. He stood beside his father meekly, a foot posed as to turn tail, and shoulders tense as opposed to the man beside him. He had golden amber eyes that never seemed to hold her gaze for more than a few seconds when he gave her a small smile. He seemed afraid of something.
‘Though, what of’, she wondered. They couldn’t be that intimidating, could they? She knew they were called the Dragons of the Red Fringe, but honestly she thought the name was far too absurd for it contradicted the warmth she would feel in her heart when she thought of her family.
Khaigar, her twin brother, stood to her right. Looking at the entire event with a neutral expression, back straight and demeanor disinterested; he had his political face on. He still wasn’t happy about her betrothal it seems. Her mother, Marhaena stood silent beside her father, but with a glimmer in her eyes as she took upon her daughter’s excitement as her own. Jobaeron sat in the middle of the long table with the air of a king as he gave yet another toast. Shaela was the same, a smile on her face but a cautious gleam to her eyes. Faey sat to her mother’s left, a gentle demeanor betraying her suspicion towards the Baelish lords. To her left sat her younger sister of a year, Niza, who was picking on her food, a bored expression on her face.
Khaigar, Aeryl, Marhaena, Jobaeron, Shaela, Faey, and Niza. All pale of skin, silver of hair, violet of eyes. The Dragons of the Red Fringe. Her family, and soon, as she looked at her future husband, they will be his family too.
Her eyes strayed from the old man pulling out weeds in the garden, to the pair of ladies gossiping in the corner bench, to the little slave boy carrying a pail of water, then to the dead corpse that showered the pavement in blood.
The old weed-plucker merely passed by the slave boy while he washed away the bloody surface countering the guards’ messy trail as they dragged the body away.
“Thieves get what they deserve,” she heard one of the guards murmur.
She spun around with her back to the revolting sight and sighed for the hundredth time.
“This would never happen in Dorne…”
“Dorne is a thousand miles away, My lady. Or should I even call you My lady? You are not dressed for court.”
Jahnna turned around to see bright emerald eyes looking at her with mocking interest. She didn’t wear the traditional heavy gowns the Southerners thought to be fashionable. She was wearing yellow silks and leather boots and Dorne on her.
She smiled back, although hollow and seriously irritated.
“It does not matter what we wear in Dorne, Ser.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended my lady.” He bowed and gently pressed his lips upon her hand, a gesture most men do to ladies of noble birth. The very act seemed contemptuous to her. “I was only trying to make small talk.”
“Well, you have failed miserably.”
The man sighed, looking genuinely guilty. She knew better.
“I seem to anger everybody I talk to today. Am I that hateful?”, the man murmured to himself yet with a voice that was obviously meant to be answered.
He was smiling despite his grievance, and she smiled back, a bit amused at the figure before her.
“You do it so effortlessly, Ser. I think it is your one true talent.”
“If you believe so, then you do not know me well. Ah, but let me remedy that.” He took her hand once again and bowed most politely. “I am Annuell of House Lannister.”
“So you are.” Her stomach turned at his touch, from what, she was not really sure, and she withdrew her hand from his. “And in Dorne, they call me Lady Jahnna, daughter of Prince Doran Martell.”
With a final smirk, she left the courtyard, the bloody pavement, and the dumbfounded knight behind.
It was her fourth day in the capital and she arrived silent and unannounced. Aside from the prince, the Vain Knight was her second ‘noble’ encounter, and he was certainly everything the songs described him to be. Tall, handsome, golden, not to mention arrogant. Unfortunately the songs left that part of him out for it would have been more accurate, but it was common knowledge that the Lannisters possessed certain, prideful traits.
But not at all bad to look at…
She arrived in the guest tower just in time to look upon the arrival of another noble party. Two days ago it was the Starks, coming in from the North with all the gallantry and coldness they were known for. The King himself was present at their entrance to the capital, but this time she saw only the Prince and a few knights from the Kingsguard. But where were the rest of this merry troupe? Gods forbid that this play would start without all its actors.
As if to answer her silent question, a deep loud voice echoed across the courtyard and the halls to announce…
“His Lord Johnroe of House Tyrell, and his cousin Lady Hannah.”
She watched from her tower as she saw the prince approach two hooded people on horseback, and felt her eyes widen as the both of them took their cloaks off to reveal the most beautiful set of people she had ever seen in her life.
“So the rumors are true,” she mused to herself. Word had spread in Dorne about the Tyrells and their uncommon beauty, but it was only when you saw for yourself that you realize that some things truly aren't myths.
From the distance she could see the Tyrells unmount from their horses and bowed before the prince. Then, as if forgetting all formalities, the lady straightened up with a smirk and patted Khenrich’s back.
“I got your cabbages out back with the flowers. Fresh and green just the way you like ‘em.”, she seemed to say. but to Jahnna, while even being well-versed with the art of lip-reading, the statement sounded to preposterous to be true. She will let it slide for now. Although...
Hannah Tyrell had a wide grin on her face while informally addressing the crown prince. Were they friends? Jahnna tried to assess the situation, but she could see Prince Khenrich’s cold and nonchalant look, not at all deterred by Hannah who was now, if her lip-reading was right, joyfully recalling their week long ride full of bandits, and rapers (who were mostly after Johnroe) and the villagers who managed to join their party for no apparent reason (who then turned out to have rather malicious intentions towards the other Tyrell).
The man she saw as Johnroe Tyrell was holding a piece of paper and smiling at the prince. What could be going on this man’s mind, and were those ink stains on his horse?
Finding the scene too odd, she left the balcony and settled herself in bed. It was only midday but things have gotten exciting. The Starks are here, the Tyrells have arrived, and word was spreading that the Targaryens will arrive by ship not sooner than a fortnight.
Jahnna Sand came with her half siblings to represent Dorne for the royal wedding. Being the bastard daughter of Prince Doran, and with her mother being a wealthy daughter of a Pentosi merchant, she had the exotic looks of both Dorne and the Free Cities. Sans the tan skin, she had long dark hair that was fashioned always in a ponytail, and big, dark penetrating eyes.
She wondered to herself why she left the mountains of Dorne in the first place. Was it for curiosity? Was there really a war coming? Or would it will be due to the Targaryens will making their appearance for the first time in years.
She smiled inwardly, wondering what dragonborns looked like in person, not in books or stories, but in the flesh.
Her train of thoughts were interrupted when she remembered her task; the reason why she came to the capital in the first place. She stood from bed and made her way across the castle. Her task, was not to meddle, but to merely observe.
In Dorne her relatives were called Sand Snakes, but she was called Shadowcat. Silent and looming. She could lurk anywhere. Disappear completely and arrive unannounced. A lady spy.
To see and be invisible at the same time.
Never meddle.
She walked passed hallways and gardens, eager to see the truth in the banquet of information her little Dornish spies had for her: The Lannister and Baratheon match, a secret affair between a noble and a bastard, incest. Oh far so many reports! And all of them gathering at her feet. She was lucky indeed.
She looked left and right. Her steps were silent but she walked with an air of superiority.
Starks, Tyrells, Lannisters, Baratheons, Targaryens. The fine actors of this play.
She was excited. Suddenly the image of Ser Annuell came for a fleeting moment. What was his secret?
“So we’ve all gathered in the lion’s den. Who will they prey on first?”
There was a constant throbbing in her head as theheadache began to intensify. These past few days have been tumultuous, and hermaids kept pestering her about stress and wrinkles and honestly, it was theleast of her worries.
She paced back and forth, holding the piece of paper in her hand, crumpled it, and then spreading it out once again to see if the contents were not of her own imaginings. She sighed once again as she read the words. At last she had decided to throw the wretched thing to the fire.
It satisfied her, watching it slowly turn to ashes. After its existence disappeared from her sight, she sat down and poured herself a cup of tea. The smell of the hot liquid soothed her aching head, forgetting for a short while, the problems abundantly given to her by her own men. Those incompetent fools! Couldn’t they function for a few days without her guidance?
A hundred crates of her most precious product were lost to a ship of run-down, rhum drunk pirates. 100 was but a small number, but added to the stress and the atmosphere of the capital, her reaction had been none too pleasing.
Now the shipment was compromised and she would get nothing of it. It was a bad day for business.
The raven that brought her the letter most probably came from across the Narrow Sea. Her men now lay waiting in a port, too afraid to face her wrath
When I get my hands on those fools…!
There was a knock on the door that interrupted her violent thoughts, which have now reached to visions of flaying men and burning their private parts.
“Enter,” she said, her voice commanding.
The door slowly creaked open to reveal half a head of blue hair and curious red eyes. He was, at first, hesitant to proceed but the sight of Hannah’s connecting brows made him a bit worried.
Hannah’s expression softened as she saw him enter and close the door behind them. She wanted to pounce on the man that very instant, but composed herself and acted like a lady should. Ahh, fuck being a lady. She was on her feet before Shiro could blink and found her hands clinging to his collar. He gulped.
“Where were you, Snow?!” She had tried to act intimidating, but her voice faltered upon the S word. That damn word.
Shiro’s eyes glanced at her angry expression and then to the untouched cup of tea on the table. A sudden realization hit him, for untouched tea was always a no in the presence of Hannah Tyrell.
He held her clenched fists in his, ignoring the fact that she was almost suffocating him and gave her a reassuring smile. Though he was a bit worried for his throat.
“Calm down,” he told her nervously. She loosened her grip and took a step back.
The night breeze had been cool, and the room had been filled in an orange glow from the lighted fire.
“I will not calm down!”
Shiro jerked backwards at the reaction he was most familiar with. In times of stress, Hannah Tyrell would become a violent creature and taming her was a feat no man could ever possibly accomplish. All except some. A special exception.
“How will I be able to calm down, when I’m surrounded with such bloody incompetence?! I will not have my reputation tarnished by men who cannot do such a simple task as delivering things! Even ravens could do a better job! Damn it, Snow! Say something! No, shut up, I don’t want to hear anything right now! Guuuuh!”
In the middle of her tantrum she had once again found herself clinging to his collar. Exasperated, she laid her head in his chest to hide the redness of her face. There she was again, acting all unlady like. She could care less what others would think of her. But she was always so uncommonly conscious with him. Pathetic, she thought.
But he could care less whether she was throwing a tantrum or in the midst of suffocating him. Something must have happened to her shipment, he guessed. But it wasn’t the first time. It also wasn’t the first time she called for him when things like this happened. And it wasn’t the first time he held her in his arms to comfort her, even though he had no right to. But he had every right, and no one else ever should see her like this. In her state of vulnerability that she keeps hidden from the world, something he knew nobles had a talent in. She was a wild thing, he knew. She was his wild thing.
He led her to the table and grabbed the untouched cup of tea. He blew on it before he raised it to her lips. Hannah took one big long gulp, immune to the hotness of the liquid and its deadly effects on the human body.
“More.” She ordered him, hiding a blush from forming on her cheeks.
He poured her another cup full and blew on it. This time she grabbed it and drank it like it was rhum. Shiro could only look at her amazed and shocked, but he laughed it off nervously. Was this woman even human?
It was one of those rare moments when he was just Shiro and she was just Hannah. He was not a bastard and she was not a noble. She was his, and he was hers, and it was unspoken, but it was established. It was an odd relationship.
He poured another cup.
He shyly took her hand in his, soothing her with his touch.
“More,” Hannah said, and Shiro shifted his position to wrap an arm around her and settle her next to him.
She was a wild thing.
She was his wild thing.
“More,” she demanded, barely a whisper.
Soon her arms were around him, trapping him as their lips met.
Title: Once heir, now the Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marshes, High Marshal of the Reach and Warden of the South
Culture: The Reach
Spouse/Betrothed: Lady Faey of House Targaryen
Weapon of choice: Quill and ink, often times swords
Likes: as Johnroe the heir, he likes books, writing scrolls, preaching to the masses, marvelous gardens, clean horses, knowledge and good quality ink. As the real Johnroe, he loves fighting and violence, blood and suffering, hand to hand combat, teasing Faey, sexually harassing Faey, engraving his family sigil on weapons and random objects, fruits and tart
Dislikes: Hannah’s tea, lack of freedom as an heir, Faey’s temper, hairfall, weeds, dull things
Quotes:
"Behead the king and and behead its people, leave none standing, leave none alive." -Johnroe Tyrell during the War of of the Seven Kingdoms
"What am I to you?" -Johnroe to Faey, during an argument
"Hide a tree in a forest, hide a corpse among other corpse, as I hide this emotion among other emotions."
(Refer to the Compilation of Lost Scrolls for more quotes)
Alias: Lady Chi (on business), Spice Queen (to other clients)
Title: Lady of Highgarden, Captain of her ship The Twins
Culture: The Reach
Spouse: None as of yet
Weapon of choice: Swords and drugs
Likes: Flowers and her secret garden, tea, drugs, adventures, horse chases and exciting fights, strong ships, her crew of smugglers, her cousin, and Shiro Snow
Dislikes: Long and heavy gowns, the ladies at court (except her friends), Johnroe’s scrolls, Annuell’s eyebrows, girly things especially makeup, cheap drugs
Quotes:
“What is it with the Tyrells and their beauty?” -townsfolk about Hannah and Johnroe
“He was sweet and gentle and nothing like her. She was loud and impatient. And yet he calls her ‘my lady’ and kisses her hand and treats her like she was something special. Damn you Snow, she thought. Damn you and your eyes. Your smile. You.” -Hannah’s thoughts on Shiro Snow
“They say she expanded a naval fleet before turning 18, became the most infamous smuggler in the Seven Kingdoms, all while keeping her identity hidden. A woman, can you believe it? A drug lord. They call her Lady Chi.” -sailors talking about Hannah
Likes: Beautiful stuff, golden armor, hair products, money, pranks, long rides, music, people who support his curiosity, the suffering of his enemies
Dislikes: Dull and stupid people, politics, knights who think are better than him, the Lannister name, responsibilities, menial labor, Faey Targaryen, Targrayen hair, silence
Quotes:
“I don’t care for politics my dear Lou, I care for the mess that comes with it.” -Annuell to his cousin Lou
Lou: You are enjoying this, cousin?
Annuell: Look around you, Lou. Dragons and Roses and Wolves in the South. Such madness! And if one of them were to be slain, a war would break out. Doesn’t that piece knowledge excite you? – A conversation between Annuell and Lou
“He was perfect in the eyes of men. And yet they say his heart was as hard as the gold of his armor.” – Lowell, his thoughts on Annuell
Title: Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of theRealm
Culture: Westerlands
Spouse: King Khenrich Baratheon
Weapon of choice: Money and gold, her wits
Likes: Expensive clothes, lavish lifestyles, gold, jewelry, Khenrich, men (particularly tall, built, handsome), music, sweets, rainy season, the ocean
Dislikes: Deep waters, poor people and servants, foul-smelling things, the Targaryens, Jahnna’s insults about the South, Khenrich’s uncaring personality, being controlled
Quotes:
“We have positioned ourselves for the worst sort of pain.”-Lou, on her indifference and Khenrich’s aloofness
“All these halfwits think they can survive the South, these young little heirs and heiresses just waiting for an opportunity to gain more wealth, more power. The stupid fools. They have entered the lion’s den. And it is all for them, the lesser beasts, to fear us.” -Lou’s thoughts on the Targaryens and Starks
“Greedy for power, that’s what she is. As if she doesn’t have all the gold of Casterly Rock on her feet.” -A lord, on Lou
Likes: Rare silks and cloth, anything red, orange andyellow (the colors of Dorne), custom-made daggers, Dornish delicacies, handsome men withintellect, cute things, supernatural stuff
Dislikes: Anything not from Dorne
Quotes:
“Everything is better in Dorne.” -Jahnna to everyonein the South
“The heir? No, not her. She is bastard born. But legitimized, oh what an heir she would make.” -Lady Lou on Jahnna
“An old, comely lord once made light conversation about my travels. Where was the worst place I had gone, he asked me. ‘You’re in it, my lord,’ I told him politely. A jest, he must have thought. But even the winters of the North made a better home than King’s Landing.” -Jahnna Sand, about the capital
"There is nothing older, or stronger, than royal blood.”
He heard the words echo in his head like a melody playing over and over in the halls of his childhood. And it had echoed for many, many years.”
“You forget. It’s not just royal blood we possess.”
Dark purple eyes looked across the vast seas, salt and rock in the thick summer air, the only view outside their chambers, or outside their castle, if one must be honest. The small, quiet land just below their stone walls was alight in flame, alive even in the dead of night with the screams of the dying.
“We are the blood of the dragon.”
The vision turned blurry and soon enough, strong calloused hands were rubbing the leaden eyelids that revealed orbs of a unique shade of lilac. He stifled a yawn and looked about the cabin in his half-asleep state. Even as the first ray of daylight made its way through the small circular window, the dreary memory of the nightmare lay heavy in his mind.
He made his way out of bed, slowly with the pace of laziness he was known for. He reached for an empty cup and poured in a liquid from a jug, his face cringing at the mistake of drinking a cup of whiskey instead of water. Where had the water gone?
He closed his eyes as the strong liquid invaded his mouth and made its way to his throat. Strong and not in any way smooth. He was momentarily distracted by the slow rocking of his cabin, the steady pace at which the ship was making its journey, and the sound of the waves making its way along with them. A day and a half had past. His thoughts were in a state of nothingness until it was plagued with the chaos of the previous night’s dream. Never had a dream struck him before, and it kept striking him for fifteen long years. He could still imagine the look on his father’s face, hard and stern with a voice known for its coldness. He adored him once. Now the last remaining shred of emotion he had for him was one of regret. And with a small hint of loathing, if he could admit it to himself. He poured himself another cup, forgetting yet again that it was not water. And despite the emptiness of his stomach he swallowed. His thoughts were more revolting than the taste of liquor. He knew he’d regret it later on that morning, and he blamed the people in his vision for it, no matter how petty. Damn the man. Damn his blood. And damn him for being his seed.
“There is nothing older, or stronger, than royal blood.”
The words echoed in his thoughts yet again as he made his way to dress. It was a memory fifteen years passed. A memory of a holding burnt to the ground, of the sea that looked like a never ending black abyss, and yet somehow made beautiful by the red and orange reflections of the flame. Rumors spread that a candle set a hut ablaze and eventually burned the whole area. Even the children knew that was a lie. They made an enemy of their family and what better way to dispose of an enemy but through the Tagaryen way. The one and only way of death.
He remembered the look on his father’s calculating face, of his mother’s that held him and his sister tight on that doomed night, and his two little cousins holding each other’s hands near them, gripping each other, of the only thing they were sure of.
It was, on any normal circumstance, a warm sight. A healthy family sharing the same fire, the same hearth. But they were far from any normal family. That was the very thing the elders reminded them of every day of their exiled lives.
He was merely five, Aeryl four. Their cousins too, just mere toddlers. But they were royal blood and they knew it. Blood of the old Valyria ran through their veins as sure as the currents ran from one ocean to another. It was all the proof they needed, and any one could see, even the blindest of men, that it was true.
“When you are old enough you will understand.” Lord Jobaeron Targaryen’s voice filled the room. His eyes were looking at his son, the heir. Himself. Even then, as a child, five meager years after his first nameday, Khaigar never wanted any of it. That they, never wanted any of it. Why must the children suffer for their parent’s transgressions?
“We are the last,” his darling mother used to tell him as she stroked his white, silvery locks, after the spectacle of the night died down. A look of pity cast upon an unwilling subject. Of regret for past mistakes. “And for that I am sorry.”
But that was fifteen years back. When his mother used to stroke his hair and tuck him into bed. When he still had high regards for his father. When he was just a child. What was he now, he wondered. He felt more lost than ever.
And right before he could poison his mind with ill thoughts once again, the wooden door flew right open and in came the person that vexed him, and yet made him all the more happy.
“Dressed yet? Our sisters are waiting for us.”
Khai smiled gently at Nizah, who was at first hesitant to close the door behind them. With his breeches loose on his waist and shirt still unbuttoned, he could not help but feel exposed.
Before he could blink he felt a wooden something hit the back of his head.
“What was that for?!”
“You good for nothing idiot. Seriously, must I do everything?” Niza heaved a long sigh as she slowly made his way to him. He was rubbing the sore part of his head while she slowly buttoned his shirt. As her eyes never strayed from her task, his eyes never left her. It made the ache go away, he discovered years back, just to look at her. Her eyebrows knit together when she placed a button in the wrong hole and proceeded to do the process all over again.
The ship made a rocky intermission that threw them out of balance, but Khai’s strong, swift reflexes held her in place, much too close…much too close. He held her firmly as she tried to straighten herself, her grip leaving small wrinkles on his shirt. His eyes never left her.
A moment of silence, of crashing waves and seagulls in the far distance… he was smiling while she was pouting. And before she could say something to blame him or even hit him again, he silenced her with a swift, gentle kiss on the lips.
“Thank you, darling.” He grinned as he put his doublet on and tightened his belt.
The lady who was taken aback only glared at him once more. On any normal circumstance, she would have given him a smack on the head or an insulting remark to hurt his ego. But she remembered the reason she was sent to his cabin so early in the morning.
“Our sisters are waiting for us, cousin. Hurry your ass now.” And with one final punch to his shoulder, she turned around and widened the distance between them by closing the door shut. The ship once again rocked causing him to hit his hip on the wooden table. A few bruises before breakfast was just a normal day for Khaigar. If one morning passed that he was not hit, punched, or kicked by anything or by Niza, then it was considered abnormal.
He looked adoringly at the door while he was fastening his sword to his belt. A pure white Valyrian sword with a black hilt fashioned with rubies. He was yet to name it. His thoughts wandered to Niza again, and made haste to join her and the rest of their family for breakfast. On a normal morning, he would be chasing her around the castle, annoying her, and calling her his lover for all the world to hear. On normal mornings he’d get more than a bruise.
The singular joy of his life. And he thanked all the gods for her every day and every morning, bruises and all.
-------------------------------
“You were late so we ate all the food,” Aeryl told her brother without any hint of regret.
“We had a few leftovers though, but we thought it best to have it sent below deck, where your ass is.”
Nizah looked to her sister Faey and took a sip from her cup. “The donkey must be lonely down there, don’t you think so?”
“Not as lonely as this man’s face.” Faey remarked.
Khaigar had lost them at “we ate all the food” and was now about to throw a fit (like any normal morning) when the cook barged in with a heavy tray of breakfast.
“Oops, we lied.” Aeryl said coolly as she grabbed a piece of smoked bacon.
“How many times must I repeat myself? Never make a joke of food. Never.” But it was hard to take him seriously when he was talking with a mouthful of salted pork.
The cook stopped to bow before he left, stealing a glance then closing the small wooden door. Every one would stare at them if they would let it. They were a sight to behold. Four pairs of purple and lilac orbs, four heads with soft white, silvery locks, four Targaryens in one adequate dining room inside a ship big enough to carry a whole village. They were exiled years back, yes, but that never stopped them from making money.
“Why break the fast so early in the morning? You of all people would be sleeping late until noon.” Khai asked once he swallowed his mouthful.
“Mother would be so proud to see us all up and early,” said Nizah, who only shrugged after a while and took a sip of orange juice she had battled away from Khai.
“I called all of you here today to discuss important matters,” came Faey’s voice that was obviously still heavy with drowsiness.
“Oooh, you sound like father,” Aeryl giggled, and the rest of them followed.
“Children, please!”
“Hey I’m older than you!”
“You don’t act like it.”
“Look who’s talking.”
“What? You’re supposed to be siding with me.”
“And this is why we are a malfunctioning family….”
Every one looked to Aeryl who was sipping her coffee, stirring it a few times like it was the most interesting thing in the world. Everybody continued to argue and Khaigar could only smile. They were only able to be like this when they were alone. In the castle they were guarded, serious and disciplined under the eyes of their parents and the lords and ladies. They acted like responsible heirs in public, and they were more than convincing. But left alone the four of them were a menacing group. Children who were never given a proper childhood, and they carry what’s left of it even in adulthood. Who could blame them though.
“As I was saying,” Faey continued, “the Captain has put it upon himself to inform me on a rather ungodly hour some…rather unfortunate news.” She let the suspense hang in the air while she took her time slathering butter on her bread.
“…and?”
“Well, our anticipated arrival at King’s Landing was marked three days after setting sail, but due to the storm the Captain saw it fit to stop at the nearby harbor and wait it out.”
“There’s a storm?” Niza asked, intrigued. “Interesting.”
“It’s not interesting. It’s a nuisance.” Faey responded to her sister’s statement. “And that’s not the only thing.”
“What else?” asked Khai.
“A raven arrived in the black of dawn saying that my uncle, your Lord father would be unable to attend the wedding, leaving all of us the responsibility.” Khai could sense Faey’s thoughts were drifting back to her mother, his aunt, who was left on Cowdragonstone, too ill to sail at sea.
Aeryl clicked her tongue, eyebrows furrowed directly at her coffee as it became less and less interesting. “I expected him to be late, but to be unable to attend? Won’t the king be…insulted?”
It was difficult to be family with a business tycoon.
Khai plucked a grape from the tray. “Father has something up his silky sleeves, I’m sure of it.” Aeryl could only nod.
“And there’s more.” Faey said. She took one long sip from her cup before continuing, leaving them all in an annoying silence. She cleared her throat before voicing out the taboo words.
“ANNUEL LANNISTER.”
Niza gave an exaggerated gasp before falling in a fit of laughter. “You need not worry sister,” she said in between laughs, “I’m sure mother was just joking about that match. It was just a suggestion from that lord with the crooked nose.”
“Besides,” Khai added, “would we really let you be married off to a Lannister?” Even the thought of it made Khai and the rest of the table cringe. It would only lead to a slow and agonizing death. And besides, dragon does not wed a mere lion.
“Its mother we’re talking about here. Mother.” She emphasized, like the word held so much evil. Faey swallowed her drink with one big gulp, remembering Lady Shaela’s plotting face.
Aeryl gave her cousin a reassuring glance before finishing off what’s left of her plate. “Well, as interesting as this morning was, Niza and I will be retreating back to our cabins.”
“What? Why?” Khai pouted.
Niza pulled her chair and got to her feet. “We want to finish some potions before we arrive at port.”
“Witchcraft,” remarked Khai.
“Science.” Aeryl corrected. “Well, we’re off.”
------------------------
The room fell silent as the two women made their exit. On a normal morning the two of them who were left would still be bickering until an outside force could stop them. They were the lively ones of the bunch. In fact, people would often mistake them as siblings and not as cousins, their personalities so similar you would think they were twins. Loud and rambunctious they were. But it was not a normal morning.
“I won’t allow it, you know.” Khai told her, barely a whisper. The light in the room seemed to have disappeared and all that’s left was a looming shadow. There really was a storm brewing.
“I know.” She responded. And then silence.
He remembered the morning he told her he was in love with Niza. They were only ten. Too young to even acknowledge emotions such as love for man and woman, and yet bizarrely, they knew it better than anyone could comprehend. He remembered the look on Faey’s face that he couldn’t quite understand.
“I knew, and yet there was nothing I could have done to prepare myself for this.” She would tell him after, her voice quivering with what felt like sadness. Unbeknownst to him, he had broken her young heart. He never understood until a few years later. The morning he told her he was in love, Faey had risen from her seat and without hesitation convinced her mother to break the engagement between the both of them. A few hours later it was announced that the eldest Targaryen son was no longer betrothed to the elder cousin, but the other one. He confided in her like he always did. That morning, and all mornings to come, he would be eternally grateful to her. And he knew of her feelings years only later when he came to manhood, her assuring him that they were fleeting emotions that had already gone. The statement more to convince herself than him. That was why, he would find her a perfect match. The Lannister scum would never deserve her. Not in a million winters.
Khaigar and Faey drank what was left of the coffee on the table. On a normal morning, they would have been noisy, conversing about anything and everything. It was only then that he realized, it had been a while since he had a normal morning….
Likes: Power, war, village raiding, conquering khalasars, horses, Khal Seht and Aura, songs about Aura
Dislikes: Long hair, weak men, women (except for Aura)
Quotes:
“Yer zheanae sekke.” (You are very beautiful) -To Aura, his Khaleesi upon their first meeting
“The Dothraki follow only the strong. See these numbers and the vastness of my khalasar? Now tell me who is the strong one.” -Samjo to a Khal before killing him
“He is a powerful man, but I cannot say the same when he is in the presence of his wife…”-Seht, about Samjo
Likes: Food (of any kind, especially roasted fowl, the only thing he can hunt), wandering around grasslands, peace, small-numbered khalasars, justice, golden hair
Dislikes: Fighting, war, battles, rough work, killing, blood, mistreatment of people, deadly weapons and sharp objects, Mesia’s scoldings
Quotes:
”I ask your oath, that will live and die as blood of my blood, riding at my side to keep me safe from harm.” -Khal Seht to Mesia, asking her to be his first and only bloodrider
“Dothraki love wars and women and horses. They love blood and battle. When I am alone, I sometimes think I was not intended to be Khal, and yet here I am.” -Seht to himself, during one of his wanderings
“You are a haf khal (silent khal), but a great Khal. On that you have my word.” -Khal Samjo to Seht on one of their talks
You could tell a person’s House just by looking at them. In a crowded room you could tell if a person is a Stark by their long faces, grim expressions, dark hair and eyes. Look at an auburn-haired man who is more beautiful than your wife then you will know in an instant that he is a Tyrell. If a person’s hair is kissed by fire but possesses eyes as deep as the blue of the ocean, then you will know that he or she is a Tully. Scan the crowd for a dark-haired youth with a crowned stag sigil on him then you will be directly looking at a royal, a Baratheon.
But look into the cold, emerald eyes of a man or woman with hair as golden as the sun and the signature crimson on their person as rich as the blood in your veins…it be best to just avoid them, keep to the shadows, and avoid being the subject of their ire. Because if you look deep into their green eyes you will be looking into the eyes of the most devious clan in the Seven Kingdoms. The Lannisters. And they always pay their debts.
-------------
Ser Annuell Lannister emerged from the shadows and exposed his pearl white teeth in a fake smile. He opened his arms as if to welcome the trio in front of him.
Annuell walked with a dignified charm. His golden hair neatly tied in a ponytail, with long bangs parted in the middle. The Lannisters were always famed to have blonde hair and green eyes, but Annuell possessed excellent Lannister genes. His hair was a rich gold that rivaled the King’s own crown. And some say his eyes were better than any shade of emerald seen in the South. The people at court would say he possessed the same traits as his cousin, Lady Lou, the eldest daughter of Lord Lucas, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West. He had a strong jawline, a tall frame that complemented his features, and a certain smile that made the other knights of the capital call him Ser Annuell the Vain.
He was wearing a crimson doublet with lions embroidered in gold in each sleeve. His sword hung from his belt, glittering gold under the sunlight. Despite the heat, he wore a black supple coat, draping from his back and swayed at each movement with a certain grace they did not know a coat could possess.
The young Lannister became as famous as his uncles the day he was knighted by the King himself. At the age of 18, he became one of the most famous knights in the capital. Two years has since passed and his fame still shone as bright as his hair, his smile so vain it could cut.
Some would say he deserved his knighthood when he saved King Lyon from a savage beast on one of his hunts. He slew the beast with his own sword, its head hanging on the wall of his chambers. Others would say he earned his knighthood with gold. The people liked to believe the latter.
“I’ve always wanted to meet a Stark in person.” He told them.
The Starks have been in the castle for two days, but Annuell was not present upon their arrival and showed little interest in them until today, when he saw them walking in the courtyard looking so lost like a trio of polar bears stranded in a tropical forest.
He saw Shiro Snow eye him carefully, the man’s hand firmly gripping the sword hanging from his belt.
“Well there’s three of us.” Shiro muttered.
Annuell raised an eyebrow. “Three? There’s only one Stark in front of me right now and we all know it’s not you, bastard.”
He thought it amusing as well, when he saw their little sister, Khail, clench her fist and eye him with a stare so cold he could see the Wall.
“My brother’s name is Snow but he has Stark blood in him!”
Lowell raised an arm to silence her.
“I am Lowell of House Stark, heir to Winterfell and the North, and these two are my half-siblings, making them Starks as well. I’m sure your maester taught you that in your youth. But I’m not so sure if he ever had the time to teach you manners. Mind the words that flow from your mouth, Lannister. And we will mind ours.”
Heavy silence engulfed the castle yard. A light breeze blew against Lowell’s sweating brow, and no one had uttered one single word in several minutes until Annuell roared in boisterous laughter.
He slapped his knee continually as he held his stomach, almost out of breath as he wiped a tear from his eyes. He had been laughing for so long that the sound of it scared Shiro away.
“Ahhhh…you Starks are always so glum! Cheer up!” He smiled from ear to ear as he made his way to Lowell and Shiro to engulf them in a ‘manly’ embrace.
Annuell felt Shiro trying to brush him off but the blonde’s grip on him tightened. Lowell maintained a poker face, but Annuell could feel him tense up in his touch. He pulled them closer, eyed their sister who looked at them in confusion, and then whispered.
“You have no power in the South. Remember that.”
Annuell let go of the two men and patted their backs. The smile was still on his face as he paced backwards and bowed.
“Well, I must be off my lady.” He said to Khail. “I expect you two to be in the banquet tomorrow Stark, Snow. Your lively presence will be most anticipated.” He laughed to himself, as if proud of his sarcastic remark.
With that he walked off, his footsteps leaving silent remnants of the friendly reminder he whispered in their ears.
But he was sure they knew there were no friendly reminders in the South, only deadly threats.
-------------
His footsteps continued to echo along the halls as he made his way inside the castle. He passed the throne room, a maester’s chambers full of potions and chattering servants until he arrived at his desired destination.
Two guards were standing by the door, bowing as he came closer.
“My lord.” One of them said. The other opened the huge door.
The soles of his boots met lush purple carpet as he entered the chamber. Servant girls were busy setting the table with fruits and cakes. He smiled at one servant as he took a lemon cake from her tray and popped it inside his mouth. The servant looked on, oblivious of the redness that formed on her face.
“Well, did you have fun?”
“I only did as I was told.” Annuell responded.
He took his eyes away from the lemon cakes and looked at his cousin, sitting in front of a mirror by the window. Her back was to him, and her golden locks flowed lusciously to her back, so golden that it rivaled the piece of jewelry dangling from her neck. A servant was busy brushing her hair, securing a portion into a bun, while letting the rest flow freely.
“Leave us.” Her deep feminine voice rang. The servants hastily grabbed the empty trays, made final arrangements on the table, and left before Annuell could even blink.
He looked at his cousin, looking amused as she examined herself in the mirror. He didn’t know which of them was more vain.
“Father had this made for me.” She smiled at the mirror before looking right at Annuell. She held her skirts as she twirled around, and showed him the luscious red gown with maroon and golden embroidery, fastened with a delicately detailed gold belt.
“You will certainly be the center of attention tomorrow, cousin.” He told her softly. She took a necklace with a ruby pendant from one of her boxes and wore it as a finishing touch to her brilliant ensemble.
She knit her eyebrows together. “The only attention I want is the Prince’s.”
“He would be a fool to not notice you.”
“Oh cousin, I don’t need expensive clothing and jewelry for him to notice me.” She twirled her hair, her smile radiating a level of pride only someone from their family could possess. She was Lord Lucas’ golden daughter after all.
Looking at his cousin was like looking at a mirror. They looked so much alike that people would mistake them for twins in their youth. Lou possessed a tall, slender, and graceful figure with supple breasts and womanly curves. Although a lady in a manner and appearance, she has the attitude and personality of her Lord father; calculating, cunning, politically-astute and brilliant. The both of them had extravagance written all over them. A Lannister wears what is fitting to him, Lord Lucas, his uncle would always say. A Lannister this, a Lannister that.
He pulled a chair for Lou before he sat opposite her. His cousin seemed uninterested at the various pastries before her, but he was already half finished with the lemon cakes on the table.
“What did Father tell you to do, exactly?” she asked.
“He told me to see if the Starks were comfortable.” He responded innocently.
“Well you looked like you were having fun making them ‘comfortable.’”
“Spying again, cousin?” he asked her amused.
She knit her eyebrows together. “What am I supposed to do when Father has me locked here and guarded all day? We’ve been here a week and yet I haven’t seen the prince. He knows I hate being controlled.”
“Everybody knows that.” He told her. “Im sure my uncle has something in mind.”
He popped a chocolate tart into his mouth before continuing. “And yet it seems odd to me how easily you agreed to this arrangement, despite ‘hating’ control.”
“’You are to be the next queen of Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms’ were Father’s exact words the day he came back to Casterly Rock from here. I did not agree to it, cousin. I was meant to be queen.”
“Aunt Catherine is the next queen, not you.” Annuell said matter-of-factly.
“That wench is marrying that old drunk for political reasons. The King is a frail, elderly man. His son the prince is only a youth of 19, born the same year as I. They tell me he will become a better king than his father.”
Annuell studied his cousin carefully, clearly she did not care if someone would hear her insulting her own aunt. But he did not have much respect for her as well, being born young enough to be their elder sister. She was an unexpected child, Lord Lucas had said. And yet now that unexpected child grew up to become the pawn in one of Lord Lucas Lannister’s most ambitious plot yet.
“She’s no queen. In time my marriage to Prince Khenrich will give me that title, and father will send her back to Casterly Rock when she is no longer needed here.” Lou said.
“Alright, your royal highness.” Annuell teased. “But why is Uncle hiding you from court? We haven’t seen Khenrich since we were babes and I doubt he would remember you.” He stuck his tongue out at her, behaving like a child.
Lou aimed a tart at his face but missed.
“Do I look like a magician to you, cousin? Do I look like a woman who possesses incredible magical skills that could infiltrate the mind of my devious, Lord father?” She sighed exasperatedly at him. He always enjoyed teasing her.
“Well, we’ll find out soon enough in tomorrow’s banquet.” Annuell said. “The Tyrells will arrive soon, the Starks are already haunting the castle with their dark and gloomy presence, and Jahnna Sand from Dorne arrived unnoticed, already terrorizing the castle and mocking the Southerners for being…well…Southerners. The whole party will soon be complete. I don’t care for politics, my dear Lou. I care for the mess that comes with it…”
He smiled at her with a smile so sly she almost didn’t recognize him.
“Besides…” he muttered. “Arent you excited?”
“About what?” Lou asked.
“Haven’t you heard? The ‘dragons’ might make an appearance. Now that’s a mess I’d die to see.”
