Chapter 6 Setting stone
Chapter 6 of The Maiden of Dreams
A/N- don’t laugh at Valiant he’s trying his best with what he’s got!
Warning- Angst, talks of death and violence, manipulation, spoilers, mention that MC has silver hair (that's all), fluff.
Pairing- Oc x Targtower!femreader, (eventually) Gwayne Hightower x Targtower!femreader
This chapter takes place during- 1x09 - 1x10
(Let me know if you want to be tagged)
————
Daeron, father is dead.
I’m sure it’s not your first time hearing this news, but I still wanted to write directly to you.
Mayhaps it’s true that you didn’t know the man we called father, but he was still our father, and for that I offer my condolences and my reassurance that you can always write to me if it’s all overwhelming. I wish I could fly to you to give you my condolences in person; I would have preferred it too, but Daeron, the era of peace has come to an end.
Oh, blood of my blood, if I were to tell you the horrors that crest the realm, the sacrifices of morals we have to make, the blood that will flow through our rivers and seas, the carnage that will cover our fields, and the changes that can’t be undone. Oh, blood of my blood…you would unravel in madness. Which is why I will shoulder the truth that haunts me.
I wish I could spare you from having to live what’s to come. I would give my life for you to grow up unburdened by what you will live, but we all must play our part, and thankfully not alone.
We will see one another soon. Until then, please do not worry and keep your dragon close.
I will send more letters when I can. I love you.
Yours truly.
It’s odd not being able to shed a tear for the man who was your father.
After sending the letter to Daeron, your feet took you to the King's quarters, hoping that perhaps that would open the floodgates.
Yet, as heavy as your heart feels, no tears streak your cheeks. Maybe it’s because his sickly body was already removed from his bed, leaving no one to say goodbye to, but your eyes remain dry. Even as your hand ghosts over the stone replicas of a dead city that he cherished deeply.
You actually remember wanting to help him carve the buildings from stone, but no matter how fondly you looked at the stone city, he never granted you that desire. After time, that fondness disappeared, and so did your desire to help him or even come visit him.
Maybe that’s why you feel nothing over the dead city covered in dust and cobwebs. Just like how you feel nothing over his death…
And maybe it’s for the best not being able to cry in the King’s quarters because outside, past the door, you hear a pair of footsteps echoing louder and louder. The bypasser actually passes by the King's quarters, but a second later you hear them retreat and walk inside, making you glance over and find your grandfather standing past the door.
“Good morning,” you greet him as you come to a stop in front of the sunlight casting inside, covering the dead city in your shadow.
“Good morning, granddaughter,” he greets in return with a sympathetic tone that only makes you more conflicted. “I am sorry for your loss.”
The correct response is a thankful smile and your gratitude, but all you can muster is the smile.
Your grandfather notices your indifference and walks further into the room, choosing to stop at your side and watch over the abandoned structure.
“I can’t imagine it’s easy trying to grieve someone whose absence you felt for most of your life,” he says, hitting the target right in the bullseye and making you feel understood.
But even so, you feel yourself grow defensive. You hear it in your voice too as you finally muster a response. “I am trying. I came here hoping to recall some good memories, but.” You swallow thickly. “When I try, all I see is my mother, my siblings, you, and Ser Cole. My father…he’s just the king in every recollection. And now he’s dead, so maybe all I’m doing is…damning him,” you admit, finally feeling a sting in your eyes that should have come the moment you found out.
“If it’s of any comfort,” he speaks up gently. “He was happy the day you were born and found out you were a girl.”
You swallow thickly and sigh. “I wish I could recall that,” you mutter before you turn away and exhale deeply. “I wish I could recall his love to grieve him as a daughter should, but he’s left me nothing but dread for what follows.”
“Dread?” He remarks. “You believe we’ll go to war?” He asks as he turns away from the table and walks around you to be able to face you, seeing your searching eyes trying to figure out what game he’s playing.
Was it not him who arranged your marriage to your husband so he could have the support of Pentos in the war that would unfold after your father's death? Was it not him who frightened you about that bleak future?
“You don’t?” You play along, confused, making him sigh deeply before he continues with his game.
“I hope not,” he says. “War is a nasty and costly affair. Which is why I hope that Rhaenyra will peacefully bend the knee to your brother, the king's rightful heir.”
You don’t bother telling him what you’ve dreamt because just like your mother, he won’t believe it, so you continue as if clueless. Just like he thinks you are.
“And if she doesn’t?” You ask.
“If she doesn’t then,” he pauses and sighs heavily. “We must do what we have to, even if we don’t like it.”
You nod stiffly and almost let the conversation end at that, but you’re horrified. You know too much, you’ve seen too much, and you know that he’s not clueless to the horrors that come with war.
“Even if it means that Aegon has to step over the corpses of thousands of innocents that will die to get him on that throne?” You challenge, seeing surprise flicker in his eyes before you continue with passion. “I just don’t see why we have to tear the realm apart when we can choose the bloodless path. And it's not like Aegon wants to be king.”
Your grandfather stares at you speechlessly as he wonders where this fire has come from until he remembers the last time you put up this challenge—it was a couple of years ago at dinner with the Prince of Pentos. You were younger then, and upset about being forced to marry.
You’re older now though and happy with who you ended up marrying; you should have abandoned that rebellion, but here you are proving to him that you are far from innocent and clueless.
You do sound like your father, but you have your mother's spirit, reminding him of her again. Which is why he knows how to respond to you now.
“Sometimes, granddaughter,” he says calmly. “We have to make sacrifices we don’t like for the greater good. Aegon is the greater good even if he doesn't recognize it.”
What does he know about the greater good? He hasn’t seen what you’ve seen. He doesn’t know what you know. He’s just—
“Do you wish to see your mother and siblings head on spikes?” He breaks you from your train of thought. “Do you want to see your husband declared a traitor and killed before your very eyes? None of us want to start a war, but your life and the life of your family may depend on it,” he now speaks harshly to scare you so you can understand it that way.
Luckily for him, those possibilities terrify you the most. You have been raised on that fear.
“Do you understand?” He asks and cups your cheek as he sees that he’s snuffed out that rebellious spirit. Again.
“I understand,” your voice quivers with your gaze averted.
“Good,” he says gently. “Now, talk to your husband, have him send a letter to his father and brother about what’s happened so they can prepare ships and fighting men. Do you understand?”
You nod in comprehension, and he strokes your cheeks before he leaves you spiraling alone in the King's chambers.
It’s as if he knew how to put you down and send you off a dangerous ledge.
You want to collect yourself. You take deep breaths and pace back and forth to get your mind off your horrifying fears before they remind you of the horrid future told in your dreams.
However, his words echo and pierce your heart every time, causing you to run out of the room to try and find peace somewhere else.
Albeit, you then run into your mother, and the moment you come to a stop before each other, that cracking dam is broken apart, and everything you've been trying to hold back comes crashing out.
“Oh dearest,” she coos, thinking your tears are induced by one factor, but you’re rendered weak in her arms because of her father.
It’s cathartic really, feeling your mother's embrace, and feeling her much-needed comfort after what her own father provoked, but in the rushing of emotions, soon comes a calm, silence where relief feels possible, and then, your frustration towards her creeps forward, reminding you that she’s no comfort.
She’s contradicting, and like her father, she plays at games that make you unravel. Unlike her father, though, she causes you to have battles with yourself between choosing what’s right and what your heart wants.
She makes everything so much harder. She is the reason why you fear.
And so with that in mind, you push yourself off of her, baffling her and concerning her before all that washes over her is disbelief as you run away, unable to speak.
Anger flashed in your eyes as you simultaneously looked at her with a cry for help, but no matter how much she yearned to chase after you, her father and the concern for Aegon pulled her away. And maybe it was for the best that her priority was not you; she wouldn’t have understood your distress as she would claim. She would have thought you mad the moment you ran to the garden and dropped to your knees under the stone eyes of The Seven, to cry and plead.
“Oh, pray forgive me for having doubted your existence,” you croak with your head in your hands. “I was weak and torn apart by my daughter's death, but I am here now asking for your forgiveness and your mercy!” You cry as you look up at the statue of The Mother.
“Please,” you mewl. “Please let my dreams be simple dreams. Please let me be wrong. Please change our future and don’t have things unfurl the way I see them. Please, I ask of you. I beg of you!” You sob foolishly as you put your hands together
“Please…I have been good. I have prayed. I have tried to keep faith and even in my moment of doubt I have never forsaken you! So please show me this mercy. Please,” you beg to The Mother and to the six others.
“If tribute is what you want, then take me. My blood. My soul is yours. Just please let me be wrong. Please…please.”
——
*LATER. OCTAVIAN.*
Something's amiss…he can feel it in his bones.
Not your denial of even a moment's grief. Something else that explains why he can’t find you in your shared quarters or with your beloved sister.
He’s been to the garden where your favorite fountain sits, but you aren’t decorating the water with flowers as you delve into your ruminating mind; you aren’t trying to find a moment's peace with a walk. The garden is unattended by your ethereal presence, so maybe you're with your sister.
Yet when he finds her, she's visiting her collection of fascinating insects alone. Thus he moves on, but your quarters are occupied by servants on their usual cleaning routine.
He has yet to check the Godswood, and the garden of the Gods, but he also has yet to search for you at your mother's side, and with the grave news that put the castle in a frenzy, your mother's side is a likely place to find you. Not for your own comfort but for hers.
Thus, he asks where the Queen might be, and the responses lead him to knock on the door of her quarters.
“Come,” she grants her permission, letting him open the door and walk in slowly to be as little intrusive as he possibly can in a moment like this.
Yet, his attempts are for nothing because when he walks in, he finds not only Ser Criston standing before the Queen, but Prince Aemond sitting in front of the fire.
“Forgive my intrusion,” he breaks the tension that quickly rose in the Queen's chambers. “But I am looking for my wife. I cannot find her. I was hoping to find her here, but,” he clicks his tongue as you’re not gracing the Queen's chambers. “She’s…not here.”
“No,” Alicent echoes as she clasps her hands to start rubbing the back of her hand. “I haven’t seen her since earlier today, in fact…I was hoping she was with you. She was…upset when I last saw her,” she pauses and swallows thickly as if trying to swallow back the guilt. “She’s not with Helaena?”
Octavian shakes his head. “No, I just came from her quarters, and she’s not there,” he says, his accent thick and obvious after hearing her speak. “Perhaps she’s in the Godswood then. I’ll check there.”
“Before you go,” Criston interjects, turning the Queen's attention from him to the Kingsguard whilst making Aemond finally acknowledge him by slightly turning his ear toward the group. “I actually have a favor to ask of you.”
Octavian blinks with surprise, and only part of his interest is piqued. “Oh.” He scoffs with intrigue. “What is it, good knight?”
“You are good friends with Prince Aegon, and we cannot seem to locate him anywhere in the castle,” Ser Criston explains, intriguing Octavian less as he starts to guess where this is heading.
“I was hoping you could accompany me out to the city to help me find the Prince. You and him often spend nights out together, and your knowledge of the places he likes to frequent may help me lead me to him.”
This doesn’t seem to be an offer he can politely turn down…he knows Ser Criston too well to know that this is more of a demand.
“Well, yes, I might know where he is,” Octavian doesn’t deny him as he rubs his jaw. “But my wife is—”
“I can go search for her,” Alicent interrupts him before he can declare you his priority. “Finding Aegon before Ser Erryk does takes priority, and with your help, you might reach him before my father does.”
Octavian hesitates, knowing that as much as Alicent worries for you and loves you, today with Aegon missing and the King dead, you will fall down her list of priorities, and he can’t shake off this feeling that you need him or anyone you find comfort in.
“I can tell you where he might be,” Octavian suggests, but right away the idea doesn’t sit well with the Good Knight.
“You could, but I wouldn’t know where to find them. I need you, my good friend,” Criston coerces him, leaving him with no option but to turn to his Goodmother.
“Please, try to find her. She’s…not well today. She needs someone,” he presses his concern, hoping that would put you first.
“Of course, I’ll go right away,” she assures him, but he's not imbued with comfort. He doubts her, but there’s nothing he can do about it now that Ser Criston has asked for his help.
“Thank you,” he offers with a tight-lipped smile.
“I’ll come with you as well,” Aemond volunteers from his seat, turning the Queen away with reproach.
“That would not be my desire, Aemond.”
Said man rises from his seat and meets his mother halfway.
“If anything has happened—”
“They need me, Mother,” Aemond cuts his mother off. “Ser Erryk and Octavian are not the only ones who know Aegon’s doings.”
He could almost laugh, considering he’s never once accompanied the pair or the rest of their friends anywhere.
Alas, Criston doesn’t turn down his help, and Octavian isn’t one to oppose either. Perhaps he might be right, and the faster they find Aegon, the faster he gets to return to you.
He only hopes he returns to you after your mother has found you. Her search won’t be hard after all; he’s given her a clue on where to go next, and if you’re not there, she knows where to go. And then if you’re not there then all she has to do is ask if you’ve left for the Dragonpit. That’s all. It’s simple. He can only hope that finding Aegon is as simple. He knows the city better than Octavian does and…likes to go to places he doesn’t even think of visiting.
One of them being the Street of Silk. Albeit, he does know that Aegon doesn’t frequent the Street of Silk as much as late. Yet, as much as he protests, Aemond doesn’t listen. Aemond thinks he’s right in his assumption and leads the group to a brothel.
“Aegon brought me to the Street of Silk, on my thirteenth name day. It’s his duty as my brother he said, to ensure I was as educated as he was,” he shares as they reach the brothel.
“At least that’s what I understood him to mean,” he adds as he knocks on the big doors.
“I don’t follow,” Criston admits, making Octavian snicker.
“He said, “Time to get it wet.”,” Aemond clarifies to the poor knight sworn to chastity.
“Every woman is an image of the Mother to be spoken of with reverence,” Criston retorts with discomfort, making Octavian chuckle.
“Do all Kingsguard think the same?” Octavian wonders with intrigue. “Or just you, my Good Knight?”
Ser Criston clears his throat as he clasps his hands. “Those sworn to protect the King and his kin. Yes,” he states, making Octavian nod.
“I see. Why not just castrate yourselves then, huh? It’s a simple fix. Just like the Unsullied eunuchs.” He grins.
“Simple, perhaps,” Criston doesn’t argue. “But you’d find fewer men eager to join the Kingsguard.”
“One would argue that you know you won’t use it the moment you join,” Octavian debates before he leans towards his good friend. “Unless…you do?” He teases. “It’s alright to tell me. Men have desires, I understand. I won’t tell. Not even my dear love will know.” He swears with his hand over his heart.
Yet, as Ser Criston clears his throat and averts his gaze, the door opens before he can answer, making Octavian playfully hit Aemond’s shoulder before turning his eyes to a curvy woman with light brown hair standing under the door frame, missing Aemond’s side eye.
“Forgive our intrusion,” Ser Criston addresses the beautiful woman with politeness, whilst she looks at Octavian and Aemond under their hoods. “But we’re here on an urgent matter. You see,” he says as he leans in closer. “Sometime last night, we misplaced our drinking companion. Knowing that he has been, in the past, a patron of your fine establishment, we thought to inquire here as to his whereabouts.”
“And describe him,” the woman asks of him, but instead of making things simple, Ser Criston makes it obvious that their roughspun cloaks are for pretending.
“That is a delicate matter,” Ser Criston says before he leans in to whisper to the woman. “You see, the man we seek is the young prince Aegon. I may trust, I hope, in the discretion of your trade.”
The woman scoffs and doesn’t soften her voice like the Good Knight. “The Prince is not here.”
“Has he been here?” Criston probes. “Earlier, perhaps?”
“Quite a bit earlier,” the woman says. “Years ago, in fact.”
“But more recently?”
Before the woman answers, she turns her eyes to Aemond, and so does Octavian, but all he sees is Aemond ducking his head.
“He does not frequent the Street of Silk,” the woman proves Octavian right. “His tastes are known to be…less discriminating.”
“Meaning what?” Ser Criston questions what Octavian understands right away.
“I wish you luck, good Ser,” the woman dismisses him. “And my best to your friends,” she says but focuses on Aemond again. This time with a smirk that makes Octavian wonder if she was the prince’s first, or if she was simply awed by the Targaryen prince.
Whatever it is, he does not ask or try to figure it out. He just offers her a head bow, earning a look up and down with a flirty smile before he follows after Ser Criston.
“As I said, he is not in these streets,” Octavian gloats.
“No? What about a similar establishment that’s more discreet?” Ser Criston wants to know, but Octavian shrugs.
“If he does, then I won’t know. We come to drink, bet, and race. That’s all I do with the Prince,” he reaffirms.
“No?” Ser Criston puts it to doubt. “If you do…I will not tell,” he now uses Octavian's own words against him, making wrinkles appear in the corner of his slightly downturned eyes as he grins brightly.
“No, I swear it to you. I have no need for any of these establishments,” he declares, making the Good Knight pat his shoulder with praise.
“Good. You’re a good man.”
Octavian accepts the praise, but does not agree himself to be good. Not as he thinks of where Aegon might be. He hopes he’s wrong and that’s why he leads the group to taverns he frequents with Aegon. He asks friends that he has game nights with if they’ve seen their shared companion, but he does not turn up in any place.
Everywhere they go, in fact, they’re left empty-handed, leading him to the one place he wishes Aegon is not at.
“It seems you were mistaken as to Aegon’s whereabouts,” Ser Criston directs at Aemond and Octavian as another one of his leads turns out to be nothing again.
“He could be in the hands of mercenaries,” Aemond remarks. “On a ship to Yi-Ti. He could be dead.”
“Let us hope, for your mother's sake, that is not the case,” Ser Criston says before Octavian gives up.
“I know a place where he might be. It’s not a place I go to, but I’ve heard that he…frequents it many a night.”
Both men look at him clueless about what this place really is. And even as Ser Criston presses for more, he doesn’t realize why Octavian sounds so disturbed.
“What is it?”
Octavian swallows thickly. “Fighting pits…children fighting pits.”
Ser Criston looks horrified, while Aemond looks indifferent by the revelation.
“I have been dreading going, but it seems to be the only place where he might be at,” Octavian’s voice is filled with disgust, and thankfully, neither man speaks up to interrogate him. They follow him in a disturbed silence.
That is until Aemond seems to have had enough.
“Here I am, trawling the city, ever the good soldier in search of a wastrel whose never taken half an interest in his birthright,” Aemond rants. “‘‘Tis I the younger brother who studies history and philosophy. It is I who trains with a sword, who rides the largest dragon in the world. It is I who should be—”
Upon hearing where Aemond cuts himself off, Octavian turns away. It’s not his business. He’s here to help Ser Criston, not to delve into Aemond’s distasteful and obvious disdain towards his own brother.
“I know what it is like to toil for what others are freely given,” Octavian hears Ser Criston tell Aemond, making the one-eyed Prince hum before he retorts.
“And we can’t find him. We are decent men with no taste for depravity. His secrets are his own and he’s welcomed to them. I’m next in line to the throne. Should they come looking for me. I intend to be found.”
Not his problem. Not his problem.
Yet, he peers over and finds that Aemond is piercing his eye on him. For what reason? Who knows, but there he sees what he’s always seen since they met, disdain for him too. And like every other time, he pretends not to see it. Instead, when the men are ready, he continues to lead the way to the fighting pits.
Thankfully, they’re not far now, and thankfully none of those uncomfortable conversations are brought up again. Ser Criston and Octavian have conversations that Aemond doesn’t join. He’s more like a menacing shadow behind them. One he hopes to shake off soon because he can feel Aemond’s piercing eye on the back of his head. It burns, but he doesn’t acknowledge him. He just leads the way with Ser Criston at his side.
Thankfully, however, not so much later and before they can reach the fighting pits, Ser Criston points out to Ser Erryk and his twin, Ser Arryk in a yard, without the Prince they’re meant to look for, wearing their roughspun cloaks and talking to a woman in a bright rich gown that makes her stand out just as much as Aemond does with his expensive cloak tied with a heavy, gleaming chain.
She must know something important for the twin knights to be taking time off their search for Aegon, so the group waits. When they eventually separate from the richly dressed woman, the group discreetly follows them, hoping to be led to Aegon, since they’re supposed to be searching for him too.
——
*YOU*
The wind runs unkind, presenting a rude awakening as it slams against your bare skin, making every blow sting.
The sharp, crisp smell of pines and the rich earthly smell of mud that runs with the wind is a kind consolation to the stinging pain. It’s different too. Not the pungent smell of the city that you fell asleep to.
The thick, dark grey clouds grumbling in the open sky offer your groggy eyes a second consolation with their gentle touch.
However, the kindness you’ve received is strange. You acknowledge that now and raise the alarm within yourself as you snap up to your knees. Yet, what is that heart-racing emotion compared to realizing in a flash of a second that you’ve been stranded in a sea of green grass?
From side to side it stretches from horizon to horizon. Ahead of you, there’s a scattered tree line not far out of reach that hides a small keep surrounded by pale limestone houses on the far horizon. And behind you lies a thick forest line imbued in shadows, making it impossible to see what dangers it hides.
So which way do you go?
Where the grass never ends? Or to the keep in the far distance?
The wind is running ahead; should you follow its lead?
What is this dream telling you? You wonder while you wait and listen to the sound of the quiet wind, feeling a moment's peace before the ground beneath you begins to vibrate under your folded legs.
You try to spot what's approaching at quick speed, but there’s nothing that catches your eye. The wind is the only thing carrying something different; the scent of wet dog fur.
The smell grows stronger and stronger until finally, breaking through the strands of grass, your eyes widen as you see old, grizzled wolves come running toward you at full speed.
Thus, you gasp with horror and shove yourself to your feet to get ready to run.
Yet, instead of attacking you, the old wolves ignore you and run past you, telling you that you need to run because something far more terrifying approaches.
However, no matter how panicked your heart races, your feet don’t move. Your eyes squint on the thick treeline where the wolves fled from, and you wait.
Not so much later, your patience is rewarded when the large shadow of a dragon flies past you.
You almost look up to identify who it is, but then something else catches your eye; glimmers of silver dancing in the shadows of the woods that then turn to glimmering outlines of people as they get closer.
Once the outlines make it to the tree line, you only see two fully armored people walking out on horseback, leaving behind more glimmering outlines of armored people in the shadows of the woods.
Howbeit, as dangerous as two warriors can be, panic disperses as fast as the wolves ran past you, despite the figures hiding their faces under helmets, because the armored figure in their silver and green armor behind the leader holds a banner with a golden three-headed dragon over a green field.
That’s a sigil you’ve seen in your dreams many times before. One that never raises an alarm. It makes you uncomfortable, but it never makes you fear, and it doesn’t now.
The thing you fear is the leader in their silver armor and silver helmet that's decorated with small twisting horns that point to the sky. They approach you with their pale grey palfrey, while the one with the banner stays behind.
When the leader eventually comes before you and climbs off the palfrey, holding a wooden crown in hand. You take a cautious step back, but see them mirroring you, causing your breath to catch before theirs does too.
Now, that gasp couldn't be a coincidence. Not like that step backwards, so just to answer your curiosity, you reach your right hand out.
Without a second to spare, the leader mimics you, baffling you. However, instead of staying still like you are, the leader drops its arm back to its side and takes a couple steps forward, making you take a couple steps back so it doesn’t have the chance to grab you.
However, as you take those steps backwards, the heel of your foot hits something hard and cold, making you stop and making the leader stop too to point behind you.
You respond with curiosity instead of confusion and slowly peer back, seeing an empty wooden throne and something far more surprising.
“Helaena,” you whisper with disbelief.
“You’re right.” She nods gently. “We all have our part to play,” she says, giving an answer to your pleas with a truth you tried rejecting. And as she does, a gentle hand grabs your shoulder, making you snap your head around to try and see.
Nevertheless, instead of seeing the leader in their silver armor and the other figure with the banner, your scenery changes in the blink of an eye. Instead of the woods, you’re back in the garden of the gods. The sky is painted with the vibrant colors of the setting sun, there’s no running wind; the air doesn’t smell like the rich woods and wet earth; it smells like home.
“Here you are,” Helaena’s sweet voice travels out from behind you, making you turn around.
Only as you turn, your eyes widen with horror as your shadow is not in the shape of you. Your shadow is in the shape of the armored leader you just dreamt of. You can trace its bulky armor and its unique helmet with the small twisting horns.
“Aegon has been found,” Helaena announces calmly, making you snap your eyes to her with your horrified look now brimming with tears.
“It’s cold,” she says. “Let’s go inside.”
You swallow thickly and nod stiffly before she takes your hand and takes you inside with her.
——
*DAWN*
The Dragonpit is alive with the chaotic commotion of bells and crowds upon crowds of Smallfolk pouring in to witness Aegon’s coronation. An affair that has you unsettled and running on no sleep after it kept you up all night tossing and turning.
You try shaking off the feeling, but the commotion is no help to your roused nerves.
If only you could go down and be with your dragon since he’s just below your feet, but you’re not here to be with your dragon. You’re here to support your brother your mother made sure to clarify, so the path to Valiant is off limits until the Dragonpit has cleared, leaving you to pace and pace in your wait for your brother.
That is until you're captivated by your husband.
Currently, Octavian’s thin, long dark eyebrows are furrowed with an agitation he hasn’t been able to let go of since yesterday. He said he wasn’t upset, and you told him not to be, but it seems that seeing your mother joining you in your wait has reminded him that she never did the simple favor he asked of her.
Is she really to blame for your own mistake of falling asleep outside, though?.
No, not to you, but even if she is somehow to blame, it doesn’t matter. It happened, and he can’t change the past, so to try and soothe his brows, you go to him.
“You look very striking in green,” you pull your husband out of his thoughts with a compliment, soothing that crease between his eyebrows and making those green eyes brighten as he’s rapt by you.
“Striking is it?” He teases with a flattered smile.
“Dashing,” you counter with a grin as you press your palms on his dark green leather doublet and lean in close.
“And you are breathtaking,” he muses as he cups your cheek and smiles with awe, making you smile bashfully at the ground before he suddenly grabs your face with both hands to tilt your face back so you can meet his gaze.
He doesn’t proceed to say anything. He just looks at you with a smile that only softens and eyes that grow darker with infatuation.
It’s a look that you could live under forever and ever. No matter how much you squirm and shy away from it. There’s nothing better, nothing more absolutely endearing or safe than under his loving gaze.
“How are you feeling, my love?” He breaks the silence between you whilst he strokes your cheek.
“I am…” you trail off just as you begin and draw out a deep, nervous breath. “Frightened,” you admit quietly so no one else can hear.
“The horrifying dreams that have haunted me throughout my life…start today,” you mutter breathlessly. “Once the Conqueror’s crown is placed over my brother's brow, the first stone will be set on this unchanging path.”
“No,” Octavian whispers and leans in closer. “The path is not determined yet. The first stone will be set today, yes, but you have the power to change the path in whichever direction you want. It all just falls to you, if you want to.”
With the memory of already deciding what you want to do in this upcoming war and with a stolen glance back at your family, you say nothing to contradict him. He’s right, and you love your family too much.
Octavian reads all that off your troubled face and slides his hands down to your shoulders to press you against him and wrap you in an embrace. In doing so, catching the attention of your little brother Aemond as he stands in wait.
Why can’t he be your confidant? Why does your body not ease in his embrace?
Not that embraces between you are given, but here he stands, your equal, and there you are, with him. It’s wrong.
Today is all wrong. He should be the one waiting to be announced as King, he should be where Aegon is, and you should be his Queen. That’s the way things should be. The right way.
But Aegon is going to be King soon, and you were given to the foreigner who is not the blood of the dragon.
“Come, everyone,” Alicent blurts. “It’s time. Go stand in your positions.”
You sigh and bask in your husband's comforting embrace for a second longer. When you pull away, you walk up to the platform that stands over hundreds of people and stand in order of your birth next to your mother, whilst Octavian finds his position behind you.
“Helaena,” you call for your sister's attention. “After this is over, we should get on our dragons and fly to our place,” you suggest, hopefully.
“Yes,” she agrees, relieved. “I would very much appreciate that. Please.”
You offer her a faint smile, and she faintly mirrors it.
“People of King’s Landing!” Your grandfather loudly booms to the crowd settling in. “Today is the saddest of days. Our beloved king…Viserys the Peaceful. Is dead.”
The crowd murmurs, but even as your grandfather lets the news travel amongst the crowd, he doesn’t wait long before continuing.
“But it is also the most joyous of days…for as his spirit left us…he whispered his final wish that his firstborn son, Aegon…should succeed him.”
The crowd murmurs some more with the unfolding news, but whereas you expected disapproval, the crowd erupts in supportive applause, drowning out for a few seconds the rhythmic stomping of the guards marching out from the middle of the Dragonpit to create a barrier between them and the Smallfolk.
“Halt!” You hear the commander order as the barrier reaches the platform. “Turn!”
Horns begin to blare their prideful song, and the guards proceed to raise their swords to the sky to cross them over the path, offering Aegon an honorary path as he shows himself and makes his way to his waiting crown.
Now, for a couple of minutes, you can’t see your elder brother, but you see where he is as the swords come down after him. And the closer he gets, the faster your heart begins to beat.
When you finally see his approaching figure, your breath catches, and you reach your hand back, brushing over your husband's knuckles with your fingers until he gets the hint and takes your hand in his.
“It is your great good fortune and privilege to be here to witness this!” Your grandfather proclaims upon seeing Aegon. “A new day for our city…a new day for our realm. A new king…to lead us!”
Aegon climbs the platform, making you squeeze Octavian’s hand as your mother welcomes him with a kiss on his forehead before she pulls him before the Septon.
Only once Aegon is on his knees does the Septon commence the ceremony, though, taking his oil and standing over your brother.
“May the Warrior give him courage,” the Septon exclaims as he swipes oil on Aegon’s forehead. “May the Smith lend strength to his sword and shield. May the Father defend him in his need. May the Crone lift her shining lamp and light his way to wisdom.” He finishes and sets the oil aside to take the Conqueror's crown and hand it to Ser Criston.
An odd choice, but alas, Ser Criston is the crown and your family’s trusted knight.
“The crown of the Conqueror passed down through generations,” Ser Criston announces as he raises the crown so everyone can see it before he walks down the path to Aegon to place it over his brow.
“Let the Seven bear witness,” Ser Criston continues while your breath comes out shaky and your heart skips a beat. “Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the Iron Throne.”
The crowd murmurs their surprise as the Septon helps Aegon to his feet, letting him now face his family as the newly appointed King.
He should face his subjects, but first, maybe out of disbelief, looking for approval or acknowledgement, Aegon looks to Ser Criston, your mother, Helaena, you, and Aemond, making the men bow their hands, while you, your sister, and mother offer him a small curtsy.
Your curtsy differentiates from theirs, though, because yours comes with tears. You didn’t mean them, but they welled in your eyes as you saw that there's no way to deny what you've dreamt. Not anymore.
“All hail his Grace, Aegon, Second of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men! Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!” The Septon declares, setting down that first stone and defining your dreams as nothing but the truth.
“Aegon the King!” Ser Criston bellows after the bell tolls to their new king, and before the crowd finally starts their applause and cheer.
They don’t question or riot what they see. They cheer. They all cheer for him, and whereas he once seemed to dread what he was becoming, now he relishes in his title as king as he hears all the praise.
And yes, it’s hard not to feel pride for your brother, but mostly you’re drowning in dread. And you’re not the only one. Helaena looks upset by what’s happening too. Not because it feels wrong, but because you both know that peace is over.
At least you’re not alone in that. You share the same sorrow, which is why going on dragonback to your favorite place together is anticipated.
Nevertheless, leaving would have to be prolonged because suddenly, as the people cheer for their King, the ground beneath them erupts, causing you to cry out while Aemond immediately throws his body over you to shield you from the cloud of thick smoke and debris that shoots out, turning the celebration to panic.
Confusion sets in too as the thick smoke makes it hard to see what caused the eruption, but that’s short-lived as the screeching of a dragon breaks from the cloud of smoke, causing the people to cry with fear.
The dragon then roars and swings its large tail, flinging people around as it tries to adjust itself on the pit littered with debris and filled with terrified people trying to run away.
It then roars again, and you snap from your disbelief, feeling an instinct to check on your husband. Yet Aemond holds you tighter, leaving you with only the ability to turn your head.
Thankfully, though, you can see that Octavian is unharmed, in disbelief, but unharmed and holding onto Helaena, who is also just as baffled. Thus, you then look over to where your mother was and thankfully see her holding onto Ser Criston, while Aegon stands alone in his spoiled triumph.
The dragon that erupted from below then steals your attention as it turns its attention to you and your family, and crawls closer, breaking through the cloud of smoke and letting you all see Princess Rhaenys upon her red dragon Meleys.
“Open the doors!” Your grandfather bellows as the guards attempt to control the fleeing crowd. “Open the doors!”
Upon hearing the order, the once closing doors get pushed open again. Yet Princess Rhaenys and Meleys don’t leave. The dragon starts to growl as it gets closer, making Aemond part away from you to stand in front of you, and letting Octavian finally shift to you to shield you with his body, while Ser Criston goes to shield Helaena from the dragon throwing its jaw open to let out a bellowing roar.
One so strong it feels like a wind storm blowing past you as you duck your head. One so loud you swear you’ll go deaf if it goes on any longer than it has, but thankfully it stops, letting you raise your head to peek over.
Yet what you see isn’t relief from its threat. You see death in the fire building up in the back of her throat, threatening to devour you and those you love.
However, before the fire can escape the jaws of its creator, the debris behind Meleys shifts and the sound of familiar clicking steals its attention.
“Valiant,” you whisper with glee before you see his smaller frame through the smoke.
He clicks again, and Meleys swings her head around, seeing Valiant and growling at him as he stalks around her to be able to slip in front of her, shielding you and those you love, and causing Meleys to roar again.
Yet Valiant doesn’t cower from her threat. The crests on his back rise, and he bares his sharp teeth before thrusting his head forward to strike like a snake.
Meleys jerks back, but Valiant manages to graze her, infuriating her.
However, the Princess Rhaenys doesn't let her attack. She pulls her reins back and says a command you can’t hear, causing the dragon to glare at Valiant before turning to escape.
Your dragon moves to follow, but you quickly shout your command. “<No, Valiant. Calm! Stay!>”
Your dragon huffs, but stays, making you smile before you leave your husband's protection and run to your dragon to hug and kiss his snout.
“<Thank you.>” you whisper in Valyrian with adoration. “<You were brave.>” You praise as he leans against your touch. “<You saved us.>”
——
*SOMETIME LATER*
Sometimes when life is particularly hard and beating you down, you wish to be a dragon.
They’re beautiful, formidable, powerful, fearless, grander than life, and most importantly, they can fly. That ability is what makes you wish to be like one of them.
You want to be able to flap your wings without ever being disturbed or bothered by life. You want to fly freely and reach places no human has seen.
You want to live your life without worry, just like them…Valiant and Dreamfyre.
They have no idea what’s coming, so they dive, swirl, and dance over the lapping sea with each other, free of any concern that currently plagues their riders.
“Grandfather wants Octavian to join the Small Council,” you let Helaena know what’s been gnawing at you since yesterday. “He says it’s to give input on battles and temper Aegon’s wildness. He just wants him close so he can get what he wants from the Prince of Pentos, though. Not because he values his mind or talent.” You huff as you watch the silver and pale blue dragon chase each other in the sky.
Expecting a response, you sit in silence. However, the silence prolongs to the point you think something happened.
Yet, when you tear your eyes from your dragons and peer behind you, you see that Helaena is watching a small coin-sized crab crawling over her fingers.
“What are you doing?” You question her as you lay back on the quilt with your hands on your stomach.
“It’s the smallest I’ve seen,” she says as she spares you a glance. “I wonder what it’s doing so far from the water.”
“Maybe it wants to take in the sun,” you jest, but she takes you seriously.
“No, this one needs water. It can’t possibly be taking in the sun, or it will die,” she counters with a correction, making you smile before you look up at the shapeless white cloud floating in the vast blue sky.
“It’s a good thing, isn’t it?” Helaena then blurts.
“What is?” You ask, confused.
“Octavian being part of the council, he’ll feel valued and included in their plans.”
He does feel grateful and honored that he was asked, and he didn’t hesitate to agree to the spot in the council, despite knowing your grandfather's true motives.
You’re the only one offended by it because you know where it’ll lead.
“It's true,” you agree with a deep sigh. “But…joining the small council means one step closer to being a part of that army,” you express your fears.
Albeit they are pointless because he wants to be a part of that army that they’ll send off. He wants to be a hero and prove himself to his father, older brother, and those who just look at him for what he can provide.
“And you’re scared something will happen to him?” Helaena asks seconds before you see her lie down beside you from the corner of your eye. Only her feet are pointed to the sandbank, and yours are pointing to the sea.
“Do you feel like you can’t survive without him?” She asks.
You draw out a deep breath and shrug. “He…understands me. My troubled soul, unlike anyone else,” you answer softly and with a pain that clutches your heart at the thought of living without him. “And I know I would be lost without him, but…I know that he’d want me to survive. And I would do anything to please him…I however, do think,” you pause, making her tilt her head to look at you with curiosity.
“…I wouldn’t be able to survive…without …you,” you finish in a whisper before you tilt your head to the side to meet her surprised gaze.
“Well,” she stammers before she swallows thickly and averts her softening gaze. “I’d want you to. It wouldn’t be fair if you didn’t.”
“I don’t think so,” you express, pulling her gaze back to you.
“It would be selfish,” she presses, and yes, you agree, but she is the reason why you stayed despite wanting to escape the horrors that will come.
“I want you to survive for me,” she pleads. “Promise me you will. Promise,” she stresses, making you smile.
“I promise,” you assure her because you’d do anything to please her too.
“Good.” She nods gently before she looks up at the sky, letting your eyes linger on her before you follow her gaze and catch your dragons flying past you with quick speed.
“I bet that they wish they could roam free instead of being in the Dragonpit,” Helaena muses.
“That’s the one good thing about Dragonstone,” you say. “The dragons come and go as they please.”
“It’s too gloomy there though.”
You nod with agreement as you watch your dragons, missing what Helaena catches approaching from the horizon.
“Look,” she points out, making you glance at her before you follow her gaze, catching Vhagar in the distance returning with Aemond from Storms End, where he went to secure Lord Baratheon's support.
“Do you think he’ll stop here?” Helaena wonders as you both get up on your feet.
“We’ll see,” you mutter as you shield your eyes with your hand and watch as the old dragon grows larger and larger the closer she gets.
When Valiant and Dreamfyre fly across from her, Vhagar lets out a bellowing roar, causing Dreamfyre to respond with a quieter one while Valiant responds by circling her.
When he sees that Vhagar is making her descent to the beach where you and Helaena stand, he follows her all the way to the ground.
“There’s your answer,” you direct at her lightheartedly before you follow her toward Aemond as he makes his own descent off his dragon.
Once he’s off his dragon, though, you and Helaena come to a stop as you see his shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, and distress behind his gaze.
“Aemond, what’s the matter?” Helaena asks before you can.
However, instead of relieving you both of your concern, your brother starts to pace with heavy strides.
“Aemond?” You call out as you take a step towards him.
He doesn’t stop or answer, though. He keeps pacing, making you share a worried look with Helaena before she points her eyes at him, encouraging you to try and comfort your brother in his obvious distress.
“Aemond,” you call out softer. “Please talk. You’re worrying us.”
He stops this time at the sound of your concern and faces you with his eye red and welled with tears.
“What is it?” You query with deepened concern that makes your chest clench.
“I,” he starts to stammer as he stays in place, making you cross the distance between you. “I did something that mother and grandfather will be mad at.” He anguishes.
“What?” You probe.
He shakes his head stiffly. “He shouldn’t have angered her,” he says with tears slipping from his eye. “He shouldn’t have been there.”
“Who?”
He drops his head and keeps shaking it as if with disbelief. “I didn’t mean to. It was an accident,” he throws out as he pulls his head back up with his jaw clenched as he tries to look unbothered. Yet, his tears give away the anguish within him.
“It was,” he insists.
“I believe you,” you assure him as you finally close the distance between you and cup his sharp and cold jaw.
“It’s okay,” you console him, feeling him grab your elbows as he looks into your eyes and sees nothing but sincerity and genuine affection and concern.
“It’s okay,” you whisper as you slide your hands down to wrap him in an embrace, feeling his body wet. “It’s going to be okay.”
Aemond hugs you back and leans all his weight into the embrace, making you slide down to your knees in the sand.
“It was an accident,” he repeats.
You caress the back of his head and nod. “I believe you,” you reassure him as you stay in the embrace on the cold sand.
.
.
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A/N- Don’t take it the wrong way aemond, it was nothing more than sisterly affection!!