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DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter one: cold landings and green castles

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 4172

The only noise one could hear within the carriage came from that of the wheels turning and the many horseshoes keeping pace together across the terrain. No one uttered a word, not even little Joffrey who always had a question coming out of his mouth. The four occupants of the carriage sat in an uncomfortable silence, avoiding all eye contact with each other. The tension was palpable and it danced over them like a feather on their skin. Tickling them to the point of squirming. While at sea, Jacaerys had been quite chatty. Filling all open air with the sound of his voice. He had been dedicating every ounce of his extra time to his High Valyrian studies after a life of neglecting them. Lucerys, on the other hand, never missed an opportunity to point out his older brother’s change of tune. Despite the childish teasing, the prince's step-sister had silently suspected that her father had something to do with the recent resurgence in Valyrian interest. It was one of her father’s favorite subjects. The sound of his lessons served as background noise to most of their journey. That and the crashing of waves against the wooden boat. Traveling by sea so as to not strain the babe growing in the future Queen’s womb. Traveling on dragonback would have been much faster and far more efficient. But little Joffrey had yet to mount his own dragon and on top of a developing fetus, the Queen made a point of letting her family know that their party was to be the perfect picture of unity. A formidable and unbreakable force. A vision of hope and pride for the future. Much was at stake.

It had been at least six years since the last time any of the carriage's occupants had stepped foot in the capitol of King's Landing; yet even from the carriage, the air felt different. Down to the stench that wafted out of its walls. The air felt foreign and wrong, but none of them wanted to say anything about it. Perhaps if no one acknowledged it, the suspicions would not be real. But it was next to impossible to ignore. The smell of the dirt, the people, the spices, it was all different. The kind of different that pooled and bubbled at the bottom of one’s stomach. The kind that twisted one’s insides like betrayal. The future Queen stared blankly forward at the floor of the carriage. It was clear she was not actually looking there, but completely lost in her own mind. The skin on her face was pulled tight, both by her hair braided back and the tension in her head and neck. The future King Consort idly tapped his incessant hands upon his thighs. He would have seemed more relaxed if his hands didn’t give him away. He glanced idly out the window, down to the children, and back. His other two daughters were traveling with their maternal grandmother and would arrive sometime after the rest of them. The two eldest princes held a silent conversation using only their eyes, small gestures, and the mouthing of words. They held onto their naïve invincibility, only feeling tense from the tension in the carriage. They struggled to keep the other from laughing. They seemed to speak a language only the two of them knew. It reminded Maetilda of her twin sisters, Baela and Rhaena. She longed to feel that close to someone else. The youngest prince laid his head upon his mother’s lap and traced the embroidery on her gown. His head leaned back against her swelling stomach. His eyes were half lidded and getting heavier by the second. Princess Maetilda watched them all dutifully, studying the intricacies of their features and movements. Assuring she knows as much as possible about what each of them were thinking without blatantly asking. Their answers would only be half truths anyway.

Nothing could have prepared them for the stark difference they found upon exiting their carriage. In her childhood, the walls towered over her. Reflecting light off the sun in the warmest terracotta red. She could still remember running about the courtyards, but corridors, and especially the Godswood. She could see the smiles of the people she passed, the peace in the way their shoulders sat and leisurely paced. Even the flowers in the garden thrived, sky-high stems billowing in the breeze. However, that day the terracotta-colored castle was anything but. The walls were dull, barely red tinted. The sky was grey. The people walked quickly through the corridors with purpose, straight faces pointed only toward their destination. Shoulders back and tensely locked. The gardens were browner, stems not growing near as high. The air felt dead and cold, despite the shining of the sun. It did not look like Targaryens resided there at all.

Perhaps most foreign was the lack of basic respect and honor. Outside of the carriage attendant that assisted each royal out of the carriage, not a single body nor representative showed face in the courtyard to greet their party. The princess in only title could feel the sting across her skin as if she were actually slapped. Goosebumps erupted as the hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood on edge. The bubbling in her stomach began to churn. Was she nauseous or just overcome with a sudden hot flash? She could not be sure. What she did know was that this could only mean danger ahead of them, her family. The King would never stand for such petty and blatant disrespect. In fact, it was a flamboyant disobedience of the King’s decree by both the Crown and the royal family itself. Where was the King? He had been ill the last time they saw him, but nothing had been keeping him from moving about the Red Keep. Her father clenched his teeth and sneered, not at all hiding his fury. It made the muscles in her own back tense. Maetilda could see the uneasiness settle on each of her family members’ shoulders as they completely realized the seriousness of the absence of a welcoming party. It was not just an insult or a mistake, it was a strategic move. There was no other explanation. Perhaps the only non offensive excuse would be for the King to actively be on his deathbed. What other excuse could there be? Even in that event, there would be an attendant waiting to inform them of his health upon their arrival.

Only after they had all gotten a look around the outer courtyard did the gates to the inner courtyard open. Anxiously, a bald and wrinkled lord scurried over to the future Queen. His hands wiped at his sides as he remained bent over in respect. Maetilda watched curiously as he gave the Princess-by-birth a bow before clasping her hands firmly in his. The Princess-by-title felt her hackles raise as if she were some guard dog. Like a bowman was about to sneak attack them at any moment. Where in the seven hells was the fucking King? As her mind raced, she suddenly became aware of the presence of her three sworn knights behind her. They were just as tense as she was, even with the new arrival to greet them. She could see the hands relaxing on the hilts of their swords out of her peripherals.

“Welcome back, Princess.” He nearly muttered, his breath uneven.

The future Queen merely blinked back at him, desperately trying to read him, “Lord Caswell.”

Princess Rhaenyra soon dismissed the children to go explore, instructing them to be ready in time to dine in her chambers that evening. Joffrey was entrusted with a Septon they had brought from Dragonstone and ushered into the library. Little Aegon and Viserys were carried to their new chamber by milkmaids. With the freedom to wonder, Princess Maetilda did not know where to go. She found herself looking to her father. Looking for any sign that she should stay or perhaps make a run for it. But none came. Her father merely kept his eyes on his wife. Only when he felt her eyes on him did he glance over at his daughter, and simply nodded in the direction of Jacaerys and Lucerys. A silent instruction for her to follow after them. She turned around to find the two eldest boys already jogging into the inner courtyard. With a sigh, Maetilda instructed her knights to see to the safety of her chambers and belongings before they may settle themselves into their own accommodations. They immediately bowed to her before dismissing themselves to carry out her orders. Resolutely, she then picked up the front of her skirts and followed after her stepbrothers. Barely containing their excitement, the two moved quickly. The princess had to practically run to catch up with them. Luckily, they both turned as soon as their ears picked up on the sound of her hurried footsteps and slowed down for her.

“Coming with us, Til?” Jace smiled warmly at his stepsister.

“If you both don’t mind the company!” She teased back.

“We’re going to the training yards. I bet Jace 10 gold dragons that the dent from the morningstar incident is gone.” Lucerys informed her proudly.

“Those walls are made of stone, Luke.” Maetilda’s brows furrowed.

“Yes, but what if they fixed it? Got rid of all evidence of us.” He snickered.

“Well, with that reasoning.” Jacaerys nodded and shrugged as he considered his brother’s logic.

It almost felt like it grew colder the deeper they ventured into the castle grounds. The corridors were darker than she remembered, even the outdoor ones. Together, the three paced together through them. Navigating the halls by memory. Except the princess did not know where she was going near as well as the other two did. Unlike the princes, she grew up with her father and his Lady wife Laena Velaryon in the Free Cities. She rarely visited the Red Keep where her stepbrothers had spent their childhoods being gawked at for their lack of silver hair. An internal pain that Maetilda thankfully never had to suffer. She had always looked distinctly Valyrian — silver honey blonde hair and periwinkle purple eyes. There was no doubting that she was the child of her mother and father who were locked in marriage. Maetilda could never recall what the late Ser Harwin Strong looked like, but supposedly the resemblance with her three step brothers was uncanny. It was never their fault. They did not choose to be born with brown hair. It was subtle but the princes’ demeanor had changed entirely since stepping out of the carriage. She had not seen them like this since Lady Laena’s funeral at Driftmark. It made sense. They were walking into a wasps nest. She could practically hear the buzzing. The scalp beneath her braids itched desperately. Gods be damned, it all felt wrong.

“Do you think the rumors about Aegon are true?” Lucerys chuckled quietly.

“How do you know about those?” Maetilda gasped with a smirk, throwing Jacaerys a glance.

“Don’t tell mother,” Jace grumbled, “It sort of slipped out.”

“Slipped out? Sure, that’s how it happened!” Luke giggled a bit too sarcastically.

The older brother's cheeks tinted pink at the revelation of his mistake. Luckily for them, as they very well knew, Maetilda was not the tattling type. In fact, she found it miraculous how the two brothers had the ability to keep things light, pull the tension from one’s shoulders. Things didn’t feel so cold or foreign as the three continued their walk and eventually made their way down one of the staircases into the training yard. It wasn’t very becoming of her to be in the training yards. But she still remained in her traveling wear, which wasn’t very becoming of her either. Deep down, she knew it would not matter if she were in the Vale. A fact that she would always secretly hang onto. She did not know much about her mother’s home, her birthright. But she did know that. She wondered what it would be like to live there, and not be forced to adhere to such stiffness. Lost in her thoughts, Maetilda nearly tripped over her skirts in their descent down the stairs. Both boys turned to steady her the moment they heard her step falter. They came by their manners so naturally, made them seem less stiff too. Jace led the group the rest of the way down while Luke took up the rear. They collected at the bottom together before hunting for the spot where the dent should be.

“Smaller than I remember.” Luke commented as he looked around the yard.

“It looks exactly the same.” Jace chided.

Maetilda could not ever recall stepping foot there before. The yard was huge from what she could gauge. Bigger than the one at Dragonstone. But she could vaguely remember training pits in Essos that would put the royal one to shame. All the action happening around them was consuming. Instead of one person directing the training and practice, there were multiple pockets of different fighters squaring up, each surrounded by their own group of onlookers. The twins Arryk and Erryk Cargyll sparred in the corner closest to their entrance. They expertly matched each other’s blows. Like a dance where they lead each other telepathically. It was mesmerizing to watch them. Jace had to tug on Maetilda’s arm to pull her away from the Kingsguard. The three continued on walking, passing by the different weapons. Lords and the occasional lady all turning inward on each other to whisper about the new arrivals. Their lack of verbal welcomes, as the lords and ladies would customarily be expected to give to the newly docked royals, never came. Why were they all gathered there? To spectate? It did not help the uneasy feeling that began to settle in the princess’ guts. She felt like they were intruding. The boys naturally ignored them and hid any outward signs of hurt. Lucerys turned to study a wrack of spears while Jacaerys’ eyes continued to scan the walls for the infamous dent. Maetilda’s heart ached at the sight of the younger boy. His shoulders slumped forward and his eyes casted downward. He could feel their whispers. The princess reached out and gingerly grabbed his hand, giving it a single reassuring squeeze. His eyes glanced up at her with a thankful smile before they returned back to the spear rack. Behind them, Jacaerys’ pace picked up to a jog as he ran over to a particular spot in the wall. With a chuckle, he brushed the dirt off of the very obvious dent and patted it adoringly. Lucerys simply sighed.

“See? I told you this would still be here.” Jace chuckled, “And you thought you could swing Ser Criston’s precious morningstar.”

Jacaerys walked back over to the two who remained lingering amongst the spears, “You almost took your own head off.”

For the first time that day, Lucerys had nothing to say. His weight shifted from one foot to another. Maetilda could feel his discomfort radiating off of him.

“That’s enough, Jace.” She interjected.

The older prince kept his gaze on his brother, “What’s your problem?”

“Everyone’s staring at us,” The younger held his head in shame.

The air between them suddenly felt heavy. It was a peculiar thing to feel around the boys. Unlike them. The intrusive feeling the princess had garnered from the lords and ladies in the yard suddenly came to sit between her and the boys in front of her. They passed looks between each other, their secret language only known to them. Maetilda knew this was a matter between the brothers. If Luke wanted to hear what she had to say, he would have asked it sooner. Instead, he waited for Jace’s attention. For the opinion of someone who truly understood how he was feeling. Maetilda knew to keep her mouth shut. As any older brother would do when faced with a tough emotion, Jacaerys grabbed a random sword and jokingly jabbed it at Lucerys. But Luke was not in a joking mood. He did not flinch or break a smile. He held firm on his point. He turned to his older brother with more conviction.

“No one would question me being heir to Driftmark,” Luke started strongly before dropping his voice to a whisper, “If… if I looked more like Ser Laenor Velaryon than Ser Harwin Strong.”

Jace finally set down the sword and turned to his brother. Maetilda continued to feel like an unwelcome party as she watched them, but she knew they needed to have the conversation. On the other hand, they knew that she was aware of what others not-so-quietly whispered about. The boys had nothing to hide from their stepsister.

“It doesn’t matter what they think.” Jace stated with absolution.

Luke looked back up at his brother more warmly. The princess was shocked by how simple their words were and how their simple words were somehow powerful enough to move mountains within each other. Again, it made Maetilda’s heart clench. Their bond was so strong and so sweet. Something rare in the world they lived in. Something unbreakable by time or distance. Briefly, her mother crept into the corners of her mind before she shoved the thought of her back down. The moment was about Jace and Luke, the scrutiny they faced in the eyes of the court — not her or her lack of such solid companionship. The softness in the boys’ brown eyes made her smile as she pulled herself back into the moment. She opened her mouth to finally say something when a THWACK rippled throughout the training yard, causing all three to jump. Jace gestured to the other two that they should get closer, and Luke offered his arm out for Maetilda to take. Together, they crept over to a large circle of people forming in the center of the yard. The crowd was at least two people deep all the way around. The three peered over their shoulders in order to get a glimpse of the action.

In the center of the circle stood Ser Criston Cole and Prince Aemond Targaryen. The sight of them together was jarring. The princess’ mouth suddenly felt dry. Two people they hadn’t seen since Driftmark, two people they had really been hoping to avoid. The last time they saw each other, Luke took the latter’s eye in self defense and the former tried to take Luke’s eye by order of the Queen. The Kingsguard sparred with his aforementioned morningstar while the Prince stuck to the normal sword and shield. The princess did not realize that it was possible to be more mesmerizing than the Cargyll twins, yet there she stood entranced along with the crowd of others who had stopped to watch. The brunette was strong and strategic with his blows while the silver haired man was quick and precise. They spun together before the Kingsguard wailed his morningstar at the prince over and over and over again. The prince blocked each blow with his shield until the shield itself cracked and shattered into pieces. A lump formed in Maetilda’s throat. Surely, the prince would lose after that. However the silver-haired prince was masterful beyond his years. Without so much as a second of hesitation, he spun on the balls of his feet and hurled his sword at the older man. They went back and forth for a few more swings, each blocking the other with their own weapons. It was impossible to tell who had the upper hand. Swing, miss, swing and miss. Aemond spun around again after he met another blow with his sword. Like the flicker of candlelight, his one lilac eye scanned the crowd behind his opponent. It stopped on Maetilda, locking eyes with her for a moment longer before pulling his attention back to the matter at hand. The princess could feel her stepbrothers’ eyes glance over to her as her mind scrambled for an explanation of what had just happened. Perhaps he had just become aware of all the eyes on him, and realized that he hadn’t been in the welcoming party. Perhaps he saw the Valyrian features and did not recognize her at first. Perhaps he had known the three were there the whole time, and was assuring they were watching him. His face had remained completely blank the entire time. It was impossible for her to tell.

Back in focus, the men circled each other again. Ser Criston raised his arm, wildly swinging at the prince at least four times over. Aemond dodged each one, watching his opponent like a hawk. He waited for Ser Criston’s arm to get tired before he swung his sword at him in the opening it left. The Kingsguard barely dodged the prince’s advances, but this did not deter Aemond. He spun around again, swinging his sword around like an extension of his own arm before it landed right at Ser Criston’s neck. The princess released the breath she didn’t know she was holding as the crowd around her erupted into cheers. She glanced at her stepbrothers to find them already exchanging looks between each other. With a small ounce of honor the princess did not know the single Kingsguard was capable of, Ser Criston dropped his morningstar in the dirt and ripped off his gloves.

“Well done, my prince.” He praised, “You’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

The silver haired prince did not move. With his sword still pointed at the knight, he held his stance and his flat glare fixed on Ser Criston, “I don’t give a shit about tourneys.”

“Nephews.” He greeted the group to his side dryly without sparing them a glance at first. It was eerie. After an elongated pause, he dropped his stance, sheathed his weapon, and turned toward Jacaerys and Lucerys. He gave them a single curt nod. Clearly, he did not seem embarrassed for his absence upon their arrival. The prince looked at them down his nose. Imposing with an air of challenge. Not giving the brunette princes a chance to respond, he then turned to Maetilda letting the corners of his mouth just barely turn up into what could be considered a smile, “Princess. Have you all come to train?”

Any conversation was immediately cut off by the sound of an arrival, but not exactly a welcomed one. Across the training yard a voice boomed “Make way for Lord Vaemond Velaryon of Driftmark!” and gates on the opposite side of the staircase they entered on were opened to reveal a large party decorated in silver seahorses and sea green banners. A mass of which she had not seen since her late stepmother’s funeral. She could still picture them all on Driftmark in her mind. The party was led by two knights with Hightower green towers on their breastplates. It was peculiar to see Lord Vaemond flanked in such a manner. A manner that even Lord Corlys did not bother with, preferring to let his presence alone be enough to deter any potential attackers. The large group of knights, guards, and bannerman made the proud lord appear tiny as they marched through the training yard. What an odd door to arrive through, Maetilda thought. Yet they were being led by Hightowers. Very peculiar indeed. The princess spared a glance back at the silver haired prince, finding herself wondering if he might know anything. She almost jumped when she found him already looking at her with a soft smug smile. His single lilac eye studied her every movement like a hawk. There was already a new shield on his arms, ready to go for another round. Aemond wasn’t there to welcome them, he was purposefully training instead. Lord Vaemond entered through different doors on purpose too. That’s why there were lords and ladies gathered in the training yard. It was all calculated, on purpose. She could feel Aemond watch her as she put together the pieces of the puzzle. They were all very much in trouble.

Maetilda smiled sharply, stepping in the middle of her stepbrothers to take both their arms. “Excuse us, cousin. We must go get ready for dinner. The future Queen does not like to be kept waiting. It was nice of you to welcome us all so warmly. We must come down to play in the dirt with you another time.”

Aemond’s smug smile dropped, filling Maetilda with pride. He gave a single nod to the three of them, but held his gaze firm. She could feel both brothers’ arms tense around hers. They were undoubtedly in a standoff that neither party would willingly back down from. There was blood involved. Too much history, petty insults, scorned emotions, and physical maiming. It was the elephant that sat between them. They both knew it sat there yet neither would directly acknowledge it.

“Welcome to the Red Keep, Princess.” Aemond regained his smirk, “Nephews.”

A/N: i’m super excited to get feedback! my goal is to write a dynamic character who very much grows and changes with the story. hopefully, i can do my image of her justice!

are we excited for chapter two? 👀

xoxo messy

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