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A Prince of House Targaryen Chapter 47 (Jenny of Old Stone)
🕑 Added 2023-01-20 19:58:39 +0000 UTCRhaella Targaryen
She saw her grandson closing the door behind him, and a smile found its way onto her face, happy to see her grandson again. She quickly walked over to him, spreading her arms and hugging him close, and so did he. Aemon kissed her cheek as she asked how he was.
"I'm fine, grandmother," Aemon answered, stepping back from him; her purple eyes went to the new guest as she walked closer, now standing beside her grandson.
"This is my wife, Val, of the Free Folk." Aemon introduced her with a smile.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Rhaella," Val says with curtsy, something The Queen returned with a smile.
"Indeed, Val," Rhaella says, her eyes looking at the woman her grandson married. She had to admit the woman was beautiful, had the body and the face to make many heads turn; she could easily pass as a Targaryen Princess if it weren't for her hair that was more blonde than silver, and she had sharp pale blue eyes.
"I brought enough food for both of you. Please have a seat." Rhaella offered with a soft voice; walking up to the other side of the table, she scooted out a chair and sat on it. Her eyes watched as Val sat, and so did her grandson.
"Please, take whatever you want. I hope you're hungry." Rhaella spoke with a soft voice like silk.
"Thank you, grandmother," Aemon says. Both cut a piece of steak, beaked in clay, covered in lemon juice, and other ingredients needed to add more flavor.
Grabbing a golden goblet in her hand, her eyes went to Val, who was using a knife and a fork, but the way her hands were holding the blade, it was clumsy, and she could clearly see her lack of use a fork and a knife to eat.
"Lady Val, you don't need to use that if you're uncomfortable. Use whatever you want." Rhaella says. The girl put the fork and knife down right away before pulling the meat apart with her bare hand. From the way she hummed, Rhaella knew she was enjoying it.
Silence fell over them. The only sound heard was the sound of chewing and swallowing. After a minute of silence, Rhaella thought, I might as well start.
"So, how does it feel to be in The South?" Rhaella asked, taking a sip of Dornish wine from her cup, enjoying the taste of the liquid in her mouth.
"Is Warm," Val says flatly, her grandson suppressing a laugh from escaping his mouth.
"Is much more different than the North. There we need to hunt every day to secure food for our belly and fight against animals, other tribes, and white walkers," Val explained, her voice sounding angrier at the end.
Rhaella felt a chill when the White Walkers were mentioned. She wondered why her grandson hadn't mentioned them yesterday.
"How did you meet my grandson?" Rhaella asked, ignoring the comment about the White Walkers for now.
"Me and my group were hunting in the woods when we stumbled upon Jon, we-" Rhaella listened as Val told her of how they met, but when she mentioned that a Giant Ice Spider had attacked them, her eyes went to her grandson who confirmed it with a nod of his head.
"Yes, the Ice Spider killed three free folks. I managed to kill it when it was busy." Jon explained. Rhaella felt another chill at the thought of such creatures, she had read about them, but at the time, she had thought they were nothing but fairy tales to scare children. She knew neither her grandson nor his wife were lying or exaggerating it. She could see it in their eyes.
"What happened next?" She asked, wanting the conversation to shift to something else.
Rhaella listened as Val told her of Aemon's life Beyond the North, the many times he had needlessly risked his life; Rhaella was tempted to tell Aemon that he shouldn't have been so reckless but held her tongue.
Rhaella quickly noted that Val not once used 'Aemon' whenever she mentioned her grandson, but only 'Jon.' Her eyes promptly flickered at Aemon, thinking that it would bother him, but he looked quite comfortable with the way Val was addressing him.
After an hour of telling stories of their life beyond the wall, no dish was left, eaten mainly by the wildling woman. Van then explained how Jon had stolen her a month ago.
"Stole you?" Rhaella questioned right away, interrupting her. She knew her grandson would never force himself into a woman; seeing the look of alarm on her face, Val understood what she was thinking, and she quickly explained how it worked.
While thinking their customs were very outdated and a bit wild. But Rhaella breathed a sigh of relief, knowing her grandson hadn't done anything to the girl.
The Queen thought Val would keep telling her the story, but her grandson interrupted them. "A month ago, I had a dream-" Jon explained how it had been Bloodraven who had convinced him to go North of The Wall and told him that he would find the answers he needed about his mother.
Hearing that Brynden Rivers was still alive wasn't something she had expected but hearing that he had told Jon to pursue him filled her with anger; so many things could have gone wrong, she didn't know what he wanted, but from Aemon's words, it seemed he wasn't someone they could trust, especially him not telling Aemon the truth back at Winterfell.
Rhaella could feel it in her bones that Brynden Rivers wasn't someone they could trust. She didn't know what he wanted out of this.
She understood that he abandoned Aemon in the Woods beyond the wall and waited four years to tell him the truth right after marrying Val as if he somehow knew that would happen...
Rhaella ignored the thoughts. For now, Brynden or Bloodraven was beyond the wall, far away from them. He couldn't do anything.
Her grandson explained that by using the Large Weirwood Tree beyond the Wall, he had been able to see the past.
"The Past?" Rhaella questioned. She slumped in her chair in disbelief. It sounded unbelievable.
"I saw Lord Stark stealing me-" Aemon's voice cracked, his face paling and eyes turning slightly red. Rhaella saw Val squeezing his hand, something the Queen appreciated greatly; small gestures like that showed just how much people cared.
"We don't need to talk about it." Rhaella quickly said, but Aemon quickly shook his head, his eyes turning back to normal, and so did the color of his face. Aemon took a sip of tea, his head feeling lighter.
Aemon then explained how he had then left the Free Folk but promised them that he would bring them South of The Wall. This made Rhaella's eyes flicker at Val for a moment before turning to her grandson.
Bringing the Wildling south of the wall? Rhaella thought it wouldn't be easy to do. They were talking about bringing around a hundred thousand people South of The Wall. People who followed their own customs and traditions had their own way of ruling, needed to be fed, and most importantly, The Northern Houses and The Wildlings didn't exactly see to eye with one another.
Rhaella wasn't born yesterday. She knew that Punishing Lord Stark as he deserved would leave the majority of Northern Houses quite displeased, and then telling them the Wildlings would be brought to their lands, the very same people who they had held grudges for thousands of years.
Rhaella took a deep breath, looking at Val, wondering if this had been her game all along, to seduce her grandson and convince him that he should bring The Wildlings south of the wall. But, Rhaella understood that based on her grandson's words, the Dead were marching South, which would explain why the reports of the Wildlings marching South and getting closer to the Wall were more frequent.
"Aemon, can I have a moment alone with Val?" Rhaella abruptly asked. She could see the conflict written all over his face, it seemed he wanted to refuse, but The Blonde Wildling whispered something to his ear; whatever she whispered, it seemed convinced her grandson, Aemon, stood up without saying a word and left through the door.
Once the door closed with a loud CLICK, Val's pale blue eyes turned to look at her with coldness.
"What is that you wanted to talk about, Rhaella?" Val questioned sharply as she took a sip of water from her goblet.
"Tell me, Val. I have seen the way Aemon speaks of you. Reminds me of my son Rhaegar. The way his eyes spark, the little smile, but tell me, if, by any reason, your people are left to their fate. What will you do?" Rhaella questioned, taking a sip of tea.
Val's eyes were as cold as before. "In the True North, once we steal our partner or are stolen by our partner, they become our family. We sacrifice and bleed for our people. When Jon stole me, he became my family. I swore I would follow him to the ends of the World. No one forced him to make that promise. We are not like you kneelers. I didn't pursue him because of some order or promise. I pursue him because I choose to." Val says with her eyes looking brighter than usual.
Rhaella listened to her. The girl reminded the Queen of her younger self when she had confessed her love to her loyal knight. Young and foolish, she thought.
Her eyes ablaze and with passion in her words, the girl wasn't lying, that much Rhaella knew, she had been around mummers her whole life to see the difference, and the girl was too green to even know how to lie. She smiled softly, but she knew her grandson would want to keep his promise, which made the situation with the North even more complicated.
"Your people have followed their customs for thousands of years. The ones that passed the wall had ravaged villages until they were killed or captured by soldiers. How can we know that by bringing your people South, you will keep order, unlike North of the Wall. We don't steal whoever we want, and we can't just go around doing whatever we want?" Rhaella questioned sharply with furrowed brow, half of her face hidden behind her cup.
"The Free Folk follow strength, Mance Rayder is the one they follow, but most importantly, they want to live. Alliances through marriage are something that is rarely practiced, even North of the Wall. My marriage to Jon will unite The Free Folk with the South. They will kneel once they pass The Wall." Val promised, inhaling through her nose. Val knew Thenn Tribe would follow Jon. He was their leader from the moment he defeated their previous leader. Val knew her people were stubborn, but the desire to live would convince them to follow the rules and kneel, even if, by doing so, it would strip them from the very thing they were, Free Folk.
Rhaella understood her desire to protect her people. Everyone would want that. Silence fell between them for a moment. The only sound heard was the sound of tree branches moving outside due to the wind.
"Well. Lady Val, it seemed my grandson has found a good woman." Rhaella says, smiling, as another thought occupied her mind, where was her grandson supposed to live? The Wildlings were a large group.
The Gift, the place could become a good place for the wildlings. Summerhall could become Aemon's home, the castle was destroyed and hadn't been repaired since the tragedy, but it could become a good place, with its own town like King's Landing, Oldtown, and many other towns around Westeros.
Val breathed a sigh of relief that she didn't she had been holding until now. Sister, soon you will be safe, she thought, allowing herself to smile. She just hoped she had more time and that no problems would suddenly rise to the surface.
"One more question, why do you keep calling him Jon?" Rhaella asked humorously, putting her golden cup down, no longer hiding half of her face.
"It doesn't matter to me what his name is, Aemon, Jon. To me, he's still the same man," Val answered sincerely. Rhaella smiled upon hearing that. A part of her could already see it how her son would react to know that he has a secret son and that he's married to a Free Folk.
Soon, Rhaella called for Aemon to come back inside. When her grandson saw that they weren't at each other's throats, his shoulders slumped down, relaxing.
"I don't think Ser Barristan likes me," Aemon commented, trying to break the awkward silence between them as he took a seat beside Val.
"He's just doing his job, Aemon. He doesn't like that I'm allowing two strangers into my room without guards." Rhaella replied with a soft chuckle.
Eventually, her grandson and Val left, leaving her alone with her thoughts. The new information about the White Walkers and The Wildlings complicated things even further.
"Our son, Rhaella. I have seen it in my dreams. I saw him wielding a sword on top of his dragon. I saw him dancing with flames. Our son is the Song of Ice and Fire."
Rhaella clenched her jaw, forcing herself not to think of him. Anyone but him. A much younger and innocent brother, one who promised that he would become the best king the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen.
He had told her of the Aegon's dream, and Val talking about the White Walkers reminded Rhaella of him.
Closing her eyes, she forced herself to think of something else. What are the chances that the Northern houses would still allow us to bring the Wildlings South of the Wall after executing their Lord? Rhaella asked herself, but she already knew the answer. She wanted to get justice, justice for her family, and her grandson. She wouldn't allow Lord Stark to walk freely from this.
Hearing a crow's cry, she abruptly turned to see a crow with strange white eyes, no color in them, looking back at her.
The crow let out another cry towards her before flying away after a moment of silence.
The Wall, Rhaella suddenly thought. She wanted a much harsher punishment, she wanted his head for what he had done, but it didn't matter. Her son would decide the punishment for Lord Eddard Stark.
Daenerys Targaryen - Night
She could feel on her naked feet the water cooling her warm body, her legs and arms, dancing with the flames around her.
Blood of The Dragon, she heard the flames whisper. Her silver hair was dancing with the wind, and her purple eyes were looking at the beautiful green flames around her.
But what mesmerized her and took her breath away, more than anything else, was the green eyes looking behind the flames, green like wildfire. His body was illuminated by the fire around them, scales as sharp and tough as Valyrian Steel but as dark as the deepest pit of Hell.
A Creature of Magic, Dany thought, feeling as if she was flame herself.
"Māzigon naejot nyke, ñuha jorrāelagon. Let's bathe isse jaqiarzir. (Step forward, my dear. Let's bathe in glory)."
The Dragon breathed green flames on her. She felt her skin tingling. She felt safe and powerful. The green flames reached the skies, illuminating the darkness above her. Suddenly looking closer, she saw his eyes fading away. He was leaving her.
"Māzigon arlī (Come Back)," Daenerys shouted, trying to walk to him. She froze, no longer warm. She felt a shiver. Her skin felt like it was cracking like glass, her barefoot freezing. No longer warm, no longer safe.
Daenerys felt her breath stuck in her throat, she couldn't feel warmth, and she couldn't speak. Looking down, she saw it all. She wasn't dancing amongst flames.
She was dancing amongst corpses, amongst cheered bones, charred faces, dark faces, dark and burned, all of their arms reaching out to her, touching her bare legs. All of them begging, all of them suffering.
Daenerys tried to run away, but she couldn't. When one of the corpses stood up, his body burned beyond recognition except for his dazing blue eye. He walked up to her like a Soldier before taking a knee in front of her.
"My Queen of Love and Beauty." He spoke, offering her a crown of bones.
His body no longer burned. She could see his face now. He was pale and handsome with black hair and a dark beard. His right eye was as blue as a summer sky. His lips were pale blue. His breath tickled her naked skin, leaning closer. To kiss her lips, Dany felt colder, colder, colder, colder...
Dany gasped; opening her eyes, she looked around; it took a moment for her to remember she was back in her bedchamber. Her forehead was full of sweat, and her whole body was full of sweat. She felt her heart beating in her throat. It felt as if the entire room was shaking with her heartbeats.
After what felt like hours, Dany forced herself to calm down. Just a Dream, she repeated in her head over and over.
She felt a shiver go through her body, her skin tingling. She swallowed a huge breath before lying back on her bed. Her eyes moved to the small square window of her room.
A raven was standing there looking back at her with a pale blue eye before flying away.
Robb Stark - Morning
They had been staying for a few days now, and while Sansa was clearly having the best time of her life, Robb found himself not enjoying it as much as he had thought. Perhaps this is me having the Stark blood. He believed as Grey Wind followed him behind.
The sun was just starting to rise. His auburn hair seemed to shine with the sun. Robb found out that he didn't like the heat of the South, and it appeared Grey Wind agreed with him. He was a Direwolf, they were not made for this heat, and neither was Robb.
He had thought of spending time with Jon. Robb knew he had been a fool, and hoped to somehow repair their friendship, sadly the time he spent with Wyna left Robb with little time left to do something else, and having a talk with Jon about old times or just sparing, but even in his free time, he couldn't find Jon who kept disappearing without a trace.
This morning, Robb was sure he had heard Arya saying she dreamed of being Nymeria. The same went for Bran, who said he dreamed of being Summer.
Rickon had been very quiet. He had barely said anything since arriving at Harrenhal, saying something terrible would happen to their father. But Robb knew they were just dreams.
His thoughts were interrupted when he reached the training yard. It was booming with activity; knights and even stable boys were trying their luck, and some didn't even know how to hold a sword properly.
Robb ignored them. He found a target practice away from the others; choosing a weapon, Robb started swinging it on the dummy. His grip tightened around the pommel, his skin burning; he hit the chest, shoulder, belly, and knees.
After an hour of practicing, trying to see how well he did. He felt his hand burn from holding the sword for so long, despite the leather gloves he was wearing; Robb thought better to go back to his tent when he heard clapping from behind.
Whirling around, he wondered how he hadn't heard the footsteps. The moment he turned, he felt like he was suddenly without air. Words stuck in his throat as he looked at the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen, hunting violet eyes, with the most beautiful face he had ever seen, shaped like a heart with long dark hair like a crow, surprisingly a sword strapped to her waist, full breasts, wearing a blue dress, long beautiful legs, Robb opened his mouth to speak, yet, no words came out, this made the lady giggle in amusement.
"I'm sorry for interrupting, my lord. I just liked your way of moving." She spoke with a sweet voice like honey, stepping closer and moving her long hair behind her ear. Robb found himself opening and closing his mouth like a green boy. The closer she moved, the more he felt his cheeks heating up.
"M-my lady. Robb Stark of Winterfell." Robb found his voice to talk, kissing her knuckles, making the girl smile, and showing her beautiful white teeth. She was almost as tall as him.
"My pleasure, Robb. My name is Alyanna Dayne. My lord."
Aemon Targaryen - Tomorrow
Dressed with Stark colors and the best set of clothes Lord Stark had given him, Aemon and his wolf walked about the courtyard. Though they may have been staying here a few days now, there were still those who would gaze at the Starks from a distance, and when they were sure, they would not notice, of course. Aemon would always notice. Ghost did not care for it. However, he was a passive animal, all things considered, perhaps the exact opposite of ones like Shaggy Dog or Nymeria, yet that did not stop Aemon from attempting to train him as best he could.
Nymeria or Summer did not have those problems, it seemed and mainly kept themselves beside their masters, save for their tendency to go out and hunt for their own food. Lady was practically born trained, so there were never any worries for her. She suited Sansa well in that regard.
Speaking of the direwolves, Aemon and Ghost both quickly spotted one, Nymeria, standing dutifully beside Arya. It was not an uncommon sight were it not for the red-haired boy standing opposite her. They were searching for something, talking and laughing, and it was clear the girl was having fun for once. And from her dress being utterly worn out and dirtied, he could easily figure out why.
Unlike Sansa, Arya was a wild spirit through and through. While Bran was interested in the more chivalric side of exploration and adventure, Arya did not follow any of those kinds of dreams. If one were to ask Sansa, she would describe her as uncouth and completely un-ladylike, something that more often than not proved to endear her to the more common people. It helped that she had no problem making new friends quick.
"And just where have you been?" he approached the two and asked his sister, who turned in a panicked motion toward him. It didn't take much to sneak up on her, which was why he was glad Nymeria often stayed beside her, as the wolf's nose and hearing were far better than hers. The only reason she did not begin barking now was that she knew Aemon well enough not to consider him any kind of threat, as she also considered all the Starks.
Arya quickly got up from her crouched stance, hands filled with autumn leaves. "None of your business."
"That's where you are wrong dear sister. I can't expect Nymeria to be with you everywhere you go, and not even a direwolf can beat back a hungry bear, at least not with their current size." he turned to the red-headed boy. "And who might you be?"
"He's my friend," Arya answered angrily, not letting the boy open his mouth. Despite her clear standoff with her older brother, Aemon ignored the girl completely, nodding to the peasant boy to finish his sentence.
"Mycah, m'lord." the redhead answered in a shaky voice. "I'm-" before he could finish what he was saying, Aemon raised his hand as a realization came upon him.
"The butcher's boy, correct?" he asked, and the boy nodded. "I remember now. Your father sold us some meat, salted pork, and enough to last us a good few weeks from the terror of eating stale bread."
"Aye, m'lord." Mycah seemed to perk up for a moment. "Me pa and I, we go 'round on our meat wagon and sell goods to anyone who buys."
"He does good work, then. I've never tasted pork so salty. That's probably why it lasted so long." Aemon said, before turning back to his little sister, still standing defiantly between the two, yet her expression quickly softened upon hearing their conversation. "What, did you think I would punish you somehow?"
"No... it's just... I don't know." the boy answered indecisively.
"Well, you were wrong either way. Now answer me this." he pointed to the two's pockets. "Why in Seven Hells do you two have pockets full of leaves? Did you think it would make you float or something?"
The two younger children looked at one another, giving away their intentions almost instantly. Aemon sighed, "You really should stop listening to Old Nan's stories Arya. You're not Bran..."
"But she said-"
"I know what she said, Gods do I ever. And I am saying that you two get those leaves out of your pockets before father sees. Why were you planning on swimming anyways? There are no lakes or ponds anywhere near here, besides..." he pondered on it for a moment before the realization soon came. "Ah, so that's what you were after."
"It's said there are many weapons buried deep in the Trident," Arya said, frowning.
"You don't know how to swim." Aemon pointed it out.
"That's what the leaves were for..." she spoke dejectedly, emptying out an unusually large amount of crushed leaves from the tiny pockets of her dress.
"No, Arya. We are not going to the Trident. It's too far and too risky. If you want, I can teach you how to fight in return."
Arya and Mycah looked at him both with raised brows. "Really, m'lord?"
"Of course. I would happily teach my sister and her friend how to fight."
"Shouldn't you be with your wife?" her voice was squeaky and caddy, resembling more of a farmer's daughter than that of a Stark noble. Still, Aemon much preferred it to the grim and sweet honey words he had grown accustomed to over the years.
"You ask too many questions, little sister." Aemon had already passed both of them. "Now let me see what you two can do before I tell Lord Stark you've been trying to drown yourself with pockets full of leaves."
Arya and Mycah started swinging sticks wildly
"Left foot forward, right one back... remember, don't slouch too much," he repeated the same commands for what felt like the tenth time in a row. "Grip it harder, or it'll begin slipping when you swing."
Mycah was a fast learner. However, his talents were wasted as a soldier as he swung an overhead strike toward Aemon, who merely stepped to the sides and knocked the stick out of the boy's fingers with a quick jab. He did his best not to give the boy too many bruises, but it was clear he needed some form of tutelage aside from mere words and demonstration, so pain might just be the next best thing.
As the two boys continued their little training session, Arya sat lazily to the sides with as much patience as the girl could muster, waiting for her turn. Though the girl was not that impatient in reality, that only applied to things she was not passionate about; sword fighting, unfortunately, was not one of those things. To the sides, Nymeria was busy sniffing about the area, occasionally finding the odd mushroom to lick and then run away from. Ghost, meanwhile, was too busy lounging himself on the warm grass and letting his furs soak up the Sun's gentle warmth.
"Right, pick it up again. I'll show you something."
"Yes, m'lord." From the tone of the boy's voice, he was growing quite frustrated. With the dozen or so bruises forming around his hands Aemon could not quite blame him. One does not become a master overnight; however, he himself learned that the hard way many times.
As he picked up his stick that lay strewn near Arya, Aemon once again took up a stance, this time facing the boy's side. Mycah's face immediately let out a mental sigh, no doubt thinking he was about to get the stick flung from him again. "I want to show you something. Just pay attention to what I do." Aemon spoke calmly. Truthfully he was getting rather tired of this whole thing, but it was an excellent way to pass the time, and they both asked him, so who was he to say no to Arya and the famed butcher's boy of the meat wagon.
"Watch where my hands are." he slowly raised the stick just near the level of his eyes and then, with the speed of lightning, struck the stick down to his waist, bringing it up once more faster than when he had struck it down. "You put too much effort into your blows. Swing them back far more than you should. I can already tell where you are coming from before you've even begun swinging it. Have some more control, both of your weapon and yourself."
The boy watched intently and soon readied his weapon, doing his best to imitate Aemon's movements. It wasn't anything special, yet it was clear he kept the instructions to heart.
"Good, now come at me one more time. Remember, no large swings, try and hit as fast as you can." He readied himself and faced the boy, their sticks facing towards one another. While Mycah himself was staring at Aemon intently, looking for any opening to strike, Aemon spotted something at the corner of his eyes. Just as he took his eyes off the butcher's boy, Mycah lunged the stick forward to his head. A quick jab, just like he had taught him.
Aemon simply moved back before disarming the boy.
The calm was quickly interrupted, however, as he began to hear strange noises from behind.
"What are you two doing?"
"What does it look like? We're sword fighting, hyah!" Arya threw a swing at Mycah, who barely managed to block it in time.
Sandor and a boy that Aemon didn't recognize both stood some twenty feet away from the three, one with a blank look, the other of amusement.
"Who are you, my lord?" Aemon asked, stepping forward, his hand going to the pommel of his real sword.
"Joffrey Tully, the Firstborn and future Lord of Riverrun." Joffrey boasted with a snarky attitude.
"Jon Snow, my lord." Jon introduced himself, not bowing his head, something Joffrey didn't like.
"A peasant, what is your kind doing here," Joffrey said with a disgusted look before his eyes went to Arya, who suddenly had Nymeria by her side.
"Lady Arya Stark of Winterfell." She spoke with no hint of fear. She even gave him a challenging look as if daring him to do something.
"You must be my cousin. More animal than a lady." Joffrey spoke with a sneer; Sandor, on the other hand, was paying attention to Ghost, who was tall as him, and Nymeria.
"Who are you, boy?" Joffrey asked, not daring to get closer now that Nymeria and Ghost were on their feet, baring their sharp teeth.
"M-Mycah, my lord," he said, stuttering, clearly intimidated by the presence of Joffrey and Sandor, who had a blank face, but his burned face made him look more terrifying.
"So, you're a peasant too. You know, raising your hand to my cousin, a noble lady, costs you your hand."
Mycah's eyes widened in shock, and he was not the only one. As Joffrey walked around the three, a hand on his chin and with a grin that could only be described as evil, Aemon observed Joffrey's hand that was gripping the sword. Ornately forged and perhaps costing more than what the average guard will make in his entire lifetime, it was a weapon made for a warrior and a nobleman. However, Joffrey looked to be neither, fortunately.
"I-... No, m'lord! No! I didn't mean it!" Mycah's fears all came back in a second as he now began groveling to Joffrey rather than to Aemon.
"Leave him alone!" Arya shouted as she stood in between Joffrey and Mycah.
"Indeed, my lord." he grabbed Arya by the shoulder and pulled her out of the way of the blade while he walked past Joffrey. The eyes were on him now. "Tell me, how well-versed are you with that sword?"
"What?" Joffrey's brow raised as his sword began to descend lower.
"My brother Robb and I would often spar back when we were in Winterfell. He and I often used practice swords and fought one another nearly every morning." Aemon said.
"Yes, but you're nothing compared to someone who had Sandor Clegane as his trainer."
"Then what say you, we fight?" he crouched down to pick up the stick Mycah had dropped and then turned to face Joffrey. "I do believe I could use the practice."
Joffrey grinned, clearly amused at the little challenge Aemon was posing to him. "Very well then, peasant. Allow me to show you then how it must be done."
"You have my eternal gratitude, my lord." Aemon bowed elegantly before putting himself into a stance, his left hand forward with the right one behind his back, holding the other stick right in its middle. "So then, shall we go for first blood?"
"Well, it will be wonderful to see another peasant squirm like the other one," Joffrey said, using his real Sword instead of a stick or a blank sword.
"No fair!" Arya jumped in at that point. "You can't beat him with just a stick!"
"Don't worry. I'll manage..." Jon commented carelessly with a little smile.
As Joffrey soon gripped his sword against Aemon, the Prince once more readied himself. Sword and "Sword" both readied, and they maneuvered around one another. To successfully manage what he was planning to do, he would have to lead Joffrey on a rather dangerous dance. As they circled around, not breaking eyes, Aemon could spot Ghost watching the two, licking his snout, yet his tail was not waging as it often did when he would do such things. He trained the wolf well enough not to attack without his command, but he needed to be more careful now.
Joffrey was a prideful one, more so than Tullys usually are, and it seemed he inherited one thing from his father, a small mind.
Joffrey was quick to make the first move. Mycah, while untrained and somewhat sloppy, still had experience with chopping things, whether that be firewood or meat. Joffrey, however, managed to be somehow worse than him. The blow was incredibly easy to predict. Had he actually gotten an actual sword, any sound opponent would have killed Joffrey here and now.
A quick step to the sides and a tap to the back of the boy's knee sent him to the ground quickly. Joffrey did not relent; however, faster than when he had fallen, he was already back up and attacking Aemon again. Once again, had he had an actual weapon or even a practice sword, this would not be even a struggle; however, he had only a flimsy stick. To account for this, Aemon did not block any of Joffrey's blows, rather choosing to deflect them along the arch they were already heading towards, simply away from him. He did his best to aim for the blade's sides, as one direct hit would have no doubt split it in half.
Joffrey continued his rampage if one could even call it that. Relentlessly, he attacked Aemon with blow after blow. 'I will give you something to remember, pain.' he thought to himself, dodging a side strike from Joffrey's blade.
From the sides, Arya and Mycah all began to move away further and further from the two. It was beginning to show that it was not safe to be near them. Still, his plan was working at least, and Joffrey was getting winded. 'Just a little more, come on. And then I'll end this farce.' Aemon mentally goaded Joffrey, lowering his stick to show himself even wider open.
The duel had quickly devolved into Aemon leading Joffrey around in a haphazard circle, trying to keep him as far away from three on-lookers as possible. It was a rather pathetic showing, one that Joffrey was no doubt aware of. However, it will be worth it if he manages to perform this well enough.
Joffrey lunged with his blade, stabbing clearly toward Aemon's heart. 'Good enough...' he positioned the stick to beat back the blade. The stick bounced back off the blade, just enough to send Joffrey tumbling forward from his overreached attack.
Joffrey heaved and struggled to pick himself up from the ground, but Aemon quickly pointed the stick at his face.
"Well done, my lord," Aemon spoke calmly with a smirk that only managed to get him angrier, and the way his face turned red, Aemon knew he would blow up at any second.
"Kill Him, I command you. Sandor." Joffrey shouted at the top of his lungs, half of his face covered in mud, still lying on the muddy ground. Aemon's attention turned to the tall man who moved forward when both Ghost and Nymeria bared their teeth at him.
Aemon did not doubt that the Hound could kill Nymeria, but Ghost was another story. His companion and good friend was almost as tall as Sandor. The man might be a warrior but not a fool.
"I wouldn't recommend it, Sandor Clegane. Ghost is rather protective of me." Aemon spoke calmly with a smirk at the man who stood in his place, eyeing the direwolves carefully as if trying to come up with a plan to kill both of them, but no results so far. Seeing the man wasn't stupid enough to try and attack, Aemon turned at his sister.
"Arya. We are leaving." Aemon ordered with a tone that left no room for arguments. Both she and Mycah followed him behind quickly without saying a word, leaving Joffrey lying on the ground like a wounded animal.
"I will have your Heads. All of your heads!" Joffrey shouted from behind Aemon, who didn't bother looking over his shoulder. Not noticing the audience they had the whole time.
Soon they reached their tents; Aemon told Arya to return to her tent, he knew what he did would probably come back to bite him in the ass, but he really didn't care. If House Tully tried anything, he would happily introduce Aegarax to them.
Hearing someone clearing their throat made him turn. Aemon was mesmerized to see Princess Arianne Martell right in front of him, looking at him with evident lust in her eyes.
"My Princess. What can I do for you?" Aemon asked with a smile.
Arianne found herself drawn to him, she knew it was silly, but the way he smiled and the way he protected his sister made her feel something other than lust. Her eyes went to his lips. She wanted to kiss them, she didn't know why, usually she just wanted to feel pleasure and be done with it, but with Jon, she wanted much more, and not just have a night and forget about him.
"A walk around the garden, my lord." She spoke smiling, walking up to him while swaying her hips. She knew his eyes were on her large bosom and her ass. She felt good knowing he found her body appealing.
Her arm sneaked around his, bringing his arm into the valley of her breasts. She felt his strong arm and his body stiffen for a moment. She could tell he was conflicted. When someone else cleared their throat, they both turned to see Val, who walked up to them with a smirk, grabbing Aemon's free arm.
"I wouldn't mind a walk around the garden with the princess," Val spoke with a husky tone that even Arianne had to admit sent pleasant shivers through her body.
"Of course. I would never turn down an offer from two beautiful ladies."
Rhaella Targaryen - Night
After an eventful day, the Singing competition would start, and it seemed this year, more people were competing. But Rhaella's attention was solely directed towards her grandson, who she knew would participate. While she knew his face would make perhaps the entire family have doubts, it didn't really matter. She was now with Rhaegar and every one of her family except Viserys. She was in the great hall of Harrenhal, and almost every lord was there. They would hear whoever came to sing and choose who was the best. This competition wasn't taken that seriously compared to the others, that's why it was the first one to be done, but ladies around the realm usually enjoyed this one more than all the others.
Rhaella heard her granddaughter talking with Princess Arianne about a handsome boy the snake princess had seen. Rhaella wondered who could be the lucky man that had caught the eyes of Princess Arianne. The woman was a beauty and not yet betrothed.
The herald soon announced the start of the competition, and the lords and ladies applauded.
The first one to step forward was a Dornish boy around twelve. Artan Sand.
Once he stepped forward, it was clear that he was nervous about the attention of everyone, and soon he started singing a Dornish song.
He was half good, and most of the lords clapped for him. Rhaella looked to her right and saw Rhaegar was as quiet as a grave. Rhaella had noticed that her son had kinda avoided her the whole day. She wondered if he knew about her secret meeting and if he thought that she was doing something inappropriate behind closed doors.
The following candidate was Shireen Baratheon. She has blue eyes but inherited her father's square, jutting jaw and her mother's large ears. Greyscale has left half of her left cheek and most of her neck covered in cracked and flaking, grey and black stony skin. Rhaella frowned when she saw the majority of the lords looking at her with disdain as if she was a sickness.
She smiled sweetly at the royal family, bowing her head in respect before she started to sing.
It's always summer under the sea
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh
The birds have scales, and the fish take wing
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh
The rain is dry, and the snow falls up
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh
The stones crack open, and the water burns
The shadows come to dance, my love
The shadows come to play
The shadows come to dance, my love
The shadows come to stay
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh
It is always summer under the sea
The merwives wear nennymoans in their hair and weave gowns of silver seaweed
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh
Under the sea, it snows up, and the rain is dry as bone
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh
Clever bird, clever man, clever clever fool
Oh, clever clever clever fool
The shadows come to dance, my lord, dance my lord, dance my lord
The shadows come to stay, my lord, stay my lord, stay my lord
The shadows come to dance, my lord, dance my lord, dance my lord
The shadows come to stay, my lord, stay my lord, stay my lord
Under the sea, you fall up
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh
The shadows come to dance, my lord, dance my lord, dance my lord
Here we eat fish
Under the sea, the fish eat us
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh
Under the sea, no one wears hats
I know, I know, oh, oh, oh
Her voice was sweet and melodic; Rhaella applauded, quickly followed by many ladies around the hall. The girl almost beamed in joy to see everyone celebrating for her.
They heard seven more candidates, but none of them was that good, except Domeric Bolton, who, despite his family, his voice was nothing to scoff at.
But then Harold called the name of the final candidate, and Rhaella found herself smiling.
"Jon Snow."
Aemon Targaryen
Hearing his name being called, he wasted no time walking up to the high table, he didn't miss the many hateful looks he was getting, but he ignored them all. Once he reached the high table where his family was, he saw Elia Martell looking at him curiously, same for Princess Daenerys. Rhaegar Targaryen, on the other hand, seemed not to notice anything unusual. But when he looked at his grandmother, the way she was smiling at him, it filled him with warmth.
"My King, My Queen," Aemon spoke respectfully, bowing his head before clearing his throat.
"High in the halls of the king who are gone
Jenny would dance with her ghosts
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found
And the ones who had loved her the most
The ones who'd been gone for so very long
She couldn't remember their names
They spun her around on the damp Old Stone
Spun away all her sorrow and pain
And she never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
They danced through the day and into the night
Through the snow that swept through the hall
From winter to summer than winter again
Til the walls did crumble and fall
And she never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
And she never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
High in the halls of the kings who are gone
Jenny would dance with her ghosts
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found
And the ones who had loved her the most
They danced through the day and into the night
Through the snow that swept through the hall
From winter to summer than winter again
Til the walls did crumble and fall
And she never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
And she never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave
High in the halls of the kings who are gone
Jenny would dance with her ghosts
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found
And the ones who had loved her the most."
Once he finished the song, there was a moment of silence in the entire hall as if no one knew what to do, that was until Queen Rhaella stood up, clapping, followed by everyone else who started applauding for him, Aemon looked at his family with a broad smile, they all were mesmerized, especially his grandmother who had tears in her eyes, Queen Elia had a face as if she had seen a Ghost. But when his eyes went to Rhaenys, she was crying more than everyone else.
Chapter 48 (A Sister's Love) will come out on 25 January.
Comments
Longclaw16
Rhaenys... she knows that this is the boy from her dreams.
Drinor
Aegarax’s reveal will change everything when it comes to Jon marrying Val. Thank you for reading my story.
Dread XCII
When I read the chapter title I thought it was an allusion to how prince Duncan gave up his crown and Rhaella wondering if this would be a similar case with Jon and Val even though Jon isn't the crown prince.
