25 (yikes)
Avid fan of Harry Potter, HOTD and GOT.
I have too many obsessions. Currently spiraling in a 135k+ word ao3 fic.
Send help and chicken wings. <3
Warnings: Swearing, other than that I do not know lol
Word Count: 2.9k
Chapter 9
The morning had rolled around sooner than expected, bright sunlight casting through the windows and into the bedroom. Alice slowly opened her eyes, her gaze immediately fixing on the blade Aerion left behind the previous night. It hadn’t moved an inch, at fear that it would summon him like a moth to a flame. Alice sat up, clutching the bedsheets to her bare chest as her eyes adjusted to the light, coasting across the room. Everything was left as it was before, only the black pit of the fireplace stared back at her, revealing no warmth, no comfort, only blackened ash, and cool iron of the basket.
A knock sounded at the door, knocking her out of her daze. The maids that tended to her entered once more, heads bowed and hands positioned in front of their pinafores. Their eyes quickly moved to the tattered corset and dress lying on the floor,before returning to fix on their shoes.
‘My lady,’ a servant began, stepping forward, ‘a bath will be prepared for you immediately. You will be travelling to King’s Landing after you are dressed and fed.’ She spoke, motioning for the tub to be carried inside. The servants did not look at her for a single fleeting moment, most likely out of fear of being beheaded by Aerion himself. Alice nodded. The servants, save for two maids left briskly after filling up the tub with plenty of hot water, adding different scented oils. Standing up, Alice made her way over to the tub, covering her breasts with her arms. The maids averted their eyes, save for glancing at the scabbing wound decorating her neck.
Alice sighed as she sunk into the hot water, resting her head against the tub as she soaked, moving when the servants asked to clean her, with the floral smelling soaps invading her senses. After carefully cleaning her wound, they washed her hair, brushing it back and out of her face as they helped her up, drying her off before wrapping her up in a gorgeous silk banyan, squeezing her hair dry with the towel. They sat her down at the vanity, brushing and drying her hair, plaiting it simply in preparation for the long trip ahead.
They dressed her in a simple deep red dress, with a plunging neckline. Alice protested, requesting something more modest as they tightened the corset once more, only to reply with words that sent shivers up her spine:
‘Prince Aerion requested it, my lady.’
That made the protests die quickly on her tongue. She felt like she was no more than a common whore, from the lower tourney grounds, feeling more like a prize being put on show than actually feeling like a person. They clipped a black cape to her, letting it fall around her shoulders as she finally finished having the shoes tied on. Her face was bare, showing the rosiness of her pale cheeks as they made sure not to touch the still healing wound.
The skin felt tight around the healing scab, pulling at every movement. She winced, noticing the scab slightly peel apart to reveal raw, red skin underneath.
‘Can you get the maester please?’ She whispered, the maid nodding quickly before leaving her alone with the other maid, sitting back down at the vanity.
The maester returned only a short moment later, chains rattling around his neck as he walked.
‘You requested to see me, my lady?’ His small yet gruff voice spoke up, dipping his head into a small bow as the door closed behind him. She turned in her seat to face him, fiddling with the sleeves of her dress.
‘The scab has broken, could you wrap it up please.’ She asked quietly, her gentle voice taking him by surprise. No one had ever spoken to him with such care and politeness, it was as if she was equal to him, not superior in rank.
She didn’t understand, why were the roles so diverse, why was she treated like a deity or a woman made from god? Was it because of the Targaryen’s and their royal status?
He approached her with quiet footsteps, moving the neckline of the dress away from the weeping wound, lightly pressing the edges of it.
‘Hmm,’ he began, checking for any heat coming off of it, ‘it does not appear to be infected, but the scab has-’
The door opened without a second’s hesitation. Everyone in the room froze. Alice’s eyes lifted, from the maester to the figure standing in the doorway.
Aerion.
There he stood, adorned in the colours of his house. Black and red. His hair glinted in the light, looking colder than ever before. He looked ethereal. He looked…handsome. Alice quickly willed those thoughts away, a faint blush creeping up her neck. His eyes immediately found hers, before dropping down to the wound, eyes narrowing just slightly.
His expression shifted, not with surprise, but displeasure, as if he was disappointed that the wound looked so ugly and weepy. One that he made.
His jaw tightened as he stepped further into the room, approaching the maester and Alice in only three steps. It felt like Alice was experiencing that traumatising night again, remembering the pressure of his teeth, the blaring hot pain, and the way he spoke as if she was his as written by the gods. He thought of her as holy, ancient, only his.
The maester cleared his throat, bringing the room back to attention. ‘My prince, the skin has strained. The wound has reopened, just slightly.’
Aerion’s gaze dropped to the wound once more, before returning to her eyes.
‘You should have said it hurt.’
Alice frowned. What the fuck? As if he hadn’t taken a fucking chunk out my neck, I should’ve told him?
Her mind ran wild with vicious insults and comebacks she fought not to spit out. Instead, a sharp laugh escaped her before she could stop herself. Everyone seemingly tensed at the sudden action.
‘You’re joking, right?’ She started, looking at him in disbelief. ‘You were the one that bit me.’
Aerion’s eyes narrowed.
‘I claimed you.’
‘You fucking hurt me.’ She spat.
Aerion’s jaw flexed. Whether it was in anger or something else, she didn’t know. But it was something, a crack in his armour. Aerion knew he was too proud to admit guilt, but he couldn’t help but internally recoil from those words.
‘I did.’ He spoke after a moment of silence. Alice suddenly felt light headed from his words. She didn’t know what to think, to say, to do. Fuck. What a mess.
She knew one thing for certain, though. She didn’t expect him to admit something so plainly. His eyes drifted down once more, watching as the wound moved with every breath taken.
‘I will not have it worsened,’ he began, ‘Not by servants. Not by cloth or rough hands. Not by the road.’
Alice glared at him slightly, though it felt less severe than before. ‘That doesn’t undo what you did.’
‘No, it doesn’t.’ He replied, turning to the maester.
‘Make sure it is wrapped up properly. I do not want her bleeding out on the road.’ The old man nodded quickly, obeying his every command. Alice’s cloak had slipped from her shoulders, hanging onto the fold of her arms at the elbows.
‘When you arrive at King’s Landing,’ he started, stepping closer, the poor maester stuck between the two, ‘they will be watching your every move, watching you for every weakness. You are betrothed to me. You and I are dragons in human form. Do not let them see weakness.’
Alice swallowed the lump in her throat.
His voice softened just slightly. ‘Do not give them the satisfaction. If you must hate me, hate me later, in private.’
Alice paused. She didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know whether to agree or disagree. Her chest twisted with an unknown feeling.
Her thoughts drifted to King’s Landing, of strangers around her and the court of royalty. Her stomach turned cold.
As if reading her mind, Aerion spoke up once more, low and quiet enough just for her to hear. ‘I will not let them touch you.’
It wasn’t a threat.
It was a promise.
He turned and left without another word, leaving the room in a deafening silence. The maester resumed his actions, applying a soothing salve and wrapping it in clean cloth, tying cloth diagonally across her chest and under her armpits, tying with a double knot. The maids fixed her dress and cape, redressing her and ushering her out of the room. They led her to the hall, a larger than normal table lining the center.
Everyone was there, seated and waiting. Alice stepped in, her name being announced to the attendants. She paused by the doorway, noticing how everyone stood up to greet her. Her heels clicked quietly against the ground as she walked into the hall, nerves crawling up her throat.
She approached the only empty chair available, next to Aerion. He gallantly pulled out her chair, allowing her to sit down before pushing it in slightly, everyone following suit.
‘Lady Thompson.’ Baelor greeted, giving her a soft smile. His eyes briefly dropped to the wrapped bandage, a look of guilt flashing briefly before disappearing.
‘Yes, your grace.’ She gave him a small, polite smile, leaning back in her chair as plates of food were laid out in front of everyone. Her eyes met Maekar’s, who sat across the table from her. His expression was stern, and cold. Her shoulders straightened, suddenly feeling very conscious of her posture.
‘King Daeron has received my raven with news of your betrothal, and he was rather surprised,’ Baelor started, picking up his fork and stabbing into a cooked sausage, cutting it up and popping it in his mouth.
‘Ah.’ Alice almost whispered in reply, turning and cutting the eggs into small bitesize pieces, popping a piece into her mouth.
‘He has decided to approve it. And he has given you a proper title, considering he hasn’t heard of London.’ He explained, ignoring the sharp glare from his brother.
‘A title?’ Maekar and Alice said at the same time, in disbelief. The room went silent, a fork clattering against a plate as everyone looked to Baelor.
‘Yes, his Grace has considered the matter carefully, and with the good of the realm before him. The lady shall be received under the protection of House Dayne of Starfall, and when the proper arrangements have been made, she is to wed Prince Aerion Targaryen.’ His voice held a calm yet authoritative tone to it.
Everyone went still. Keira and Valarr almost dropped their forks in shock. Daeron leaned back in his chair as Aegon looked at the head of the table with confusion.
Maekar’s jaw tightened. He looked positively furious.
‘Marriage.’ He almost spat, sneering at the three main contributors of this all.
‘To Aerion.’ Baelor reaffirmed. Aerion placed down his fork, arms folding as he looked smug at the announcement. He turned his head, hair glinting in the sunlight.
Maekar’s eyes moved from Baelor to Aerion, then finally to Alice.
For one moment, she felt as if he could see right through her, through her bones, her mind, every secret she held dear to her.
‘And this is to be accepted without question?’ Maekar asked.
Baelor remained calm, giving him a look only an older brother could give to his younger brother. ‘It was never hidden from you that Aerion would wed her.’
‘No,’ Maekar almost spat. ‘But why her?’
Aerion’s mouth curved in satisfaction. ‘Because I want her.’
Maekar’s attention snapped to him at once. ‘You will hold your tongue.’
Aerion stared back with just as much defiance. ‘I am the groom, am I not? I would have thought my opinion was relevant.’
‘Your opinion has rarely improved on any matter it touches.’ Maekar snapped, glaring intensely at his son. Daeron snorted into his cup, taking a large swig of whatever was in there whilst Aegon held back a laugh, chomping down on a piece of thick cut bacon.
Baelor’s voice cut through, a sigh escaping his mouth. ‘Maekar.’
‘No,’ Maekar didn’t let him finish. ‘You speak of royal protection and marriage as though words make a thing clean. But I look at a girl and see questions no one is willing to answer.’
Alice’s fingers clasped onto her skirt, tightening almost immediately.
‘The girl has a name.’ Aerion spat, glaring at his father. Maekar ignored him.
‘She has the look,’ he continued, ‘Silver hair, pale skin. The wrong face appearing at the wrong hour.’ His gaze sharpened.
‘Tell me, brother. Are we going to marry my son to some forgotten dragonseed? Or worse?’
Dragonseed?
Alice looked between the three of them with confusion. ‘Worse? Aerion, what is he talking about?’
No one answered her.
Maekar’s gaze fixed on Baelor once more.
‘Is she Blackfyre?’
The question landed heavily, but it meant nothing to Alice. Nothing except the way they reacted to it. Everyone’s expressions changed in an instant. Any amusement left Valarr’s face, following shortly with a thin-lipped expression she couldn’t quite describe. Even Aegon looked uneasy, glancing towards Aerion as if he expected him to explode.
Alice swallowed. ‘What is that?’ She asked quietly.
Maekar finally turned to look at her again. His anger shifted. Into something? She did not know, but he was directing his attention to her now.
‘You do not know?’
Alice shook her head. ‘No, my prince.’
Aerion finally spoke up. ‘She has nothing to do with them.’
Maekar fixed his attention onto his second son. ‘And you know this because you desire her?’
Aerion’s eyes flashed with something violent.
‘I know it because she does not even know what name you accuse her of carrying.’ He spat.
‘That proves nothing.’ Maekar spat.
‘It proves she has not been raised to it.’ Aerion argued.
‘It proves she has been kept ignorant.’ Maekar snapped back in reply. ‘Which is often more useful.’
Alice could feel her chest tighten with his sharp, cruel words.
Useful.
She felt even less than a human and more like a chest piece on a board, waiting to be moved next.
Baelor cut through with a much harsher voice than Alice had experienced.
‘Enough!’
Maekar didn’t stop.
‘You would place her in Aerion’s bed, give her his name, our name, and pretend there is no danger in it?’ He started. ‘If there is even a whisper of Blackfyre blood in her, then this marriage is not protection. It is a spark thrown into dry grass.’
Alice turned to Aerion once more, keeping her voice small. ‘Aerion, my love, who are the Blackfyre’s?’
Aerion did not answer, his eyes drifting from his father down to his still full plate of food.
Baelor beat him to the punch.
‘The Blackfyres are a branch of House Targaryen,’ He began, ‘A dangerous one. They rose in a rebellion against the crown.’
Alice could feel her mouth go dry, her voice dying immediately upon explanation.
‘I’m not a rebel.’
‘No,’ Baelor said gently. ‘No one here has said you are.’
Maekar looked away, but his mouth tightened.
Aerion’s voice came colder than before.
‘My father has.’
Maekar turned back to him. ‘I am asking what every lord in the realm will ask the moment they see her at your side.’
‘Then let them ask me.’
‘And what will you do?’ Maekar demanded. ‘Bite out their tongues? Burn their banners? Challenge every man who dares wonder why a silver-haired girl with no clear bloodline has been handed to a prince?’
Aerion’s smile was sharp enough to wound. His eyes brightened at the thought.
‘If necessary.’
‘Aerion,’ Baelor warned.
But Aerion was looking only at Maekar.
‘She is to be my wife.’
‘She is to be a target,’ Maekar snapped.
Alice blinked.
For the first time, Maekar’s anger sounded less like cruelty and more like fear.
He looked at her again, and his voice lowered. ‘Do you understand what they will do to you if they believe you carry that blood? They will not ask whether you chose it. They will not care whether you know the name. Men have died for less than a rumour.’
Alice’s throat tightened.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘I do not understand.’
Maekar’s expression flickered.
Something almost like regret crossed his face.
‘That is precisely the problem.’
Aerion moved nearer to Alice, his posture possessive, defensive.
‘She will be protected.’
Maekar looked at him with hard disbelief.
‘By you?’
Aerion’s jaw clenched. ‘Yes. By me.’
‘You mistake wanting something for being able to keep it safe.’
Aerion’s eyes darkened. ‘Careful.’
‘No,’ Maekar said. ‘You be careful. For once in your life, be careful with something that breathes.’ The words struck harder than a shout.
Alice saw Aerion’s face change. His pride recoiled first, wounded and furious. Then something else passed beneath it, something raw and quickly buried.
Baelor stepped between them with his voice alone.
‘The king’s decision stands. The betrothal will not be broken on suspicion.’
Maekar looked at him. ‘Then have the suspicion answered.’
‘It will be.’
‘When?’
‘When it can be done without turning the girl into gossip.’
Maekar’s nostrils flared, but he said nothing. Alice stared at the floor, trying to steady her breathing.
Blackfyre.
The word sat inside her like a stone.Aerion’s voice came beside her, lower now.
‘She is not theirs.’
Maekar’s reply was quieter too, but no less severe. ‘For her sake, I hope you are right.’
Warnings: Dub-con, Oral (F receiving), Knife play, drunk/intoxication, threats of violence, nudity, etc.
Chapter 8
Aerion turned her to face him, coaxing her back onto the bed as her head spun, dizzy with the sweet dornish wine and want that continued to build in her belly. He helped onto the large bed, gripping her hips tightly as he crawled atop of her, her legs spreading instinctively for him. Her nipples began to harden, perking through the thin chemise as her hair loosened from the pins, unravelling with every movement.
He leant down, lips just shy of brushing hers as the dark thoughts from earlier came rushing back full force. Her mouth parted to speak, only to be cut off by the force of which his lips laid upon hers. Their mouths moved in tandem as Alice gripped the bedsheets in her hands, fighting the need to wrap her arms around his neck and pull him closer. His hands trailed up over her hips, tracing the shape of her waist and over the bust, the smooth fabric doing nothing to stop them. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, claiming and devouring at every opportunity. Her tongue brushed against his apprehensively, as if testing the waters. His tongue found hers, the two muscles moving obscenely against each other as he began to quickly unbutton his doublet, shrugging it off, along with his undershirt. His trousers stayed on, belt attached. He pulled away, eyes blown wide as he looked down to the front of her corset.
Frustration bubbled up in his chest, hand drifting to his belt. Alice watched him, breathing softly in and out of her mouth as his hand wrapped around the hilt of his dagger. Her breathing stuttered when he slowly pulled it out of its scabbard, the metal glinting in the light emanating from the candles and fireplace. Her eyes widened, darting up to him in growing fear.
‘W-What are you doing..?’ She whispered fearfully, feeling frighteningly sober in an instant. He trailed it up her leg, eyes glinting with something unknown as the cold blade left a trail of goosebumps in its wake. Alice didn’t know whether to try and fight, or scream. He had the power, the blade, the dagger. He could kill her with a single slice to her already bludgeoned neck.
The tip dragged slowly up the front of her corset, resting on the top of the neckline as he stared down at her, not uttering a single word.
She had to think. Quick.
Before she could speak, he drew the dagger down, and the cord parted like a ribbon beneath the blade, offering no resistance at all. She gasped, the corset falling to pieces as the release of the overbearing corset finally left. Her breasts fell soft, moving after being stuck in one position for so long, a slight ache settling along the sides and top. He placed the dagger next to her head, using his other hand to practically rip the destroyed corset out from underneath her, chucking it onto the floor with little regard. Once more he picked the knife up, slicing through the tassels of her chemise, ripping the fabric down to her belly button. She didn’t dare move a muscle, at the fear of being cut.
He looked down, noticing the slightest bead of blood forming on her stomach, a tiny cut caused by the tip of his blade. He leant down, lips sealing around the small cut as he sucked, as if he was a babe nursing from his mothers teat.
She jolted at the sensation, feeling the smallest sting from where he was suckling from. He pulled away, trailing kisses up and pulling the fabric down her shoulders, bunching the ruined dress around her waist. His lips latched onto her left breast, sucking lewdly as his fingers pinched and rolled her right nipple, drawing glorious gasps and moans of pleasure from Alice. Her eyes fluttered shut as pleasure overwhelmed her once more, her clit throbbing in untouched anticipation.
He pulled the fabric down over her hips and trailed down her legs, taking his time. Her legs spread slightly, cunt bare for him to take in. He pulled away, dumping her chemise on the floor alongside the corset. His eyes drifted down to the little mound, eyeing the small stubble of hair. His eyes narrowed, noticing the darker than silver hair slowly growing. It was faint, but noticeable.
His eyes snapped to hers once more, the heavy tension of anger simmering just below the surface.
‘Your hair,’ he began, leaning forward and grabbing the blade once more, the tip hovering just over her lower belly, ‘it seems to be not of the same colour as the hair on your head.’
Her stomach recoiled, her brows furrowing in a mixture of confusion and fear as the realisation set in. Back in England, not here, she bleached her hair to get the white-silver tone, neglecting the fact he would question her as soon as he saw the body hair grow in a darker shade.
‘M-My love..’ She whispered, the sweet name tasting sour on her tongue. His eyes narrowed in on her, jaw clenching as he held the dagger firmly between them.
She knew she needed to lie, to save her own life.
‘My love,’ she cleared her throat once more, ‘it is the ash beneath the flame.’
Aerion stilled.
She could feel the dagger’s point hovering against the fragile space between them, close enough that even breathing felt dangerous.
‘You look at my hair and see silver,’ she whispered, forcing her voice not to break, ‘but dragons are not made of silver alone. Their bones are pale, their scales may shine like moonlight, but their bellies are smoke. Their mouths are black with fire. Their blood is heat. Their bodies remember the burning.’
His eyes narrowed, but he did not move the blade.
So she kept going.
‘This,’ she said, barely daring to glance down, ‘is not proof that I am false. It is proof that I am not merely a woman with pretty hair. The silver is what the world is permitted to see. The darker parts are what the fire left behind.’
For a moment, it was so silent she thought he had stopped breathing. Another beat passed, then another. A breath taken. Eyes blinking. He finally moved, face nearing hers as the dagger finally moved away, settling back in its place beside her head. Aerion exhaled, slow and controlled.
‘There she is,’ he murmured. ‘Not some frightened foreign girl. Not some trembling little bride.’
His eyes glittered.
‘A dragon.’
He looked almost pleased with her now, as though her answer had confirmed something he already wanted to believe.
‘I knew there was a reason I wanted you,’ he said. ‘Not merely for your face. Not merely for your silver hair. There was something older beneath it. Something that called to my blood.’
He smiled, beautiful and dangerous.
‘You are mine by betrothal, yes. But if what you say is true, then you are mine by fire as well.’
He leaned closer. ‘And fire, my love, does not run from a dragon.’
Without another word, he moved down the bed, laying against it as he pushed her thighs apart, revealing the prized possession he wanted to claim. She was wet, glistening folds and a swollen clit greeted him as if he had always belonged there, waiting.
His eyes briefly met hers before he leant forward, his hot breath coasting over her clit, causing her to flinch in anticipation. Without another word, his lips latched on, sucking as his tongue circled it aggressively.
She could not hold back the moans that escaped her mouth, eyes squeezing shut and head throwing back against the pillows. Her hands drifted down to grip his hair, slightly pulling as he shifted so that her thighs hung over his shoulders, heels digging into the middle of his back. Her hips began to move against the rhythm, grinding her clit against his face as he feasted.
Aerion couldn’t get enough, it was as if there was a scent only he could smell, an aphrodisiac, a call. For him. His pride swelled as well as his cock in his breeches, grinding his hips against the bed pathetically as he buried himself at the apex between her thighs. He couldn’t get enough, he wanted, no needed, more. If anyone was to know what was happening right now, he’d probably send his father and uncle to an early grave.
His eyes fluttered shut as she tugged on his hair once more, legs trembling as she neared her climaxed, lower belly tightening with that familiar feeling.
Her moans heightened in pitch, and volume as she came, her orgasm washing over her violently. She swore she could see stars, mind going fuzzy from the immense release of pleasure. Through half-closed eyes, she could see Aerion raise his face, chin and lower half of his face glistening with the remnants of her release.
She blushed heavily at the sight, taking shallow breaths as Aerion licked his own lips, raising his hand and wiping his chin. He grinned at her flushed state, pushing himself up and getting off the bed. She propped herself up on her arms, watching as he retrieved his shirt from the floor.
‘W-Where are you going?’ She asked quietly, suddenly feeling very exposed and vulnerable.
He slid the shirt on, along with his doublet as he turned to look back at her.
‘Going to bed, my love.’ He spoke quietly, walking up to her at the edge of the bed.
‘Oh.’
He leant down and placed a searing kiss against her lips, forcing his tongue into her mouth so that she could taste the results of what just happened. Without another word spoken, Aerion turned on his heel and left, the door closing quietly behind him. Alice could only stare at the door in shock, or something else as her breathing finally returned to normal. Her eyes slowly peeled away, looking at the dagger left by him on her bed. She knew it was a sign, or a threat. Lie to him, and he would do worse than anyone could think.
Alone now, she pressed a shaking hand to her stomach, trying to steady herself, but the room seemed to tilt around her. He had left without another word, and somehow that frightened her more than if he had stayed. Aerion was not finished with her. She could feel it.
After about a month of having a broken computer and £400 later, i finally have a working computer again! I have been non-stop with work and university so I apologize for the mini hiatus! I will be posting a fic hopefully this week!
Warnings: Swearing, suggestive, threats of violence
Word Count: 2.9k
Authors note: Hi all, sorry for the brief intermission! My computer decided it needed to have new drivers installed and tbh i wanted to throw myself and the computer out of the fucking window :) £1200 computer and yet i can't fucking build one without an issue for the drivers .. kms
Chapter 7
The morning seemed to be filled with nothing but tension. Alice stood as still as a statue, her heart pounding with unease as maids dressed her in the Targaryen colours, black and red. The dress was fully black, with red stitching creeping up the fabric, a dragon and flames standing out against the dark. Some would claim it’s for good luck, others for superiority. Alice stayed silent, her mind racing, as they braided her hair the true Valyrian way, twisting it into plaits pinned to her head, resembling something from their past. She didn’t understand why they performed like this, only that she was now tangled in the clutches of their most brutish dragon, Aerion.
She had woken up with a start, feeling as if she were being watched that night, though nothing seemed amiss when she inspected the room at dawn. The faint scent of incense lingered in the air, and the soft murmur of distant voices echoed through the stone walls. No one was telling her what was going on, whether a resolution would come to please Aerion and his pragmatic thinking. They led her like a pig to slaughter, straight into the belly of the beast as she entered the main hall, where the flickering torchlight cast shadows on Maekar, Baelor, and Lord Ashford huddled by the round window, talking indistinctly. Baelor’s mismatched eyes landed on Alice first, then pulled away from the two as he walked over, a graceful smile worming its way onto his face, the salt-and-pepper-coloured beard trimmed neatly.
‘Lady Thompson, I trust you slept well,’ Baelor said, watching as the girl dipped into a shallow curtsy, eyes practically burning holes into the ground. Alice forced a polite smile, her mind swirling with doubt and fear as she wondered what this meeting truly meant for her future.
‘Y-Yes, your grace.’ She lied, grasping the skirt of her dress tightly in her hands, trying to hide the nervousness that befell her. Maekar sneered over his shoulder at her, shoulders tensed and frozen in place as he watched the interaction take place.
‘Well, we do have news, regarding last night,’ Baelor said, his tone measured but hinting at importance. He looked briefly to Lord Ashford and his brother, unspoken words hanging on the edge of being blurted out, truths and half-truths most likely.
‘Aerion has decided to withdraw his accusation,’ Maekar strode forwards, beating Baelor to the punch. His gaze was hard as he stared Alice down, gaze running down the front of her figure, lips pulling back slightly as his eyes fixated on the callous bite mark left by his psycho of a son.
‘He has!?’ She sputtered, wide-eyed, as the words settled the churning in her stomach, a smile breaking across her pale features. Baelor nodded, a relieved smile carving his lips as the air felt like a breath was finally taken. Alice couldn’t believe it, Ser Duncan would live.
‘He has done so on the condition that the agreement of your marriage continues. We will be returning to King’s Landing on the morrow. Ravens have already been sent back to the king regarding his and yours betrothal.’ Oh, right, the marriage. Her smile softened as she nodded quietly, the thrumming of her heart doing little to slow or quieten, thoughts racing through her mind about how she could annul the betrothal and subsequent marriage.
Maekar left briskly with Lord Ashford, muttering that he needed to write to his father and other houses, clearly and reluctantly, to announce the betrothal.
‘I don’t believe I am liked.’ She confided in Baelor, feeling the familiar sting of tears welling in her eyes. His smile dropped as he gently placed both hands on her shoulders, thumb rubbing small, reassuring circles into the laced edge of the dress.
‘Maekar does not like many people,’ Baelor said gently. His thumbs continued their slow circles against her shoulders, grounding, steady. ‘Do not measure your worth by the look he gives you.’
‘But hear this, Alice. What you did yesterday, standing before us to defend a hedge knight, few born to high houses would have dared it, let alone a girl from a place the realm does not recognise or know. Ser Duncan lives because of you.’ His gaze held hers steadily. ‘That is no small thing.’
Her heart skipped a beat, a tight twisting clawing at her chest as the words settled in. He was proud. He, of all people, was proud of her bravery.
‘It is a shame, Valarr, and you would have made a good match.’ He spoke softly, her eyes widening in surprise.
‘Your son?’ She whispered, watching him nod once, hands falling from her shoulders.
‘I do hope, for the sake of the realm and yourself, that you manage to bring back that happy child that Aerion once was.’ He finished, his head dipping down slightly before leaving the hall. Alice was once again left alone, the poor girl staring at the empty and doused fire pit.
What am I doing? Not even a week ago, I found myself in a time I did not belong in. And now, I am engaged to a Prince, a sadistic one of that. She thought, unaware of the approaching figure behind her, standing in the doorway.
‘My beloved.’ His voice came out smooth like honey, yet underlying with something more sinister. She blinked, turning to look at him with the same fear from two nights ago when he bit her. She stepped back as he stepped forward, hitting the table behind her as he encroached on her space, the two chest to chest. Her breathing became fast, shallow and wavered, as she braced herself for the next round of cruelty he would deliver to her. His hand lifted, and she flinched, eyes fluttering shut as it raised to her face, being deceptively gentle as he brushed away a few strands of hair from her face.
‘You look positively radiant.’ He whispered, head leaning forward to whisper in her ear. She shivered uncontrollably, goosebumps rising on her arms and back at the closeness. He tilted his head, studying her like something curious.
‘Such a fragile little thing,’ he said softly. ‘Always bracing yourself as if I mean to hurt you.’
His hand slid slowly down her arm.
‘If I wished to hurt you, my beloved… You would already know.’ His gaze dropped briefly to her lips before returning to her eyes.
‘Tell me something,’ he murmured. ‘Do you look at other men like this, too? Or is that terrified devotion reserved just for me?’
Her mouth opened to respond before snapping shut, unable to think of the right words to respond with. Aerion’s smile widened slightly when she failed to answer.
‘Ah,’ he said softly. ‘So it is just for me.’ He leaned a fraction closer.
‘How devoted of you.’
‘Yes..’ Her voice whispered out meekly, her eyes meeting his cold, calculating ones. If she were to survive this betrothal and marriage, she would need to play the part, be the doting wife, be the one to greet him with a warm bed and a full goblet every night.
‘Good.’ His words brushed against her lips as he leaned in, willing himself to hold back as his thoughts turned dark, thinking of the different ways he wanted to defile her, claim her before the gods, even before the marriage. He already had a taste last night, so why not taste a bit more? After all, she was his and his alone.
Footsteps approached from down the corridor, forcing Aerion to step back as a guard entered the room, stance tense and rigid.
‘Prince Aerion, Lady Thompson, the party is waiting for you.’ He announced, avoiding the hard stare from Aerion. Aerion held his arm for her to take.
‘Shall we, my lady?’
—
The day passed in a blur, with Alice practically maintaining some form of contact with Aerion at all times. Lord Ashford, being the fat lump that he was, had his lump of a squire announce the engagement to the townsfolk and attending knights, much to everyone’s confusion. Valarr participated once again with the jousting, winning against multiple different houses until his lances broke and his horse tired.
Aerion not once let go of Alice, like a dragon staking its claim; his heat bore over hers, unwavering and unignorable. The evening came to a close, the royal caravan returning to Ashford Castle, and a large banquet was being prepared in celebration for Aerion and Alice.
Alice was ushered away to her room, changed out of the heavy fabric and into a deep wine-red dress, gold lacing the edges of her skirt and sleeves. A knock sounded at the door, opening swiftly. She froze, thinking of Aerion's face appearing around the corner. A face she had so missed appeared, sporting the familiar bald head and wide blue eyes.
‘Egg!’ She cried, spinning in her chair and diving for the boy, pulling him hastily into a tight hug, the faint smell of rosemary and other herbs covering the usual smell of dirt and manure. He hugged back just as tight, ignoring the small swarm of maids exiting the room to give them just a moment's respite.
She pulled away, crouching down in front of him and holding his shoulders. ‘What were you thinking? Why didn’t you tell us?’ She asked quietly, sadness overbearing any anger or resentment held towards him.
His eyes brimmed with tears, his lips trembling as he sputtered out apology after apology, hiccups interrupting frequently. She hushed him gently, stroking his head as she dried her own tears. She needed to be strong, for her and for Egg. She knew that Duncan could handle himself, but how well? That she didn’t know.
The maids returned soon after, waiting patiently with their hands clasped, saying nothing with their lips, but immensely with their eyes. Alice looked once at the maids, releasing Egg from the hug and standing up. She smoothed the creases in her skirt, taking the young boy by the hand and leading him to the door, letting the oldest maid lead her to the banquet hall.
Different lords and ladies lined the large tables, speaking loudly to each other as the royal family sat at a large table, situated at the top end of the hall, elevated above the rest. Baelor and Maekar both sat in their respective places at the head of the table, talking quietly amongst each other. Aerion, Valarr and another white haired man sat at the table as well, along with Lord Ashford and his daughter. Aegon dropped her hand immediately.
A servant stepped forward, clearing his throat loudly to quieten the hall.
‘My lords and ladies, Prince Aegon, and Lady Alice.’ Everyone stood up, facing the two as they stepped forward, her skirts whispering across the floor as they walked. Aegon walked beside, keeping his chin high as they approached the large table, glancing briefly at the bowing heads and small curtseys from the ladies.
Aerion stepped forward, dressed in a similar coloured outfit to Alice’s, a cocky grin curling onto his lips. Aegon quietly went to his seat next to the other white haired man, who was currently swaying in his step. Alice’s eyes snapped to Aerion, the hall completely quiet as they watched on with curious looks.
‘Lady Alice.’ He tilted his head down just slightly, an informal bow of sorts. Alice awkwardly curtseyed, cheeks heating at the performance. He reached out, taking her hand and leading her to the table, shoulders back and head held high. He was proud, felt achieved, claiming a dragon in human form. Everyone sat back down, small chittering amongst women as they gossiped. Alice sat down in an ornate oak chair next to Aerion, fiddling with the gold bracelet fixed around her wrist.
‘Lady Alice. It’s a pleasure that you could join us this evening.’ Baelor smiled, sitting back down in his seat. Alice smiled softly, a goblet filled with red wine being placed in front of her by a maid.
‘Thank you.’ She replied softly, eyes briefly meeting Valarr’s. She took a deep breath, looking away nervously as Aerion kept his gaze firmly on her, as if he was trying to burn an image into his mind.
Baelor broke the tension once more. ‘Might I introduce my eldest son, Valarr Targaryen.’ He motioned to the young prince. He looked very similar to his father, with one purple eye and one brown, and warm hair with a silver streak running down the side. He gave a polite smile, sitting up in his seat.
‘It is a pleasure, Lady Alice.’ Valarr spoke, his voice smooth yet oozing power. He knew his rank, his responsibilities and his future.
Aerion spoke up, cutting through the ease. ‘He is my cousin.’ He took a swig of his drink, swishing it in his mouth before swallowing. Alice could feel the hairs on her arms stand up. She had overstepped. Eleven if she didn’t say anything. She knew she overstepped. Valarr’s gaze hardened on Aerion, as if he knew what he was like when he didn’t get his way.
‘This is my eldest son, Daeron Targaryen.’ Maekar broke the silence, motioning to the rather haggard looking blonde sitting next to him. Alice gave a tight smile, noticing the way his goblet stayed full after each drink.
Alcoholic. She thought, though it was not malicious. She knew people, back home, not here, where they depended on it, using it as a life line. Her eyes softened as she picked up her own goblet, taking a tentative sip. The sweet hit of the wine enveloped her tastebuds, smooth yet rich at the same time, with no bitter aftertaste.
‘Dornish wine, my love. The very best.’ Aerion spoke low, leaning close to her ear. His breath sent shivers up her spine, her eyes fluttering at the sensation. She shouldn’t be affected by this, yet she felt a heat pool in her belly, low and unassuming.
The evening continued on, with wine pouring more freely and lips loosening, it wasn’t long before lords and ladies alike began to skulk off to bed, either completely wasted or still sober enough to walk at the very least. The feast was grand, with roasted pig and rabbit, it was voluptuous, to say the least. Alice, allowing her mind to relax further than intended, drank a fair amount of the dornish red, the sweet and sour variants loosening her mind and tongue.
‘I think you have drunk enough, my beloved.’ Aerion whispered, helping her up from her seat. She stumbled, allowing herself to be caught by Aerion. The young prince coaxed her away from the table, hand planted firmly on her waist, and the other holding her hand.
‘I apologise, your grace.’ Alice began to speak, her eyes feeling heavy and dry at the same time. Aegon had gone to bed by now, leaving the older princes to their own devices. Baelor gave a weary smile, nodding once as Aerion led her away, his gaze moving swiftly between their route and herself. Aerion would be lying if he wasn’t borderline drunk himself.
Maids and servants darted out of the way as Alice stumbled down the hall, being held upright by Aerion's grip. It wasn’t harsh, but surprisingly gentle, as if he didn’t want to damage the woman he had claimed as his own.With a small shove, her bedchamber door swung open, a wall of heat from the lit fireplace washing over her. She relinquished herself from his grip, shuffling over to the bed. He closed the door behind him, watching her from intently as she undid her small heels, the shoes clattering on the floor at the end of the bed. Her hair had begun to fall out of the braids, making her look ethereal than proper.
Like a goddess.
Her fingers began to fumble with the lace at the back of her dress, knotting the bows more than undoing them. She huffed in annoyance, leaning against the post of her bed.
‘Aerion.’ She whispered his name, looking up at him with glassy eyes. He froze, a jolt of need shooting through him as she looked at him. Those eyes. Those damn eyes.
He stepped forward, shrugging off his jacket and cloak, the metal brooch representing his house clanking against the wood of the empty chair. He strode over, looking down at her with an intrigued expression.
‘I.. need your help, please.’ She whispered, half slurred, as she tugged at the ties. He smirked, quietly moving to her back and undoing them, albeit a lot easier than she had attempted even though he was almost as gone as she was.
He placed a kiss on her neck, making sure to avoid the healing bite wound as he loosened the back of the dress, slipping his fingers over her shoulders and under the dress, pushing it down her arms, and body. Her head lolled to the side, a hiss of pain leaving her lips as the mark throbbed in pain. He pushed it down, revealing the cream overbust corset and thin chemise she had on underneath. His lips trailed to the back of her neck, placing a kiss at the very top of her spine, his violet eyes fixing on the dragon tattoo sitting behind her ear.
‘You’re mine.’ He whispered against her skin, moving her hair out of the way to place more kisses along her shoulders. His hands found her waist, gripping tightly as unspoken heat began to rise between the two. She turned abruptly to face him, her face seemingly sobered up immediately.
‘You bit me.’ She hissed, still drunk but angry now. Aerion’s eyes narrowed, a grin making yet another appearance.
Warnings: Dub-con, Non-con, Aerion being a pervert, swearing
Word Count: 3.3k
Chapter 6
Alice cried out as she was shoved back into her room, the door slamming and locking behind her. She ran up to it, clenched fists banging on the door as she shouted out in anger, ignoring the blazing pain raging through her body.
‘Let me out!’ She yelled, only to be met with unmovable silence. She rested her head against the cool wood of the door, choked sobs escaping her throat.
I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for any of this.
She pulled away from the door, slowly stumbling over to the chair in front of the vanity, the leather fresh and taut beneath bronze nails set into the varnished oak frame. She tugged gently at the bandages, noticing the mottled blood seeping through the bandage. She hissed at the movement, a dark purple and blue bruise forming, large and unignorable. She wasn’t too sure how much time had passed, only that the lights emitting from outside had died down, leaving the room in near darkness. Her eyes began to feel heavy, the adrenaline wearing off from earlier as her head began to nod slightly. The jangle of keys gave her a burst of adrenaline, her eyes shooting open as the lock clicked and the door swung open. She stood up, bracing herself against the back of the chair as two guards walked in, their faces set in stone.
‘Lady Thompson. The prince has requested your presence.’ The left one spoke, his voice raspy and aged, as if he had spent all day shouting and then some. She nodded, walking forward as one walked ahead, the other trailing behind, as if she were a flight risk.
They brought her to the same room where she had dined the night prior, but everything felt different.
Baelor, Maekar, Aerion, Lord Ashford, and another lord sat at the table, facing the doorway with tense expressions. Aerion slammed the hilt of his dagger onto a walnut shell, the nut shattering under the force.
‘Lady Thompson, your grace.’ The guard spoke, then stepped aside and left the room. The poor girl looked to the men at the table, heart thumping loudly against her ribcage.
‘Lady Thompson.’ Baelor spoke, catching her attention.
‘Yes, your grace.’ She whispered, voice cracking at the end.
‘Please explain to us what happened.’ He spoke, his voice soft with an underlying heat. He was angry. So, so angry.
Alice swallowed, forcing her voice steady despite the hammering in her chest. ‘I-I..’
‘Spit it out, girl.’ Maekar sighed impatiently, ignoring the way his own son slammed the hilt of the dagger down onto another shell.
‘I was watching the show when the performer slayed a puppet dragon. I tried to stop Aerion, but I was held back...’ She spoke quietly, trying her best to ignore the glares coming from all angles.
‘But your grace, Dunk meant no harm. He was only protecting her!’ She pleaded, eyes brimming with tears. Maekar scoffed, unimpressed by her attempt to sway the group.
‘He struck my son.’ Maekar spoke up, a sneer painting his features. Thunder rumbled outside, distant flashes appearing through the window.
‘Please, drop the accusation. I beg you.’ She clasped her hands together, stomach twisting with fueled anxiety. The room fell silent as all eyes fell to Aerion. He was smirking, as if he had just had the world dropped into his hands.
‘Tell me, Lady Thompson, is Ser Duncan worth so much to you?’
Alice said nothing. Her hands tightened together.
‘I might… withdraw the accusation against the hedge knight. Perhaps. If you grant me a single thing.’
He let the silence stretch.
‘Your hand in marriage.’ His lips curved into a faint, cruel smile.
‘What?’ She whispered in shock, eyes shooting wide. Baelor and Maekar’s heads snapped to him in an instant, eyes wide in disbelief.
‘What?’ Baelor and Maekar mirrored her words as he continued to crack open the walnuts, body relaxed against the chair as if he didn’t just make an outrageous proposal. Alice wanted the world to swallow her whole, face flushing red from embarrassment.
‘Are you mad, boy?’ Maekar spat at his son, side-eyeing Alice. Aerion only smiled in response.
‘No.’ He replied, breaking another nut. Alice’s breathing picked up slightly, her head spinning from the offer.
Baelor stayed quiet, turning to look at her again. His eyes held many emotions as his lips stayed in a thin line, leaning forward in his chair. Aerion gave an almost innocent look as he placed the dagger down.
‘You did say you would do anything.’ He stated, his tone bordering on condescension. Alice’s shoulders dropped. He was right, she didn't say anything.
‘Okay.’ She whispered, nodding her head. Baelor’s eyebrows raised slightly, and Maekar looked at her as if she had grown a second head.
‘This is preposterous!’ He snarled, fists clenching on the table. Aerion ignored him, motioning for a servant to bring a chair over.
‘Nothing can be done, Maekar. She agreed to the terms.’ Baelor could only sigh.
‘Come here, wife-to-be.’ His voice dripped with hidden ferocity. He held his hand out, beckoning her over. Tears filled her eyes as she walked over to him, right hand taking his as she turned, sitting quietly next to him. His warm hand caressed her knuckles, as if trying to soothe her. It only fuelled her fear more that she had spoken negatively about him to his father and uncle in front of him.
‘Good, you’re learning already.’ He whispered in her ear, sending a cold shiver down her spine. She didn’t respond, staring down at her lap instead. Maekar glared at the two, feeling some resemblance of remorse for the poor girl sitting next to his brat of a son.
‘Guards, bring us, Ser Duncan.’ Baelor sighed; two guards left the room promptly to retrieve the hedge knight. The room was deathly quiet, aside from the crackle and spitting of the fire in the fireplace, and the crunching of Aerion's mouth as he sat in a quiet victory. Dunk was marched in, the poor knight scuffed up and dirty from being in the cells.
‘Ser Duncan the Tall.’ Baelor spoke his name, the knight looking at him with a nervous expression.
‘What do you plead?‘
‘Um, t-trial by combat. That is my right.’ He spoke, voice catching slightly.
‘I refuse.’ Aerion answered, eating yet another nut. Alice raised her head, looking at the young prince.
Meakar glared at him, leaning towards him slightly. ‘You cannot refuse.’
‘Any knight accused of a crime has the right to demand as such. Unless you withdraw your claim?’ Baelor turned to him, giving him a silent look that held so much meaning. Alice looked at him, her hand twitching to get his attention. Aerion looked at her with an emotionless expression, eyes hiding a sadistic glint.
‘A trial of seven.’
What?
Dunk's eyes finally met Alice’s before drifting down to the joined hands resting on top of the table.
‘I-I’m sorry. I don’t understand.’ Dunk spoke, eyes repeatedly looking at the entwined hands.
‘Ser Dunk, Lady Thompson has offered her hand in marriage so that Aerion might consider withdrawing his accusation.’ Maekar grumbled out.
‘And I’ve decided I will not withdraw my accusation.’ Aerion finished, hand tightening around Alice’s. Her heart dropped.
You fool. You are an absolute fool. He was never going to take back his accusation.
‘That is my right, I do believe.’
‘What the fuck is a trial of seven?’ Maekar asked, looking around the table, confused.
‘It is another form of trial by combat. Ancient. Seldom invoked. It came across the Narrow Sea with the Andals and their seven gods.’ Baelor began to explain, drawing many sighs and looks of confusion from all around.
‘Well, if it was the Andals…’
‘I-I’m sorry, Your Grace. The older man was never much for praying. What-what is a trial of seven?’
Baelor sighed. ‘The Andals believed that if seven champions fought, the gods, being thus honoured, would be more likely to intervene and see the guilty party punished.’
‘Are you cowering behind some 6,000-year-old Andal foolery because you’re afraid to face this hedge knight alone?’ His father spat, leaning forward and glaring at Aerion.
‘No.’ Aerion’s voice rose in pitch, almost like he was scared of his own father.
‘Then why? Why not slay the rogue yourself?’ Maekar seethed quietly to Aerion.
‘Daeron has been wronged as well. Ser Duncan must pay for each one of his crimes against us. Or would we leave a matter of Targaryen honour in doubt?’
‘Do not speak to me of honour, boy. This is fucking nonsense.’
‘Is it? No.’
He slammed the blade down, the nut careening across the table and into the lap of Lord Ashford, the circular ball hitting the floor with a hollow ‘clack’. Lord Ashford looked down to where the nut fell, looking back up to Aerion. He squinted his eyes, lips pursing together as he pointed down at it, silently telling him to get it. Alice quietly slipped her hand from his, placing them in her lap.
‘I wish to return to my room.’ Alice whispered, cutting through the tension. Everyone looked at her, earning a small grunt of annoyance from Maekar.
‘Ser Roland, if you please.’ Baelor’s voice called out, the Kingsguard stepping in from the entrance, hand settled on the pommel of his sword.
‘Yes, your grace.’ He bowed his head, looking back at him. Baelor let out a small breath, motioning to Alice with his left hand.
‘Please escort Lady Thompson back to her quarters.’ He commanded, the young knight nodding his head and looking to Alice. She stood up, whispering a quiet thanks as she left the room, ignoring the whispers of protests emitting from Aerion. The tension returned as soon as it left.
‘Aerion is within his rights. We have no choice. A trial of seven must be held at dawn.’
‘What does that mean? That I must fight seven men?’ Dunk exclaimed in disbelief.
‘Do not play the fool. It must be seven against seven.’ Aerion rolled his eyes.
Baelor explained once more. ‘You must find six other knights to fight beside you.’
‘But I have no one else!’ Dunk panicked, eyes wide with fear.
‘If a cause is just, good men will fight for it. If not, it will be because you are guilty.’ Aerion’s tone was smug as he finished eating his nuts. Maekar closed his eyes in irritation, jutting out his jaw as she placed his hands on the table, pushing himself up as he walked around to Aerion’s side, grabbing him by the front of his clothes.
‘Come here.’ He spat, yanking the prince out of his chair and marching him out of the room, delivering a sharp smack to the back of his head.
‘Idiot!’
—
The walk back to Alice’s bedchambers seemed quieter than most, aside from the small repetitive clicks of her heels and the brief clank of armour from Ser Ronald. The halls were dimly lit, small sconces lining the walls at equal intervals, flames flickering against the slight draft, shimmering against the dark stone walls.
She could feel his gaze on her back, assessing, quiet and judgmental.
‘Is there something you wish to tell me, Ser Ronald?’ Her voice echoed around the small corridor, travelling much further than anticipated.
‘No, my lady.’ Came his short reply, polite but uncaring. Her bedroom door came into view as they rounded the corner, relief flooding her veins. At least she would be able to rest after all of this. Her head began to throb as she opened the door, bidding the Kingsguard a good night and slipping inside, the room warm as small candles illuminated it. She walked over to the vanity, noticing a small handbell sitting atop the aged hairbrush, its handle made of dark wood, and the bell itself gleaming gold with the slightest movement.
She shook her hand, the bell ringing lightly against the four walls, loud yet not deafening. She placed the bell down, almost slumping down in the chair in exhaustion. She still had to undress and climb into bed, yet her movements grew sluggish, weak as fatigue bore down on her like a cold shower.
A knock sounded twice through the door, followed by a woman’s voice.
‘My lady, you called.’ The door opened, and two maids entered, curtsying before her. Alice frowned, noticing their avoidant gazes and movements. Was this because of the marriage she foolishly accepted?
‘Um, I need help changing. And I would like to have a bath.’ She announced, her voice lacking authority and holding a fragile tone, as if she would burst into tears at any moment. They nodded, getting to work as one disappeared back into the room, then returned with two men carrying a large copper tub. They placed it in the middle of the open space, leaving just as quickly as they arrived. Buckets of steaming hot water came in droves, filling the tub as one maid added a few drops of oil, lavender and rosemary filling the air. The other maid began to brush out her hair before reaching down to untie the back of her dress, the fabric leaving light indentations on Alice’s skin as it was removed, a sigh of relief escaping Alice’s chest.
Once stripped of all clothes and undergarments, she slowly lowered herself into the tub, the heat of the water soothing her aching muscles. The bandage covering the bite wound absorbed some of the water, sticking to her like a second skin.
‘My lady, it is best that we remove the bandage. Let the wound breathe.’ Her maid suggested, coaxing her to sit forward as she untied the knot, slipping it off. Alice could only hiss as the air hit her wound, the surface of the scab stinging. It was ugly, raised and raw from the previous night's attempt to fix it. Dried blood painted parts of her bruised skin where she had opened it earlier, the skin fragile as it fused once more.
‘Seven hells..’ The maid whispered to herself, her expression twisted in pain. Alice stared ahead, ignoring her words as she sat back, water sloshing over her chest and shoulders, water skimming her wound. Her brows twitched in pain as they began to clean her, rubbing soap onto her arms and down her back.
‘I didn’t ask for this.’ She mumbled, head resting against the rim. The maid looked up in confusion.
‘I’m sorry. I don’t quite understand.’ She spoke quietly, wetting the cloth, rubbing soap into it, then lifting her arm to wipe under her breast and armpit.
‘I’m not meant to be here, I was meant to be going home. I died. I remember it.’ She lay back in the tub, looking at the maid. She paused, mouth going dry at Alice’s words.
‘Hush now,’ she said gently. ‘You’ll open the wound fretting so.’
The cloth moved in slow circles along Alice’s skin. ‘Let the maester worry over life and death. You just sit still.’
Alice finished the rest of her bath in silence, moving when asked to do so and rinsing when asked. She stood up, grabbed a large linen sheet, and motioned for the young woman to do the same. She did so, stepping out of the tub and allowing the sheet to drape around her shoulders, the maid patting her skin dry with a gentleness mothers would give to their own child. Alice stared out of the window as the maid continued her ministrations, eyes seemingly absent of hope. A light, loose-fitting chemise was slipped over her head, the cotton fabric soft against her supple skin. She brushed her hair, plaiting it loosely before tying it with a red ribbon, letting it fall over her unhurt shoulder.
Without another word, the servants emptied the tub and carried it away; the lingering smell of lavender still hung in the air, like a reminder that this was real, not fake or a delusion. All the candles were extinguished except for one, sitting in front of her, burning away as if it was taunting her. She grabbed the candelabra's handle, stood, and strode to the bed, placing it down carefully as she pulled back the covers, slipping under the comfort and security of the sheets. She leant up, blowing out the candle, darkness swallowing the room.
She turned her head, looking out the dark window as her eyelids grew heavy, lulling her into a deep sleep.
It didn’t take long for her to fall into a deep sleep; the rain that battered the window provided comfort, in its own deluded way. The castle was deep in its slumber when the door silently clicked open, the iron handle turning ever so slightly, quiet in its actions. The door slowly opened, the hinges squeaking just slightly from the careful, precise movements. A flash shot through the sky, illuminating the room for a split second before being plunged into darkness once more.
Boots silently crossed the wooden floor, stopping at the end of the bed, the figure watching the woman in the bed, deep in her slumber. She was lying on her back, head turned to the side as one hand rested over her bosom, ties from the chemise falling to the sides. Her hair looked like a halo, out of its confines of the ribbon, and spread out across the pillow, wavy and tousled as it dried. The figure moved once more, rounding to the side, standing over her like a wolf ready to pounce on its prey. Or dragon.
Lightning illuminated the room once more, rain lightening as the storm clouds moved on, revealing the bright moon in its stead. A crop of silver hair seemingly lit up in reflection, violet eyes staring down at her sleeping form. He moved quietly, a whisper of noise barely leaving him as he leaned over her, bracing his hands on each side of her as he climbed onto the bed, hovering over her on all fours.
He leaned forward, nose just brushing the crook of her neck, taking a deep breath. Lavender and rosemary scents filled his senses, his eyes rolling back just slightly. His gaze flitted over her sleeping face, features soft rather than fearful. The bruise of where he struck her bloomed like a bruised peach, darkening her cheekbone just slightly. They travelled down, over the plumpness of her lips, down her chin and continued down her neck, where his eyes met the jagged bite mark, his mark. Pride swelled his ego, as well as his cock in his breeches, straining against the tight fabric.
His eyes drifted lower once more, eyes locking onto the curve of her breasts, her nipples hard through the thin fabric. The room was cold, yes, but that did not make him pause to think otherwise. His fingers reached up, just lightly brushing the hardened nipple with his index finger, the woman shuddering in her sleep, fingers twitching just slightly. He withdrew just slightly before dipping down and licking one stripe at the valley of her breasts, then carefully placing a kiss through the fabric of her chemise onto her nipple. Her breath hitched just slightly as his lips brushed it.
With one more featherlight kiss to the corner of her mouth, he rose, climbing off the bed and leaving the same way he came in, silent. He returned to his own room, the guards still gone since he dismissed them for being too loud, the original plan disguised as a need for his sleep before the trial of seven. He closed the door behind himself as his hands hurriedly untied his breeches, freeing his aching and weeping cock from the confines of his clothes.
Only a few more nights before she would submit to him fully, before he would claim her in front of the gods, both in marriage and sex.
Only a few more nights before she was his, and no one else's. Gods forbid, if anyone tried. Otherwise, they would have to face the wrath of the dragon.
Everyone knows not to take something that belongs to the dragon.
The tent was filled to the brim with watchers as Tanselle performed, dancing around the stage in armour as multiple people handled the huge dragon, roaring through a tube. People stared in amazement, gasps leaving their mouths as the ‘dragon’ blew fire into the air briefly. It turned its head towards Tanselle as she picked up a long shiny shield, bracing herself behind it as it blew fire at her, people jumping in excitement. Alice stared, wide-eyed and smiling, amazed at how they made the dragon look so real. Egg sat at the front, hood pulled, getting most of the action and feeling the heat at the forefront of the action.
Alice felt a chill run up her spine as people suddenly went as quiet as a mouse, parting like the Red Sea to reveal Aerion standing there, hands clasped in front of him. He wore a red jacket of sorts and metal chainmail underneath. His sword sat on his belted hip, his fingers twitching to grab at it and cut anyone down who dared try.
Tanselle turned to face the crowd, her smile dropping to a fearful expression as Aerion stepped forward, tilting his head as he looked at the dragon. People began to trickle out quickly, not wanting to face his wrath if and when he exploded. Alice’s smile dropped, her eyes flitting between Tanselle, Egg, and Aerion.
Shit, shit, shit.
The tent erupted in panic as he shot forward, suddenly attacking the cast members with brutal accuracy. Screams and shouts drowned out all the noise as Aerion's guards punched people fleeing.
‘My lady!’ Alice could hear the maid chaperoning her frantic shout, but the chaos swallowed it as the panicked crowd swept her away.
‘Egg!’ Alice shouted out in a panic, looking for the small boy. Multiple people lay scattered across the stage, crying out in pain from Aerion’s justification. Alice raced forward, dodging a guard's tackle as she grabbed onto Aerion’s sleeve. He whirled around, hand striking her cheek in unbridled rage. She flew back from the force, straight into the guard's arms, locking tight around her shoulder, uncaring about her injury from the night prior.
She cried out as heat sprang to her cheek, glaring up at the prince. His eyes were on hers, lips set in a scowl as he paused his actions to look at Alice.
’Hold her there.’ Aerion commanded the guard, turning back Tanselle. He grabbed her hand, pulling her to the front of the stage and bending her fingers to an unnatural angle, a sickening crack filling the air. He broke every finger of her hand, ignoring her cries for mercy and going to grab the other before being suddenly intercepted by Dunk. Alice could’ve cried out in relief if she weren’t in so much pain. Dunk landed two punches on the prince, throwing him off the stage and onto the floor. Guards flanked Dunk, knocking him down and holding him tight, the tall man roaring in anger.
Aerion stood up, spitting out a tooth. His mouth was covered in blood as he bent over slightly, tongue flicking out and curling, as if it were a dragon tasting the air with its tongue. He stood up, tongue running over his teeth. The tent went quiet as he slowly approached Dunk, eyes set hard.
‘Why did you throw your life away for this whore? She’s scarcely worth it.’ Dunk stayed quiet. Alice struggled against the guard's grip, earning a rough no in reply. She cried out at the pressure on her injury, blood seeping through the bandages as the wound reopened. Dunk’s eyes looked to Alice, fighting against the grip of the guards once more.
‘Don’t look at her.’ Aerion spat, forcing Dunk's gaze to himself once more. Possessiveness laced each word he spoke, an edge hiding something far more dangerous underneath.
‘She’s a traitor. The dragon ought never lose. Nothing more to say?’ Tanselle looked up to Duncan with a pained expression as Aerion spoke. Dunk looked at her, eyes filled with unspoken apologies as he looked over his own shoulder at her.
‘You’ve loosened one of my teeth. So, we’ll start by breaking out all of yours.’ Aerion spoke, shouts of protests rising once more as they turned him around, forcing him to his knees and opening his mouth, Dunk’s teeth set upon the wooden edge of the stage.
‘No! Aerion! Stop, please!’ Alice cried, catching the prince's attention once more. He walked over, pinching her chin between his thumb and index finger.
‘You would stay quiet if you wanted to keep your teeth, too.’ He whispered. His face was so close that she could feel his hot breath fan her own lips. With sudden ferocity, he leaned forward, capturing her lips in a searing, brutal kiss. Gasps and whispers amongst the townsfolk erupted like wildfire.
The strong taste of iron invaded her senses, metallic and distinguishable from the taste alone. He pulled away, her lips now coated thinly with his own blood, a marking similar to the one he left permanently on her shoulder. He turned and strode towards the stage, crouching down in front of Dunk.
‘No! Don’t touch him!’ Egg shot forward through the crowd, standing bravely against the violence.
‘You stupid boy! Hold your tongue, or they’ll hurt you.’ Dunk shouted at him in desperation. Alice stared on with wide eyes, noticing how Aerion tensed up, standing up to full height as he stared at him in disbelief.
‘No, they won’t..’ Egg replied, glaring at the guards and prince. ‘If they do, they’ll answer to my father. Let go of him! Wate, Yorkel, do as I say.’
‘You impudent little rat. What’s happened to your hair?’ Aerion asked, his voice cold and slightly muffled from the swelling of his jaw.
‘I cut it off, brother. I didn’t want to look like you.’
Brother? Then that means…
He’s one of the missing sons.
Previous Chapter
Tags:@xyahx, @darklandcashpaper-blog, @oh-miniso
I honestly don't know how this taglist works... so bear with me!
The night had passed quickly, many a knight unhorsed and missing out on being crowned champion. The carriage back to the castle seemed just as tense; instead of sharing a carriage with Aerion, Alice had to endure the short carriage ride with Lord Ashford and his daughter, the three sitting still in complete silence. Not even a cough left any of the three mouths.
The maids quickly ushered Alice inside before the other carriage pulled up, taking her back to her bedchambers before the princes even returned. It almost seemed like it was done in a panic, as if they meant to get her in bed before anyone could know she was gone. They rushed to remove her cloak, unlacing the dress from the back. They managed to usher it off her shoulders before the door opened with great force. Aerion strode in, pausing at the sight.
Everyone froze.
‘What are you- Get out!’ Alice almost screeched, holding the dress to her front, facing away from him, and looking over her shoulder at him, a mixture of both surprise and shock wavering in her eyes. His eyes landed on just behind her ear, noticing the three small blotches hiding just under her hair. Without another word, he stormed forward, grabbing her by the back of her neck and shoving her down onto the bed, ignoring her scream. She cried out at the sudden harshness, hands pushing desperately at the bed to try and get up, only for her wrists to be snatched up and pinned behind her back, one hand holding her arms whilst the other kept on her neck.
‘Get out.’ His command came as sharp as ice to the servants, most of them bolting in the frenzy. The door closed behind them, as if they knew not to mess with the prince who believed himself to be a dragon. She cried against the rough mattress, straining against his iron-like grip.
‘Get off!’ She wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she felt his thumb push her hair out of the way.
‘Three dragons…’ His voice dropped to a reverent whisper, the fury draining from it as if replaced by something stranger. His thumb brushed the skin behind her ear, tracing the tiny dragons. ‘The sigil of fire and blood. Hidden in your flesh.’
He leaned closer, breath hot against her hair.
‘I knew it.’
His grip tightened at the back of her neck.
‘A dragon does not appear without reason.’ His voice sharpened, half awe, half command. ‘Look at me.’
When she struggled, he forced her head slightly to the side.
‘You carry the mark of the three-headed dragon. Not painted. Not stitched. Born into you.’ His lips curled into something between a smile and a snarl. ‘Do you know what that means?’
A beat of silence.
‘It means you are mine to claim.’
‘I’m no-ones!’ She cried out, spit almost flying from her clenched mouth. Aerion’s eyes gained a dangerous glint, a venomous smile curling upwards.
‘True spirit. And, you’re wrong.’ He answered, leaning down over her as she kicked out like a horse. She could feel the press of his hips against her behind, heat radiating through it. She froze, repulsion turning her stomach. He’s getting off on this.. Her thoughts ran frantically as his breath brushed the shell of her ear. She squirmed, the weight of his body pressing down on her becoming more and more unbearable by the passing minutes.
‘You are mine.’ He reaffirmed, mouth trailing down her neck, to the curve where it met her collarbone. He placed a featherlike kiss, opening his mouth and biting down. Hard. She screamed out in pain, heat shooting through her as his teeth pierced flesh. Alice could only shriek in pain, cries for help falling on deaf ears. He pulled back, mouth and teeth coated in a layer of her blood, bright vermilion. She sobbed as pain shot through her like a bolt of lightning, a small yet steady stream of blood now staining the sheets below.
‘Now everyone will know.’ He placed a bloody kiss on her cheek, pushing himself up and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, turning and walking out without another word. Alice collapsed to the ground, placing pressure on the fresh wound as she sobbed, her shoulders shaking violently.
The door knocked twice before opening again. Alice cried out in terror, backing up into the corner of the room. Two maids entered, freezing in terror at the sight.
‘Get a maester. Now!’ The older maid demanded, the younger one running off in a panic. The older stepped forward, only to be stopped by Alice shouting once more.
‘Don’t come any closer!’ She shouted, pressing harder on the wound as blood began to travel down her chest, soaking into the dress and undergarments still on.
‘M’lady-’
‘Don’t! You knew this would happen!’ She cried out, interrupting the maid.
‘Seven save us, no-no, m’lady,’ the maid said quickly, hands raised as if approaching a frightened horse. ‘I swear it on the Mother’s mercy, we did not know he would come.’
Alice didn’t budge.
‘Please… you must let me see the wound. The maester is coming.’ The maid whispered, crouching in front of her. With gentle hands, she carefully pulled her hands away, the deep bite marks like a stamp of possession set in blood. Through tears, Alice could see the maester enter, an older man dressed in a brown garb, rushing over.
‘Get her on the bed. I need to clean the wound.’ Two sets of hands grabbed her and lifted her onto the bed, ignoring her cries of protest.
Her gaze became unfocused as they cleaned the wound with water, a small glass of milky liquid being pressed to her lips.
‘For the pain..’ Someone whispered, some of the liquid trickling into her mouth and down her throat, dulling the pain and her senses.
‘No..’ Her weak protests were ignored as her world went out of focus, black dots covering her vision till everything went black. The maester worked diligently, cleaning the bite mark with vinegar and sealing it with boiling wine, then covering it with a white sheet and tying it tightly. The maester finally left with fewer words, instructing the maids to change the unconscious woman and to have a guard stationed in her room.
Yet one thing had confirmed every whispered fear in the castle: the prince had finally claimed the thing he had wanted from the moment he first laid eyes upon it.
—
The slowly increasing throb of pain awoke Alice from her deluded slumber, eyes heavy as she forced them open. Everything was blurry, slowly coming into focus as her mind immediately travelled to last night. She moaned out in pain, sitting up as she pressed a hand to her neck, recoiling immediately.
Her skin felt hot to the touch, clammy and flushed, her clothes doing little to cool her down. The door opened, revealing one of the maids carrying a small pile of clothes. She immediately spotted Alice, almost dropping her clothes in shock as she rounded the bed, coming to her aid.
‘My lady, you should not move.’ She urged, trying to coax her back into bed.
‘What happened?’ Alice asked, finally gaining her senses back. ‘You fell unconscious. The maester cleaned your wound and sealed it. We changed you out of your clothes.’ She explained, stepping back as Alice forced her legs out of the bed, bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor.
‘I need to leave.’ Alice whispered, standing up. She swayed in her spot, stepping forward and bracing herself against the stone wall.
‘You can’t, my lady. Your presence is required with the Princes at today's tourney.’ The maid explained, faltering in her movements. Alice paused, looking at her with a scared expression.
‘I don’t want to see him.’ Her voice cracked, terror crawling into her mind as memories from last night came rushing back to her.
‘He will not be in the royal box. He’s participating.’ The maid reasoned. Alice let out a broken sigh, head dropping down in defeat. She knew she couldn’t turn down a royal demand, even if she weren’t from this world or time. The maid stepped forward, gently guiding her to stand in front of the full-length mirror they had brought in with the piles of fabric used for dressing her. With delicate hands, she gently undressed Alice, being mindful of her covered wound.
Alice could only grimace in pain, taking small, sharp breaths as she was forced into yet another corset, black this time, with a grey dress fitted on top, styled with a square neckline and silver lace stitching. At least it covers the wound. She thought, closing her eyes briefly to try and ignore the dull ache.
Yet again, she slipped her feet into the black shoes from yesterday, sitting patiently on the edge of the bed as one maid tied them up, and another maid brushed her hair, leaving it down and free of any braids. A black ribbon was tied around her wrist, as if she were a present being wrapped up for someone.
They laid the same black cloak from last night over her shoulders, waiting by the door as Alice finally turned to face them, her face pale from last night's issues.
‘I wish to explore the tourney grounds afterwards.’ She announced, the maids nodding in acknowledgement.
‘A maid will be assigned to you as a chaperone. A vanity and chair will be moved in here, as well.’ The eldest maid informed her, the same one from the night before. Alice nodded, walking over to the door and opening it. She walked out into the main hall, noticing Maekar and Baelor talking quietly to another. Baelor noticed her first, pausing the conversation with a small raise of his hand.
‘Lady Thompson.’ He walked over, taking her hand in his older ones, cupping it carefully, ‘I heard about what happened last night. I wish to ask what happened, if you don’t mind.’
Alice paused, noticing the stressed gaze from Maekar was sending her from over Baelor’s shoulder.
‘It was nothing, your grace. I do not wish to discuss it further.’ She replied quietly, her voice bordering on a whisper. He sighed, disappointed by her answer, but dropped it, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before releasing.
‘Of course, unfortunately, my brother will not be joining in spectating today's joust as he will be looking for his sons. Will you join me in his absence?’ He asked, intertwining his own hands in front.
‘Of course, your grace.’ She whispered, curtseying just slightly. Her legs were still wobbly, knees bordering on collapsing as she rose back up. Maekar strode up to the two, interrupting once more.
‘Lady Thompson. I see the maesters have managed to keep you alive,’ he said shortly. ‘That’s encouraging.’
No, it’s not.
He walked off without another word, most likely to go and find his missing sons. Alice’s mouth opened and closed repeatedly, like a fish out of water. Baelor let out a small exhale, shoulder dropping just slightly before returning to their normal position, forcing a tight-lipped smile.
‘Shall we?’
–
People cheered as Baelor walked in front of his chair on the royal box, briefly waving his hand to the commoners in the stands. Alice sat down in the empty chair next to him, forcing a small smile to her lips. The pain had begun to sharpen, turning from a dull throb to what felt like a stab of a needle with every movement.
The day passed long and slow, with Valarr Targaryen, Lyonel Baratheon, and two other knights from respectable houses participating, electrifying the crowd.
‘Son of Meakar, grandson to King Daeron the Good and Prince of House Targaryen, Prince Aerion Brightflame.’ The herald shouted, the prince riding out on his horse.
‘Please request more Milk of the poppy for Lady Thompson.’ Baelor spoke to her accompanying maid, keeping his voice low as his eyes drifted to Alice’s tense and pained expression.
Alice’s eyes drifted to the prince, who stopped in front of the stand. His armour was entirely black, with sharp spikes on the shoulders and gloves, and a red cape flowing over the back of the horse. His helmet looked like a face emerging from black flames, the tips of the ‘flames’ painted red. A truly horrific helmet, one to fear if seen at night. He grinned up at the two, ego coming off him in waves. Alice sat rigid in her chair, jaw clenched as her hands trembled, from adrenaline or fear, she did not know, only that if she made one wrong move, he would most likely do something worse.
Baelor nodded, twisting the rings on his fingers as he sat there with a displeased look. It was as if he already knew what was going to happen, or at the very minimum, knew it wasn’t going to be pretty. Aerion pulled his helmet back into place, kicking the horse forward as he approached the champion's tents. He pulled the horse to a stop in front of the Targaryen tent, Prince Valarr sitting there awaiting.
He pushed his mask up once more, smirking. ‘Cousin.’
‘Not to worry. I won’t embarrass you today.’ He boasted as Valarr stood up, propping his hip slightly as Aerion moved onto the next tent.
‘Come out, come out, little knight. It’s time you faced the dragon.’ A knight stepped from out front of his tent, looking up at Aerion, unimpressed by his attitude.
‘Who is that? I’ve seen him a few times, but I cannot recall his name.’ Alice asked Baelor quietly, the prince somewhat glaring at the exchange in discomfort.
‘Ser Humfrey Hardyng of house Hardyng. He has great potential, winning against fourteen knights.’ He explained as the knight cantered toward the royal box, holding his lance aloft.
‘My lady… forgive the boldness,’ he said, clearly nervous. ‘But I wondered… if you might lend me your favour for the tilt.’ Everyone looked at Alice, who sat there in shock.
Alice glanced at him in quiet confusion. ‘Your grace… what does he mean? A favour?’
Baelor leaned slightly closer so the knight would not hear, the corner of his mouth lifting faintly.’
‘It’s a tourney custom,’ he murmured. ‘A knight asks a lady for a token, something small. A ribbon, a glove, a sleeve. She ties it to his lance and rides in her honour.’
Alice blinked, still uncertain. ‘And I’m meant to… give him something?’
‘If you wish,’ Baelor said simply. ‘If you do not, you may refuse. But if you grant it, he’ll carry it into the lists and try not to disgrace you by falling off his horse.’
She stood up, untying the ribbon that sat snugly around her wrist. Onlookers watched quietly as she stepped forward, leaning over the railing and carefully tying it around the lance. Aerion stared on angrily from his side of the railing, his horse snorting impatiently. His lips peeled back, showing the angry row of teeth. How dare she.
Alice returned to her seat as Ser Hardyng cantered off, cheers erupting from the crowd as the two readied their positions, horses stamping their feet as they waited for the horn to blow. They both launched forward, lances pointing at their opponents as the distance closed rapidly. With a sudden swerve, Aerion dodged the lance, drawing boo’s from the crowd as they turned at the ends. Alice gripped her skirts tightly, eyes fixating on the two knights.
They charged once more, Aerion’s lance lower than intended. With one fell swoop, the lance pierced the horse's neck, the poor animal screeching in pain before rolling to the floor, landing on Ser Hardyng in the process. Alice covered her mouth with her hands, eyes clenching shut as the animal writhed in pain, blood pouring out of its neck as it trembled in pain, dying slowly. Aerion lifted his mask, smiling sadistically at the scene.
Townsfolk began to riot, one throwing a rock at the prince, hitting him in the helmet. Baelor’s expression soured, squinting as guards moved forward in motion to prevent the people from getting further forward to try and attack the prince. Alice turned away as a man with a sharp spear strode forward with indifference, clearly going to fully kill the horse, putting it out of its misery.
‘My lady, the maester has brought more milk of the poppy.’ The maid spoke, accompanied by the aged man who had helped her the night prior. She grimaced at the sudden cries of the dying horse ceasing, took the small metal spoon that held a measurement of the pain relief, and drank it in one gulp. The poppy kicked in almost immediately, the pain subsiding as she braced herself against the chair.
‘My lady?’ The maid asked carefully, coming to the side of her.
‘I-I’m fine. I’ve just never had this before.’ She explained, shaking her head slightly. Baelor stood up, walking over to Alice and her maid.
‘Are you sure you do not want to return?’ He asked.
‘I’ll be fine. I’m sure.’ She whispered, a small, shaky smile making its way onto her rosy lips. Baelor nodded, walking ahead to return to the castle, Lord Ashford and his daughter trailing close behind.
‘I wish to see my friends. Please.’ She spoke to the maid, who could only honour her wishes, allowing Alice to step ahead.
The festivities were rife as she walked through the grounds, spotting the familiar tall man and his bald squire.
‘Dunk!’ She shouted, picking up her speed as the two stopped, turning to face her. His eyes widened at the sight of her dress, before his brows furrowed together at the sight of her bandaged neck.
‘Alice, wow. You, er, look beautiful, aye.’ He stammered, earning a small hit from Egg.
‘Thank you, Duncan. Hello, Egg.’ She smiled, turning to face the younger boy. Alice opened her mouth to speak, only to be cut off.
‘Ser Duncan! I saw you earlier with this boy.’ The same man from the other day ran forward, a wide grin settling on his face.
‘Uh, yeah. This boy is my squire. Egg, this is, um, Raymun Fossoway.’ He introduced the two.
‘Good day.’
‘You’re the Lady that gave her favour to Ser Hardyng.’ Raymun looked at Alice, looking at her regal outfit.
‘Yeah.’ She confirmed quietly, a solemn look falling over her face.
‘It is a shame how he lost to Aerion, considering he had won nearly every joust prior.’ He grumbled, his words carefully chosen as he glared at the Ashford Castle maid.
‘Will you join me in my tent for a cup of cider?’ Raymun turned to Dunk once more, a smile gracing his round cheeks once more.
Egg looked towards the tent where cheers erupted, turning to Dunk with excitement. ‘I could wait at the puppet show, ser, and bring your shield when the performance is over.’
‘We make it ourselves.’ Raymun added, the look of indecisiveness crossing his usual empty-headed look.
Dunk sighed, ‘Very well.’
‘I’ll see the show as well. It’s nice meeting you, Raymun.’ Alice bid the two goodbye before heading with Egg to the tent to watch the show.
‘Have you chosen an opponent yet?’ Raymun asked Dunk as they entered the empty tent and sat down on two benches facing each other.
‘Oh, uh, I’m not sure.’ Dunk hesitated, ‘Who does your cousin mean to challenge?’
Raymun chuckled. ‘If anyone’s wounded on the morrow… I’m sure Steffon will be quick to knock on his shield. He’s about as chivalrous as a starved weasel.’
‘I suppose Ser Androw and I are quite equally matched.’
‘A local favourite. You mean to play the villain?’
‘I heard Aerion were in a spittin’ rage at Lord Ashford for giving away his horse.’
‘Little comfort that will be to Ser Humfrey. It looked as if he was going to carry the day. Now his leg’s shattered like a baking dish.’
‘My squire thinks Aerion meant to kill the horse.’ Dunk chuckled, ‘Just hard to accept that a knight might be so dishonourable… let alone a prince.’
‘Why is that hard?’ Raymun’s voice grew serious.
‘N-No, I…’
‘They’re incestuous aliens, Duncan. Blood-magickers and tyrants who’ve burned our lands, enslaved our people, dragged us into their wars without a mote of respect for our history or our customs. Every pale-haired brat they saddled on us has been madder than the last, gods know how. The only honourable thing a Targaryen can do for this realm is finish on his wife’s tits. So aye, I think he meant to kill the fucking horse. And by the looks of it, your pretty little white-haired friend is probably staying in that castle, and if she is, she probably won’t be alive on the morrow. If Aerion’s decided he wants her, Dunk, then it’s already done. Men like that don’t ask, they take.’ He ranted, Dunk’s eyes widening in worry. Take? No, he wouldn’t hurt her, surely?
Warnings: Violence, Swearing, Aerion (am I wrong?)
Chapter 3
‘Tell us, my lady. Where exactly is London?’
Her movement faltered, gripping her fork so tightly that her knuckles went white from the pressure.
You cannot say England. You cannot say the United Kingdom. You cannot say the future.
She forced a small smile. ‘It’s… a town,’ she said carefully. ‘Far away.’ That was technically true, not a full lie.
‘How far?’ Aerion asked.
‘Very far.’ She replied, a little too quickly, her smile dropping an inch. His eyes twitched, as if he could read through her lies easily.
Baelor cleared his throat, cutting through the tension.
‘What of your mother and father?’ He asked, changing the subject just slightly. Her eyes met Baelor’s, shoulders tensing a fraction more.
‘My mother is well, but I have not seen her in some time. My father died when I was ten.’ She answered, throat becoming tight with emotions. It was something she never really spoke of, since his death was traumatic for everyone, especially her mother.
Hit and run, wrong place, wrong time, the police stated, with the killers eventually caught, by their own faults, bragging about it on social media at the time. 4 years each. No justice served. Her smile had completely disappeared as she looked down at her plate, poking the half-eaten bird with little interest.
‘What do you do, yourself?’ Maekar grumbled out, eating a bit of his food.
‘I teach.’
‘Teach? Like a maester?’ Aerion scoffed, rolling his eyes. Alice glared at him slightly, ignoring the way his lips quivered into a small smirk.
‘Well, I used to. Not anymore.’ She replied, a little too bluntly.
‘What did you teach?’ Baelor asked, sighing at Aerion’s attitude.
‘Art, languages, and mainly French.’ Oh shit, she should not have said that. Everyone paused what they were eating, looking at her as if she had suddenly grown a second head.
‘What is French?’ Maekar spat, frowning even harder, if he could try.
‘A language.’ She answered. Aerion scoffed, leaning back in his chair and chewing his food, staring at her.
‘I do not know that tongue.’ He snapped.
‘No one here does,’ Maekar said flatly.
Aerion’s gaze sharpened. ‘Speak it.’
‘Go on then. Speak this language you claim to teach.’ He jested once more, his voice sounding cruel and condescending. Alice closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves before opening her eyes once more.
‘C’est absolument ridicule. Je n'aurais même pas dû être ici. Vous êtes impoli. Je ne suis même pas d'ici, ni de cette époque, ni de cette région.’ (This is absolutely ridiculous. I should not even be here. You are rude. I am not even from this time, let alone the area.) She spoke so fluently and quickly that it caught everyone off guard. She stopped, suddenly aware of how ridiculous she probably sounded.
Maekar paused his eating, staring at her with genuine bewilderment. Aerion stared, somewhat confused and impressed at the same time. Baelor stared at her, eyes squinting as he tried to figure out what she said.
‘That’s a beautiful language.’ Lord Ashford’s daughter finally spoke up, taking a sip from her goblet. Alice looked back down at her plate, smiling shyly at her compliment.
Aerion tapped a finger against the table.
‘Interesting.’ His pale eyes narrowed slightly.
‘It reminds me of something.’
Maekar almost groaned in annoyance at his own son. ‘Of what?’
Aerion’s gaze never left Alice, ‘High Valyrian.’
The word meant nothing to her. She blinked in confusion.
‘I don’t know that language.’
Aerion’s smile deepened slightly.
‘No?’
‘No.’
Baelor spoke before the moment stretched too thin.
‘High Valyrian was once spoken throughout the Freehold,’ he explained calmly. ‘The tongue of the old dragonlords.’
Alice nodded slowly, pretending she understood far more than she did.
‘Oh.’
Aerion continued to stare at her, stabbing his fork into the tender meat. He finished his bite, leaning forward with a harsh grin.
‘Are you a bastard?’ The room went deadly quiet, and the clattering of a fork hitting the metal plate echoed unjustly around the room. Alice couldn’t help but glare at the rude prince, appetite suddenly diminished. Maekar froze mid-bite, closing his eyes slowly as the last thread of his patience snapped. Everyone else stared wide-eyed.
‘Mind your tongue, boy.’ Maekar spat, slamming his hand down on the table. Alice placed her fork on her plate and sat back in her chair.
‘No, Your Grace. Though I begin to see why you hoped I might be.’ She replied, holding back a grin, ‘But I suspect my family history is not nearly as interesting as the history of your house, which I have yet to learn of.’
Aerion could only glare at her, a pursed smile threatening to break out on his lips. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek.
‘Lady Alice,’ Baelor broke the tension, sighing lightly. Alice looked away from Aerion, jaw clenching in nervousness.
‘Yes, your grace.’ She forced out a smile, appearing on her lips, although it did not reach her eyes.
‘I would like to apologise for my nephew's behaviour.’ He glared at the boy out of the corner of his eye, sitting upright in his chair once more.
Baelor set down his goblet as the sound of a distant horn carried faintly through the stone walls.
The hall stirred at once. Several knights glanced toward the doors, and servants began clearing the first course from the table.
‘The evening tilts,’ Baelor said mildly. ‘The lists will begin shortly.’ Alice looked up, confused.
‘The jousting?’ she asked.
Baelor nodded.
‘The opening tilts are often held at dusk. The knights ride beneath torchlight. It makes for a fine spectacle.’
Aerion’s mouth curved faintly at the word spectacle.
Baelor turned his attention back to Alice.
‘You have come a long way, Lady Alice. It would be poor hospitality to leave you sitting alone in your room while the tourney begins.’
His tone remained gentle, but there was a quiet finality to it.
‘You will join us in the gallery.’
Alice blinked. ‘With… the prince?’
Aerion smiled knowingly.
‘You are already dining with us,’ said Baelor once more. ‘Watching the jousts will be a smaller ordeal.’
Across the table, Aerion leaned back in his chair.
‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘I would very much like to see what a woman from London thinks of Westerosi knights.’
Alice felt the weight of his gaze settle on her again.
Baelor rose from his seat, the conversation ending as easily as it had begun.
‘Then it is settled,’ he said.
And just like that, she had been invited. Or, Alice thought uneasily as the princes began to stand, commanded.
She was quickly ushered out of the room by Lord Ashford's servants, taken to her bedchambers, and stripped, rather quickly, she might add. The corset stayed on, unmoving and just as tight as they relished in the new dress. Dark red, with gorgeous yet impressively large cape sleeves, the dress's collar just stopped at the curve of her shoulders, revealing her hidden collarbone, accessorised with a glittering red-and-gold necklace, rubies glinting in the candlelight. A belt was cinched around her waist, finishing the simple yet eye-catching look. The look of a princess, for sure.
They replaced her simple black shoes with low-heeled shoes, with a satin ribbon tying them on. They twisted and pulled her hair, pinning it into place to make a somewhat functional low bun. Alice grimaced, the weight of representing the crown’s ‘guest’ weighing heavily on her. She finally stood up, covered in a heavy black cloak, its front clasp resembling two dragon heads facing each other.
‘Perfect, my lady.’ One of the servants cooed as they almost marched her out of the room and outside to the awaiting caravan of guards and royals. Baelor, Maekar, Lord Ashford, and his daughter stood outside two large carriages, adorned in black wood, with a large three-headed red dragon plastered on a tapestry hanging from the back of each carriage like its own cloak.
‘Thank you for joining us, Lady Thompson.’ Baelor smiled politely, ignoring the small scoff of annoyance emitting from his brother.
‘Where is that boy?’ Maekar muttered, pacing impatiently as the main doors opened, revealing Aerion, his main outfit covered by a black cape and silver shoulder pads. He looked effortlessly regal yet intimidating. One footman opened the door to the carriage, allowing Lord Ashford, his daughter, and Prince Baelor to step inside. Maekar paused, glancing back at his son over his shoulder. With only a simple jut of his chin, he climbed into the carriage, closing the door behind him. Alice tensed, noticing the footman move to the carriage behind, opening the door. He stood awaiting, nervously glancing at Aerion and her.
‘My lady.’ Aerion’s smooth voice spoke up as he held his arm for Alice to take, jaw clenching slightly. She gently curled her hand over his arm, like a snake wrapping around its prey. A small shiver ran down Aerion’s spine, the heat of her palm coursing through the layers of his outfit. His mind ran wild, drifting violently between cruel and inappropriate, like a ship in an untamable sea. His arm flexed under her touch, her grip tightening just a fraction. He smirked, leading her to the quiet carriage. He took her hand, helping her up the steps into the carriage. He followed, sitting opposite her as the door shut behind them, a heavy silence pervading the air.
Alice avoided his gaze, choosing to look out the small holes carved into the wooden walls of the carriage. The carriage jolted forward, finally moving from its stagnant position.
‘You’re trembling, my lady. I promise the carriage is quite safe. It is only me you should worry about.’ His voice broke the tension, her eyes flicking to him instantly. He rested back in the plush chair, legs spreading wide. She didn’t respond, jaw clenched shut.
He scoffed. ‘Such silence. I begin to think you dislike my company.’
‘Forgive me, Your Grace. I did not realise a conversation was required.’ She replied, voice trembling just slightly. His eyes hardened, body slightly swaying with every dip the carriage drove through.
Aerion chuckled softly. ‘Such spirit.’ His gaze lingered on her with open appreciation. ‘It suits a face as pretty as yours.’
His voice lowered a fraction. ‘Though I would advise caution. Tongues have been cut out for far less.’
She tensed, eyes fixed on him. A veiled threat, no, a threat as plain as day. The door opened before she could respond; a male footsoldier waited patiently by the door. Alice stood up, walking to the door and stepping down, taking the guard's outstretched hand to stabilise herself.
Aerion followed her out, practically glued to her side as he held out his arm for her to take once more. He walked her up the steps to the royal platform, Baelor to his left and Alice to his right. Whispers erupted from the stands, townsfolk looking on in confusion.
‘Who’s the woman?’
‘She must be betrothed to Aerion.’
‘Another Targaryen, seven hells.’
Dunk looked across the jousting arena, noticing her form perched on a wooden chair. His eyes hardened, his squire almost squeaking in shock.
‘Is that..?’ Egg trailed off, silently praying to the gods that it wasn’t who he thought it was.
‘Alice.’ Dunk grunted, confirming his worst fears. She sat there, poised but tense, as if she was going to be killed at the slightest of movements. Egg’s eyes never left hers, not even when his cousin, Prince Valarr, rode out across the ground, waving to the crowd as he cantered past the pavilion.
Up on the pavilion, Aerion leaned closer to Alice, whispering in her ear. ‘That is Prince Valarr, Baelor’s son.’ Aerion’s breath brushed her ear as he spoke. ‘My noble cousin. The perfect prince.’’
His eyes followed the rider across the lists.
‘Of course, perfection is dreadfully dull.’
Aerion rested back slightly, the two watching Valarr gather his lance and shield, helmet adorning his head. ‘Valarr will inherit a crown one day.’ His voice lowered with quiet amusement.
‘But a crown does not make a man formidable,’ his gaze returned to her, sharp and self-satisfied, ‘Some of us are born that way.’
She looked up at him in confusion, naivety worming its way to the surface. He looked down at her, a smug smirk crawling onto his lips. He was right, though. Valarr seemed to be loved by everyone around him, probably more so than anyone else she had met.
Valarr’s opponent entered the arena, drawing cheers from the crowd.
‘Who is that, your grace?’ She asked quietly, first clenched in nervousness. He glanced down at her, a smile falling off his face once more.
‘Ser Abelar Hightower.’ He replied, a little too bluntly. She nodded, watching as another man rode in front of the large crowd, holding a dead fish in his hand.
‘For the new gods and old!’ He shouted, drawing cheers from the crowd before biting the head off the fish. Alice grimaced in disgust, looking to the other knights readying for the jousting.
‘Lord Ashford fucks his sheep!!’ Someone shouted from the crowd, a scurry of laughter filling the stands. Alice looked to Lord Ashford, noticing his tense demeanour and his face red with embarrassment. The crowd instantly quietened at the sound of the horn being blown once more, the air electric.
It was sudden, horses jumping into motion as the lances lowered, colliding with shields and armour alike, splintering into many pieces with a sickening chorus of cracks. Some knights fell, others lost their lances in the destruction. Alice’s heart felt like it jumped to her throat, ears thrumming as she diligently watched on. They raced back, her eyes flicking to each different knight that stayed seated, anxiety washing over her like a cold shower.
Once more did the lances connect, this time sending a knight flying off his horse and to the ground, another falling to avoid running him down. Alice closed her eyes, grimacing and looking away, unable to stomach the violence.
Aerion watched her turn away, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. ‘You look away already?’ he murmured. His gaze drifted back to the field where squires hurried toward the fallen knight.
‘That was a gentle fall, my lady. At a proper tourney, men have died for less.’ He spoke lowly, his words bordering on sadistic.
‘It’s not what I’m used to at home.’ She replied, opening her eyes and looking back up at him.
‘And what do they do at your home?’ He asked, tilting his head slightly.
Light shone down onto the tent, illuminating the once dark room. Alice’s eyes slowly opened, blinking away the sleep as everything came into focus. The yellow ceiling of the tent stared back down at her, horns of stags decorated to be a beautiful centerpiece, hanging from the ceiling. She sat up, hair falling in waves over her shoulders. She was still wearing the same dress from yesterday, along with the same corset and undergarments. It was becoming tight and uncomfortable from how long she was wearing it, and the desperation to finally get out of it.
Standing up, she managed to slip the dress off, gently shaking it and laying it on the surprisingly comfortable bed she slept on the night previous. Reaching around, she slowly and methodically began to undo her corset, almost moaning in relief from the release of the cage. She chucked it on top of the bed, stretching her back from the discomfort she was in all night. The entrance to the tent opened slightly, revealing a handmaid from the House Baratheon, carrying a small pile of clothes. Alice turned suddenly, shouting out in shock.
‘I’m so sorry, m’lady!’ The poor maid squeaked, averting her gaze.
‘I-It’s okay! I-I just wasn’t expecting anyone to come in.’ Alice rushed out, laughing awkwardly.
‘W-Where am I?’ She asked, the maid giving a polite bow.
‘You’re in one of the guest tents of Lord Baratheon. One of his attendants wanted you to take this tent. She was very adamant about it, m’lady.’ She quietly explained. Alice nodded in understanding, frowning at the formalities.
‘Would you like to bathe?’ The maid asked, placing the clothes down.
Alice could only nod.
---
The water was filled with warm water, scented with scented oils and herbs, filling the air with a herbal twinge. Calming and practical. She lowered herself into the warm water, the heat prickling at her skin. She sighed in content, leaning her head against the rim of the metal tub, closing her eyes. Her head faintly throbbed at the result of all the drinking. The maid gently washed her hair, telling her stories of her home back in a place called Storms End. Alice asked her about the different places in Westeros, being lightly educated by the young girl.
‘I have also got you some fresh clothes, m’lady.’ The girl informed Alice as she climbed out of the tub, helping her dry off and wrapping a light gown over her naked body.
‘Why do you call me that?’
‘Like what, m’lady?’
‘That. The m’lady bit.’
‘Because you are one? I’m sorry, m’lady, but I need to dress you now.’ The girl grabbed fresh undergarments, helping her into them and giving her a new corset, white once more. She tightly strung it up, Alice bracing against a wooden post holding up the tent.
‘Christ, I cannot get used to this.’ She wheezed, earning a look of confusion from the young girl. She turned away, grabbing another dress, this time in light blue, with silver lace trims, the dress practically screaming expensive. Once on, the maid worked on her hair, gently brushing out the knots and plaiting it, her eyes catching on the small tattoo behind Alice’s left ear. It was small, but noticeable.
Three little silhouettes of dragons, designed as if they were dancing with each other under the safety of her hair. She did not speak another word, finishing with her hair and practically sprinting out of the tent. Alice frowned, quietly slipping on her shoes and exiting the tent, spotting Dunk and a small bald boy walking next to him, Dunk’s ginger horse trailing behind the two.
‘Dunk!’ She shouted, catching the attention of multiple people. Most people went quiet, watching intently as she jogged up to the two, smiling down at the small boy briefly.
‘How did you sleep?’ She asked, smiling lightly up at him. He chuckled at nothing, rubbing the back of his neck.
‘Well, I would say. However, my back is kind of sore.’ He replied. Alice’s attention turned to the little boy, her features softening.
‘Hello, I don't think we’ve met. My name is Alice, Alice Thompson.’ She held out her hand to the small boy, waiting for him to shake it. He stared wide-eyed up at her, face pale as if he had just seen a ghost.
‘I’m E-Egg.’ He mumbled, timidly taking her hand. She shook it gently before letting go, a loud horn sounding through the air.
‘Hey. Who’s come?’ Dunk asked a short man, the man looking up at him with a glare.
‘Can’t you see the banners, you giant cunt?’ He snapped, his eyes drifting to Alice next to him, expression faltering before he turned to look at the caravan approaching.
‘Perhaps I should go back, ser, check on the camp. Make sure no thieves have been nosing about.’ Egg spoke up, turning and taking the horse back to the small camp.
‘Aye. I have an idea.’ Dunk spoke, more to himself than anyone else.
‘Can I have your sword to run people off with? Or a mace?’ Egg asked enthusiastically.
‘You have a knife. That’s enough. You’d best be here when I come back. Rob me, and I’ll hunt you down, with dogs.’ Dunk snapped back in reply.
‘You don’t have dogs!’
‘I’ll get some.’
‘Where?’ Egg asked. Dunk turned, looking at him with a scary-looking face and barking once, deep and surprisingly shocking. Egg flinched in shock.
A group dressed in black and red rode past, holding banners with a red three-headed dragon flapping in the wind. They all aimed for the castle, horses' feet hitting the churned-up floor with dull thuds.
‘Mind if I go with you?’ Alice asked Dunk, her eyes following the horses cantering up the hill towards Ashford Castle. The two walked in a comfortable silence, Dunk standing in the archway to the stables, looking on in unchecked anticipation.
A herald stood forth, speaking loudly. ‘Our Lord of Ashford humbly welcomes the great and honorable Baelor Targaryen…’
A man with short brown hair rode forth on a beautiful black horse, his mismatched eyes scanning his surroundings, his beard combed neatly as he dismounted.
‘…firstborn son of King Daeron the Good. Prince of Dragonstone, Hand of the King… and heir to the Iron Throne.’ Another man stopped beside him on his own horse, looking around in disgust, shoulders tense as the herald stuttered slightly.
‘Uh, and his brother, Maekar.’
Alice watched from further inside the stable, looking over her shoulder as she gently stroked a horse's neck, the horse nickering in affection as it ate from its bowl of oats.
Dunk stared, contemplating whether to step forth or not. His line of vision was interrupted; a younger man sat atop a brown horse, paying him little to no attention.
‘Boy, stop gaping. See to my horse.’ The man spoke, his voice clipped and bordering on annoyance. Dunk looked up at him, clearing his throat.
‘I’m-I’m not a stable boy, m’lord.’
‘Not clever enough?’ He asked, taking off his riding gloves.
‘Um…’
The young man continued. ‘Well, if you can’t manage horses, then fetch me some wine and a pretty wench.’
‘Oh, m’lord pardons. I’m-I’m no serving man, either. I have-I have the honor to be a knight.’ Dunk explained as the man flicked his cloak off the horse, and jumped down from his saddle, turning to look up at him with contempt.
‘Oh. Well… knighthood has fallen on sad days.’ He sneered, shaking his head and turning away. Dunk’s shoulders fell slightly, disheartened by the attitude.
The horse the young man rode suddenly neighed, reared, catching a poor stable boy’s face, sending him flying to the ground. Dunk stepped forward, calming the young horse and leading it into the stables, gently calming it down as he tied it up.
‘The pretty ones are always temperamental.’ A voice spoke up, catching Alice’s attention.
Dunk laughed softly, not taking his eyes off the horse. ‘Ah, she just got a bit excited, that’s all.’
‘He meant the princeling, not the palfrey.’ Another voice spoke, this one harder than the other. Alice looked over, noticing two guards dressed in white armour, looking similar but different at the same time. Their eyes flitted over to Alice, gazes calculating and assessing before looking back at Dunk.
‘Excuse me, m’lords. I’m-I’m Ser Duncan the Tall.’ He stammered.
‘Well met. I’m Ser Roland Crakehall, and this is my sworn brother, Ser Donnel of Duskendale. Gods, boy. Do you ride your horse into battle or does it ride you?’ Ser Roland Crakehall spoke, his tone bordering on joking at the end.
‘Forgive Ser Roland. It’s not often he must look up to cast his eyes down.’ Ser Donnel spoke up, sending a small smile to Duncan.
‘Yes, yes, I’m quite the rascal. Now, tell me, Ser Duncan, is there a proper place to shit around here?’ Rolan interrupted.
‘Uh, not really, no.’ Dunk answered, glancing at Alice briefly.
‘I’ll wait outside.’ Alice whispered, walking out from the stables, rubbing her temples. God, I have such a headache, she thought, not noticing the stare from the young prince, his eyes practically glued to her.
‘Lord Ashford.’ He spoke, catching the older lord's attention.
‘Yes, my lord?’ Lord Ashford gave a weary smile, nervous fiddling with his hands, and clasping them together.
‘Who’s that?’ He asked, nodding to Alice.
‘I do not know my lord.’ He answered. Aerion, the young prince, stared at her for a moment longer, his eyes lingering on her hair. Without another word, he turned, heading inside the castle.
The air held a rift of tension as Aerion entered Lord Ashford's castle, sword clicking with each step he took, heading straight for the guest room he was most graciously given. He held his head high, jaw clenched as servants almost dived out of the way so as not to face his wrath.
Aerion was known all over the kingdom, for better or for worse, but many people knew him for his ruthless and unforgiving nature. And people knew one thing for definite, if he wanted something, he almost always got it. He was a dragon, they would say, in human form. Hoarding treasure was in a dragon's nature.
His mind stayed on the woman in the courtyard, his scowl deepening at the thought of her talking to that big oaf. His brother Daeron, no matter the drunkenness, always spoke of Aerion and a woman, with light hair that rivaled Targaryens, of how she was not of this world. Another dragon in human form, perhaps, Aerion thought, a dark grin forming on his pale features that could only mean one thing. He needed her to be his. No matter the cost. That woman could be her.
He entered his bedchambers, dismissing the Lord with a small wave of his hand, practically slamming the door in his face. His clothes and belongings were already unpacked and arranged, filling the barren room with life. He walked over to the window, looking out at the town below. Smoke billowed from chimneys, townsfolk hanging wet clothes out the windows, and traders in the streets selling their years' growth for coppers and silver stags.
A sneer graced his features, eyes fixating on the festive celebrations below.
‘You'll come to me soon enough.’
-
Alice sighed as she paced in a small circle outside, rubbing her temples. She needed to figure out a way home, even if she did, would she even be alive? The crash, from what she remembered, was catastrophic; there would be little to no chance of her surviving it. Duncan approached, his gaze flicking between Alice and the servant's entrance.
’How was it?’ Alice asked, looking up at the tall knight. He didn’t answer, instead crossing the road and entering through a side door.
’Dunk!’ She whisper-shouted his name, quickly following him into the dark corridor. She picked up her dress, jogging down the damp corridor as they entered the main part of the Ashford Castle, emerging in one of the main hallways of the castle. Duncan suddenly stopped, and Alice nearly ran into the back of him.
‘What are you doing?! We shouldn’t be here.’ She whispered to him, overhearing a few male voices speak in the other room.
The two turned, noticing a young girl staring at them, startling them. Alice gasped softly in shock, holding her hand to her chest.
’The prince’s sons are missing.’ She whispered, a male voice speaking up from inside the room. ‘You’d be more concerned if it were your son, I wager.’
Alice looked back at the girl, frowning in concern. Missing sons?
’Oh,’ Dunk whispered in realisation.
‘Probably dead.’ The girl continued, stepping closer.
’Dead?’ Alice whispered in worry.
’Wars have started for less.’ The girl finished, glaring up at Duncan. Murmured voices continued from inside the room.
‘You’re big and stupid.’ She whispered harshly, pretending to throw a punch at the tall man. He flinched, blinking in disbelief as the girl skipped off to god knows where, seemingly satisfied with her tormenting.
Another voice spoke up, this time more calm and collected. ‘They have only been missing a day. No doubt, Ser Roland will turn him up and Aegon along with him.’
’When the tourney is over, perhaps.’ The other scoffed.
‘Daeron belongs on a field tourney no more than Aerys or Rhaegal.’
’By which you mean he’d sooner ride a whore than a horse.’ Groaning followed soon after, one of the men sighing tiredly. Alice looked up at Dunk, brows pulled together in concern for the two missing men. Hopefully, nothing bad has happened to them, she thought, not noticing Dunk’s tensing demeanour.
‘That’s not what I said.’ The softer-spoken man sighed.
‘I do not need to be reminded of my son’s failings. He can change. He will change, gods, be damned. Or I swear, I’ll see him dead.’ His voice stopped short, becoming hard as he noticed the two hiding around the corner.
‘You. Who are you? What do you mean by spying on us? Show yourself.’ He demanded, making Alice grimace. Fuck, this is it. She’s dead.
Duncan stepped out first, nervously gulping.
‘Both of you.’ The man shouted, Alice gripping her dress tightly in fear. She stepped out after him, noticing the way the two men locked on her and her hair. Maekar stepped forward slightly with clenched fists, ready to probably beat sense into the two listeners.
‘Who are you?’ Baelor, the same brown-haired man with mismatched eyes, asked, eyes never leaving Alice’s gaze.
‘Um..’ Dunk cleared his throat, shrinking under Maekar’s gaze slightly. ‘My lords, I apologise for my interruption. I, um.. I have asked Ser Manfred Dondarrion to vouch for me so that I might enter the list, but he has refused to do so.’ He explained. The white-haired man frowned in confusion, mouth parting slightly as he struggled to find the words.
‘Who? What the fuck is going on?’ He looked at Baelor.
‘You.’ Baelor motioned to Alice with his chin, looking down at her with slight anticipation. ‘Who are you?’
‘Me?’ She pointed at herself, the room going quiet once more. He nodded, looking at her with a displeased expression.
‘My name is Alice Thompson, Sir.’ She spoke quietly, being nudged roughly by Dunk.
‘Sorry, your grace.’ She quickly corrected herself, fiddling with her hands, wringing them together tightly in front of her. His eye twitched slightly, a small smile coming to his face.
‘Step closer, m’lady.’ He softly spoke, and Alice faltered slightly. She stepped forward quietly, now aware of the many sets of eyes upon her.
‘You are from here?’ He asked.
‘No, I’m from London.’ Her answer was awkward, forcing a small yet uncomfortable smile to her face.
‘I’ve never heard of such a place.’ He commented, mouth downturned slightly.
‘Small town.’ She replied quietly, letting out a short, breathless laugh.
‘Are you accompanying this knight?’ Maekar spoke up, glancing at Dunk out of the corner of his eye, lips parting in a sneer.
‘No, well. I fell off my horse, and lost.. it. He helped me, letting me go with him to Ashford.’ She mumbled awkwardly, inwardly cringing at her own words.
‘Yet, we receive word of a white-haired woman galloping across some of our fields, with great excellence of riding.’ Lord Ashford spoke up, catching the attention of everyone there.
‘That was my horse, my lord.’ Dunk spoke up, stepping forth once more. Everyone’s gaze fell upon Dunk.
‘Let me get this straight. A woman with hair like that rides into our lands with no name, no house, no coin, and no family. What makes you think we should believe?’ Maekar picked apart her story, prying eyes zeroing in on her.
Lord Ashford cleared his throat, diverting everyone’s attention once more. ‘My prince, if the lady has no household, I would gladly offer her rooms during the tourney.’
He gestured politely towards Alice.
‘Until her kin are found.’ He finished. Alice couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was he doing this to sway himself into the royal's good books? She thought, frowning at the haggard man.
‘I-I couldn’t impose. Really.’ She tried to refuse, ignoring the slight glare Maekar sent her way.
‘No,’ Baelor reaffirmed, looking at her once more, ‘you will stay. You’re more than welcome to explore the tourney and the grounds, but you will reside here at night.’
Alice’s face fell, swallowing a lump that had formed in her throat. He turned to look at Dunk, face full of worry on both of their faces.
‘I will have a servant show you to your room.’ At the mention of a servant, one appeared beside her, ushering her out of the room. The servant quietly led her down the hall, into a small corridor, and into a small bedchamber, the place practically empty aside from a small wooden desk, a bookshelf filled to the brim with various books, a large bed, and a bedside table. Simple yet empty of life. Alice turned, noticing the servant exit briskly, closing the door behind her and leaving her alone in the room.
She walked over to the large window, opening the rusty latch and looking out across the meadow turned tourney grounds, hearing the faint chanting of music and laughter.
What do I do now? She thought as she sat on the edge of the surprisingly comfortable bed, looking down at her hands. She lightly picked at the skin around her nails, not hearing the door open once more, another servant appearing.
‘M’lady.’ The voice made her shout in surprise, shooting up from the bed as if she was just caught doing something inappropriate.
‘Y-yes!’ She blurted out, holding her hands behind her back. The servant maid faltered slightly, turning her face away in discomfort.
‘Your presence has been requested to join Lord Ashford and his guests for dinner tonight, and to attend the tourney. A seamstress is on her way to measure you and fit you in a dress.’ She informed her, the poor girl's veins going cold.
‘I think there’s been a mistake.’ Alice started, stepping forward briefly towards the servant girl.
‘I’m not royalty or any highborn person. I need to leave.’
‘You cannot.’ The girl interrupted her, voice hardening.
‘The invitation for dinner.. Is it a request? Truly?’ Alice asked once more, the servant tensing up, hesitating at her choice of words.
‘My lady… it was not phrased as a request.’
Well. Brilliant.
‘Fine, okay.’ Alice whispered in defeat, sitting back down on the edge of the bed. The girl left without another word, leaving her alone once more.
Alice lowered her head to her hands, resting on her knees.
I wish I were still in that crash.
—--
The halls of Ashford Castle had been transformed by evening.
Candles burned in iron sconces along the stone walls, their flames bending gently in the draft from the high windows. The long tables had been cleared away, leaving only the great table upon the dais where the lords and princes of the realm would dine. Servants moved quickly through the chamber with platters of roasted capon, trenchers of bread, and bowls of steaming vegetables. The smell of honeyed wine and herbs filled the air.
Alice lingered near the entrance like a misplaced piece from another puzzle.
The dress they had fitted to her, dark blue with silver threading, felt heavy on her shoulders. Her corset bit into her ribs again, reminding her of its presence every time she took a breath. She folded her hands in front of her, trying not to stare too openly at the room.
The others were in there, seated already, as she lingered outside, waiting for her to finally arrive. A male servant finally approached her, coaxing her along as he waited by the door. Nervously stepping forward, she appeared in the doorway, heart jumping to her throat. There they all sat, apart from four empty chairs, one of those chairs belonging to her.
‘Lady Thompson.’ The servant announced, everyone's eyes were either already locked on her or looking up to stare. She gulped, clenching her jaw as Baelor stood up, greeting her with a kind smile.
‘Lady Thompson, please, come sit.’ He gestured to a chair next to a young girl, Lord Ashford’s daughter, to be precise. She walked over quickly to the chair, forcing a small smile on her lips. She was rightly terrified, at risk of saying something stupid to either get her executed or, at the very minimum, exiled to a place where she would have no idea where to go.
‘Alice is fine, your grace.’ She spoke softly, avoiding the stares of everyone and mainly staring at her plate, sparing a small glance at the prince. She sat down in the chair, being mindful of the corset digging into her ribs. Baelor sat back down, eyes not leaving her once. She looked up briefly, noticing a young man, sitting next to Maekar, around her age, staring intensely at her, jaw clenched as if he was holding back from launching across the table to attack her.
Her smile dropped slightly as she broke her gaze first, looking up to face the two royals sitting across from her.
‘I don’t believe we have properly introduced ourselves. My name is Baelor Targaryen,’ He began, placing his hand to his chest as he introduced himself, ‘this is my brother Maekar, his son Aerion,’ he motioned to the young man who still didn’t stop staring, now chewing on a piece of fruit or nut. Alice gave them small yet polite smiles, trying her best to try and hide her terror.
He introduced Lord Ashford and his daughter, the young girl not bothering to even smile politely. The food came out in droves, from roasted pig to goose, with different varieties of fruit and tiny portions of vegetables. Very Tudor era, Alice thought, sitting quietly as they placed a small roasted bird on her plate, along with a small scoop of mashed potatoes.
‘Alice, Baelor said warmly. ‘I trust your accommodations have been suitable.’
‘They’ve been… very generous, Your Grace,’ she replied carefully.
Which was technically true. Being forcibly housed by royalty probably counted as generous in medieval terms. Her eyes flicked to the two empty chairs set beside her, plates and goblets empty.
‘You are observant,’ Baelor spoke up.
Alice hesitated, ‘Are… we waiting for someone?’
The silence that followed was thick enough to chew. Maekar’s jaw tightened, anger rolling off him in waves.
‘Unfortunately, my sons,’ Maekar finally spoke up, chin clenching in checked anger, phrasing his words carefully, ‘are not attending tonight.’
Not attending. The missing sons.
‘I apologise, I did not know.’ Alice almost whispered, realizing her mistake. She was such a liar; she did know, after all, she had overheard their conversation earlier.
‘No harm is done. They will turn up, eventually.’ Baelor gave a small smile, picking up his knife and fork. Everyone did the same, finally digging into their plates of food.
‘So,’ Aerion’s voice suddenly spoke up, catching everyone’s attention once more. Alice faltered in her movements, looking up at him.
‘A woman from London.’ He ate a piece of meat, chewing diligently, ‘Tell us, my lady. Where exactly is London?’
Trying to follow the exact timeline of the show and books but some pieces will be changed to fit the story!
Word Count: 4k
Chapter 1
Rain poured. The roads turned slick, traffic inching closer and closer to disaster. “Double your braking distance,” they would say, as if doubling it ever made a difference. Liars, she thought, her body weak, her legs crushed between mountains of metal and the lorry that had been travelling in front of her. Rain sprayed across her face as pain surged through her, the adrenaline finally wearing off.
This is how I die, she thought, breathing raggedly as her lungs strained for air through the blood trickling down her throat.
Please, God, I don’t want to die.
The sounds of approaching sirens dulled. Her skin grew cold as she felt the icy embrace of death pulling her from the godforsaken earth. She closed her eyes and took one final breath, accepting her fate.
Warmth touched her face first. The hard earth cradled her back as she slowly opened her eyes, frozen with disbelief. She forced air into her lungs, breathing heavily as if she had just run a marathon.
Had I died? Was this the afterlife so many faithful voices had ranted about?
There was no pain. No metal pinning her legs. No weak pull in her lungs. Above her stretched a bright blue sky, scattered with faint clouds as the sun’s heat warmed her body. Her fingers twitched, testing for pain. Nothing.
Her back felt stiff, as if she had lain there for hours, joints clicking as she finally sat up. Her hair fell free from the crushed clip she had sworn was embedded in her head the last time she remembered. She looked down at herself. The same clothes she had worn that night remained.
Blue denim jeans. A black long-sleeved T-shirt. White trainers. The same black hoodie she had nicked back from her friend earlier that day. That was all. No phone. No way to contact home or her family.
There were no traces of blood. No scratches or burns. It was as though she had been reset, placed back into the world as if she had only taken a nap and everything else had been a dream.
She looked around in confusion. A vast field stretched around her, wildflowers breaking through the sea of green grass, swaying with each warm breeze. Trees encircled the hidden meadow, as though a forest had forbidden itself from growing any closer. No one else was there. Only the cries of crows and distant birds filled the air.
She licked her lips. They were rough against her tongue. Her mouth and throat were dry, as if she hadn’t drunk anything all day. How long had she been out? And more importantly, where was she?
She searched for any sign of life beyond her own and the birdsong. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, feeling weak from whatever had happened to her.
‘Hello?’ she called out. Her voice was hoarse, her throat dry as sandpaper. She reached up, gently massaging it as she stepped forward toward the edge of the meadow. Her mouth opened and closed, struggling to form a coherent sentence.
The heat beat down on her, skin warming as she reached the treeline. She stepped into the forest and sighed in relief at the shade.
Seconds turned into minutes, time blurring as she ventured deeper. A trail appeared soon after, marked with hoofprints all heading in the same direction. She brushed her hair from her face as she followed it, her white trainers quickly staining brown from freshly churned mud.
Then came the sound, the muffled clamour of hooves against earth.
A group of horses cantered up the trail, ridden by figures clad in armour and black-and-red uniforms. She froze, stepping out of their path into the shallow ditch, staring up at the men in confusion.
They slowed to a stop before her, looking down at her with equal bewilderment.
‘State your business.’ One of the guards ordered a dark glare decorating his already withered features.
‘I’m sorry?’ She replied, frowning at the man's stern attitude.
‘Are you fucking deaf? State your name and business!’ The guard barked, his horse becoming twitchy and restless.
‘My name is Alice. I'm lost.’ She replied, head hurting as she strained to think. The man scoffed, other men laughing at Alice's words.
‘Lost? You must be joking!’ He sneered, his horse snorting shortly after he finished his sentence. Alice glared up at the man, biting back the urge to say something that could probably land her in trouble.
‘Yes, I, uh,’ she looked around, trying to figure out an excuse for being lost, ‘was thrown from my horse, yes.’
The guard looked at her strangely, not believing a word she spoke. The man looked her up and down, his frown deepening at her appearance.
‘This is one of the paths to Ashford, clueless wench.’ he spat, yanking on his reins and urging the horse forward, followed by the remainder of the men atop their horses.
Alice could only stand there in shock, glaring at the man on his horse, fists clenching in anger.
‘Fucking cunt.’ She spat, beginning to walk in the direction of the town. Her feet ached, jeans rubbed, and she was beginning to get hungry. Hooves sounded once more from behind, this time slower than the men before.
‘Are you alright, m’lady?’ he asked, catching the young woman off guard. Alice stumbled, slipping in the mud slightly as she spun to face him, her light blonde-almost white hair pairing surprisingly well with her pale features. She looked up at him wide eyed, blue eyes shimmering in the breaks of light filtering through the trees.
‘Huh? Oh, urm, yeah, I think.’ she responded, unsure of what to say.
‘Are ye heading to Ashford as well?’ He asked, his northern accent thick through the gruff of his voice. Alice looked up at him, her gaze briefly drifting to the two horses in tow behind him.
‘M’lady?’ He cleared his throat, knocking her out of her brief daydream.
‘Y-Yes! I am!’ She blurted out, mentally cursing herself as she realised what she just said.
‘Can you ride?’ He asked, pondering for a moment. Alice could only think back to the time her and her mother used to ride, usually together and at events. Back at home, not wherever this place was.
’Yes, I used to compete.’ She responded, clearing her throat, trying to ignore the dry itch at the back of it.
‘Like jousting? That’s a bit too harsh for you, no?’ He looked down at her with genuine confusion. How was a woman that small and slim meant to unhorse somebody?
‘No,’ she frowned, laughing in disbelief, ‘I used to compete in cross country and show jumping.’
’What’s that?’ He asked, untying his brown horse and chucking the reins to her. She caught them haphazardly, stepping forward out of the ditch.
’Jumping? You’re joking right?’ She asked, raising a brow at him.
‘No joking with me, m’lady. I’m serious.’ He grumbled as she walked to the left side of his brown stallion, the horse stamping his foot impatiently.
‘You jump the horses over fences?’ She replied, unsurely. Surely he knows cross country and jumping, no?
‘You need help?’ He asked, turning his own horse to face her. She shook her head no, lifting her left leg high and slotting her foot in the stirrup. With one impressive jump, she lifted up and over the saddle, settling into the seat with relative ease.
’Seven hells that is impressive.’ He commented, turning and urging his horse to walk on. Alice frowned at his words. Seven hells? What the fuck does that mean?
’What’s your name?’ He asked over his shoulder. Alice nudged the horse forward, catching up to him.
‘My name is Alice. Alice Thompson.’ She replied quietly, waiting for his response.
‘Alyssa? Like Alyssa Targaryen?’ He asked, earning a confused ‘huh?’ In return.
‘No it’s Alice. Never heard of her.’ Alice replied. When did I say Alyssa? She thought incredulously.
‘My name is Dunk…’ He replied, voice gruff and heavy with fatigue. ‘No offence, m’lady, but you look like a Targaryen.’ He added. Alice frowned, looking at him in confusion. Was it her hair? She had lost count of the times she had bleached her hair to achieve the lightness,
The two fell silent as they continued on, reaching the edge of the town mentioned by the guard earlier.
The town was large, filled with life as people moved from stall to stall, dressed in outfits suited to the area, but not suited to the date. Was this 2026? No, it couldn’t be. Townsfolk stared as they rode past, staring at Alice’s strange outfit.
‘What on earth are you wearing?’ An older woman barked, wrinkles wretched together as she pointed at the young woman. Alice looked down at her with a sharp glare, biting her tongue to keep quiet.
‘What the fuck?’ Alice whispered to herself, ignoring the concerned side eye from the tall man that helped her.
‘I was wondering the same thing.’ Dunk commented, looking at her outfit. Was it really that weird?
’They’re jeans?’ She replied, grabbing at her thigh and pulling at the fabric with her thumb and index finger, the fabric snapping lightly back into place.
’You’ll continue to get weird looks if you continue to wear that. You should be wearing a dress, not this weird garb.’ He motioned to her whole outfit. Alice could only look at him in confusion.
‘Have I landed in medieval Britain or something, what the fuck is going on?’ She ranted, earning more concerned stares from both Dunk and random townsfolk. They approached a wooden post to tie the horses up, finally coming to a stop.
‘Britain? What in god's name are you talking about?’ He dismounted, still looming over his horse. Alice paused, realisation settling in. It all began to make sense, the weird outfits, the looks and the dated way of speaking. Her face paled as she dismounted, stumbling back in shock.
‘I.. I was in a car crash. I was on my way home, on the M Twenty-five…’ She whispered, Dunk hearing a few select words.
‘Car crash? What is a car? And the… emmtwenty.. five?’ He almost slurred the words, struggling to make sense of what she was saying.
‘I’m not from here.’ She turned to face him, panicked and pale. Dunk almost flinched from her look, startled by her change in demeanour.
‘Yeah, of course you’re not. Come on, let’s get some rest. I’m sure someone in the town can sell you some clothes.’ He stumbled out, trying to keep calm.
‘I have no money though.’ She replied softly, earning a small grunt of defeat from the 6ft something man.
‘Go’n. I'm sure you will find something to wear. I’m going to enter the tourney.’ He mumbled, turning and walking to a group of guards dressed in orange and cream armour. Alice turned, clutching her hands close to her chest as she walked through the town with shaky legs, anxiety crawling up her back like a nasty chill. She walked through the dirt roads of the town, keeping her eyes low as she passed multiple people, looking at her with unease.
Her eyes drifted up to a dressmakers shop a few feet in front of her, with simple dresses hanging in the window, the door slightly ajar and a light flickering from inside. She stepped forward, over the threshold of the shop door and into the warm and quaint shop. A few dresses laid over a small wooden table, some with half finished hems and some with small tears from wear. A middle aged woman stepped out from a small room at the back of the shop, stopping in her tracks and staring at Alice.
‘Can I help you?’ She asked politely. Her face did not share the same expression, however. It was guarded, and unwavering of any trust.
‘I need a dress.’ Alice rushed out, trying to make herself look as small as possible. The woman looked at her outfit with a look of distrust, confused by such a haggard look.
’You dress like a boy. Yet, those trousers show your figure off more than normal breeches. I’m surprised no man has tried their way with you yet, considering you dress tightly, and provocatively.’ She assessed her, ignoring the choke of shock escaping Alyssa’s mouth.
‘Come, I’m sure I have something.’ She motioned for her to enter the small room. Alice obeyed, entering the room and glancing around. A large table took the majority of the space, covered in various fabrics, dresses and equipment, busy and well used. The dressmaker riffled through a small pile, pulling out a stunning dress. The dress flowed to the floor in deep sapphire blue, with a fitted bodice laced over a cream underdress. Gold lace traced the square neckline of the dress, glinting in the candlelight.
Alice’s mouth dropped open as she stared in amazement at the dress.
‘It’s beautiful. But I don't have any money.’ She mumbled, facing burning red from embarrassment.
‘I will accept nothing for the dress, it's old anyways. I’m assuming you need a corset and undergarments.’ The woman stated plainly, voice twinging on annoyed.
Was this the right thing to get? She thought as the woman hummed in satisfaction, shaking the dust off and almost throwing the dress at her, turning and routing through the pile once more, pulling out some white undergarments and a corset of the same colour. She turned to Alice, frowning at the woman standing there with her arms full.
‘Take your clothes off.’
After being suffocated into the corset and undergarments, Alice finally looked like she fit in the time, her clothes bundled up and shoved in a brown sack. The dress fit her perfectly, as if it was made for her. The seamstress was impressed, commenting that the dress was the first of many successful projects, briefly telling Alice of her time learning. The woman practically shoved her out the door, urging her to go on with her day.
Without another word, she turned, walking through the alley to a large courtyard, carrying her dress slightly. She spotted Dunk standing outside the castle, looking extremely downtrodden and crestfallen, shoulders slouching in disappointment. She walked over, carefully treading across the uneven ground in some shoes that were forced into her arms before she left.
‘Dunk.’ She made herself known to him, the tall man looking up from the ground and freezing on her frame. His eyes widened as a shy smile slowly appeared, clutching the strap of his shield tightly in his grip.
‘Wow, you look great.’ He stammered out, clearing his throat. Alice smiled softly, looking down at her dress before looking back up at him.
‘Thank you.’ She whispered, noticing how his eyes went sad once more.
‘Did you manage to enter?’ She asked him, briefly glancing at the guards looking over at her, the men turning to themselves and whispering quietly.
‘Er, no. I have no way to prove that I was knighted by Ser Arlan. Only a few other lords and knights might remember me.’ He explained, rolling his shoulders and looking ahead with a hard gaze.
‘Well, we can try. Come on, I would like to explore Ashford a bit more.’ She turned, walking in the direction of where they had left the horses. Dunk followed, towering over her like an ominous bodyguard. People parted ways as she walked past, eyes casting down to the ground as people quietened, others whispering to each other in hurried tones. Her brows furrowed, skin prickling under the dress from the uncomfortable stares. They reached the horses, Alice turning and noticing Dunk had disappeared into the crowd, leaving her by herself. She looked around quickly, trying to spot the red haired man.
‘Fuck.’ She whispered to herself, feeling the white horse nudge her shoulder, as if trying to comfort her. Her hand raised up, stroking the snout of the horse gently.
‘I know. We’ll wait together.’
–
A moment passed before he finally emerged, mumbling angrily to himself. He ignored Alice, going straight up to the white horse, Sweetfoot.
‘Why'd she say that, huh? We're not sad.’ He mumbled, more like sulked as Alice looked up at him with a raised brow. She stayed quiet, watching him with concern.
‘Certainly not rising-to-the-level- of-a-comment sad. Besides, Ser Arlan always said that… a hedge knight was the truest kind of knight. When we win our first tilt, we'll have the loser's armor and horse, or his gold. Won't be sad then.’ He mumbled, untying the horse and handing the brown stallions reins to Alice, the girl taking them without another word.
The horse nickered. ‘I know. Said if we did win. Look, it's not a crime against the king to enjoy a nice thought for a trice.’
They slowly began to walk through the festivities, coming to the edge of a training ground, men brutally swiping at each other with leather covered swords and axes. Alice paused, watching two men battle it out, one of them repeatedly taking brutal hits on the other slightly shorter man.
‘Do not muck about with me, Raymun.’ One of the knights spat, hitting him with his sword, sending the poor man flying to the floor.
‘You're a good-for-nothing useless rat.’ Alice could only glare at the man's poisoned words, sneering in disgust. What a fucking asshole, she thought, eyes locked on the man as he turned to face Dunk. The younger man tried to attack once more, only to get stopped and slapped straight across the face.
‘What are you gawping at, you blue-eyed cսոt? That's a longsword you wear?’ His words caused Dunk to shift slightly, fixing the sword on his hip.
‘Uh, yes, it is mine by right.’ He spoke, voice cracking under the pressure of multiple knights staring him down.
‘That's an odd thing to say. I'm Ser Steffon Fossoway. Come try me. As you see, my cousin here is not ripe yet.’ He replied, gesturing to the younger man holding himself up against the railing of the training area.
‘Do it, ser.’ The young man almost begged, his wide brown eyes looking up at him with some sort of hope.
‘I may not be ripe, but my cousin's rotten to the core. Knock the seeds out of him.’ He explained, Ser Steffon becoming enraged at his words.
‘Quiet!’
‘I… I thank you, but I have matters to attend to.’
‘What, matters of the hedge, I have no doubt.’
‘Fսcking size of ya. Stupid bastard.’ The man laughed, bordering on nasty.
‘Ser Grance!’ A voice shouted out. Dunk turned to face Alice, a weary smile cloaking his face. ‘Perhaps we should seek quieter accommodations.’ She nodded, clicking the horse to walk on with her tongue as they continued on, taking a small grass covered trail to a rivers edge, a large elm tree hanging over the river.
‘I know it’s not right, but I need to wash myself.’ He turned to her, face burning red from embarrassment. She grimaced slightly, nodding in understanding.
‘That’s fine. I will go for a ride, I think. Do you mind if I take…’ She trailed off, looking at the white horse. Fuck, what was her name?
‘Sweetfoot.’ He finished.
‘Y-Yes, Sweetfoot.’ She smiled nervously. He nodded, taking the other two and tying them to one of the low hanging branches.
‘Don’t go too far.’ He warned, turning and taking his top off. Alice spun around, grabbing Sweetfoot's reins and leading her away from the undressing man. She stopped by a half fallen down wall, climbing up into the saddle, fixing her skirt. She nudged her on, venturing into a few of the large fields. She eased her into a gentle canter, following a small trail through the forest. They emerged in a large field, a path running straight through as wheat grew in large fruition around it, the field stretching on for a fair distance. She smiled, feeling a rush of adrenaline course through her as she pushed her further, the horse breaking out into a gallop, neighing out as if she was enjoying it too. Alice leaned forward, a bright smile on her face as the wind whipped through her hair.
It was nice to feel something other than anger and confusion after waking up here. She felt like her life had already been turned upside down, feeling like the straggler on a man’s singular mission. To participate in the tourney. She slowed Sweetfoot to a stop, breathing heavily as the adrenaline began to wear off, the slow chafing of the saddle causing a slight burning sensation between her legs. It was one thing for certain however, and that was that dresses were not good to wear for galloping through a field.
–
The sun had begun to set by the time she returned to the camp, with Dunk dressed in his clothes, looking a lot cleaner than when they first met, the smell of foul body odour and feces dulled significantly. The two walked into the festivities of the tourney, Dunk disappearing once more to gain favours from other lords, leaving Alice once more, lingering outside one of the many pleasure tents dotted around the tourney. She awkwardly avoided the stares of foul smelling men as they walked by, whistling in low tones as they tried to coax her in getting her attention.
Her head turned to the tent set up slightly further up from the pleasure tent, a large crowd forming with the occasional cheering and clapping. She huffed impatiently, picking up her skirt and walking over, ignoring the slight rub between her thighs. Lively strings played as a woman strode across the stage, explaining a story. Alice stared up wide eyed at the huge puppet, in the form of a dragon. It was incredible, even for this day and age.
People glanced at Alice, warily stepping away as if she was about to attack out of anger, others quietening down. The woman on stage met her gaze briefly, her posture tensing up before she forced herself to relax, continuing to tell the story.
‘Great honor his ambition, must keep a truth concealed. For if his humble shape is bared, a foul and fiery demise. Should the dragon discover none but a man in great disguise.’ She spoke, the dragon puppet screeching loudly before opening its mouth, flames whooshing out and hitting a shiny shield of one of the actors. Alice clapped, mouth agape with amazement as she looked on. She did not notice the townsfolk's reaction to her, emotions of worry relaxing into enjoyment as they joined in.
The play finally ended, Dunk standing near the entrance, staring at the woman performing with amazement. Alice looked up at him, looking over her shoulder at the performer, who shyly met his gaze, smiling.
‘You like her.’ She broke Dunk out of his thoughts, the tall man shrinking in on himself slightly.
‘N-No, I do not.’ He tried to refute, only to receive a stare that could only say Liar.
–
The night continued on, the two taken joyfully by Raymun Fossoway, the young man who fought his cousin earlier in the day.
The night continued on, in the Baratheon tent of all places, the two eating and drinking gallantly throughout the night. They spoke closely to Lyonel, alcohol flowing further as Lyonel and Dunk spoke quietly, the young man wearing the stag crown. Lyonel suddenly took it off his head, standing and turning to Alice. She sat on one of the comfy chairs, head resting in her hand, leaning against the arm of the chair.
‘And, a crown for a Targaryen.’ He slurred, placing the crown atop her head. She smiled lazily, looking up at him.
‘Not a Targaryen. I don’t know them.’ She spoke tiredly, yawning. Lyonel raised a brow, holding the top of head gently.
‘You should do. Hair nearly as white as snow. For everyone else here, they probably believe you are one.’ He grinned, taking the crown off her head and stepping onto the table, joining the dancing once more. Alice yawned once more, fatigue washing over her like a warm blanket. Dunk stood up, stretching lightly.
‘Come on. Let’s get some sleep.’ He slurred, stumbling out of the tent. She nodded, about to follow when a hand latched itself around her wrist.
She turned, noticing a young woman around her age, staring up at her with a warm smile.
‘No dear, you will stay with me tonight. Outside is not fit for a Targaryen.’ She giggled drunkenly, pulling the woman towards her into a tight hug. Alice yelped in shock, waving Dunk off.
‘I’ll see you in the morning, Dunk.’ She called out.
Already kind of a work in progress but thinking heavily of the female main character getting in a car accident and waking up in the AKOTSK universe.... What do we think????
I'm thinking people keeping confusing her as a Targaryen but she just had the tendency to bleach her hair to get white hair lmao.. something that I did 2016-2024
theartofmadeline
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