Drinor
patreon
A Prince of House Targaryen Chapter 33 (A Tourney)
🕑 Added 2022-11-22 16:02:04 +0000 UTCCatelyn Tully - Tomorrow Morning
No, no, no, no, no. I won't tolerate this any longer, the bastard finally disappeared, but now he's back with a beautiful wife; why The Seven? Why??
Catelyn was furious; that bastard had no place here; he wasn't supposed ever to come back; he was supposed to have died in the woods somewhere, his corpse eaten by worms and animals, or go to The Wall.
Catelyn knew the wretched woman was a wildling, the lowest possible, even lower than the bastard somehow, but Catelyn wasn't a fool; she knew the woman was beautiful, and one could easily mistake her for a princess. Despite being raised amongst animals and savages, she seemed to know how to talk a little and smile, which would make many men fall over her. Catelyn wanted a woman like her as far away as possible; she didn't know what the animal wanted here, but Catelyn wanted her as further away as possible from Robb, and why did the seven give the bastard a woman like her?
For a brief moment, she wondered if the bastard had stolen and raped her, but she quickly dismissed the ridiculous thought; despite not liking him, she knew the bastard wasn't someone to do something like that. He was Ned's bastard; he had his honor, despite being a bastard.
Catelyn didn't want that woman with the bastard; the bastard didn't deserve someone as beautiful as her, even if said woman was an animal turned human.
"No," she screamed alone in her room; that bastard had humiliated her son again; for so many years, she had suffered the humiliation, the whispers, the stares; she knew they talked about the bastard, how he looked like a Stark, his mighty Direwolf was a sign of a True Stark with Northern Blood flowing in his veins. The lords often asked if they had found the bastard, how long before they saw him as a better option than Robb?
Catelyn's mind went to the Direwolf. No, that Direwolve should belong to Robb, not to a Bastard, to the heir of The North, not a bastard son of a whore.
On top of all that, the bastard had shown to be a good swordsman, someone who humiliated her son on everything, Maester Luwin singing praises, saying the bastard could become a Maester one day.
The thought of someone like him near Robb's children made her skin crawl. No, I won't allow it; if he becomes a maester, he will manipulate whoever was in the lord's castle. And if he becomes Robb's maester, he will have his hands on his children; the thought made her freeze in terror; there was only one way this could end. Only One.
She was about to stand up and barge into Ned's solar and demand the bastard be sent to the Wall. When the door cracked open, a face peeked out. It was Jeyne Poole who cleared her throat first before speaking.
"May I come in?" Catelyn simply gave her a shallow nod, wanting to get this over with and talk to Ned.
Jeyne opened the door all the way before closing it behind, the door letting out a click as it closed. Taking a few steps forward, away from the door, her eyes looking down at her feet before addressing her. "I'm sorry for interrupting my Lady, but were you in the Training Yard ten minutes ago?" She questioned with a hint of fear in her tone. She was still avoiding her eyes.
Catelyn felt fear creeping in and shook her head and waiting to know why she should have been there.
"T-The bastard defeated both Robb and Theon in a duel. At the same time," she murmured; Catelyn almost didn't hear her. Her blood turned cold hearing what she said; her throat went dry.
No! How could He? He's a bastard; They're below everyone. He must have used tricks, she thought, feeling a little dizzy, her hand quickly grasping the nearest table to balance herself. Her dread promptly turned to anger, her face turning red.
"Was Robb hurt?" She questioned immediately, wondering if the bastard had used this opportunity to maim her son.
Jeyne quickly shook her head, much to Catelyn's relief. "No, nothing, just bruises on his shoulder," she quickly answered, and Catelyn closed her fists tightly. A sharp pain spread on her palm, but she ignored it.
She didn't know when she started walking, but before she knew it, she had already arrived at Ned's solar. The door was guarded by two soldiers who moved out of her way.
She didn't bother knocking and just burst through the door; Ned was startled, standing up as he grasped the pommel of his sword; his eye quickly recognized Catelyn.
"Cat! What are you doing?" He demanded, barely keeping his voice low. His wife shut the door behind her, her face red like blood; the only time he had seen her like this was four other times before, all of which involved Jon in one way or another.
"He should leave. I don't care where he goes; he's leaving; he just humiliated Robb. He defeated both him and Theon!" she screamed at the end. One would easily mistake her for a madwoman, and it seemed Ned's thoughts weren't that far off. She didn't care if the squid had lost; if it was up to her, she would allow him only limited access to the castle and be watched all day, every day. And not be allowed to walk freely as if he owned the place and talk with her son as if they were good old friends. But the bastard defeated her son. Again!
"There are no tricks, Cat; Jon is a better swordsman than Robb and Theon. You're being irrational," Ned said after a short pause, his voice and face stern. His eyes were sharp, and he looked at her with a hint of disappointment.
Despite being five years since Jon left, it seemed his wife still hadn't moved past her petty jealousy and fear.
Catelyn almost scoffed at her Lord Husband's words, stopping herself before she could say something that would shame her and her entire family—taking a deep breath to calm herself, whispering words that she used to do whenever she was furious and needed to calm down. "What about the woman? Will you allow someone like...her to walk around Winterfell freely?" She questioned with loathing in her voice. Her eyes looked at Ned with expectations.
"Jon's wife is not going anywhere, my Lady Wife, and I don't want to hear more of This. Understood?" Ned asked her through clenched teeth, slowly making his way towards her, his figure bigger than her, making her look tiny by comparison; she backed away, avoiding the cold eyes of her husband, who was still waiting for an answer from her.
"...I understand, Lord Husband," Catelyn replied with a hushed tone looking down at her feet. Ned inhaled and looked ready to say something, but she left the solar before he could say anything else. She went to the only place that could calm her down.
Jon Snow
After the eventful morning with Val, his wife told him she would meet his little wild sister to teach her how to fight properly like a warrior of the North. Jon had laughed in amusement, saying his sister was already seeing her as Visenya Reborn, especially because of her golden hair. Val didn't care about that, but she seemed to be looking forward to spending time with Arya. After breaking their fast with the rest of the Stark children, Arya had sat near them, asking questions nonstop. Sansa was mainly keeping her distance, barely talking with them. Surprisingly, Rickon seemed less scared of Val, but his questions were odd, asking only about Skinchangers, Wargs, and Greensers.
Jon noticed the little looks Robb was giving Val throughout the whole morning when he thought no one was looking, and Jon really didn't like it. Robb was betrothed, and it wasn't his business to look at Val that way.
Jon hoped Robb would stop before he outright told him to stop. Now, after breaking their fast, Jon left Val, saying he needed to do something first.
He reached the entrance of the crypts, and a gentle breeze flew past him, his hair flowing with the wind. His hand touched the Weirwood Door; the door hadn't been changed or decorated since it was put there. Eight thousand years ago, yet the door didn't show any sign of decaying or anything. It looked as beautiful as the day it was made; two direwolves howling at the moon were decorated in the door. Symbolizing that it was a place for House Stark.
Opening the door, it made no sound; his eyes found the only light source in the deep darkness in front of him. Grabbing the lantern that was still burning, he walked forward with heavy steps, the darkness illuminated by the light, downstairs he walked, a strange pressure engulfed him the deeper he went, and he felt cold.
At the end of the stairs were the statues of Whitehowl and Moonlight. The oldest direwolves of House Stark. Their statues didn't do justice to their size; no book or Maester talked about them anymore, and their memories were lost with time, but people in the North often spoke of their size, some saying they were more significant than an average House. King Stark had mounted his Wolf to battle in full Armour.
Walking forward, he felt the cold on his bones. He passed through the Kings of Winter. The kings of winter were looking at him.
You're no Stark
He heard in the wind; their eyes looked almost alive, judging him for being in a place where he didn't belong. Never Would.
Soon he found the statue of his mother. As beautiful as he had imagined. Jon remembered the many times he had dreamed of her. He could almost see her face, but Jon knew she was beautiful. Now, here she is, Jon murmured under his breath. He stepped closer, putting the lantern on the ground. His grey eyes looked at hers, almost expecting them to move. "Mother," he whispered, almost waiting for a response.
In his left hand was a Winter Rose, putting it in her cold hands. He wished for her to smell them, but she did none. She was a Statue. Nothing more...
"I'm sorry for waiting so long, Mother. I'm here; we're finally together again," Jon said quietly, his voice cracking the more he spoke, his eyes welling up.
"I love you, mother, more than anything. I wish you were here with me, you would meet Ghost, Val, she's . . . She's lovely and Arya, some say, she's like you, she's my little sister," he said with a laugh. He could almost see it, his mother hugging him, meeting Val, wishing for them to have many beautiful and healthy children and be happy together.
"I missed you, mother. I have been waiting for you for so many years, and yet, you have been here from the very beginning. Watching my every step." he said, smiling and crying. A loud roar suddenly reached his ears; his friend out there seemed to feel his pain.
Laying on the ground, Jon hugged his legs, his head close to her feet, he stopped sobbing, but he couldn't stop his tears. Almost burning his cheeks, his eyes burning.
"Avy jorrāelan muña (I Love You, mother)."
' He dreamt he sat on a dragon's back, flying through cold thin air, so high up that he could touch the clouds. The dragon beneath him was a fearsome beast, all teeth and claws and muscles, fire-made flesh between his thighs. Its scales shone like polished emeralds, the crests running from its neck to the tip of its tail a rich bronze. The leathery skin of its wings was bronze, too. For a while, they were gliding through the air swiftly, the heat of the reptile's body seeping through Aemon's breeches, its muscles working underneath his palms. Then, the dragon dove through the thick blanket of clouds, and he could see the land underneath.
It was a battlefield. From high above, all the Prince saw was a slaughter, the screams of dying men and beasts carried up to him by a cold breeze. It was snowing, too, and deep below, he saw spots where the snow had formed heaps forty feet high and even higher.
In other places, it was completely gone, molten away by vast fires, but the snow kept falling, and even as Aemon was watching, the black burnt earth vanished under layer after layer of fresh white snow. Men were scattered everywhere, dead and alive and dying. Heaps of corpses became heaps of snow while soldiers scrambled over them. Aemon could not make out any banners, but it seemed to him as though some of the men were moving unnaturally, clumsy and slow, almost as if they had yet to learn how to use their bodies.
Suddenly, a shadow fell on him, and as he raised his head, he saw another dragon, larger than his own and as black as a starless night.
Balerion, the Black Dread, Was his first thought, but this dragon was smaller, and besides, Aemon had never heard of Aegon the Conqueror fighting a battle in snow and ice.
Father of Monsters, Father of Life, Father of Death, Father of Love, Father of Sin, Father of Justice, and Father of Fire.
Jae woke up with a jolt; for a moment, he couldn't tell where he was; the light from the lantern just half a meter away from his face was the only light source. His eyes squinted from the lantern; he saw the statue of his mother looking down on him with a frown on her stone face; he suddenly felt cold, his body shivering. Jon noticed he had fallen asleep in the crypts.
Moving his hand to force himself up when he touched something soft with his hand; turning, he saw red eyes looking back at him.
"Thank You, good boy," he said, and petting Ghost in the back, the wolf, stood up when his owner called him.
Standing up, he dusted his clothes; his attention turned to his mother. "Muna. I will return tomorrow and bring you more flowers," he said with a sad smile, touching her hand; they felt warm to him.
"I heard that King Rhaegar is very good at singing; it is said that his song brought you to tears at the Tourney of Harrenhal. I would like to sing you a song as well." Jon said before clearing his throat.
'Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray.
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day.
Gentle Mother, the strength of women,
Help our daughters through this fray.
Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,
Teach us all a kinder way.
Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray.
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day.
Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray.
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day.
Gentle Mother, the strength of women,
Help our daughters through this fray.
Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,
Teach us all a kinder way.
Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray.
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day.
Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray.
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day.
Gentle Mother, the strength of women,
Help our daughters through this fray.
Soothe the wrath and tame the fury,
Teach us all a kinder way.
Gentle Mother, font of mercy,
Save our sons from war, we pray.
Stay the swords and stay the arrows,
Let them know a better day.'
After he sang the song, he no longer felt cold; his mother was smiling at him, filling him with warmth. "I will sing again tomorrow, mother."
Grabbing the lantern from the ground, Jon briefly wondered why the flame inside hadn't gone out yet, but quickly ignored it.
Ned Stark
Promise me, Promise me, Ned.
The Lord of House Stark escaped his thoughts when he heard the door opening and Maester Luwin walking inside with a scroll in his old hands.
What now? Ned thought, feeling a bigger headache coming; for some reason, he didn't like this.
"My lord, a letter from the King!" he said quietly; he himself looked surprised. Ned quickly grabbed the scroll from his hands, folding it. Ned felt his blood go cold.
Breathing heavily, he didn't understand why he was feeling so nervous. Do they know?
He took a deep breath and broke the Targaryen sigil, and opened the scroll.
"From King Rhaegar Targaryen, First 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 King has announced a Tourney to take place in Harrenhal within three weeks; the Lords of Each Kingdom are invited to this Tourney.
From Jon Arryn, Hand of The King."
He read and reread the letter before putting it down; he sighed heavily, gritting his teeth. The North had always avoided the other kingdoms, but he didn't miss the complainants of his banners; they weren't very happy with him not going there; they wanted The North to show themselves. To show the power of The North to the other kingdoms.
Since the tourney would be in Harrenhal, he knew this wasn't just any tourney; this would be a massive tourney, and Ned couldn't just say No. No, to this one, he needed to go there. He needed to make his presence known.
Suddenly he thought of something that filled him with both regret and relief; perhaps this Tourney was the perfect opportunity for him. The Royal Family would be there. All of Them. Ned found it ironic; everything started on the Tourney of Harrenhal fifteen years ago, where he met Ashara, and Lyanna had met Rhaegar.
Now, he was returning to end what started so many years ago. His thoughts went to everything that had happened, Jon and his family. They were all he had, but he understood what he had done. Ned had taught Robb everything he could to prepare him to become the Lord of Winterfell after him.
It's time for Jon to learn the truth...
Jon Arryn
Jon was sitting in his seat writing a letter to Yohn Royce, his son was of age to foster, and no one was better than his friend. Robert Arryn, who was seven-name days now, was active all the time, always wanting to walk around, and couldn't stop laughing at everyone. He would often come to their room at night to ask to sleep with them, sometimes even play.
He was smart and read a lot but was bad when it came to talking. He would stutter a lot and, many times, annoy people. Jon had tried to teach him how to speak more appropriately for a Future Paramour Lord. Because of his stuttering, he read a lot, saying he wanted to become an intelligent lord worthy of 'Arryn' Name. If he couldn't become a warrior, his mind would be the only weapon he ever needed.
Seeing him made Jon think about what had happened to Robert. But he couldn't blame the king, that was War, and everyone knew the danger very well.
He was shocked when he learned that Rhaegar didn't kidnap Lyanna, but they actually loved each other. Robert had told them all the time during the Rebellion that he had abducted her; he was sure beyond any doubt of that. During that time, Jon looked at Eddard Stark and Robert as his own sons, and Jon believed Robert's words blindly.
When Rhaegar forgave him for raising his armies against him, he knew he had been a fool. He had doubts that Rickon Stark and Hoster Tully were up to something, but he wasn't sure, but then Lyanna disappeared, and he had to fight for his sons because of The Mad King.
Now, he was happy; House Arryn would rule The Vale in the future. Despite his son being only seven name days, Jon had already thought of a betrothal for him. A lady from the Vale would be a good match, or perhaps Ned's youngest daughter.
His thoughts were interrupted when the door opened up unannounced; it was the middle of the night. Jon grasped the hidden dagger strapped on his waist when a figure he knew well walked inside.
His shoulders slumped down, now relaxed; the dread quickly turned to confusion. "What can I do for you, my Queen?"
Edmure Tully
He was standing on his solar, and to his right was his uncle Brynden 'Blackfish' Tully.
It has been fourteen years, but many of his banners still wanted revenge for sending Hoster Tully to the Wall. The wound was still fresh, Edmure knew the Royal Family perhaps thought they had forgiven, but they seemed to forget that House Tully's words were Family, Honor, Dury. Edmure and the whole River still wanted blood to kill The Whole Royal family.
He wanted revenge, too, and dreamed of the day he would kill the king and his whore Queen. Along with their children.
Cersei often reminded him that every lord in The Riverlands fully supported him and wanted revenge for what happened to his father. She would often tell him that they would have their revenge for what happened to Hoster Tully. When he married Cersei, she was very cold for the first week. They hadn't even shared a bed. Until one night, a raven arrived carrying a scroll for Cersei's eyes; after that night, they shared a bed.
While to Edmure's surprise, his uncle would always tell him to forget about the past and only think about the future.
He kept telling him they were fortunate to still be Lord Paramount; he always said that he should try to make a bright future for his children and a future without wars.
It is Rhaegar's fault. If he had lost, House Tully would have had blood on the Iron Throne.
What makes them unique? Dragons are gone, and soon the Targaryens will be gone too, Edmure thought with a little smile.
Of his children, Joffrey was the one who caused the most trouble; he would often mistreat servants. His uncle once beat Joffrey so hard after he had hurt a little boy of four name days. Joffrey's front teeth were broken, and his right eye was blackened.
Cersei had screamed at him and wanted him to be put in the dungeon, but Edmure couldn't do that. He knew his uncle was respected throughout the Riverlands, The Vale, and even The North. Putting him in a dungeon would be suicidal for him and his future.
His uncle would tell him many times that his banners didn't like his son, and if he didn't try to educate him, they wouldn't follow him or, worse, rebel against him.
Luckily for him, Myrcella and Tommen were calmer and easier to handle. They would often play with each other or play with sons or daughters of soldiers and captains.
Hearing a knocking on the door, he groaned loudly.
"Come in," he ordered; the door opened slowly, almost too slowly. The maester walked inside at a snail's pace.
"A letter from the king," he said, handing the letter to Edmure with very shaky hands, almost falling from his hand.
"Good. Now leave me, old goat," Edmure ordered, not bothering to look at the old man, who looked ready to fall dead at any moment.
Looking at the sigil of House Targaryen made him want to burn the damn letter, but instead, he calmed down somewhat before breaking the seal.
"From King Rhaegar Targaryen, First 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 King has announced a Tourney to take place in Harrenhal after three weeks, and the Lords of Each Kingdom are invited to this Tourney.
From Jon Arryn, Hand of The King,"
Edmure didn't really care to go there, but he knew he should be there.
At least maybe something interesting might happen in this tourney, Edmure thought, letting out a long sigh. He couldn't wait to spend time with Myrcella and Tommen.
Olenna Tyrell
She was in the gardens looking at the birds. Flying around, chirping, it was a beautiful day but a boring day all the same. She was used to these boring days, doing nothing but eating lemon cakes and watching as the flowers grew strong.
The king had accepted the betrothal between Margaery and the crown prince Aegon Targaryen; House Tyrell will have Blood on The Throne. She was very happy for her granddaughter.
From what her informers told her, the crown prince was kind, handsome, good at sword fighting, and very smart.
Her informers told her that he would spend a long time reading and trying to be the perfect King, as they called it. She knew there was no such thing as a Perfect King, but if he was as good as his father, there was nothing to worry about.
Rhaegar Targaryen was a good change and spent so many years trying to heal the wounds his mad father left behind.
Margaery has been prepared her whole life to become a Queen, and now she would become one. The Best and most Beautiful Queen to ever exist.
She escaped her thoughts when she heard footsteps behind her.
"Grandmother, Willas wants to talk with you; a message from the king just arrived," her Golden Margaery said kindly with her beautiful voice.
Standing up with the help of her staff, her granddaughter seemed to want to help her, but she quickly dismissed her with a hand, their walk inside was silent, but Olenna could tell her granddaughter was thinking about what the message could be.
Walking inside, she saw her grandson sitting in a chair; thankfully, her son was nowhere near. Margaery closed the door as she took her seat beside Willas.
"Well, read it," she said with a pointed look after a short silence in the room.
Willas smiled in amusement before breaking the seal.
"From King Rhaegar Targaryen, First 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 King has announced a Tourney to take place in Harrenhal after three weeks, and the Lords of Each Kingdom are invited to this Tourney.
From Jon Arryn, Hand of The King,"
She was surprised to hear that. She thought that perhaps he wanted to announce the betrothal between his son and Margaery, or maybe he just wanted to find a betrothal for princess Rhaenys.
Olenna thought any of the Princesses could be perfect for Willas; he deserved one more than anyone else. He was handsome and intelligent, but that leg was.
"Why do you think the king is making this tourney?" Willas asked, looking at no one in particular.
"Perhaps he wants to announce the betrothal between Margaery and Prince Aegon, or maybe he wants to find a good lord for his sister or daughter, Princess Rhaenys," she said, looking at his reaction.
Willas didn't seem to have that much of a reaction other than letting out a long sigh. "I still think that is a waste of time; the king will need to marry her to The North to make an alliance; he already has an alliance with us," Willas said disapprovingly, looking at her, reminding Olenna of herself.
"Well, it won't hurt to go there," Margaery said excitedly; she would get to spend more time with her betrothal and future sisters.
Tywin Lannister
He was back in the Lord's Solar; his son was busy and needed to deal with a few things personally. Tywin didn't mind helping him a little. Despite his son taking the chair, Tywin still held power.
For the last fourteen years, Tywin had tried to secure his blood on The Throne through Jaime's and Cersei's children. Joffrey was a big disappointment, and Cersei even a bigger one, but Jaime's son could be just what Tywin needed.
Tywin had thought of a possible betrothal between his grandson and Princess Daenerys Targaryen. It was still not close enough, but it was a good start.
His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a knock on the door. "Come in," he ordered with a harsh tone.
The door opens, and Tywin is met with the eyes of the maester. "My lord, a letter from the king," he said with his old rotten tone. Tywin grabbed the scroll a little quickly.
"Fetch me, Jaime, here. Now." Tywin ordered sternly, and the maester left the room without saying anything.
Shortly after, his son walked inside with a confused look. "Father?" He asked with respect, looking at him.
Tywin simply pointed a finger at the scroll; his son looked surprised before grabbing the scroll from the table.
"From King Rhaegar Targaryen, First 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 King has announced a Tourney to take place in Harrenhal after three weeks, and the Lords of Each Kingdom are invited to this Tourney.
From Jon Arryn, Hand of The King,"
"A tourney!" his son said, surprised, that was quickly changed to excitement. Jaime knew this was an opportunity to meet her again.
"Indeed, I want your son to come as well; it is about time he made friends with other lords,"
Jon Snow
"Come in," he heard from the other side of the room. Opening the door, he stepped inside the solar, meeting his uncle's eyes, sitting in his chair solemnly. To his surprise, Uncle Benjen was there as well, standing beside Eddard Stark. Jon had a few ideas on why they wanted to talk to him but kept those thoughts to himself.
"Lord Stark, Uncle Benjen. Why did you call me here?" Jon questioned, looking at them; they suddenly looked nervous. Especially Lord Eddard Stark, who cleared his throat, rubbing it slightly with his hand before his eyes settled on Jon as if seeing him for the first time.
"Jon, The time has come to talk about your mother,"
The next chapter will come out on 25 November, and Chapter 35 will come out on 30 November.
Comments
Drinor
Thank you for reading my Story.
Legacy
amazing chapter looking forward to the next one
Drinor
There will be changes compared to Targaryen Dragons, but it is a Spoiler. Thank you for reading my Story and supporting me.
Leorichs
I found out you had patreon yesterday, instantly subbed to you. This is my favorite fanfic so far. I hope you show some sympathies for the Starks compared to the Targaryen Dragons since in this story Jon isn't really treated that bad and Ned Stark actually isn't that bad and he feels guilty for what he did, maybe he can go to wall due to jon knowing white walkers are out there. Just my opinion, either way I can't wait to see what you have stored for us in the coming chapters leading to Harrenhall.
