The Great War - Chapter 1 (Aemond Targaryen Fanfiction)
Summary: A war is brewing, but only some know this – Camyla Peake, daughter of Lord Unwin Peake, is sent King’s Landing to wed the Hand of the King. It is a shame though, that she garners the attention of his grandsons instead.
WARNINGS: Arranged marriage with Otto Hightower, sexism.
Camyla Peake was not opposed to the prospect of being betrothed to an older man, but Lord Otto Hightower was a little older than she would have preferred.
Not that it mattered to Camyla’s father, Lord Unwin Peake, whose ambition overshadowed any fatherly concern he may have towards a child; let alone a daughter, because what utility did daughters have outside of marriage and childrearing.
It did not help that Camyla was also old by Westerosi standards, and Lord Unwin Peake had openly resented his daughter for not being wed. Most of the girls Camyla grew up with have long started families and fulfilled their duties. The Head of House Peake often moaned, usually over dinner and wine, that he regretted not arranging her betrothal when she was a child, and had long already arranged a betrothal for Myrielle, Camyla’s younger sister. Myrielle had yet to celebrate her seventh nameday.
Unfortunately for Camyla though, most considered the girl to be barren, until she finally bled for the first time, a few moons before her twentieth name day. It was a miracle really, and when the maids at Starpike Castle discovered the young noblewoman in bed, clutching her sheets, attempting to conceal her flowering. These maids went to Lord Peake right away, to inform him of this, despite Camyla’s begging. An ambitiously cunning man, Lord Unwin Peake set out right away to arrange an advantageous match for his eldest living daughter, and this sadly did not surprise the young woman in the slightest.
What Camyla Peake least likes about herself is how much she takes after her father. Like her siblings, Camyla takes after him physically, with abundantly ash hair and dull gray-brown eyes. Unlike her brothers and sisters though, Camyla was clever and shrewd, like her father. She was not always like this though.
When Camyla was young, she thought herself to be a princess. Her father, an affluent lord, was not affectionate, but her mother, Lady Amyra Tyrell, had compensated for this, bathing her children in love, and impressing upon them their value. Her elder siblings, Titus and Taliya, used to be her playmates, and together, they pretended to rule an imaginary Eighth Kingdom, which was unseen to the common eye; Titus was the gallant King, Taliya was his benevolent Queen, and Camyla was the Princess which their common folk adored. There were no dragons or mean fathers in their Kingdom, and it was Camyla’s favourite place in the realm. Too quickly though, these games became too childish for her siblings, who had to grow up and leave home. Titus was sent to serve their grandsire Lord Redwyne, in Arbor, and Taliya was wed to one of Lord Frey’s sons.
Camyla still lived in her fantasies though, and remained tender hearted. Though her siblings stopped playing, Camyla never did when she was younger, and would imagine countless tales which took place in their imaginary world.
But when their mother had died giving birth to her youngest sister, Myrielle, Camyla became changed. Ten and three, Camyla had to learn to take care of her babe sister, for her father did not.
And when Taliya died giving birth to her first child, while still a girl herself, a part of Camyla died as well. This was when Camyla changed, and as the years passed, Camyla grew to become more like her father, which is why she was not shocked when her father, mere days after her flowering, hastily declared during their supper.
“The Hand of the King. That is who you are to impress when you leave for King’s Landing on the morrow. For your own sake, you should secure this betrothal, for you will not have a home here no more. I have cared for you long enough.”
And that was it. It only took some blood for Camyla Peake’s life to be completely changed. As her father demanded, Camyla spoke her farewells to her younger sister and home at Starpike, and departed on her weeks-long journey, leaving with only what could fit in a carriage and the stern Septa Maris, who would watch over her conduct at the Red Keep (and inevitably report her every movement to her father). Camyla expected sadness to consume her, for she was leaving the only place she had ever known, home not only to her, but to the memories of her mother and older sister; but no sorrow took hold. Camyla only felt empty.
It was not easy to astound Aemond Targaryen, but when his brother, Aegon, declared one afternoon that their grandsire was about to wed a girl half their mother’s age, Aemond Targaryen was truly astounded. Surely this could not be true, because why would the wise Lord Otto Hightower betroth himself now, especially to a girl younger than some of his grandchildren?
No. The one-eyed Prince could not believe it, it must be a malignant lie. His grandsire would not get betrothed for companionship; that was what whores were for, Aemond heard him say once. No, his grandsire would not bind himself to a girl, but rather to her House. But marrying a girl so young, at his age, was a shocking notion, and Aemond could not be the only one astounded by this. It must be a misunderstanding.
But Aegon declared it to be true, and jovially asked the Hand about it over supper the very same evening, in the presence of their mother, the Queen Alicent, and their father, the King Viserys Targaryen.
“It is true.” Lord Otto Hightower answered plainly. Aemond immediately noticed how his mother was silent and did not touch her food, and he noticed how his father appeared rather pleased that evening, weakly raising his goblet while coughing.
“Congratulations, friend. What House does the blessed woman hail from? And when is the wedding to be? We must host a tourney and have a grand feast. It has been long since joy has been spread in these halls.”
Helaena had given birth to Maelor only a few moons ago. Bitterly thought Aemond.
“Thank you, your Grace.” His grandsire tightly smiled at his father, taking a sip of his wine before answering. “It is Lord Peake’s eldest daughter, and as we speak, she should be journeying to us from the Reach. I am to meet her first, to decide whether she would be a suitable wife.”
“What could be wrong with Lord Unwin’s daughter?” Queen Alicent finally spoke, her speech devoid of emotion. Aemond’s eye was still helplessly fixed on his mother; he felt like he was the only one that cared for her behalf and hated that it was so.
Clearing his throat, the Hand answered his daughter awkwardly.
“She is not very young but has never been betrothed. I would like to see her defects for myself before accepting her.”
“Well, how old is the spinster?” The King asked, in a lighthearted tone, but choked on his wine as his Hand answered.
The conversation tensed, and their grandsire quickly tried to change the topic. Not very young? She is merely a year older than I am. The one-eyed Prince dubiously thought.
“How I love fresh meat at the Keep.” Aegon whispered crudely to Aemond, who ignored his brother’s insipid comment. Instead, the one-eyed Prince continued watching his mother, who he realised was picking on her nails yet again. His mother was not the only one he worried about, however. Glancing at Helaena, Aemond also contemplated whether she heard what Aegon had said, as she vacantly stared down at her plate.
“Sevens, the scent is revolting.” Camyla Peake declared, pinching her nose.
“Camyla!” Austerely chastised Septa Marris, sharply glaring at Camyla. The middle-aged woman who was not overly fond of her, as of yet. “The Seven’s name should not be said in vain!”
The carriage carrying them was slowing down now, having passed through River Gate. They were not far from the Red Keep now, but Camyla could not see anything beyond its silhouette yet.
“Apologies Septa.” Camyla responded nonchalantly, looking out the window again. The smell really was awful, but at least Blackwater Bay was a better sight. The sky was dull, despite the rising of the sun, and the waters were devoid of colour, but Camyla preferred it to staring at Septa Marris’s scowling face concentrating on her boring needlework.
The journey had taken weeks, and Septa Marris made for poor company, in Camyla’s opinion at least. To pass the time, Camyla tried reading, but it only made her nauseous, and so, with nothing to do, Camyla just sat in silence during their travels. Consequently, there was nothing to distract the brunette from her thoughts.
Camyla was not nervous about being wife to Lord Otto Hightower, for she already knew what her duties would entail: play the role of a nice little bride, and birth a child or two. Camyla also understood her fate all too well – it was to be a pawn, either at her father or soon-to-be husband’s hands. Frankly though, Camyla did not care all that much, or rather, could not be bothered to care. Though the prospect of her life in King’s Landing, being caged in a loveless marriage and the walls of the Keep, bored her, Camyla was also not interested in her father’s games. All he wanted was to make House Peake the greatest in Westeros, but what was so great about it? Most of her family were cruel, bigots, or cruel bigots, and her father was no exception. Moreover, her father did not respect her, simply because she was born without a cock between her legs, so why should she try to vie for his approval?
No, Camyla would not try, not anymore. The young woman had decided that she would not be trying to create a life with Lord Otto Hightower for her father. Should he agree to the betrothal, Camyla would try to pursue some semblance of a happy marriage, only for herself, and if that fails, then she would hopefully have at least a child who she could love. There was the concern that she would not bleed as a woman again, and that she was indeed barren, but Camyla chose to ignore this. It was an irrational fear, for no other woman in her family was barren, so why would she be the first?
Camyla also no longer wanted to return to Starpike, nor did she want to live with her unkind father. Though she missed Myrielle, Camyla did not miss Unwin Peake and the way he ‘showed love’. There was something in Camyla’s stare, defiant by nature, which seemed to infuriate Lord Peakem, and when he had a lot of wine, he would ensure that Camyla knew his fury.
King’s Landing never was where Camyla imagined her home to be, but she welcomed the notion of it. The idea of being a lady wife to an important man was appealing, and her new life at the Keep would be hers to forge. All she had to do was please Lord Otto Hightower well enough. Surely it should not be too difficult. Thought Camyla as she stared at the moving sea waters.
Upon arriving at the Red Keep, Lady Camyla Peake and Septa Marris were greeted by Lord Otto Hightower, rather indifferently, in front of a large crowd of unfamiliar faces.
Camyla did not expect warmth or affection from the Hand of the King, and was actually surprised; not by his attitude, but by his physical appearance. Camyla had expected a man bearing in resemblance to her father, in that the Hand’s countenance would be heavier and more rounded. Instead, Camyla came to meet a tall slender man with a kind face, which made her feel at ease, that is until she actually got to speak to him more directly.
Following his cold welcoming, Lord Otto Hightower practically demanded that Camyla meet him in the Gardens during the afternoon, so that they could properly speak to each other. Camyla wondered what he thought of her. She knew that she was no great beauty, with a wider figure, pale skin and darker hair, but maybe her youth was appealing to him. However, when Septa Marris proceeded to fret over her appearance the entire morning while she unpacked Camyla’s belongings in the guest quarters, Camyla became grow irritated. Why was her beauty the only quality that mattered?
“You were a mess upon arrival – How could I let you meet Lord Hightower like that!”
“It matters not.” Camyla chimed in a bored tone, staring out of the window. The view overlooked the pillars of the Keep and King’s Landing, which was intimidatingly grand. Starpike Castle scarcely compared in scale.
“Of course it matters! Lord Hightower is judging you in everything. He is Hand of the King for a reason.”
Sighing, Camyla snapped back, in a mildly irritated tone. “It matters not to me. If we do not get betrothed, it will not be the end of times, no matter how much my Lord Father tries to make us believe otherwise. I am doing as he demands, but I cannot force the hand of Fate as well.”
Again, Septa Marris chastised Camyla and ranted to her about the importance of acting agreeable and soft-spoken, especially to Lord Hightower and all who are important at King’s Landing. But Camyla quickly grew bored of the speech, and ignored Septa Marris as she began intricately plaiting her thick hair.
Eventually, a comfortable silence lulled over the quarters, and Camyla became distracted with other thoughts. She wondered about court life at the Red Keep. As far as Camyla was aware, the King’s children were the only people close to her age (disregarding anyone not of noble blood), but the young woman hoped she was wrong about this, because otherwise, her life at King’s Landing would be rather solitary and lonely, for Camyla did not expect that the Princes and Princess would be keen to befriend the young wife of their grandsire. Perhaps there were some Lords at the Keep, maybe part of the King’s Small Council, who had daughters living with them. Or perhaps the Princess has some ladies-in-waiting close to her age. Camyla could only hope.
Naturally, Camyla knew of the members of House Targaryen, as well as their reputation. Of Queen Alicent’s children, Prince Aegon, was infamous in Westeros for his unpleasantness, and shamefully indecent past times, meanwhile his sister-wife, Princess Helaena, was often described in conversation as kind, but peculiar in character. Camyla has heard little about Prince Aemond’s character or attitude, but the story of how he had lost an eye when he was little, in exchange for Vaghar, a fierce dragon that had aided in Aegon’s Conquest of Westeros, was well-known. Camyla Peake expected that Prince Aemond would bear some similarity to his older brother in character, and she knew it better to avoid both.
The only Targaryen children that Camyla did not expect to meet was Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daeron. Princess Rhaenyra, heir to the Iron Throne, is a woman grown, with her own family, and she lived away from King’s Landing. Prince Daeron, though younger than his siblings, resides in Oldtown, serving as a cupbearer and squire for Lord Ormund Hightower; at least that is what Camyla’s father had said once during dinner with guests, a few moons ago. Either way, Camyla did not expect to meet either of them tonight, which she was fine with. In fact, Camyla wished she did not have to meet anyone from House Targaryen, for none of them, if shown by history, were good companions if one valued their life.
When Camyla finally greeted Lord Otto at the Gardens, the sun was harsh and unforgiving, and the young brunette regretted Septa Marris’s choice of attire for the walk; a hugging, heavy fabric gem-coloured gown, which seemed to trap the heat. Camyla tried to keep her cool, but it was rather difficult.
“Your father and I have known each other for decades. He has never mentioned you to me before now.” The Hand stated simply, his hands clasped behind his back as he strode ahead of Camyla, who walked more slowly, lifting her gown to appear more lady-like.
Actually, Camyla did know why, but she would not make Lord Otto privy to that knowledge. Camyla’s answer did not satisfy the Hand though, who stopped walking and turned to face the young woman, his brows furrowed.
“I am going to ask you plainly, and it will be without consequence for our arrangement. You have my word. All I ask is the truth. Have you given up your chastity to another already?”
Camyla’s eyes widened, taken aback by Lord Otto’s forwardness, and immediately responded, her low voice in shame.
As she spoke, Camyla’s gaze wandered to her feet. She knew that her age would be an issue, but she did not realise that others would suppose she was unwed because she had whored herself out. Lord Otto Hightower, on the other hand, seemed satisfied in her response, perceiving it to be truthful, and continued to walk, not waiting for the young girl to follow.
“So why has Unwin not wed you off yet?”
Glancing back up, Camyla rushed to keep pace with the Hand, her sight still set to the ground.
“I cannot speak for my father. He is the one who decides on these matters.” Camyla uttered a response. She did not want to lie, but she did not want to reveal the truth to Lord Otto either. Thankfully, he did not press upon the subject anymore, and began to speak to her about his expectations (they were as Camyla anticipated: remain silent, be faithful, and to do as he says). Camyla found that her input was rarely asked, that Lord Otto preferred to speak instead of listen, and Camyla tried to not to be irritated by this. Eventually, his conversation ceased, and he turned to face her again.
“My family dines together most evenings. You are expected to attend tonight’s supper. You will be in the company of the King, my daughter and their children. Dress appropriately and behave as expected.”
Pressing her lips together, Camyla nodded, and this seemed to satisfy Lord Otto Hightower.
“At sunset, I will send for a knight, Ser Arryk, to escort you. You are to be ready by then.”
Having spent some time with Lord Otto Hightower, Camyla formed some semblance of a judgment on him. Similar to her father, Lord Otto was proud and brusque, and Camyla knew how to act around men like that. They preferred women to be quiet and unseen, and Camyla could do that just fine. But did she wish to? Camyla Peake was undecided.
Camyla also knew that Lord Otto Hightower had once been dismissed from his post as Hand, but she did not know why. Did it matter? Camyla did not foresee a close companionship with Lord Otto as her husband, and while this was disappointing, it more importantly meant that she had to look out for herself, because Lord Otto would not. He gave her no reason to trust him. While she could ensure that their betrothal did not happen, what better prospects did Camyla have?
As demanded, Camyla was ready by sunset. Septa Marris had helped get her ready again, and Camyla sat in silence as her hair was undone; it was decided that having her curled locks loose but secured away from her face would best present her features. Septa Marris had also ranted how Camyla should act during the dinner, and to be careful about what she ate, as her hips made her appear wider than most other ladies; this greatly tested Camyla patience. Septa Marris had also tried to get Camyla to profess a detailed account of her conversation with Lord Otto Hightower, but Camyla stubbornly kept her descriptions short and vague. Camyla was no idiot. She knew that Septa Marris would quickly send a letter to her imposing father detailing everything, and Camyla intended to make this difficult, simply out of spite.
After Septa Marris finished getting Camyla ready, the young woman found herself idle with nerves. The sun had long set, but no one had come to get the young woman, and Camyla had no idea where to go. When Ser Arryk finally arrived to escort Camyla, the brunette felt like she could finally breathe again, despite her tight crimson gown, which was sinched to the waist too forcefully for comfort.
Camyla was normally quite forward, but Ser Arryk was intimidatingly large in stature, and despite his friendly face, he was in a seemingly bad mood, so Camyla did not try to ask about why he had arrived so late, and the pair walked silently, for seemingly forever. Camyla was amazed by how large the Red Keep was, and by the time they reached to the dining room, Camyla felt tired and her feet slightly ached.
A voice echoed the room as Camyla entered. The room was dim, illuminated by candlelight in the hundreds. Camyla had always been drawn to flames and found herself momentarily distracted as she entered, not expecting the room to be set so beautifully.
“Nonsense, Otto. She is right on time – Come sit, Lady Peake.”
Despite his cheerful tone, Camyla went speechless, having been addressed directly by King Viserys, a character previously confined to her books and her father’s conversations. In all honesty, Camyla felt almost stricken just by the notion of the Targaryen King being aware of her existence.
Camyla Peake, still stood by the entryway, was practically frozen in place, and Prince Aemond Targaryen, who was watching her closely, could not help but notice how similarly the young woman resembled a lamb sent for slaughter. With her dark eyes wide and her full lips slightly parted, Aemond Targaryen quickly understood that his grandsire’s future wife was incapable of concealing her emotions very well. The one-eyed Prince could have shown compassion and smiled at her when their gazes briefly met, but instead, he maintained his usual frown. Still watching her, Prince Aemond Targaryen decided that he would not show kindness to the girl, not when her very presence at the Red Keep wounded his mother so deeply.
“Come Camyla, sit.” Lord Otto Hightower spoke up again, and the young woman quickly collected herself, and rushed to the only vacant seat available, between Princess Helaena and her future husband.
Camyla. Prince Aemond Targaryen mused. The name rolled off the tongue very tenderly, and the one-eyed Prince noticed how well it suited the girl. Though her features were simple, there was a graceful humility in her stride, and Aemond Targaryen now found himself incapable of looking away.
The room was silent as the young woman seated herself. When she glanced to her right, Princess Helaena smiled at her, and Camyla forced herself to return the smile, before turning to face the King.
“Thank you, your Grace, for welcoming me into your home. I am honoured, and truly appreciate it.” Camyla lively spoke, mustering all her conviction.
Camyla Peake had thought herself to be well-prepared and did not anticipate her confidence to waver in the presence of the King and his family. Unfortunately, Camyla was wrong, found herself unprepared at the sight of all the fair-haired Targaryens gathered, as well as Lord Otto’s daughter, the Queen Alicent, whose intimidating gaze was piercing. But Camyla knew that she could not show any frailty, not now that she was alone at King’s Landing. So naturally, she attempted to hide her weakness with a lie.
“Please forgive me for my cloddish entrance. I fear that I have not been able to eat since breaking my fast this morning, and do not function well without nourishment.” Camyla spoke in a lighthearted tone, hoping that her attitude could be perceived as endearing.
“Let us begin eating right away then!” The King declared, a grin plastered on his face. Perhaps it was due to the small amounts of milk of the poppy a Maester has Viserys Targaryen consume, but the old King could almost see the face of his dear cousin, Princess Rhaenys, in the Lady Camyla. Though the young girl did not possess his cousin’s lilac eyes, they did have similar darker hair, and the King found their personas to be akin. It was comforting having her around, he decided.
“My love, a prayer before we begin?” The Queen Alicent asked, her voice soft but domineering.
“Yes, of course.” Viserys Targaryen responded nonchalantly, smiling at his wife before placing his goblet back onto the dining table, as though he was merely humouring her.
As Alicent Hightower spoke prayers, thanking the Seven for the bountiful feast that was spread before them, Camyla Peake made a few observations. Not particularly pious, Camyla did not close her eyes during the Queen Alicent’s speech, and she was not the only one.
Daring to lift her head and look across, she saw the one-eyed Prince Aemond, who was sat with his eye firmly shut and his hands devoutly clasped together. At the sight before her, Camyla felt herself flush, realising that the young Prince was actually quite handsome, in an almost rugged way. How was he still not betrothed? Camyla thought to herself, unable to tear her sight away.
Camyla Peake then became mortified, when she glanced to Aemond’s right, and saw the Prince Aegon deviously grinning at her. Immediately, Camyla shut her eyes and began listening to the Queen’s prayers.
“… as well Lady Camyla’s safe arrival to King’s Landing, and may the Mother Above, font of mercy, also bless Lord Father and Lady Camyla’s union, if it comes to be.”
As the Queen’s prayers came to an end, Camyla understood that despite the Queen’s comity, she was not pleased with her father’s choice to remarry, and Camyla could not blame her. Camyla Peake would not be ecstatic if her own father decided to marry a lady half her age.
When Camyla opened her eyes again, she was met with Prince Aemond’s stare, and immediately looked away, her breath hitched. She hoped that Prince Aegon would not tell him how she was staring at him herself during the prayers, but knew that this would be unlikely. What does it matter? It is not them that I need to impress. Camyla attempted to rationalise to herself.
Sudden rough coughing caught Camyla by surprise and the young woman instinctively turned to the head of the table, where the King sat. As she looked at the sickly King, their eyes met, and Viserys Targaryen warmly smiled at her.
“This old man knows that it is not certain yet, but humour me the privilege of a toast, my friend.”
The King turned to Lord Otto, who forced his mouth to turn upright, and nodded. It was not that Otto disliked Viserys’s attention towards him at that moment, but rather because the Hand realised something critical, which did not please him. Otto Hightower realised that the King has developed an endearment towards Camyla Peake, something he fails to show his children (aside from his first born). Otto Hightower also understood that he had to wed Camyla Peake, not only because an alliance with House Peake was imperative, but also because now, the young girl would be useful with the King.
“A toast to my Hand, Otto, and his fair future bride, the Lady Camyla.” Raising his goblet, the King took a swig and everyone else followed in suit and proceeded to eat.
Camyla turned to her left, to look at Lord Otto, and found the man ignoring her completely. Camyla sensed that the Hand was unhappy with her, which made her sigh, perhaps a little to loudly, as the Princess Helaena giggled out loud, making herself known for the first time that evening. Everyone turned to look at her, and the young Princess merely tilted her head and smiled vacantly. Dismissing Princess Helaena’s queer attitude, everyone continued to eat and talk amongst one another. Only Camyla knew why the Princess had giggled, and it felt like a little secret between them.
“I am particularly fond of lamprey pie.” Camyla said quietly, turning to face Princess Helaena, who was pleasantly surprised to be addressed to.
“Did you know lamprey consume the blood of other sea creatures?” The Princess responded, rather loudly, smiling at Camyla, whose eyes widened in shock.
“Surely not.” Camyla answered apprehensively, placing her fork down in slight revulsion. Blood and violence made the young woman feel uncomfortable, and she was not keen on eating a creature that now seemed so vicious. Her new-found disgust seemed to attract the attention of some in the room.
“My sister is correct. Lamprey fish possess many sharp teeth which they use latch onto their prey, in order to draw their blood.” Prince Aemond coolly spoke up. As he did, Camyla abruptly faced him, and found the young Prince smugly smiling at her, as if entertained by her horrified state.
“There is no need to talk about such violent matters in front a lady, brother. Surely you should know that.” Prince Aegon said amusingly, evidently no longer sober. Immediately, the one-eyed Prince’s mood darkened, as though he had stepped on horse shit.
“I was merely making conversation, brother.” The one-eyed Prince responded coldly. Perhaps because Camyla was embarrassed to be discussed about like this, her eyes were glue towards the table, and she noticed how the one-eyed Prince’s hands gripped the silverware that he held, his veins protruding.
“I am sure the lovely Lady Camyla would prefer more pleasant conversation–”
“Lady Camyla is perfectly fine. Thank you for the concern, my Prince.” Camyla interrupted, forcing her tone to remain girlishly sweet, hoping that their bickering would end. She really did feel mortified, having caused a scene yet again that evening.
“Always, my Lady. You are to become family after all, and Targaryens are very concerned with family.” Prince Aegon spoke jovially slurred, though his double meaning was blatant.
The room had gone tense, and Alicent Hightower seethed quietly, astounded and irritated, unable to comprehend how her father was ready to wife a girl who behaves like a child, just as his own grandchildren do. Aside from Camyla, who felt herself flush at Price Aegon’s implications, everyone else ignored it, as that is what they do when Aegon behaved like this. Normally Otto Hightower would intercede and force civility between his grandsons but decided against involving himself in case the conflict escalated.
And so, the evening proceeded as such. Conversation flowed like a river flood, in that it was unsteady, and at times chaotic.
Camyla Peake tried to become invisible once she understood that Lord Otto Hightower was ignoring her, but failed; the King would ask her about her upbringing and life at Starpike, as well as her father, and Prince Aegon attempted to bait her into conversation through lewd remarks. Like her father, the Queen ignored Camyla Peake’s very existence, but the young woman took little notice of this, as her thoughts were elsewhere.
For some inexplicable reason, Camyla felt herself drawn towards the one-eyed Prince, Aemond. Though they scarcely addressed each other again that evening, their eyes would frequently meet, and Camyla felt herself flush under his demanding stare.
Camyla ascertained though that she simply found the one-eyed Prince handsome, and as she drank more wine, her stare strayed towards him more frequently. Prince Aemond Targaryen did not mind it though, and in fact quite liked it. Thankfully, only Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena noticed this silent exchange.
In low side comments, Aegon attempted to bait his younger brother by teasing him about wandering eyes. Princess Helaena, on the other hand, made no mention of this at all, merely vacantly smiling at Lady Camyla and providing empty responses when the young woman attempted to make conversation. Though Lady Camyla liked Princess Helaena well enough, she did find the young Princess to be a little odd.
And as the evening drew to a close, everyone slowly began retreating to their chambers, beginning with the King and Queen, the former of whom had felt unwell. Camyla Peake was again escorted back to her bedroom by Ser Arryk, at the behest of Lord Otto, after politely bidding goodnight to the Hand and his grandchildren. As Camyla and Ser Arryk approached her quarters, Camyla felt bold, perhaps due to the wine she had, and posed a question to the Kingsguard knight, breaking their mutual silence.
“Are they good? The Hand and his family, I mean.”
Camyla’s voice softly echoed the hallway, her eyes fixed to the ground beneath her. Ser Arryk abruptly stopped walking, surprised by her question, and stared at her with his brows furrowed. He had no thoughts about the young woman, and was surprised to hear her address him, as ladies rarely ever did. The tall knight paused for a moment, thinking on his response.
“It is not important, my Lady.” Ser Arryk stated simply, and began slowly walking again, patiently waiting for Camyla to follow him.
Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of this new story! I cannot really explain how I came up with this plot idea, and really, I am here to see how much chaos and angst I can write into it. I will be publishing chapters every week on Wednesday, to make the wait until Season 2 a little more bearable. Though ambitious, this story is going to be quite long, and it begins in 127 AC, two years before the Dance of the Dragons.
