Servant Ambrosius
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Exile
🕑 Added 2024-03-25 04:13:25 +0000 UTCWesteros, King’s Landing
The Red Keep, The Throne Room
105 AC
Dawn has barely broken through when Daemon finds himself standing before the Iron Throne, summoned by his brother before he could even break his fast. As his steps echo through the massive room Daemon cannot help but admire his brother, for in this rare moment he bears the appearance of dragonlord. Sitting on the Iron Throne, an asymmetric monstrosity of spikes and jagged edges and twisted metal located on a high platform in the throne room, wearing the crown of their grandfather upon his silver-blond hair, and holding the Conqueror’s sword in his fist one could be forgiven for believing Viserys to be a true dragonlord. Daemon, however, is not so easily fooled.
While his brother wears the clothes and ornaments well, for that is what Blackfyre truly is in his brother’s grasps, Viserys possesses a weakness that cannot be disguised by clothes, trinkets and the Iron Throne itself. It is the one feature of his brother that Daemon absolutely despises. Weakness, their forebears did not forge this dynasty through weakness nor did they hold it through numerous wars by being weak.
Surrounded by lickspittles and crows, the only thing keeping Viserys from becoming a second Aenys is Daemon’s presence. An accomplishment that, while Daemon is quite proud of, he admits within the privacy of his mind that he cannot continue by his lonesome; which is partially why he did not hesitate to accept Aegon and his siblings, and judging by Jaehaerys and Aemon’s actions thus far proves to be one of his better decisions.
As he approaches the massive iron throne Daemon cannot help the smirk that grows on his lips.
“You cut the figure of the Conqueror brother.” Daemon compliments Viserys as he stops a few feet away from the first steel steps of the throne.
Standing before the first step of the throne with their twitchy hands on their sheathed swords are the Cargyll twins, Erryk and Arryk.
Seeing their nervousness Daemon cannot help the chuckle that escapes through his lips.
Rather than respond to his compliment, Viserys fixes Daemon with a scathing glare, a look Daemon is unable to see, for the sun rises at the back of the Iron Throne through the massive window overhead.
“Did you say it?” asks Viserys, his voice low and devoid of its standard joyous quality.
“I do not know what you mean.” replies Daemon, his stance shifting as he senses his brother’s ominous mood.
“You will address me as ‘Your Grace’ or I will have my Kingsguard cut out your tongue.” threatens Viserys, and the Cargyll twins’ hold over their swords tighten and their postures loosen.
“The Heir for a Day. Did you say it?” demands Viserys, and Daemon cannot help the small scoff that he lets out.
The Hightower cunt has been whispering in his brother’s ears once more. Yes he did say those words, but they were not a celebration; of course Viserys would be too blinded by his trust in the cunt to see that.
“We must all mourn in our own way, Your Grace.” Daemon replies.
“My family has just been destroyed, and instead of being by my side or Rhaenyra’s, you chose to celebrate your own rise! Laughing with your whores and your lickspittles!” screams Viserys.
Clenching his jaw, Daemon regards Viserys carefully, gouging whether he truly believes those words or not.
“You have no allies in court but me.” continues Viserys, “I have only ever defended you, and everything I have given you you have thrown back in my face.” rages Viserys.
“All you have done is try to send me away. To the Vale, to the citywatch. Anywhere but by your side. Ten years you have been king and not once have you asked me to be your hand.” replies Daemon, his voice rising in volume to match his brother as he lets the emotions out.
“Why would I do that?” asks Viserys, and it takes all of Daemon’s limited self-control not to lash out.
“Because I am your brother, and the blood of the Dragon runs thick.” Daemon says.
“Then why do you cut me so deeply?” replies Viserys.
“I have only ever spoken the truth. I see the Hightowers for what they are.” Daemon answers.
“Unwavering and loyal—” “A bunch of cunts!” interrupts Daemon.
“Jaehaerys put it best, their house has never produced anyone or anything of worth and yet they have the audacity to strut about like peacocks. Otto himself is the worst of the lot, a second son who stands to inherit nothing he does not seize for himself.” Daemon argues.
“Otto Hightower is a more honorable man than you could ever be.” Viserys.
“And since when has that been a flaw? Since when have we, the blood of the dragon, held ourselves to the standards of others? Besides, he does not protect you, not like I would.” says Daemon.
“From what?” questions Viserys with a sneer.
“Yourself.” answers Daemon, his voice soft yet still loud enough to be heard by Viserys. “You are weak, Viserys, and that council of leeches knows it. They all prey on you for their own ends.”
Silence falls over the throne room as Viserys digests Daemon’s words, before with a sigh he slouches on the throne.
“I have decided to name a new heir.” Viserys says finally as he rallies.
“I am your heir.” retorts Daemon.
“Not anymore. You are to return to Runestone and your lady wife at once and you are to do so without quarrel, and take those bastards with you. By order of your King.” commands Viserys.
Barely withholding his rage, Daemon steps forward, only to stop as the Cargyll twins unsheathe their swords.
Daemon carefully regards the twins before him, thinking on his chances. With Dark Sister it would not be difficult to end, but then what?
With a mocking ‘Your Grace’ Daemon turns and marches out of the throne room.
As the doors close behind his brother, Viserys allows a hiss to escape his lips as he looks upon his latest cut from the throne.
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Westeros, King’s Landing
The Red Keep, The Godswood
105 AC
The godswood of the Red Keep is an acre of elm, alder and black cottonwood trees that overlook the Blackwater Rush. The heart tree is a great oak with limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines.
Rarely has Rhaenyra spent time there, but now she finds that it is a peaceful place and devoid of the many nobles and ladies that have taken to suffocating her after her mother’s death
“Princess.”
Aemon’s voice causes Rhaenyra to startle before she recognises his voice and turns to him.
“Aemon.” greets Rhaenyra, her smile no doubt appearing as feeble as she feels.
“My condolences.” Aemon says with a bow. “I may not have known Queen Aemma but no doubt she was a wonderful woman and a great mother.”
“Thank you.” replies Rhaenyra as she looks into the sky, her fears and doubts swimming within her mind and, for reasons unknown to her, prompting her to turn to Aemon.
“Is this to be my fate also?” she asks as she plays with her mother’s ring that now adorns her finger.
“Fate is a fickle thing princess. Many would attribute their fortunes and misfortunes to fate’s whim’s, while others would disregard it all together.” Aemon tells her while gently moving her hair away from her face and completely disregarding Ser Criston’s glare.
“I have found that the answer more often than not lies somewhere in the middle. Fate cannot be completely disregarded yet to place the blame for one’s life at its feet is a folly. Such an act usually results in self fulfilling prophecies.” Aemon explains.
Looking into Aemon’s amethyst eye, Rhaenyra cannot help but wonder what he means.
“The world is vast and full of wonders and terrors. Magic is a very real element of the world, and, despite what these Andals would have you believe, it can be a friend to people such as you and I. Prophecies however are another matter, for they are fickle and unpredictable. When faced with things such as fate and prophecy, it is best to take note of them and their warnings but to never attempt to steer their outcome; lest the very outcome one wishes to avoid is the one that comes to pass.” Aemon warns her
“I–I do not understand.” Rhaenyra stutters with a frown.
“You will one day, but for now it is good enough to simply keep those words in mind.” Aemon reassures her. “Now, before I leave I would present you with a gift.” Aemon says as Evelynn steps out from behind Aemon and bows before Rhaenyra, startling the princess and Ser Criston for neither of them had noticed her.
“Rhaenyra, meet Evelynn. I saved her life on one occasion and as such she has pledged her life to me. She possesses various skills and abilities which I have found quite useful during her time under my service. However, I believe that you have need of her skills more than I currently do.” Aemon explains.
“It is a pleasure to meet you Princess, you who are kin to my Lord.” Evelynn says with curtsy.
“Ummm, thank you.” says Rhaenyra uncertainty as she looks between Evelynn and Aemon before a smile grows on her lips.
“Is this the Evelynn that your sister spoke of?” asks Rhaenyra, causing Aemon to sigh and roll his eyes.
“Aye, though do not believe my sister’s lies. She relishes in making me appear quite promiscuous.” Aemon says, causing Rhaenyra to raise an eyebrow.
“I do not think that she needs to particularly try.” Rhaenyra says with a giggle.
“It has been a pleasure, princess.” Aemon says. “And although I am to be exiled due to Prince Daemon and my brute of a brother’s actions, we will meet again.” Aemon reassures her as he lays a gentle kiss on her hand before walking away.
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Alicent did not expect to overhear such an interesting conversation when she chose to follow the bastard to the godswood. Cryptic portents of fate, prophecy and magic are things that she generally dismisses, but when those speaking of such things are members of House Targaryen it would be best to pay attention; especially since the one speaking is one who has lived much of his life in Essos where it is said that magic still thrives in ways it does not in Westeros.
As the bastard presents the woman named Evelynn to Princess Rhaenyra, Alicent cannot help the feeling that that woman is a witch or sorceress of some kind. It was said that Visenya Targaryen was a practitioner of magic and so was her son who spent much time in Essos before usurping his nieces and nephews. As such she would not be surprised if the same can be said for this woman, for she cannot think of any service that the bastard would require of this woman beyond sexual favors or acts of magic; and by the bastard’s own admissions he has not bedded her.
“How unladylike of you to be spying.” a beautiful voice gently calls out to Alicent, startling her.
A husky rasp that seems to contain the grinding of glaciers and the chiming of bells. It is a voice meant for bards and sweet whispers in bedchambers, not one she would associate with a warrior.
Turning around she finds herself facing the twin of the bastard who had humiliated her brother and the most beautiful man to ever grace with his presence.
The man is tall, which is an accomplishment considering that Alicent herself has always stood on a similar height with most men at five feet ten inches. His beautiful hair flows down past his shoulders onto his back in a random pattern of black and silver unlike the traditional silver, or blond of his house.
Judging by his pretty face she thinks him perhaps twenty namedays of age, the same as her.
His lone amethyst eye holds a charm that seems to draw her in with promises of bliss and pleasure as he regards her as if she were a treasure, and despite the eyepatch over his left eye giving him the air of a rogue Alicent finds that she feels safe around him as opposed to the danger she feels around Prince Daemon. And for a moment Alicent thinks that she has found her own Daemon Targaryen. Beautiful and dangerous to all save herself.
The mere thought of it sends her heart aflutter as she imagines him championing her cause and laying her enemies low with his sword whenever her cunning proves inadequate.
Quickly however the thought leaves her mind as she remembers his brother’s humiliating words and his obvious fondness of the princess.
“Lord Aemon.” greets Alicent with a blush as she composes.
“I am no lord, my Lady.” Aemon replies as he gracefully, yet only slightly, bows before her.
“Indeed, you are not.” says Alicent haughtily, causing Aemon to hiss.
“Quite cold of you my lady, to remind this poor man of his bastardy.” Aemon says. “Although I understand your dilemma, for your views of me have no doubt been colored by my brute of a brother’s actions.” Aemon says mournfully before deeply bowing before her with more gracefulness and elegance than any noble she has witnessed before.
“My deepest apologies that you were subject to my brother’s actions.” Aemon says.
“My brother was the one wounded, not I.” replies Alicent with a raised eyebrow, this brand of chivalry is not one she is used to.
“Your brother is a man grown and knighted, he will no doubt recover. You however, despite not being the target of my brother’s ire, suffered all the same when you should not have. For that I apologize.” Aemon says as he looks upon her with his lone amethyst eye, once more causing her to blush.
“Apology accepted.” Alicent says as she carefully regards him, unable to look away from his face nor his eye.
“Does the state of my face disturb you my lady?” Aemon asks, causing Alicent to look away in shame at being caught.
“I was merely wondering how you received such a wound, they are typically fatal.” remarks Alicent.
“Typically they are, but I am no typical warrior.” Aemon says with a smirk.
“So you say.” replies Alicent with an amused smirk. She is used to this, knights embellishing tales of their exploits in order to impress her. No doubt Aemon will do the same.
“It is not a pretty tale, nor is it a glorious one. Are you sure that you wish to hear it?” Aemon asks, taking her aback.
“I am quite sure, Ser.” replies Alicent.
“I am no Ser, my Lady.” Aemon retorts with a playful smirk.
“It was a courtesy. Now tell me this tale, Aemon.” replies Alicent, causing Aemon to smile truly for the first time in their encounter; and what a beautiful smile it is. She feels something with that smile. If only he were not a bastard…
As Alicent finds herself entranced by Aemon’s presence and tales she fails to notice the unnatural passing of the time as the sun flies overhead, nor the unnatural growth of the flora within the godswood.
Author's Note: Here’s the latest chapter. Alicent meets Aemon for the first time and is caught in his fey aura. As usual, what do you guys think?
