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Chapter Text

For the past four days, Jaehaerys and Maelor had been complaining of fevers, upset stomachs, and moping around the house - when they bothered to leave their beds. Jaehaera was, of course, worried about her brothers. She loved them both endlessly. But, she had bigger, grander things on her mind than the illness they both had. It was her best friend’s birthday at the end of the week, and she had every intention to be at school come Friday to celebrate with her.

While a noble effort, despite her best efforts to avoid her sick brothers, Jaehaera woke up miserably with her nose stuffed, a fever, and her head and stomach both hurting. Naturally, her mom bundled her into the living room with her brothers. Maelor was groaning about wanting a ginger ale and Jaehaerys was dramatically wheezing as if it were his last breath. Personally, Jaehaera was just fine with the juice and crackers her mom gave her even if she couldn’t quite taste it right. Sure, being sick was awful and she was missing her best friend’s birthday party at school, but at least her mom was able to stay and take care of them, plus, they were watching cartoons. 

But, when sick and young like her, rest was a necessity - an inevitable necessity, even if you vehemently believed that you had to watch the rest of the episode of Scooby Doo. Jaehaera was just a girl - wasn’t anything special, so she caved to slumber just before the bad guy was unmasked. The young girl jolted from the slumber she hadn’t meant to when she felt a hand touching her warm forehead. She whined as she moved away from it, blinking against the sleep weighing down her eyes. “Mama?” she asked.

“I’m here, my love,” her mom cooed. “And look, sweetheart, you and your brothers have a visitor.”

“Helaena you don’t have to wake them,” a voice quietly whispered from the other side of the room.

At the sound of the voice, her eyes flew open and a smile lit up her face. “Uncle Daeron!” she cheered as loud as she could with her stuffy nose and sore throat.

“Hello, Jaehaera,” her uncle greeted, coming to crouch in front of her. He gave her a soft smile, brushing her platinum hair from her face. “How are you feeling, peanut?”

“Terrible,” she groused. She glared over at her brothers, still asleep. “They got me sick and it’s my best friend’s birthday! We’re supposed to have cupcakes at school!”

Her Uncle Daeron sighed. “I know, your mom called me and told me. I came to try and make you feel a little better,” he said.

Again, her eyes lit up. “You’re going to tell a story?” she asked hopefully.

“Yes,” Daeron agreed, laughing, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. “And your mom’s going to make you some hot chocolate too - your brothers too if they ever wake up.”

“Psh,” she scoffed, “leave them! Storytime, Uncle Daeron, start!”

He snorted and rose to his feet, settling into the chair across from him. “Alright, alright, patience there, peanut,” he snickered. He pulled a book from his pocket. She looked at it quizzically. “This is a very special book, Jaehaera. It was the book my mother used to read to my brother when I was sick, and my brother read it to me. And now I’m going to read it to you.”

“What’s it about?” she asked curiously. “Am I going to like it?”

Her Uncle Daeron laughed fondly and nodded. “Are you kidding me, peanut? It has fencing, fighting, torture, revenge, giants, monsters, chases, escapes, miracles,” he said. He saw that she wasn’t convinced and gave her a smile. “And at its heart? It’s a story of true love.”

She looked at him, squinting in disbelief. “Doesn’t sound too bad. I’ll try and stay awake,” she said. She settled back into the couch looking at her uncle expectantly.

“Oh, you’re too kind,” he teased. He opened the book and prepared to read.

“Uncle Daeron?” came the sleepy voice of her twin next to her.

“Hey, buddy,” he greeted, closing the book and moving over to hug the young boy.

“Uncle Daeron?” came the echo of Maelor then.

“Hey, pal,” he said, hugging their younger brother then.

“Quiet,” Jaehaera whined, leaning into Jaehaerys’s side. “He’s going to read a story!”

Their mother then came into the room with mugs of hot chocolate for them and their uncle took the chance to sit back down. The boys immediately sat up for the drinks, silenced themselves, and looked eagerly at their uncle, fighting off their sleepiness. Maelor leaned into his sister’s side as they started to drink their hot chocolate. They waited on bated breath for their uncle to begin reading to them. Dramatically, their Uncle Daeron opened the book again, prepared to read. He looked at them, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes.

“The Princess Bride, chapter one,” he said. “Y/N was raised on a small farm in the country of King’s Landing.” Already, the kids were enthralled, as if they could see the very words that their uncle was reading from the page. “Her favorite pastimes were riding her horse and tormenting the farm boy who worked there. His name was Aemond, but she never called him that.” He looked up at his niece and nephews. “Isn’t that a wonderful beginning?”

“Yeah, great,” Maelor said weakly while his siblings sipped their hot chocolate.

Their Uncle Daeron looked down to the book in his hands. “Nothing gave Y/N as much pleasure as ordering Aemond around. ‘Farm Boy, polish my horse’s saddle,’” he said, voice high and mimicking as he read the order.

“I want to see my face shining in it by morning,” Y/N said, a grin on her face as she handed the saddle over to the farm boy.

Aemond nodded and took the saddle. “As you wish,” he said quietly.

“As you wish was all he ever said to her,” their Uncle Daeron stated.

Y/N walked into her horse’s stall and pet the creature’s neck. “Farm Boy, I want you to varnish my horse’s hooves,” she ordered, voice softer than it had been before. Aemond looked at her from a stall over, lips in a line. “Please.”

“As you wish,” Aemond agreed, lip quirking up into a partial smile.

Y/N left the stable after getting his agreement, but stopped and turned. His eyes were still on her. She offered him a fleeting half-smile that morphed into a frown as he turned away, going back to his work. Y/N took a shaky sigh and walked off, forcing her focus elsewhere on her own duties for the day.

Even so, before evening fully set in, Y/N found herself in the kitchen of her home with Aemond. Her hands moved listlessly around when he entered, her brain struggling to catch up. And as she turned to him, she took a sharp breath. Aemond looked at her, curious, but silent as always.

“Farm Boy, fetch me that bowl,” Y/N said, pointing to a bowl that she could easily reach herself. For a moment, he didn’t move. “The…the heavy one, up high.”

Aemond approached her, a few mere steps between them. He reached up to grab the bowl. It was neither heavy nor high up. Still, he took a step closer to hand it to Y/N, their hands brushing as she took it from his hands. The pair stayed close for a moment, gazing into each other’s eyes.

“As you wish,” Aemond said. 

His voice, it seemed, broke him out of his reverie. He turned away from her and then walked back outside, leaving Y/N alone inside. She sucked in a deep breath as the man disappeared from right before her. She watched as he walked away from the farmhouse, following his movements with her eyes until she could no longer see him.

“That day,” their Uncle Daeron said, fond smile in his voice, “Y/N was amazed to discover that when Aemond was saying ‘as you wish,’ what he meant was this: ‘I love you.’ And even more amazing? That night she realized that she truly loved him back.”

Outside of Aemond’s small home on the family’s property, Y/N and Aemond stood chest to chest. They gazed at each other. She blinked at the man before her, taking in a quiet breath as he took her hand, holding it gently in his own. As if she were some sort of prize to cherish. She glanced down at his lips, giving him silent permission, practically begging him to kiss her. Aemond acquiesced to Y/N’s desire and leaned down, pressing their lips together in a kiss that quickly became passionate.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Jaehaerys complained. “Is this a kissing book?”

“When does it get good?” Maelor whined.

“Keep your shirt on, let me read,” Uncle Daeron said with a chuckle. He looked back to his book. “Aemond had no money for marriage, so he packed up the few belongings he had and left the farm. He did so to seek his fortune across the seas, longing to come back for his bride as soon as he was able. It was a very emotional time for Y/N.”

“I don’t believe it,” Jaehaera exclaimed, sad.

“I fear that I’ll never see you again,” Y/N said, sounding as though she loathed to admit it. She was standing a few steps away from him. They stood at the gate of the farm, Aemond ready to leave.

“Of course you will,” Aemond said firmly.

“But what if something happens to you?” Y/N asked.

Aemond took a step forward and held Y/N’s face in both of his hands. He ran a hand soothingly up and down her cheek. “Hear this now: I will always come for you,” he said. A vow.

“How can you be sure?” Y/N asked, disbelieving.

Aemond pressed a soft kiss to her lips. He looked at her with nothing but fondness in his eyes. He stroked his thumb across her cheek. “This is true love, Y/N. You think that this happens every day?” he asked, teasing.

He smiled down at her, and she couldn’t help but smile back, even brighter - he always made her brighter. She threw her arms around him and he held her tightly to his chest in a hug. Y/N loathed to let him go. Still, she knew that she must. So after she finally released him and pressed a final kiss to his lips, Aemond stepped away from her. As he walked away, she watched him go, and wiped the single tear that dripped down from her eyes.

“Aemond didn’t reach his destination,” their Uncle Daeron said, grimly.

“What?” Jaehaera demanded.

Their uncle nodded. “His ship was attacked by the Dread Pirate Martell, who never left captives alive. And when Y/N got the news that Aemond was murdered-” 

“Murdered by pirates is good,” Jaehaerys muttered. Jaehaera swatted at her brother’s arm to silence him, her eyes locked on her uncle still.

“She went into her room and shut the door. For days, she neither slept nor ate,” Uncle Daeron said, ignoring his nephew’s interruption.

Y/N stood before the window in her kitchen, a grim look on her face. “I will never love again,” she stated with no emotions in her voice at all. 

“Five years later, the main square of King’s Landing was filled as it had never been before,” their Uncle Daeron said, jumping ahead in the story. “They were there to hear the announcement of the great Prince Aegon’s bride-to-be.”

Prince Aegon emerged onto a castle balcony. He was dressed in resplendent black royal robes, with a three-headed dragon embroidered onto them in gold, with a regal green and black cape draped over his shoulders. His platinum hair shone in the sunlight, and he wore a black prince’s crown atop his head. The prince did not emerge onto the balcony alone. To his left side stood King Viserys and Queen Alicent in regal clothing of their own. To his right then stood, the King’s advisor Otto, the Prince’s sworn sword Ser Criston Cole, and the Prince’s advisor Lord Larys Strong. And as they emerged, it was to the applause of their citizens below

“My people,” Prince Aegon said, voice cutting through the cheers that quieted as he raised a hand. “A few months from now, our country will have its 500th anniversary. On that sundown, I shall marry a lady.” He smiled. “A lady who was once a commoner like yourselves.” He paused, clearly for dramatic effect. “But perhaps you will not find her so common now. Would you like to meet her?”

The crowd answered their affirmation with cheers that reverberated through the very stone of the castle. The sea of people before them was adamant in their love and appreciation for the ruling family and for whomever this woman would be. They watched as the Prince gestured to a door on a balcony opposite them. The crowd, it seemed, was holding its breath as a collective. They waited eagerly to see her fully - to know who she was.

“My people,” Prince Aegon declared, “meet your Princess, your future Queen…the Princess Y/N.”

And then, Y/N emerged onto the balcony from the door. She was an image of beauty, reflected perfectly upon the people. The only thing betraying her discontent was the lack of a smile on her face. Even so, Y/N remained the most beautiful person around. She descended the staircase attached to the balcony slowly, as if every step pained her heart. And once she reached the ground, she began to walk amongst the people.

Upon the balcony, King Viserys began mumbling. Try as he might, Prince Aegon did not understand a word he was saying. He leaned over to Ser Criston. “Did you understand a word of that, Ser Criston?” he asked.

“Not a syllable,” the sworn sword admitted.

“It doesn’t seem possible, but my father’s mumblings seem to be getting worse every day,” the Prince stated.

“Your father said , Aegon, that it isn’t safe for Y/N to move amongst the people,” Queen Alicent said, glaring slightly at her son. She gently patted her husband’s arm, soothing. “It’s alright, Viserys. She’s so gentle. Who would want to harm Y/N? Who would even dream of it.”

There was an adoring smile on the Prince’s face. One that was sweet, genuine, loving , even. “I tell you this, mother, father…my dear councilmen: no man had better try,” Prince Aegon said firmly. Otto, Larys, and Criston all exchanged a fleeting glance. Looking back to the crowd, Aegon drew in a surprised breath. “By the seven…they love her.”

Looking back down to the crowd, they watched as they all began kneeling. They knelt down before Y/N without any instruction. Waves of people fell to a knee and bowed their heads to their new Princess. And Y/N was terribly moved by this. She stood still then, frozen in her spot, unable to move, unable to blink even, amongst the crowds of people. They were radiating love toward her - an adoration that felt entirely undeserved. She forced herself to take a breath, to blink, and it was a blessing she did. For as she blinked, the tears threatening to overcome her faded away. She looked up to the balcony and saw her future husband standing, smiling down at her, fond and kind. And she felt absolutely nothing .

Later that same day, Prince Aegon accompanied Y/N - Princess Y/N now - to the stables on the castle grounds. He was still dressed the same as he was at the royal announcement. But Y/N had changed into riding clothes. Y/N allowed the accompaniment only because she felt she had to. She supposed she should be grateful for the company, but couldn’t muster the feeling in herself. As she saddled her horse and prepared to mount, the Prince finally spoke.

“Must you ride?” he asked quietly. “You seem quite upset today.”

Y/N let out a quiet sigh. “The King looked terribly old today - exhausted to the bone. I suppose that frightened me. Upset me,” she said shortly. Prince Aegon smiled, reached out to grab her hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She tried to smile but couldn’t bring it to last for more than a second.

“He has a right to look old, my darling,” he said, chuckling. “He has aged beyond what most dream of reaching, and every organ in his body has begun to slowly betray him. I know my father’s health is not what is upsetting you.” He paused, watching as she looked away from him. “Have I not been attentive enough, my darling? Is that it? Or have I been overbearing to you? I…I know that you don’t love me, Y/N. But, I promise that in time you’ll grow to love me.”

She shook her head. She mounted the horse expertly and then looked to the Prince again. “It’s not you,” she denied. “It was the crowd. I…they should not bow to me as they did. When you proposed to me, my Prince, I was just like them. Ordinary.” She looked away, towards the horizon, and then back to the Prince. “And even with all of the finishing lessons and time spent to educate me…in my heart I still am ordinary, Aegon. I…I felt a fraud today.” She shook her head. “They should not have bowed to me.”

The Prince took her hand and pressed another sweet kiss to her knuckles. “Oh, my beloved,” he said with a sigh. He offered a beautiful smile to her. “You are the most beautiful woman in this world. And when we marry? Y/N, you’ll be the richest and most powerful woman as well.” Braver, he reached up and pressed a kiss to Y/N’s lips. “Don’t expect too much from life. That is how you may find yourself disappointed, even when you have anything…everything that you could possibly want at hand.”

Y/N considered him, then his words. “You’re very wise,” she said, nodding. “I must…I must learn to be satisfied with what I have. Thank you, my Prince.” The Prince took a step away from her horse and she immediately rode off. 

Free from the castle and her duties now, Y/N barreled through the woodlands surrounding King’s Landing. Atop her horse, Y/N could almost feel like she was free again. She pushed her horse to take her farther, to run faster. With the wind whipping her face, through her hair, Y/N could almost pretend she was alive again. She could almost feel life the way that it was with Aemond there. Joy was so close to her, but still so far.

Going through the woods coming close to the waters of the King’s Landing sea, Y/N was forced to bring her horse to a sudden stop seeing three men standing in the midst of her path. She looked at them suspiciously. Standing in front of the group of three was a Black man with platinum dreadlocks. To the left was an older, tall Black man also with white dreadlocks, but a less severe look on his face. To his right was a tall, broad man with curly dark hair and an easy smile on his face.

“A word if you will, my Lady?” the older man asked. They moved towards her. “My name is Vaemond, this is my nephew Laenor and our associate Harwin. We are but poor, lost circus performers. Is there a village nearby you could direct us to?”

Y/N shook her head, frown on her face. She almost felt bad for them. For the trek that they’d have to make back to the city.  “There is nothing nearby,” she denied. “Not for miles.”

Vaemond’s face curled into a dark smile. “Then there shall be no one around to hear you scream,” he declared. 

Before Y/N could react to the words, the man nodded to Harwin. As a scream started to come out of her mouth, he knocked her unconscious by pinching a nerve in her neck. And then, she unceremoniously fell from the horse into the strong man’s arms, lost to the world.

Chapter Text

Transferring Princess Y/N from their place in the Kingswood was not terribly complicated. Getting off of the route of the Kingroad took only minutes. And back in the safety of the dense trees, Harwin easily put her back atop the horse’s back so he would not need to carry her the whole way. The large man then took hold of the creature’s reins and gently began to steer the steed where they were going. Vaemond was so giddy he was nearly skipping as they trekked through the forest.

Once they made it to Blackwater Bay, they caught sight of the small ship they had moored. And it was just in the knick of time - night was falling. And as the shadows started to pull longer and longer as the sun dipped below the horizon, the next phase of Vaemond’s plan began. He took the reins of the Princess’s horse from Harwin.

“Get her onto the boat,” he instructed the wall of muscle. He looked over to Laenor. “Get us ready to sail.”

The two other men snapped into action almost immediately. Harwin grabbed the Princess off of the horse and brought her gently to his chest. He had a slight frown on his face. He needed money, yes, but he was not a bad man. The further this plan went, the worse he felt about it. Similarly, while Laenor began to unmoor the boat, he had to ignore his conscience which warred against his uncle’s plan. Still, the men did as they were instructed.

Vaemond, as his henchmen did his bidding, took a knife from his hip and began to tear a piece of leather from a set of riding leathers. The red and black of the leathers was distinct - specific and unmistakable. With his skill with a blade and his precision, it was quick work. Not to mention - this had been long since planned. He’d tear the leather with his bare hands if that was what it took. He’d die before giving up now.

“What are you ripping, uncle?” Laenor asked suspiciously.

Vaemond did not pause in his efforts. “Fabric from the riding leathers of an enemy scout of Dragonstone,” he said, lips quirked up. Laenor’s face dropped.

“Dragonstone?” Harwin asked, hesitant.

Vaemond used his chin to gesture to the island out at sea, barely a speck in the distance. “The sovereign island at sea. Their own country by all rights. They rule themselves and Driftmark without interference from King’s Landing - mostly,” he said shortly. “But, they’re the sworn enemy of King’s Landing. They may be an island, but they’re powerful. The King’s council fears them. And fear makes people foolish. And I intend to capitalize on that.”

Then, Vaemond secured the scrap to the horse, then released the reins. One slap to the horse’s rear and it was taking off in the direction of King’s Landing once more. A glorious morning it would be tomorrow - of that he was most certain. He then boarded the boat, gait easy. He looked over at the Princess and stooped down to check that she truly remained unconscious - she did.

“Once the horse reaches the castle sans the Princess, the fabric will make Prince Aegon think that the rulers of Dragonstone have abducted his one true love or whatever bullshit he would spew,” Vaemond drawled as he stood. “And when he finds her body dead at the northernmost point of Massey’s Hook? His suspicions will be all but confirmed.”

Harwin frowned, stopping Vaemond from walking past him towards the ship’s helm. “You never said anything about killing anyone,” he said.

Vaemond raised an eyebrow and pushed past him. “I hired you to help me stop a war, Strong,” he reminded the man. “It is a prestigious line of work. There’s a long and glorious tradition, most of it steeped in blood and gore. Did you think you’d be exempt?”

“I just don’t think it’s right, killing an innocent girl,” Harwin said, fighting to keep composure.

“Ha,” Vaemond laughed, turning to look at Harwin. The disgust in his face was clear - but, it was mirrored in Harwin’s, so he could hardly be offended. “Could my ears be deceiving me, Strong? Am I going mad or did the work “think” just escape from your lips? Yours? As if that’s supposed to mean something to me? As if it’s supposed to impact me in the slightest? You were not hired for your brain, Strong, or was your last name not a strong enough indicator?” He stepped closer to Harwin so they were chest to chest. He had to tilt his head slightly up to meet the other man’s eyes. He was not afraid, but neither was Harwin. Still, Vaemond was not fool enough to act too rashly. Harwin would win a physical fight whether or not he had his knife. “You are here solely to offer your strength, Strong. Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Harwin ground out, fist twitching with an urge to punch the other man. He resisted.

“I agree with Harwin, uncle,” Laenor said dryly. “That wasn’t part of the plan that you presented to us. This is foolish. Entirely.”

Vaemond then turned his ire onto his nephew, first with a cold stare. “Ah, so the blundering sot has spoken,” he drawled cruelly. He only got angrier by the moment. “What happens to her is not your concern. Either of you. I will kill her. And I don’t care if I have to make the two of you hold her arms while I gut her like a fish. And remember this - nay, never forget this.” He stepped closer to the two men still, glaring them down once more. Neither was intimidated, but both were uncomfortable. He looked first to Harwin. “When I found you, you were friendless, brainless, helpless, and hopeless. A failed soldier with nothing to his name. You were mourning over your father and all that you’d been foolish enough to lose.” He glared over at his nephew. “And you, when I brought you away from that wretched place, those wretched people…you were nothing more than a slobbering drunk who was mourning men that you were foolish enough to grow attached to. You were ever disappointing your parents. Ruining their lives. Their reputations.” He stared at them both together. “I saved you. The both of you.”

Harwin offered a strained, false grin. The set of his teeth made it look more like a threat than anything else. “I think it’s just lovely, Vaemond. Absolutely lovely what we’re doing here. Sparking a war, instigating and perpetuating deaths. They’re just the nicest things this world has to offer, right?” he said sarcastically.

Vaemond did not bother to answer - didn’t find it a worthy pursuit in the slightest. Instead, he ripped open a knapsack nearby and picked out a dried piece of bread to eat. Then, he began heading to do final checks for the ship before they set sail. The other two men stood in stiff silence for a moment.

“My uncle is an intolerable man at the best of times. Even to those that he loves most in the world, from what I recall when they were still around. Do not take it to heart the unkind words that he says - something I think they are the only kind of words that he knows,” Laenor said quietly, glancing over at Harwin. The taller man looked distressed - it almost made Laenor feel bad. “That’s just Vaemond. He’ll fuss.”

“Yeah, he can fuss. Gods knows he likes to scream at us,” Harwin said, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. He pat Laenor’s shoulder. “Worry not about me. I’m not the one stuck related to him.”

Laenor rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me,” he said. “Come now. Let’s sail. Stay with the Princess. I’ll take care of Vaemond.”

It was an easy enough suggestion to follow. Harwin went to stand watch over the Princess. While he did that, Laenor started tending to the sails, with Vaemond at the helm of the ship. Easy as breathing they set sail once more. As odd of a trio as they were - four if you counted their hostage - they worked together like a well-oiled machine. Laenor had joined his uncle’s sailing when he was not even twenty-one summers old - nearly a decade ago now. They’d only picked up Harwin five years prior after the death of his father. Even so, he fit right in and managed to find the role he had to fill quite easily. Vaemond’s domineering personality doubtlessly helped with that.

They cut through the water smoothly, and sailed through the dark of the night even as it became dark enough that it was difficult to see much past their own ship. The only light that they were receiving was from the full, pale moon glowing down upon them. Once they began to sail past Wendwater, far enough that Vaemond began to get comfortable in his victory, he made Laenor take over at the helm while he went to get more ware to eat from the knapsack.

The waves began to grow higher as they branched slightly further out from land while they approached the tip of Massey’s Hook. The sound of the water lapping against the side of the boat was the only thing that cut through the silence of the night. None of the three men saw fit to speak - they rarely did.

“We shall reach the cliffs by dawn,” Vaemond said. His tone was the closest that he would come to complimenting his nephew’s ability to sail. When his nephew didn’t respond, he glanced over at him and saw him squinting across the hours. “Why are you doing that, Laenor?”

“What?” Laenor asked, distracted.

“The staring, you buffoon, the squinting,” he said, somehow already exasperated with the short interaction. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure that we’re not being followed,” Laenor said shortly.

Vaemond snorted, the sound ugly and harsh. “Believe me, nephew. We aren’t being followed. The horse would not yet have reached the castle. Even if they know that the Princess is missing, they do not have the slightest clue where she might be yet. They would not know where she rode. Or who might have taken her. Besides, even if they did, we’re at a distinct advantage because we’ve already crossed such a great distance. It’s impossible we’re being followed. With our sailing, it would be inconceivable.”

“She’s waking,” Harwin noted, seeing her move minutely. And true to his word, Princess Y/N groaned quietly, stirring slightly.

“Knock out the baggage again then, if you would, Strong,” Vaemond instructed.

Vaemond looked at her with a poorly concealed mixture of contempt and disgust. He turned his attention to the muscled man. Harwin rolled his eyes but followed the request. The Princess’s body slumped once more, the tension flowing from her body like water. For a moment, she looked dead, but then she took in a slow deep breath. Good, the plan hadn’t been ruined then. Then again, if she died now, it would hardly matter to Vaemond since he was going to kill her later.

And so cut the hours of the night, ticking by slowly but surely. The night was beginning to lighten, though dawn still remained hours away. Laenor remained at the helm, guiding the ship through the sea quickly, and efficiently - just as his uncle had taught him, and his father, once upon a time, too. The waves grew higher and higher as the continued their steady approach to Massey’s Claw. They were truly in outermost parts of Blackwater Bay now, the current growing stronger the nearer they got to the Narrow Sea. Even so, they still had a few hours until they reached their destination. Much still had to be done.

When Laenor saw fit to glance around the rest of the ship, taking his eyes of the water surrounding them, he saw Vaemond dozing as he sat, leaning against the side of the ship. Harwin too was nodding off every so often, careful to not fully succumb so he could ensure that the Princess Y/N remained asleep - which, she did. Laenor turned and looked behind him, peering into the darkness.

Curious.

Vaemond opened his eyes and saw his nephew’s gaze locked behind them. “Stop doing that Laenor, we can all relax,” Vaemond drawled, rolling his eyes before he shut them again. “This is all almost over. Try to stop ruining a well-earned victory.”

Not a victory yet.

“You’re sure that no one could be after us?” Laenor asked dryly.

“As I told you hours ago,” Vaemond groaned, eyes still closed, “it would be absolutely, totally, and in all other ways inconceivable. No one in Dragonstone knows what we’ve done yet - they have no true scouts running through these parts. And none from King’s Landing could have possibly gotten here so fast.” Not entirely true. “Well, none who would sail for the Prince’s sake or who would know of the Princess’s absence.”

“Ha, right,” Laenor said almost inaudibly.

Vaemond’s eyes popped open. “Out of curiosity, why do you ask?” he asked.

Laenor shrugged. “No reason,” he said casually. “It’s only that I just happened to look behind us, and there’s something there.”

Vaemond rushed to his feet, Harwin doing the same. Both men hurried to where Laenor stood and peered into the night. The moon, full as she was, had taken to hiding behind a curtain of clouds. There was hardly a prayer to making anything out. Even as their eyes adjusted, Harwin and Vaemond were struggling to see anything. Laenor who had gotten a clear view just waited.

“There’s nothing out there,” Vaemond dismissed.

The moon slipped through the curtain of clouds.

Oh.

Oh no.

There is was.

Another small ship.

Black, with a great billowing sail also in black.

It was a good distance behind them, but the vessel was cutting through the water even faster than they, closing the gap between them with an efficiency that could only come from a sailor with lots of experience. Laenor pursed his lips, hedging his bets on whether or not it was a pirate, whether or not they could outmaneuver it, whether or not his skill with a blade would save him, and whether or not he should risk the waters below. Harwin cursed in his mind the misfortune of this moment - like Harwin, his money was on pirates, but the alternative was a mercenary sent after them by someone in King’s Landing - someone untraceable to the crown, who could get away with killing them. Vaemond’s brain hadn’t quite made it that far, still gaping at the other boat.

Vaemond cleared his throat. “No matter,” he said stiffly. “Probably just some local fisherman out for a pleasure cruise.”

“At night. Through some eel-infested waters. Oh absolutely, uncle,” Laenor said, deadpan.

“And perhaps I’m actually a woman,” Harwin said sarcastically.

“Now listen here, Strong,” Vaemond said, pointing a finger angrily in Harwin’s direction.

Splash!

The three men then whirled around to see Princess Y/N had dove into the water. Her red dress was billowing in the water, making her look more mermaid than human with how it gathered here and there. The three men stared in a combination of some levels of awe, shock, horror, and fury for a moment. Then, all at once, their brains caught back up with them.

“Go in! After her!” Vaemond called loudly, shoving both Laenor and Harwin’s shoulders.

“I don’t swim,” Laenor said firmly.

“Don’t look at me. I’m the one in chainmail,” Harwin pointed out.

Vaemond cursed the two useless men. He rushed to the side of the boat and looked over. Laenor stayed at the helm and Harwin followed Vaemond, ready to at least pull the Princess back onboard. The moon disappeared once more, shrouding them in darkness. Still, they knew she was close.

“I can hear her kicking, veer left,” Vaemond barked.

Laenor did so.

Outside of the ship, Y/N was still near to the ship - too close for comfort. Her desperate paddling turned to a silent, strong forward stroke once she’d caught her bearings. She was determined to get away, no matter what that meant. If it meant she drowned at sea, well, at least she would be with Aemond again. Still, part of her, no matter how small, did wish to survive this terrible ordeal she’d found herself in.

Her senses returned about her as the howling wind started to stop. The only issue with the quieting of the wind, was that the loud noises around her did not stop. They were fainter, but growing louder. Then, something new burst through into the quiet of the night: a high-pitched shrieking sound. Y/N stopped suddenly, frozen, her eyes wide. Her heart thumped and she only treaded water, looking around for the source of that horrid sound getting louder and louder still.

On the boat, Vaemond grinned, while Harwin stared at Princess Y/N in distress. “Do you know that that sound is, Highness?” Vaemond asked, voice smug and satisfied. It betrayed just how little he cared if she lived or died in this moment so long as they could get her body from the water. “Those are the Shrieking Eels.”

That was impossible - they never made it from the Narrow Sea into Blackwater Bay. That is what everyone had always claimed when Y/N heard sailors talking about them. Never so far west, so close to the land. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t. The monster, the fool - Vaemond - had to be mistaken.

Another shriek.

Louder.

Closer.

“If you doubt me, just wait. They always grow louder when they’re about to feed on human flesh,” Vaemond said, near sing-song.

Y/N was still treading water beyond the boat, not far from the side. The shrieking sound was getting louder. She determined that it was decidedly possible that it was getting closer too. She tried not to let herself think of that prospect though. She focused on keeping her head above water, kept her feet kicking. She looked at the boat. There was no way to win this, not when her instinct to live was so overwhelming now. Y/N, despite herself, remained silent.

“If you swim back now,” Vaemond said, voice serious, “I promise that no harm will come to you, Princess. I doubt that you will be presented with such an offer from the eels. Come now, Highness. Be reasonable. I know you grew up on a farm but still you must’ve learned some level of common sense.”

His vow - his promise of safety, especially - was hollow and they all knew it. Still, Vaemond was Y/N’s only choice to escape from the waters she’d thrown herself into. Her only advantage was her silence. With the moon still casting them into the dark of night, they could not see her - not well enough to forcibly pull her from the waters. She maintained it a bit longer. Between the fear, the stress, and the exhaustion, it was difficult to bring herself to think. She just needed time to think that was all it was.

Behind Y/N, not that she could see, a hulking, dark, slimy mass slithers past her. Circling her and then moving back from the direction it came, shrieking as it went. Y/N’s eyes widened when she realized. She raised a hand to cover her mouth to silence her own shriek. She had to be stronger than this, smarter than this. She had moments - barely. Only moments. The shriek was followed by a chorus of others as the first eel had called to others an alluring promise of an easy meal. Her life was in peril. She could not dispute that.

“I won’t warn you again. Call out your position or you will die,” Vaemond all but shouted.

He desperately scanned the water for her form, struggling to make it out. Harwin did the same. Then, Harwin other man spotted her and gestured to Laenor as such. He took the hint and started slowly drifting them in that direction. Vaemond hardly noticed, still too focused on trying to spot her in the still-growing waves.

In the water, Y/N was scared - petrified really - but still made no reply to Vaemond’s words. This time though, it was more for the fear gripping her heart than anything. Her brain wasn’t working quite the same as it had minutes before. The first shrieking eel had turned to her, locking in on her positon much more firmly, resolute in its desire to kill her. Its beady eyes looked ready to destroy her.

Oh, but perhaps she was just projecting her emotion.

No. Then, the started to approach, others zipping from further away. All of them began to close in on her. Y/N was well and truly frozen, trying not to move, to make a sound. But the eels just came closer and closer. At this point, Y/N’s brain accepted that there was nothing that she could do to stop this from being her fate. The first eel opened its gaping jaw wide, and let out a loud, horrific shriek that rattled her to her bones.

It’s all over.

It’s all over.

She will die.

And as the eel’s jaws are about to clamp down -

“She does not get eaten by the eel at this time,” Daeron assured.

The man had a small smile on his face - hardly detectable even by his sister, now sitting in an armchair, reading a magazine. All three children were wholly invested. His niece’s mouth was hanging open in fear. His younger nephew was gripping his blanket, riveted. Even his older nephew’s eyes were wide, taking in every word. His word seemed to snap them out of their reverie, at least briefly.

“What?” Jaehaerys asked.

“I said that the eels don’t get her,” Daeron repeated. He offered a sly grin. “You looked nervous.”

“I wasn’t nervous,” Jaehaerys countered nervously.

“Liar!” Jaehaera exclaimed, voice nasally from her congestion. “You’ve been squeezing my hand super tight for the past ten minutes! You are nervous.”

“Am not!” Jaehaerys countered.

“Well I am. So both of you shut up!” Maelor said.

Daeron says nothing. Just waits. Jaehaerys folds in seconds. “Okay maybe I was a little bit edgy…but that’s not the same thing.”

“Ah well,” Daeron said, making a show of closing the book and going to stand slowly, “perhaps I should stop for now.”

“You can read a little more if you want to! I don’t mind!” Jaehaerys said loudly - too loudly if Jaehaera’s wince was anything to go by.

Daeron hummed. “I don’t know,” he said. “You three need your rest. You boys especially. You’ve been sick a while. And Jaehaera I know you want to feel better by the end of the weekend. I should stop. Give you the chance to keep sleeping it off. It’d be for the best.”

All three of their faces fell in a dramatic expression of horror. It was endlessly fun teasing his nephews and his niece. A special kind of joy that only an uncle could understand. A quick glance towards his sister showed her smirking, even as she kept her eyes locked on her book. Even she delighted in how distressed they seemed at the prospect of him stopping.

“Come on Uncle Daeron, no!” Maelor whined. “Please keep going!”

“Yeah, please,” Jaehaera begged pouting.

Jaehaerys sighed, loud, dramatic, performative - a kid after his own heart. “Please,” he said shortly.

Daeron settled back down and made a show of getting comfortable again.

Then, he reopened the book.

“Do you know that that sound is, Highness?” Vaemond asked, voice smug and satisfied. It betrayed just how little he cared if she lived or died in this moment so long as they could get her body from the water. “Those are the Shrieking Eels.”

“We’re past that, Uncle Daeron! You did that already,” Maelor said.

“Oh,” Daeron said, amused, “my mistake. Do forgive me.”

As Y/N starts to feel the slime flying off the eel and hitting her skin, it all ended. Two giant arms reached down and pulled her from the water. Her legs touched the wood of the boat and she took in deep breaths dramatically, gasping as if she’d breathed in water and was trying to replace it with air once more. She clutched to the arms until she steadied herself, her mind returning to her. Then, at once, she released the arms of the man holding her, hitting the deck as her legs immediately gave out.

“Careful,” he scolded. Harwin frowned, catching her behind her legs and back before her head could roughly hit the ground. Then, with a gentleness shocking by his sheer size, he helped her settle comfortably against the side of the boat. “You’ll hurt yourself. Don’t be a fool now, Princess.”

A rather funny thing to say - at least for a man who was planning to help kill her and start a war.

“She already is a fool, Strong,” Vaemond hissed sourly.

Y/N struggled to not roll her eyes at his dramatics. The only thing that kept her from doing so was the intense focus she had on steadying her aggressively beating heart. Vaemond cursed her openly, loudly, as he stooped down and took a measure of rope to tie her hands. She let it happen, still too shaken to try and stop it. Harwin rolled his eyes. She’d clearly learned her lesson that escaping was not a method that would result in success for her - only death. Especially on the water.

“I suppose you think that you’re very brave, don’t you?”

Vaemond mocked after he’d finished tightly tying the binds around her wrists. Already, she could feel the rope digging into her skin, leaving a burn behind with even the slightest of movements. Already, as the cold of the night’s air seeped into her bone, so she felt the desperation fading back away into a blank nothing. There was no point in this - none would come to save her in time. Not even Prince Aegon, bless his heart, though he’d try.

“Only compared to some,” she said shortly.

“You are not brave,” Vaemond said sharply. “You are a fool for even trying such a stupid thing. Do you even understand what would have happened if we left you to the shrieking eels? They don’t kill their prey, Princess, oh no. They paralyze them with a bite and then they slowly drown while they are eaten. Unable to move but still able to feel everything. So hear me and remember when I say…tnext time you are so foolish as to not listen to me, I will leave you to die and have Strong fish your dead body from the waters instead.”

Harwin looked at the other man grimly and then down to the Princess. Y/N wore a stunned look on her face. There was no way to know if his words of the eels were true. But his threat to let her die was true - and clear. Even without the grim looks from the other men, Y/N knew it to be true. Down to her very bones she felt the man’s evil. Harwin helped her settle more comfortably against the deck and kept his eyes locked on her. Nothing else need distract him now.

“Oh look,” Laenor said dryly. “He’s cut our lead in half in the time it took us to fish her out of the damned water.

“What?” Vaemond asked.

“He’s incredibly skilled,” Laenor said seriously.

“He’s no match for a Velaryon,” Vaemond barked.

Harwin’s head shot up to look, not moving from the Princess’s side. Vaemond bound back over to the other side of the boat, peering at the black ship still sailing after them. He had indeed cut their lead in half. Perhaps a bit more than that, even. But, it didn’t matter.

Vaemond let out a barking laugh. “It doesn’t matter. He’s too late,” he said. He pointed ahead, a rocky shoreline visible as the moon shone through once more. “Do you see that?” He turned to the Princess. “Do you know what that is, Highness?”

“Massey’s Hook,” Y/N muttered.

She knew it well. A place only a fool would go. The last place in the country of King’s Landing that Aemond would have set foot upon before he left for the Narrow Sea, headed to find his fortune in Pentos. Perhaps not this far to the peak, but close enough still. She, on principle, hated the place. It was the last place that she wished to go. The last place that she ever wanted to see. And here she was being dragged against her will.

If only Aemond could see her now.

“That’s right, Massey’s Hook. A lovely if severe little set of mountains that are so rarely visited. Do you know what they call Massey’s Hook, Highness?” Vaemond asked, a disturbingly delighted grin on his face.

“The Cliffs of Insanity,” she intoned.

“The Cliffs of Insanity,” Vaemond echoed as if she didn’t speak.

Vaemond let out a shrieking laugh - a most startling sound to hear coming from his mouth. The grin on his face betrayed his excitement. On the chessboard that had been set in his mind, he’d just knocked over the last of the knights, he’d taken the queen, and he was ready to capture the king. His victory was all but assured, he could nearly taste it. His own pawns were in place. All was working out just as it was supposed to.

As they continued sailing, and the dark of night started to abate - still not quite giving way to day, Y/N’s heart thudded heavily in her chest. The mountains, so funnily nicknamed cliffs, were taller than she could fathom even from afar. She hated to think of what would happen as she got closer. In her mind, all that came to her were images of Vaemond or Harwin tossing her down from the top of them, leaving her bloodied body there. Or perhaps the sword at Harwin’s hip or Laenor’s would run through her chest. She looked away from the cliffs down to her shaking hands.

Brave, Y/N, she reminded herself in her mind, you must be brave. Someone will come. And if they do not come in time then someone will avenge you. Even if you are not rescued you will not be forgotten. And even if you are not rescued then peace may yet wait with Aemond in death. And if you cannot be brave then just be patient. So just be patient, Y/N. Just be patient.

It will all end - one way or another.

Suddenly, Y/N found herself yet again not caring if the black ship caught up with them. Or if anyone managed to come upon them to save her. Whatever happened would be the will of the gods. Whatever happened, she would be content with it. Aegon was right. She would not expect too much from life - not here, not now, when it might be so close to an end.

Chapter Text

Vaemond looked victorious - far more than he’d yet earned the right to appear. Y/N tried not to think too hard about what was going on. The situation was already growing to be rather precarious. The Cliffs of Insanity loomed over them and it put a pit in her stomach to look at them for too long. Sadly, she didn’t have much of a choice.

Docking the boat would be a generous explanation for what they did when they’d reached the end of Massey’s Hook. Vaemond more pushed Laenor out of the way than moved him and near slammed the boat against the side of the dock in his haste for them to get out faster. Doing so nearly sent Y/N over the side of the boat and back out into the water, but by some miracle, Harwin had managed to grab her before that had been able to happen.

Then, Harwin picked her up like a sack of potatoes, threw her over his shoulder and walked over towards the side of the boat. He hopped off with a level of ease that was startling, even for a man of his size, and landed neatly on the dock. That’s when Y/N saw the rope that was already waiting. Her eyes widened as he placed her back on her feet. Harwin pat her shoulder in a pathetic facsimile of comfort.

“Don’t worry,” he said, taking another measure of rope and tying them together at the waist. “You just have to hold onto me. I’m going to do all the work myself.”

“We’re safe,” Vaemond confirmed distractedly, climbing out of the boat himself. “Only we could possibly be strong enough to go up our way - he’ll have to sail around for hours until he finds a proper harbor. And we’ll cut the rope when we’re at the top.”

His words brought no comfort to Y/N’s heart. One by one, they all were strapped onto Harwin - attached like extra baggage in case they were to slip and fall. Then, Harwin slipped on a worn pair of leather gloves and began hauling them up the rope with a speed that defied logic. Y/N couldn’t let herself think about it, instead keeping her face buried in the massive man’s neck so she didn’t have to look at the water and boat steadily growing smaller and smaller below her.

Down below, the man captaining the black ship was gaining quickly on them. Even so, by the time he came to the side of their boat, gliding to a much more gentle stop, the group had almost finished their climb. The man, clad in all black, leapt then from his ship to the rope that they were nearly done climbing and started to rapidly pull himself up. He was making up ground even here and it was a feat like nothing the group had ever seen.

“He’s gaining on us,” Laenor pointed out, looking down.

“Inconceivable!” Vaemond snapped looking down. Lo and behold, the man in black was indeed gaining on them at a breakneck speed. Vaemond’s mouth - for only a moment - fell open in shock at the sight. He swatted at Harwin’s arm. “Faster you fool! Climb!”

“Sorry,” Harwin huffed, pulling them up faster - the effort starting to show in his slightly pinched expression. “Silly me. I thought I was going faster.”

Vaemond glared at him. “Well go faster or I’ll run a sword through your middle when we get to the top!” he snapped.

Harwin muttered but pulled them up, faster still.

“I thought you were supposed to be this great, legendary man of strength! A myth of epic proportions! And yet this man in black gains on us still!” Vaemond snapped.

Y/N took a moment to glance down while Harwin glared at Vaemond. The man in black truly was catching up to them with alarming speed. And the boat was so small beneath them that she felt her hands tremble at the sight. She buried her face back into the large man’s neck.

“Well I’m carrying three people, Vaemond. And he’s only got himself,” Harwin pointed out through clenched teeth.

“I don’t accept excuses,” Vaemond near bellowed. He shook his head. “I’m just going to have to find a new giant is all. You’re useless, apparently, hardly even fitting of the name Strong - such a pity.”

“Don’t say that, Vaemond,” Harwin said, brow pinched, arms slowing.

A quick glance down showed Laenor that the man in black - masked, it became clear, the closer he got to them - was still gaining. He huffed and turned his attention back to the exchange that kept going back and forth between Harwin and Vaemond.

“You shouldn’t insult Harwin,” Laenor told his uncle firmly.

Vaemond, stubborn as ever, shook his head once more. “I had to hire a temperamental wall of muscle, did I,” he muttered.

“Harwin is an incredibly good worker and very strong,” Laenor said, louder still.

Harwin muttered a curse. “A worker, a worker…not a shirker,” Harwin said.

“Very hardy,” Laenor added.

“Never tardy,” Harwin added absentmindedly, continuing to pull them up.

“These stupid rhymes again,” Vaemond groaned, clearly used to little bouts from the pair. “Would you climb faster you oaf?”

Still, Vaemond’s harsh words did not put a damper on Harwin’s mood. In fact, irking the other man seemed to put Harwin in good spirits. So, his great arms were able to move faster than even before and the group of four reached the top of the cliffs quite fast. And as they near crested the top of the cliffs, Vaemond rapidly detached himself from the rope - and Harwin - and took his knife from his hip. He was already sawing at the rope before Harwin had finished pulling Laenor over the top.

At the top of the Cliffs of Insanity, Y/N could see across the Narrow Sea. She could see an island in the distance and looked quickly away. The area around them at the top of the cliff was remarkably grassy still, but there were the remnants of what was once a fort. Broken and aging stones remained, making the ruins a mere echo of the past that they once would’ve held. She stayed still, hands still bound, as Harwin untied their waists from each other. He still had to hold her up for a few moments while she regained stability in her legs.

The three of them all peered over the edge of the cliff while Vaemond finished slicing through the rope. After the last of it was cut, the rope slithered across the ground and fell from sight. The four of them all peered over and Vaemond openly cursed at the sight before them.

“He has very good arms!” Laenor said, impressed. “How is that even possible? Even Harwin couldn’t do that.”

“Not a chance that I could do that,” Harwin agreed. He glanced towards Vaemond. “Gods willing, he won’t ask me to try.”

“He didn’t fall?” Vaemond growled. “Inconceivable!”

Laenor looked over at his uncle, warily. “You keep using that word, uncle…I don’t think that it means what you seem to think it means,” he said. He looked back down over the cliff’s edge. “By the gods, he’s climbing now!”

And indeed the man in black was climbing up the cliff’s jagged face. It was not at any sort of steady pace. It was slow and measured, sometimes only able to drag himself up one hand, other times able to make it a few before needing to stop. The group at the top stared down at him in a mixed state of awe and fear. Vaemond ground his teeth and stood, whirling to look at the three. He glared down at the three as if they had personally wronged him.

“Whoever he is, he has obviously seen us with the Princess, and therefore he must die,” Vaemond said through clenched teeth. He pointed to Harwin. “I need you to carry her.” Then, he pointed to his nephew. “We’re going to head towards Dragonstone’s port on the easternmost tip of the hook. Meet us there. Only catch up when he’s dead.” Laenor nodded, having expected as much. “If he falls, that’s fine. If not - run your sword through him, nephew.”

“I’m going to duel him left-handed,” Laenor said after nodding.

Vaemond sighed, put out. “You know what a hurry we’re in,” he pointed out.

Laenor scoffed. “Please, it’s the only way I’ll get any satisfaction out of this. If I use my right hand it’ll be over too quickly. I need to at least pretend it’s a challenge.”

“Oh have it your way then, you dramatic sod,” Vaemond muttered, turning sharply on heel and walking away.

Harwin looked at Laenor seriously. “You better be careful,” he warned. He glanced over towards the cliff. “People in masks can’t be trusted.”

Laenor nodded.

“Oh come on then. Come along,” Vaemond barked from a bit of a distance away.

The two exchanged a look. Laenor looked exasperated, and Harwin looked quite serious. Both of their faces displayed the severity of the situation. Still, there was nothing to do. So, then Harwin hoisted Princess Y/N upon his shoulder and sauntered off after Vaemond.

Left alone, Laenor turned his attention back to the cliff’s edge for only a moment, then looked away again. For a moment, he unsheathed his sword, checking its sharpness, flicking his wrist around, twisting the blade in a way that displayed the ease with which he fought. When he finally put his sword away once more, Laenor drifted closer to the cliff’s edge and peered over and peered over.

The man in black had an intensely focused look on his face. He was pulling himself up slowly but steadily. He was closer to the top than when Laenor last looked - an impressive feat that spoke to the strength he had to possess. Laenor sighed and kept watching for a moment. Laenor was never one for patience though and started pacing around for a few minutes. He practiced a few more motions with his sword, but eventually grew bored of even that and shoved it away again.

Eventually, he forced himself to return to the edge. Peering down, it was clear to see that the man once again was a bit closer to the top. Impressive, impressive, impressive. If the man in black fell, it would absolutely be an instant death. There was no question about it. Still, Laenor didn’t see it as a likelihood. And even more, the confidence with which the man pulled himself up displayed that even he did not see it as a likelihood. It was fascinating.

“Hello there,” Laenor called, voice echoing down to the man in back. The man looked up and grunted in acknowledgement. He was too far down for Laenor to really see his features - even his eye color was obscured from this far away. “Slow going.”

“I don’t mean to be rude,” the man huffed back. “But, this is not as easy as it looks. So, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t distract me. Considering that, you know, death is on the line.”

Laenor hummed. “Sorry,” he offered, half-hearted. The man grunted again at the words. “But I don’t suppose that you could speed things up, some. I would like to get to the rest of my day.”

The man in black did not have to be close for Laenor to see the irritation pinching his features. Admittedly, it was kind of amusing. “If you’re so anxious to hurry things, then you could lower a rope or tree branch. Find something useful to do!”

“I could do that,” Laenor agreed. “I’ve even got some rope up here.” He knelt down on one knee, looking closer. “But I don’t think you’d accept my help considering I’m only waiting around up here to kill you.”

The man let out a harsh sort of laugh. “That does put a damper on our relationship now, doesn't it?” he said.

The man carefully moved his hand and pulled himself up a few hands higher. He nearly slipped as he did. Laenor’s heart pounded as he watched the man nearly fall, biting his tongue to the point of bleeding.

“I promise I won’t kill you until you reach the top,” Laenor offered.

“Well, that’s terribly comforting, thank you,” the man said sarcastically. “But, I’m afraid that you’re just going to have to wait.”

“I hate waiting,” Laenor groaned. “I could give you my word as a Valyrian.”

The man in black openly laughed. “No good. I’ve known far too many Valyrians. I am one,” he said, gritting his teeth.

“I don’t see white hair on you,” Laenor commented, peering down more fully at him.

“I wonder if it could be the mask that’s covering my head,” the man muttered. He stopped for a moment, gripping the cliffside. He inhaled deeply, catching his breath, gathering his strength back.

“Isn’t there any way that you’ll trust me?” Laenor asked, impatient once more.

“Nothing comes to mind,” the man replied.

At this point, words strike Laenor’s heart. Something that seems foolish. But something that he feels in his heart will work. He bit his lip for a moment, watching as the man’s grip nearly slipped for a moment. If Laenor were to look closely, he had no doubt that he’d see blood covering the rocks from where it bit into the man’s gloveless hands.

“You will reach the top. I swear to you on the souls of the men I loved…on Joffrey Lonmouth…Qarl Correy…you will reach the top alive,” Joffrey said.

There was a long pause. The man stared straight forward at the cliff while Laenor looked down at him, waiting for an answer. Finally, the man looked up. The look in his eyes - violet, Laenor could now tell - was raw, open. But, just like that it was gone. His gaze was determined once more, even and unbothered.

“Throw me the rope,” he said, relenting.

Laenor grins and runs to the rock that their rope had initially been tied to and removed the portion left that his uncle hadn’t cut. He hauled it over to the side and threw it down to the man. The man stared at it for only a few seconds before taking one hand from the rock and holding the rope. When he didn’t get released, he grabbed it entirely. As he began to climb, scooting up, Laenor also began to haul the rope up, walking as steadily back as he could. Finally, the man in black crawled over the edge of the cliff and sprawled onto the rocky ground beneath him. He took a few deep breaths while he looked at Laenor - genuine gratitude in his face.

“Thank you,” the man said.

“We’ll wait until you’re ready,” Laenor said, leaning against a stone pillar that remained from the fort it once was.

“Ah, again, thank you,” he said. The man then noticed the way that Laenor intently stared at him. “What?”

“You don’t happen to know a Dornish man about,” he held up a hand, “this tall? Running around with a sword with a slightly curved blade and an emerald in its hilt?” He looked him up and down. “Clearly you’re not him.”

The man raised an eyebrow. “Do you always begin conversations this way?” he asked.

Laenor’s face became stormy. “I was…both Joffrey and Qarl were slaughtered by a Dornish man carrying that blade. A knight he proclaimed himself to be. Joffrey, he was a great sword maker, and when the Dornish knight appeared and requested the sword…he took the job.” Laenor looked away. “It took a year of him slaving away at the smith before it was done. And it was a gorgeous blade.” He inhaled shakily. “And while he made that, Joffrey also made me this one.”

“I have never seen its equal,” the man admitted, taking the blade when Laenor offered it to him. He swung it once, twice - not towards Laenor, entirely away - and then handed it back. “Incredible work.”

“It is. He always did such great things. The Dornish man returned and demanded his blade. But, he demanded it at one-tenth his promised price. Said that the King and Queen had declared it a necessity. My Joffrey refused,” Laenor said. “Without a word, he ran a sword through Joffrey’s heart. He ransacked the house but the blades weren’t there. They were with me. And when I returned…when I found Joffrey dead, the house destroyed…my anger consumed me.”

“That’s terrible,” the man in black said, genuine in his words.

“And then two years later, I found Qarl,” Laenor said, a wistful smile on his face. “He was kind…talented with a blade in his own right. Taught me some of what I know. Utterly invaluable to me as a swordsman and as a man.” He cleared his throat. “But, then one day, the Dornish man realized that I had the blades. Don’t know who tipped him off…what took so long. But he came back. I refused to give him the blade. He…he killed Qarl before I could even register what happened. We…I challenged him to a duel. I almost won until he took a cheap shot and left me with these.” He gestured to two deep scars - one on either cheek.

“When was this?” the man asked.

“Less than a decade ago,” Laenor said shortly. “I should’ve been strong enough. But I lost Joffrey, I lost Qarl, and I lost the fucking blade too because the rat took it and ran. Left nothing behind. So all I had was the blade Joffrey made me, and Qarl’s blade - not a consolation in the face of losing them. I assure you.”

“You loved them?” the man asked.

“Endlessly,” Laenor said, voice hoarse. He cleared his throat habitually. “So, I spent all my time working to ensure that the next time I ran into that Dornish knight I would be able to go up to him and say, ‘hello, my name is Laenor Velaryon, you killed the loves of my life, prepare to die.’” He sighed. “Between Harwin’s vendetta and mine, we have enough rage to keep us going until the day we die.”

“You’ve done nothing but study the art of swordsmanship?” the man asked.

“More pursuit than study lately,” Laenor admitted. “The men Harwin and I hate - the Dornish man and…and Harwin’s own brother - they’re too close to the rulers in King’s Landing. We cannot get close to them. So long we’ve lost the people we love…and so we’re starting to lose confidence. Hope, even.” He gave a sardonic smile. “I work for my uncle because it pays the bills - I wouldn’t be with Vaemond otherwise.” The man in black looked confused. “Vaemond - he is the man you’re pursuing, that is his name.” The other made a noise of understanding. “But, there’s not a lot of money in the business of revenge, I’m afraid.”

“Who did the other fellow lose?” the man inquired.

“His father,” Laenor said shortly. “Killed by his own brother.” Even from beneath the mask, Laenor could see the dark look pass over the other man’s face. It wiped away rather quickly. “It’s a monstrous act. Being a kinslayer.”

“I hope you find him someday - the Dornish fellow and the brother. Get your loved ones the justice you deserve,” the man said. He rose to his feet, stretching his arms slightly and then took out his blade.

“You’re ready?” Laenor asked, surprised he’d already composed himself.

“Whether I am or not, you’ve been more than fair,” the man said, lips pulled up into a half-smirk.

Laenor grinned himself as he readied his own blade. “You seem such a decent fellow - I hate to kill you,” he said.

The man walked back a few places and readied his own sword. “And you seem a decent fellow - I hate to die.”

“Begin,” Laenor barked.

With the distance between them, their swords barely touched as they were raised. And so, the sword fight began with small feints and counters. There was silence as the pair circled each other. The man in black’s eyes were bright with excitement and Laenor’s were too. Both had finally found a match in their skills. Testing each other’s limits would certainly be fun.

Finally, Laenor pushed forward, feinting one way just to expertly move in the other direction. Even so, the man in black followed this with ease and equal expertise. For barely a moment, the man was nearly knocked off balance, but he easily regained his footing. Taking the opportunity, Laenor jumped, closing the distance between them. Narrowly, the man in black managed to leap out of the way to one side while Laenor flew at him.

Their swords crossed. Again. Again. The sound of scraping, clanging metal became so frequent that it almost seemed constant. Both men seemed energized and invested in the fight. Neither seemed particularly in a hurry to kill each other. Nor did they seem eager at the prospect. So instead, they fought each other valiantly just as they were supposed to.

“Ah, you’re using Allyrion’s defense against me,” Laenor said, laughing in delight even as he retreated

“I thought it fitting, given the rocky terrain,” the man in black replied, nodding, never letting his eyes move from his opponent.

Laenor nodded. “Of course, of course,” he said. “So naturally you must expect me to attack with Osgrey.”

He shifted his style immediately, giving the man in black no time to adjust or react before launching his attack. To his credit, the man in black took it in stride, ramping up his own intensity equally. The man in black retreats before Laenor, but handles the onslaught that followed without much difficulty and even smiles a bit.

“Naturally,” the man grunted. Then he himself shifted in fighting style. “But I find that Westerling cancels our Osgrey - don’t you?”

And just like that, his entire style of fighting changed. And the change made it so now that he was doing the advancing, pushing Laenor back with ease. Laenor’s eyes were lit up with joy at this, even as he retreated himself.

“Unless the enemy has studied his Kellington - which I have,” Laenor practically sang.

Again, his style morphed. So, the two men were near flying across the rocky terrain, never losing balance - not even coming close to stumbling - as their battle raged on. It was more like a dance than a battle in truth, with a rhythm that both fell into and changed repeatedly, forcing the other to catch up. Each time they were in tune with one another, they shifted once more in an ever changing tempo of their fight. This was more than two mere athletes facing each other down in a sword fight. This was two men, starved for equals, facing down after years of honing their practice.

In an incredible twist of fate, it turned out that the battle had not yet come close to reaching its crescendo. The duo seemed to, almost simultaneously, decide that it was time to kick things up even further. Back and forth they went, feet moving swiftly in all directions. Laenor found himself drawing closer and closer to the edge of the cliffs and still, he felt no fear, only excitement. Still, the man in black kept the advantage, pushing Laenor closer and closer to his death - the man did not flinch.

“You are a wonderful opponent,” Laenor said through a breathless laugh.

“Ah, thank you,” the other man replied. “I have worked hard to become so.”

The edge of the cliff was close now, Laenor nearly reaching it. “I admit, you are better than I am,” he said, grinning. Inches from death, Laenor in fact was smiling like a fool.

“Then why are you smiling?” the man in black asked.

“Because I know something you don’t know,” Laenor said, lazily countering a strike aimed at him.

“And what’s that?” the man asked, curious.

“I’m not left-handed,” Laenor said cheerily, tossing his sword from his left and deftly catching it in his right. And immediately, the tides turned once more.

The man in black laughed, even as he was forced back. The sword became all but invisible in Laenor’s right hand now, it moved so quickly. The man retreated when Laenor caught his wrist just a little.

The first blood of the battle had been drawn.

Even as he retreated, Laenor managed to catch his other wrist. With each maneuver that the man tried, he found himself countered easily by Laenor. The man moved like a weapon, and his weapon was only an extension of himself. Nothing he did could crack the wall that Laenor had made. The man in black was clearly losing. He, like Laenor, did not look stressed at the prospect of losing, even as he found himself pushed towards the cliff’s edge. In fact, like Laenor he laughed.

“You are amazing,” the man complimented.

“Well, I ought to be after a lifetime of training. Thank you,” Laenor said, accepting it graciously.

“There is one final thing that I must tell you,” the man admitted.

“Oh tell me,” Laenor said, having a suspicion of what he was going to say.

“I’m not left-handed either,” the man reported.

Laenor laughed as the man in black did the same thing he did, switching his sword from his left hand to his right. And oh, the battle became more intense from there, of course. To Laenor’s amazement, he again found himself being forced back. Trying one style or another, it did not matter. The man was firmly in control at the moment, pushing him back like a battering ram.

“Who are you?” Laenor asked, mystified.

The man huffed, grinning. “No one of consequence,” he replied.

“I must know,” Laenor said.

“Get used to disappointment,” the man advised.

“Eh,” Laenor replied, shrugging, even as parried.

On and on, back and forth they went. The man moved like lightning then and thrust his sword forward, slashing and then darted back in almost one fluid movement. Laenor was stunned looking down to his arm. He felt the minor sting for only a moment, but it was clear what had happened. He’d been cut. His arm was bleeding.

The man went to do the same thing, but Laenor countered it easily this time. He slashed himself, but the man retreated out of the range of the blow. The tide turned once more, and Laenor seemed to be in charge of this dance once more, taking up the lead. They sped across the rock-filled terrain, dodging, feinting, lunging, and tricking. Their swords were in near constant contact. There were plenty of opportunities for cheap shots, sure, but neither took them. This was well and truly a gentlemen’s fight.

A few minutes later, no matter the speed or skill used, a terrible realization dawned on Laenor. He was going to lose. Laenor Velaryon was going to lose this fight. He’d given it his all, tried every style, made every maneuver, feint and trick possible. Nothing worked. It wasn’t enough. And it was written clear upon his face.

The man in black did not let up now, certainly not, and Laenor would not expect him to. He blocked each strike with ease. He even made knocking the sword from his hand look easy. Laenor stared in dejection and horror at the sword for a few moments, standing helplessly - hopelessly - before the other. Then, he fell to his knees, bowed his head, and shut his eyes.

“Kill me quickly,” he requested.

The man laughed. “I would as soon destroy a stained glass window as an artist like yourself. I will not kill you,” he said. Laenor looked up, surprised. The man took the opportunity to continue. “I, however, cannot have you following me either.” So, he took his sword’s handle to the back of Laenor’s head and watched as Laenor fell to the gravel, unconscious. The man winced slightly. “Oh, but do please understand that I hold you in the highest respect. And I have no doubt that our paths might cross again one day.”

Across the stretch of the field, Vaemond could see as the man in black was sprinting in their direction. Still a ways away - but nonetheless, this was troubling. He didn’t necessarily care that his nephew might be dead - he’s a bad person, sue him - but he did care that this mysterious man in black was still on their tail.

“Inconceivable!” he shouted. “Give her to me. Now.” Harwin, on his other side, still carrying Princess Y/N glanced back for a moment. He reluctantly handed the Princess over to Vaemond and watched, shocked as he began to walk off, hauling her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Catch up with us quickly.”

“What am I to do?” Harwin asked.

“Finish him. Finish him. Your way,” Vaemond snapped, rolling his eyes.

“Oh yes, why thank you, Vaemond. And what exactly is my way?” he demanded.

Vaemond rolled his eyes. Pointed to a large rock. “Pick up the rock, Harwin.” Pointed to a tree. “Hide behind that tree.” He looked at Harwin like he was the dumbest person alive. “And in a few minutes when the man in black comes running around that bend, the minute that his head’s in view, you hit him with the boulder.”

Before Harwin could counter, Vaemond was already sprinting off with the Princess. “My way’s not very sportsmanlike,” he muttered.

Nonetheless, he picked up the boulder, hid behind the tree and waited. The man appeared a few minutes later, panting for breath. He saw the bend in the trail, knew that someone could be hiding and so he stopped, waited. Harwin did not move, remained silent. Taking this as a good thing, the man continued. Harwin took the opportunity to lob the boulder in his direction, stepping out.

SLAM.

It splintered into pieces beside the man’s head. He looked petrified for a moment, but it quickly faded. Harwin picked up the other boulder.

“I did that on purpose. I didn’t have to miss,” Harwin said.

“Oh I believe you,” the man said, letting out a slight laugh. He looked around. “But what happens now?”

“We face each other as the gods intended. In a sportsmanlike manner. No tricks. No weapons. Skill against skill alone,” Harwin stated.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you’ll put down your rock and I’ll put down my sword and we’ll try to kill each other like civilized people?” he asked. He paused. “That man is your friend, yes? Laenor?”

Harwin paused. “Yes,” he said slowly.

“He isn’t dead,” the man stated. “Merely unconscious.” Harwin’s eyes glanced up the hill. Ah, yes, this might work then. “You don’t need to do Vaemond’s dirty work. I get the feeling that he’s not the best employer. The revenge business may not pay much, but you seem a man of honor.”

Harwin looked at the boulder and considered. “Are you going to kill the Princess?” he asked.

“That is not my plan at all, no,” the man replied, shaking his head firmly.

At once, Harwin dropped the boulder and started walking up the hill. He briefly turned back towards the man. “If Vaemond asks, you knocked me out,” he said. “Good luck with him. He’s absolutely crazy.”

“Thank you. Harwin, wasn’t it?” the man asked.

“Yes,” Harwin replied, looking at him only a moment longer. “Farewell man in black. May we meet again under better circumstances if we must meet again.” Then, he turned around and started steadfastly walking in the direction of the stone fort he’d left Laenor in.

Shocked that his ploy worked, but entirely relieved, the man in black dashed on up the mountain path. Further and further he ran until he saw Vaemond and the Princess ahead. He walked slowly towards them.

Y/N was blindfolded she knew, and she could feel the tip of a knife at her throat. She knew not what was happening beyond that, hearing nothing but the disgusting sound of Vaemond leisurely chewing on an apple far too close to her ear. Then, she heard Vaemond chuckle and she stiffened.

The man in black approached the spread that Vaemond had painstakingly set up. His eyes locked on the two goblets and the food before them. It was a lovely spot, high on the edge of the mountain’s path. The view cast all the way back to the sea. It was breathtaking. Though, at present, not for the reasons he’d prefer.

“So now it is down to you. And it is down to me,” Vaemond said, sounding a bit delighted. The man nodded and took a step forward, and Vaemond pushed his knife harder to the Princess’s unprotected throat. “If you wish her dead, then by all means, keep moving forward.”

“Let me explain,” the man in black said. He held his hands up, showing he had nothing he wished to do.

“There is nothing to explain. You are trying to kidnap what I have rightfully stolen,” Vaemond scoffed.

“Perhaps an arrangement can be reached,” the man said, voice cool and collected. It sounded…almost familiar to Y/N’s ears. She couldn’t pinpoint why exactly or from where.

“There will be no arrangement,” Vaemond said, voice heated. The man took another step forward, Vaemond shoved his knife even further into the delicate skin at her neck. “And you’re killing her.” A single drop of red blood appeared on her neck, trickling down to her collarbone where it stayed to dry.

The man in black stopped immediately at the sight. “If there can be no arrangement, then we are at an impasse,” he stated.

“I fear so. I cannot compete with you physically, and you are no match for my brains,” Vaemond said haughtily.

“You are that smart?” the man asked.

Vaemond rolled his eyes. “Let me put it to you this way. Have you heard of Daenys the Dreamer? Aegon the Conquerer?” he asked.

“Of course,” the man replied.

“Morons,” Vaemond stated.

“Ah, really?” the man asked. “Well, in that case, I challenge you to a battle of wits.”

“For the Princess?” Vaemond asked. The man nodded. “To the death?” The man nodded once more. “I accept.”

Beneath the blindfold, the Princess’s eyes widened at the words, brows raising. She didn’t know who the man in black was. She didn’t know which of the two men would be worse to be stuck with. She dreaded the thought either way.

“Then pour the wine,” the man instructed. Though she couldn’t see it, Y/N imagined he was smirking. She heard the sound of wine being poured. It stopped. Then again. She heard something - a light, quiet sort of sound - of something moving. “Open this and inhale. But do not touch.” She imagined that Vaemond did so.

“I smell nothing,” he reported.

“What you do not smell is called iocane powder. It is odorless, tasteless, dissolves instantly in liquid, and is amongst the deadlier poisons known to man,” the man stated. “Hand me the goblets.”

“Take them yourself. My knife will not leave her throat,” Vaemond said. And the blade dug into Y/N’s neck deeper, she forced herself to breathe more shallowly.

Vaemond watched excitedly while the man rolled his eyes and then took the goblets. He turned his back and then a moment later turned back. He dropped the packet, empty now on the table. The man in black sits and puts one of the goblets in front of himself, the other in front of Vaemond, making a show of it.

“Alright, where is the poison? The battle of wits has begun,” the man said, smirking. “It ends when you decide, we both drink, and we find out who is right…and who is dead.”

Vaemond barked out a laugh. “But it’s so simple. All I need to do is divine from what I know of you if you’re the kind of man who’d put the poison in his own glass or his enemy’s?” He reached for the goblet in front of the other and studied it. “Now, a clever man would place the poison in his own goblet of course. He’d know that only a great fool would reach for the goblet that he was given. I am not a great fool so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you.” He put that goblet down and then picked up his own. “But, you must have known that I was not a great fool - you would count on it. So I can clearly not choose the wine that is in front of me.” He put his down too.

“Hmm,” the man acknowledged. “Have you made your decision then?”

“Not remotely,” Vaemond scoffed. “Now, everyone knows that iocane powder comes from Hellholt in Dorne. And Dorne in general is entirely made up of criminals. Hellholt is the worst of Dorne too, and criminals are used to having people not trust them, as you are clearly not trusted by me. So I cannot choose the wine in front of you.”

“Truly, you have a dizzying intellect,” the man in black stated, smirking.

“Wait until I get going,” Vaemond said haughtily. “Where was I?”

“Dorne,” the man replied.

“Yes, Dorne. And you must have suspected that I would have known the powder’s origin, so I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

The man in black tilted his head to the side, observing Vaemond. “You’re stalling now,” he said.

Vaemond cackled. “You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” he said. He sobered immediately. “You’ve beaten my strongman, which means that you are exceptionally strong. To have bested him suggests strength little could imagine. So, you could have put it in your cup trusting your strength to save you. So I can clearly not choose the wine in front of you. But you also bested my nephew, which means you must have studied, and in studying you must have learned that man is mortal. So, you would’ve put the poison as far away from yourself as possible. So, I can clearly not choose the wine in front of me.”

The man in black could tell that Vaemond was getting great pleasure from the interaction. Even Y/N could hear it in his voice. His smugness only grew by the moment. The man in black on the other hand, his smirk was fading to impassivity.

“You’re just trying to trick me into giving something away. It won’t work,” the man stated.

“It has worked,” Vaemond corrected triumphantly. “You’ve already given everything away. I know where the poison is!”

“Then make your choice,” the man said, leaning back.

“I will! And I choose,” Vaemond said. He gasped looking behind the man in black, pointing with bafflement on his face. “What in the world can that be?”

The man in black whipped around, half expecting to see Harwin and Laenor approaching. But, nothing came of the expectation. He saw nothing. “Where? I don’t see anything,” he stated. He turned back around. Vaemond looked puzzled, the man raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I could’ve sworn I saw something off in the distance. How strange,” he said. He chuckled.

“What’s so funny?” the man asked dryly.

“Tell you in a minute. First, let’s drink. Me from my glass and you from yours,” Vaemond said.

He picked up his goblet then. The man in black had no choice but to do the same. They both started to drink. Vaemond hesitated, but only for a moment. Then, allowing the man to drink first, he swallowed his wine.

“You guessed wrong,” the man said casually, an easy smirk on his face.

Vaemond roared with laughter. “You only think I guessed wrong,” he stated. “That’s what’s so funny. When your back was turned I switched the glasses!” And he had done that - a filthy sort of trick. He cackled all the while the man stared at him, face blank.

“Ah,” the man said, voice remarkably even despite the threat of death.

“Fool, you utter fool! You fell victim to one of the classic blunders! The most famous is ‘never get involved in a naval war in the Step Stones,’ but only slightly less well-known is this: ‘Never go against a Valyrian when death is on the line!’” Vaemond declared. His laughter was loud and roaring. His face was alight with mirth of what he thought to be his success. He was, in all ways, quite cheery.

Then, he fell dead.

“You’re right. You shouldn’t go against a Valyrian with death on the line,” the man said coolly. He rose from his seat then and stepped past the corpse. He took the blindfold off of Y/N and she blinked in surprise. First at the man in front of her and then at Vaemond’s dead body. “Hello, Princess.”

“Who are you?” Y/N asked as the man pulled her to her feet.

“I am no one to be trifled with. That is all you ever need know,” he said. He looked carefully around and started to lead her off of the mountain path, going into untraveled terrain, towards the tree line. “Do watch you step. We have no time for a broken ankle, I’m afraid.”

There was something about his voice, cadence and words that were familiar. Even his touch was sending off alarm bells in her head, though she could not claim to know why. She glanced back at Vaemond’s body, forcing herself to see him one last time.

“To think…all that time it was your cup that was poisoned,” she murmured.

He laughed and Y/N saw his lips curl up in a smirk from the corner of her eye. “They were both poisoned, actually. I’ve spent the last years building up immunity to iocane powder. A messy business. But necessary,” he stated. “You never know when someone might try to kill you.”

With that, the man took off at a rapid pace, leading her near effortlessly through the rugged terrain. Every so often Y/N stumbled, and it seemed to truly incense the man. She tried to keep up, but eventually she just grew too weary. It had, in her defense, been a quite trying few days to cap off a rather trying few years. The man released her arm only when she was close to exhaustion and watched as she sunk to her knees.

“Catch your breath,” he spat, his own chest barely heaving.

“If you release me, whatever you ask for to get ransom…you’ll…you’ll get it. I promise you,” she said breathlessly.

“And what is that worth? The promise of a woman? You are very funny, Highness,” the man said, openly rolling his eyes.

Y/N looked startled. Looked startled and felt frustrated. “I was giving you a chance!” she exclaimed. “It does not matter where you take me. There is no greater hunter than Prince Aegon or his sworn sword Ser Criston Cole. They could track a falcon on a cloudy day. They will find you.”

The man in black openly laughed, the sound harsh and grating. “You think that your dearest love will save you?” he mocked.

“I never said that he was my dearest love,” she reflexively said, jaw clenched in irritation. But yes, he will save me. That I know well.”

The man raised an eyebrow and his lips lifted in a cruel looking smirk. “Ah, so you admit that you do not love your fiance?”

“He knows I do not love him,” she said immediately.

“Are not capable of love is what you mean,” he said, chuckling darkly.

Y/N rose to her feet, unsure if her grief or her rage were more potent in her now. “I have loved more deeply…more surely than a killer like yourself could ever dream! You monster!” she shouted at him, anger boiling over the grief, even with the tears biting at the corners of her eyes.

The man in black quite suddenly raised a hand, starting it forward in a slapping sort of motion. Y/N flinched reflexively away, turning her head to the side. Still, his hand did not come anywhere near close enough to make contact with her face.

“That was a warning, Highness. The next time that my hand flies on its own. For where I come from, there are penalties when a woman lies,” he said darkly.

And she believed him too.

Suddenly, he grabbed her hand.

And once again, they were racing away.

Chapter Text

As of late, it was not often that Prince Aegon was able to leave King’s Landing. That’s not to say it had always been so. He did, of course, go on previous diplomatic journeys for his ailing father. He had even been to battle a fair few times fighting for King’s Landing and her people. But, over the past few years, the chances to had grown to be less and less. More often, the King’s Council had demanded his presence in the capital, insisting that he need to attend meetings and learn more fully the ropes of running the kingdom. It had not been a particular exciting change for him, but he could hardly complain. After all, his travels had granted him a fine boon. He’d found Y/N, sweet and sad Y/N who would soon marry him. Soon be his wife.

If he could first find her.

The King’s Master of Whispers, Larys Strong, had brought word to the Prince early in the morning that his dearly betrothed’s horse had arrived…but she had not been atop the beast. Worse still, Lord Strong reported that the horse had a scrap of uniform common of Dragonstone scouts. At that information, his heart grew cold. He demanded that the Queen be informed but the King be left unawares to preserve his health. The Master of Whispers of course agreed and said that the Hand of the King had already been informed as well.

Upon consulting with the Hand, Aegon’s action was immediate. As advised, he rode out himself. It was a show of good faith to Y/N when he brought her home, might soften her heart to him even. The thought pleased him. So, he was determined to be the one to bring her back to safety. He silently stewed in his irritation, though - he knew that he should not have allowed her to leave when she was in a state of despair as she was the day prior. She had been caught unawares and taken by their enemy. He felt at fault.

The excursion was led by Prince Aegon. He was accompanied by Lord Strong due to the information he possessed. And then Prince Aegon’s guard Ser Criston Cole had to accompany him too. The journey took them through the Kingswood and further still. The trail went cold at the seaside. So, they of course, had to take a boat. And it was, unfortunately, no surprise to Aegon that the trail led them to Massey’s Hook where two boats were haphazardly hugging the cliffside.

Once they safely reached harbor and climbed to the peak of the cliffs, Aegon felt a dread grow in his stomach. These were the infamous Cliffs of Insanity. That did not bode well for his sweet, poor Princess. He sunk down to one knee at the cliffside and peered down over the edge intently. He rose to his feet quickly though and began looking at the rocky ground. He hummed, feet taking him in a strange series of moves and twists as he crossed over the ground. His brow furrowed.

“Your majesty?” asked Larys Strong.

“There was a great duel here, Lord Strong,” Prince Aegon replied, brow furrowed as he still followed. “Ser Criston…stand across me.” The other man did so. Aegon kept following the patterns of the ground, pushing Criston along the same path and then frowned. “It makes no sense. The way that the fighters bore their weight changed. As if sometimes using the right hand and other times using their left.” He frowned harder still. To the edge of the cliff, back, to the edge of the cliff, back. Constantly changing positions of the Prince and the guard. “They were both masters.”

“Well who won? How did it end?” Larys asked.

“That’s the strange thing,” Prince Aegon commented, looking at the ground. He pointed. “The winner continued on the path that way.” He looked truly puzzled. “But the loser? It seems he disappeared entirely - along with another. One who wasn’t involved in the duel.”

“Shall we track the loser and winner both?” Ser Criston asked.

The Prince shook his head immediately. “No, no. The loser is nothing to us. Only the Princess matters to me,” he said, voice fond but worried. “Whoever took them…whoever might be pursuing them…it is of no consequence - not until we find Y/N.”

Ser Criston looked to the armed warriors behind Larys and then back to the Prince. “Clearly this was all planned by warriors of Dragonstone,” he said. “What is your command my prince?”

“We must all be ready for whatever lies ahead. We must display courage,” he said gravely.

“Could this be a trap?” Larys asked, disdain in his eyes.

Prince Aegon laughed as he mounted his perlino horse, whose coat shined so brightly the beast looked golden. “I always think that everything could be a trap when I am not in my own home,” the Prince said. “That is how I’ve stayed alive this long. He pet the stallion’s mane for a moment and then took up the reins.

“What is your command then, my Prince?” Ser Criston asked, face impassive.

He looked over to his men. “Make no mistake. This is a grave offense to us. But the Princess and her safety is our main priority. None of you will engage in a battle beyond necessary. I will see no men of Dragonstone felled today. We will not start a war for this,” the Prince said firmly, with conviction. “It is not what the Princess would desire. And it is not what I desire.” He took a breath. “Now come, we all must ride hard to catch up.”

Further up the mountain’s path, Aegon stopped abruptly, forcing his men to do the same. “My Prince?” Larys asked.

“Look ahead, Lord Strong,” Aegon said sharply. “There is a body just there in the grass.” He pointed off to the side. And lo and behold it was true. Aegon quickly dismounted and moved towards the body, kneeling over it. The man’s face looked familiar - though he could not place why. He noted a packet on the ground, empty save a few specks of white along the sides. “Poison.” He reached over towards the empty goblets and looked at them. Both full. He sniffed. All he smelled was the wine - suspicious. “It’s iocane. I would bet my life on it.”

“A nasty substance to be sure,” Larys said, glancing over at Ser Criston.

“Ah!” the Prince exclaimed, pointing. “There are the Princess’s footprints! She is alive - or was two hours ago.” He ran back to his horse and swiftly mounted once more. “Come, men, we must make haste. My Princess awaits.”

Meanwhile, as Prince Aegon raced towards his beloved, the Princess herself was being dragged along by the man in black. Onward they went, crawling up the barren mountain pass, higher and higher still. Only when the man noticed Y/N’s struggle to breathe did he briefly release her arm, allowing her to fall to her knees.

“Rest, Highness,” he said curtly.

Y/N’s chest heaved as she stared up at him, contempt and loathing in her eyes. “I know who you are. Your cruelty reveals all I need know about you,” she hissed. The man said nothing and just raised an eyebrow, waiting for her guess. “You’re the Dread Pirate Martell. Admit it.”

The man’s lips quirked up in a smirk and he gave a deep, condescending bow. “With pride,” he drawled. “What can I do for you, Highness?”

“You can die slowly, cut into a thousand pieces,” she said firmly, voice trembling in her anger.

The man chuckled. “Oh, well that’s hardly complimentary there, Highness. Why loose such venom of yours upon me?” he asked.

“It is the least you deserve,” she said.

There was a harsh finality to her voice. Though she was not raised in any form or fashion of royalty - or true splendor of any kind, in truth - she issued this as a decree. A sentence for crimes that the man in black did not yet know he committed.

The man watched as her face crumpled falling into something akin to despair. He almost felt a thread of pity run through her chest, but he bit it back before it could overcome him. He waited as her chest heaved, more measured this time - to keep breaths even and steady instead of to even them out.

“You killed my love,” Princess Y/N said lowly.

“Hmm,” the man murmured, reaching out a hand to pull her to her feet. “It is possible. I kill a lot of people Highness. I’m sure it wasn’t personal,” the man drawled. “Come. The time for rest is over now.”

The journey only became more treacherous for Y/N and the man in black. He held her tightly as they moved along. And this time she happily sank into the sure grip as they walked along the edge of a ravine. While the ground at the bottom was covered in plush grass and flat, the drop was sharp and severe, so the way down would not be enjoyable for any.

“Who was this love of yours?” the man asked casually. “Another prince like this one perhaps? Ugly, rich, and scabby? Let me guess? He had a higher pedigree than the nonsensical horses he rides.”

Y/N couldn’t help herself - she scoffed. “No. He was a farm boy. He was poor - poor and perfect,” she said, eyes drifting for a moment. “He had eyes like the sea after a storm and a smile that felt like the first sun of summer.” She shook her head. “My love…he went sailing to find riches…to make his way in this world. And your ship attacked.” She inhaled sharply. “We all know that the Dread Pirate Martell never takes prisoners.”

“Yes, well, I can’t afford to make exceptions,” the man replied, just a shade off from being condescending. It was as if he was trying to teach her a lesson - a lesson that was neither his to teach nor one that she needed to learn. “Once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you. And when that happens? Oh, well it’s nothing but work, work, work all the time. Dreadful, you see.”

“You mock my pain,” Y/N said, voice raising in indignation.

“Life is pain, Highness,” the man snapped in reply. “Anyone who says differently is selling you something. I would do you well to remember such a thing too.” He pulled her sharply along by the arm, skirting around the most ragged edges of the ravine. “I remember your farm boy, though, I believe. This would be…what? Five or so years ago? Perhaps a shade longer?”

“Yes,” Y/N said, voice dull, eyes distant once more.

“Does it bother you to hear?” the man asked curiously, smirking.

“Nothing you could say will upset me. My heart has long since become a secret garden. The walls are very high and overgrown. No words from your traitorous lips could climb them,” she said.

The man was silent a moment. “He died well. That should, at least, please you,” he said eventually. “There were no bribe attempts or blubbering. He simply said ‘please…please I need to live,’ And it was the please that caught my memory. I asked him what could have possibly been so important for him here? For him to return to.” The man barked out a short laugh. “’True love,’ was how he answered me. And then he spoke of a girl of surpassing beauty and faithfulness. One whose eyes sparkled in the daylight and night’s sky just the same. He spoke of a girl who could speak as well as she listened. He said that she glistened with pride and joy without being one who was intolerable or boastful.” He glanced down at the Princess for but a moment. “I could only assume that he meant you. So you should bless me for destroying him before he found out what you are.”

“Oh? And what am I?” Princess Y/N asked, feeling the beginnings of anger wash over her like a wave.

“Faithfulness was what he talked of, Princess. Your enduring faithfulness. Now tell me truly - when you found out that he was gone did you get engaged to your prince that same hour? Or did you wait a whole week out of respect for the dead?”

“You mocked me once more - never do it again,” Y/N shouted, shoving at his hold, trying to break free from him. “I died that day!”

The man was about to reply. But, overhead - some ways down the path they’d been rising, he saw horses approaching. He was no fool. He knew it to be Prince Aegon and his men. His face grew grim as he kept his attention on them, assessing their speed. But, Y/N took the chance to shove him with all of the strength that she had.

“You can die too for all I care!” Y/N screamed.

So, startled and not having expected such a thing, the man in black began to fall, tumbling into the ravine below. And Y/N watched, transfixed by the sight of the man falling. She knew this was her chance to run. She knew she’d be a fool not to take it. But instead, she stayed watching as the man in black rolled, spun and crashed down towards the flat bottom of the ravine. And for maybe the first time since she had lost her beloved Aemond, there was a smile curling on her face. But, one thing changed her opinion on that choice - an important thing.

“As…you…wish,” the man in black called as he tumbled down.

Y/N’s eyes widened.

The man hit the bottom of the ravine and ripped his mask off.

Y/N would recognize that hair - that face - anywhere.

She gasped, hand coming to her chest as a wave of emotion hit her for the first time since she’d lost him. “Oh my sweet Aemond, what have I done?” she asked. And without second thought, she charged down into the ravine. She did an admirable job, making it at least thirty paces before it became too steep and she too began to fall straight down towards where Aemond laid.

And as Y/N fell, Prince Aegon continued on horseback riding to his beloved. “We’ve cut the lead to less than half an hour. They must have seen the dust cloud of our mounts. Seen it closing in. It must account for some level of their panicking and their error,” he said, hardly breathless despite the hard riding he’d been doing all day. “Unless I am wrong, and I am never wrong, they are headed dead into the Fire Swamp. My Princess Y/N will not do well there. We must hasten! Onward Sunfyre, run!”

And Prince Aegon pushed his horse faster, driving it further and further forward. He left his companions in a cloud of his own dust, hastening to catch up. Even so, Lord Strong and Ser Criston exchanged a glance at the Prince’s words. The Fire Swamp. A dreadful place. And the Princess would not be the only one who would not do well there. Neither wanted to go. But, it was where their prince beckoned. So, onward they went.

Finally upon the ravine floor, though, Y/N landed a few feet apart from Aemond. She laid, dazed and unmoving for a few moments, and so then the man in black - Aemond, her Aemond - rose on his elbows and began to crawl towards her prone form. He huffed in a breath and looked at her with deep concern.

“Can you move at all?” he asked getting closer.

Y/N reached out, smile on her face even as her eyes were closed. “Move? You’re alive. If you want, I can fly,” she said, voice hardly a whisper. She opened her eyes, blinking at him as if she couldn’t believe she was taking in his face. She reached up and traced a scar that spanned half of his face - one that looked like it should’ve taken out his eye. She gasped.

“It looks a far cry worse than it is,” he said quietly. “I know it is hideous. I only hope you could still love me.”

“Oh my dearest Aemond,” she said, eyes full of tears. “There is nothing that could make me love you less than I do. I…you are everything to me. Even now.”

Aemond smiled, only slightly, with his lips curling up. His eyes sparkled and all at once Y/N forgot how to breathe. “Remember what I said? I told you that I would always come for you,” he said. He looked mournful even as he helped her sit up, cradling her head to make sure that she was not injured. “Why did you not wait for me, Y/N?”

“Well…you were dead,” Y/N said, dazed.

He laughed once more, this time, the sound soft and warm. “You should have had more faith,” he said. “Death cannot stop true love.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “All it can do is delay it for a little while.” He cradled her face in both hands. “Do you believe me now? That I will always come for you?”

Y/N nodded, her hands covering him as if needing to make sure that he stayed there. “I will never doubt again,” she assured.

“There will never be a need to,” Aemond vowed - and that’s what it was. A vow.

Then, the pair leaned forwards, their lips meeting in a kiss. It was tender. A soft and loving kiss. A gesture of fear and forgiveness wrapped into one. A kiss that wiped a slate of five years of pain and strife clear and left behind only peace and harmony.

“Oh no…no please,” cried Jaehaerys.

In the living room, Daeron lifted his eyes from the book to look at his eldest nephew. “What’s the matter?” he asked, eyes sparkling in amusement.

“They’re kissing again,” Maelor said, yawning. “Do we have to hear the kissing part?”

“Yes!” Jaehaera cried, glaring at both of her brothers.

“You know, someday you may not mind so much,” Daeron pointed out, smiling at them.

“Skip to the Fire Swamp, Uncle Daeron. Please! That part sounded good,” Jaehaerys said, pouting.

Daeron let out a put upon sigh, dramatized for their sake. The three of them giggled, the sound cut through by congestion and wheezing. “Fine. You’re sick. I’ll humor you,” he granted.

Hand in hand, Aemond and Y/N raced along the ravine’s floor towards a tall, menacing forest-like grouping of trees ahead. He glanced up and scowled, Y/N following his gaze. Above, at the top of the cliff was Prince Aegon and his entourage staring down at Aemond and Y/N.

“Your pig fiancé is too late,” Aemond said. “Just a few more steps and we’ll be safe in the Fire Swamp.” The words came out casually, a bravado to them, but Y/N faltered. “Come, my love. We have no time for hesitation.”

“Safe seems a foolish word to place alongside the Fire Swamp! We’ll never survive,” she cried.

“Oh nonsense,” Aemond dismissed, still pulling her along and into the cover of the Fire Swamp. “You’re only saying that because no one ever has! Have a bit more faith, Y/N. I’ve already told you - not even death could stop true love, how could a Fire Swamp?” And as they disappeared into the trees, they left their thoughts of the Prince and his men behind.

Inside of the swamp, Aemond and Y/N were immediately engulfed in the massive trees around them. The tall trees were thick, colored black-green and created a lattice of greenery that blocked out just about all of the sunlight. They walked forward slowly, hand in hand, and moved with an abundance of caution. Even so, they could not avoid the dangers of the Fire Swamp - not entirely.

There was a pop of sound and then a column of fire appeared at their side, startling them. While it missed their upper bodies entirely, the skirts of Y/N’s dress caught fire, making her yelp in surprise. Aemond moved in an instant, knocking her to the ground and suffocating the flames before they grew. He pulled her back to her feet just as quickly as he knocked her down and let out a strangled laugh, a slightly panicked look in his eyes.

“Now that was an adventure, wasn’t it?” he posed, trying to sound positive. He looked over the skirts of her dress and took in the damage done to it. “Singed just a bit, were you?”

“No, I’m okay,” Y/N said, gripping his arm. “Were you?”

He was. His hands burned from batting the flames of her skirts out. Still, he shook his head in denial. Another popping sound happened and Aemond grabbed Y/N, pulling her to the side just in time for another column of fire to shoot up from the ground. Aemond let out a light laugh, but didn’t loosen his grip of Y/N.

“One thing I will say, Y/N, is that the Fire Swamp does keep you on your toes,” he said dryly. She couldn’t reply, still frozen in some level of fear. So, Aemond gently led her forward leading them through the Fire Swamp further. “Oh this will all soon be but a happy memory. Martell’s ship Sunspear is anchored at the far end. And I, as you know, am Martell.”

Y/N made a short, aborted noise of confusion. “But how is that possible? He has been marauding these seas for over twenty years. You only left me five years ago,” she said.

Aemond chuckled. “Yes, well, I myself am often surprised at life’s little quirks,” he said. “You see, what I told you before about saying ‘please’ to the Dread Pirate Martell was true.” At the sound of a faint pop, Aemond lifted Y/N out of the way of a column of fire, and put her back down. This time, they continued as if it didn’t happen. “It intrigued Martell, in truth. My saying ‘please’, that is. And my description of your beauty too.”

“Flatterer,” Y/N muttered despite herself.

“Proudly so,” Aemond said cheekily. He took his sword from his hip and hacked at a series of thick, hideous vines, letting them fall to the ground so they might continue forward. “And finally, Martell decided something. He told me, ‘Well alright, Aemond. I’ve never had a personal attendant. You can try it for tonight I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’ For three years he said that to me. ‘Good night, Aemond, good work today. Sleep well, I’ll most likely kill you in the morning.’ It was a fine time for me, you can imagine. I was alive…learning to fence, to fight. In truth, I was learning absolutely anything that anyone aboard would teach me.” He sighed moved over a massive felled tree and offered her a hand. “Martell and I eventually became friends. Through the years I worked my way up. Became his first mate. And then it happened.”

“What happened?” Y/N asked as Aemond swept her into his arms and began to carry her across some of the swamp that was bridged only by a narrow, rickety tree branch.

“You see, Martell had grown to be so rich that he wanted to retire,” Aemond explained.

“Retire? Since when do pirates retire?” Y/N asked, terribly confused.

“Patience, Y/N. A story cannot be spun overnight. Where has your terrible patience of the day gone?” he asked, teasing.

“Down the ravine with the both of us,” she said dryly.

Aemond only chuckled. “When Martell decided he wanted to retire, he took me to his quarters and he told me his greatest secret,” he admitted. “‘I am not the Dread Pirate Martell,’ he told me. ‘My name is Cregan. I inherited this ship from the previous Dread Pirate Martell, just as you will inherit it from me.’”

Y/N gasped. “Not the true Dread Pirate Martell? But surely that cannot be possible!” she exclaimed.

“Oh, but it is, my love. Cregan explained that the man he inherited the ship from was also not the true Dread Pirate Martell. His name had been Tyland. The real Martell has been retired for…oh…about fifteen years now. He’s been off living as comfortably as a king in the Free Cities,” Aemond said, letting out a short laugh. “Then he explained that the name was the important thing for inspiring the necessary fear. No one would surrender to the Dread Pirate Aemond, you see.”

Y/N laughed at the thought. “Perhaps not,” she admitted.

“Regardless,” Aemond said, rolling his eyes fondly, “we sailed ashore and took on an entirely new crew. He stayed aboard for a while as first mate, all the time calling me Martell.” He shook his head. “Once the crew believed, he left the ship and headed off to his own retirement. Winterfell no doubt, the menace always spoke fondly of the cold, strange fellow he was. And I have been Roberts ever since. Except now that we’re together again, Y/N? I shall retire and hand the name over to someone else.” He gave her a faint smile. “Is everything clear to you?”

Y/N opened her mouth to respond and Aemond waited for it, turning his eyes away for a moment to look forward in the swamp. But, in an instant she was gone. Hand and all. Aemond looked back in alarm and saw a patch of snow sand, a horribly consuming thing - swallowing the last remnants of Y/N’s hair, not even giving her a chance to scream. Thinking quickly, and panicking just a bit, Aemond grabbed a U-shaped vine above him, slashed at it with his sword and used that to lunge into the snow sand himself to retrieve Y/N.

As Aemond’s feet disappeared in the sand, the patch went still.

Amidst the hulking trees, there were shadows moving - a sudden appearance of creatures, perhaps. There was stillness in the swamp amongst the trees. But then there was a panting, slow and heavy. And then a creature walked just a footstep away from the snow sand pit, trundling across the ground with ease. It was a massive sort of rodent - a Rodent of Unusual Size, if you please, an R.O.U.S. - that looked like it belonged in the nightmares of children with a terribly strong looking jaw. It sniffed intently at the ground as it walked past, but then disappeared into the cover of trees, taking to the cool damp of the swamp. Then, the terrible creature reached a tree’s trunk and began to climb it with the expertise of a human, making it all the way to a branch that kept it safely from sight on the ground. And there is sat, panting and deadly, watching the swamp below it.

With the same suddenness with which they disappeared, so emerged Aemond and Y/N from the snow sand pit. Aemond inhaled sharply as soon as oxygen became available to him, dragging Y/N over his shoulders. He laid her gently on the ground after pulling them cleanly to safety and touched her face to make sure she was okay before rising to his feet.

Above them, the rodent silently began moving to a lower branch.

Aemond began to look around them, scouting for danger. It did not take too long before his eyes moved into the trees. The rodent was on a much lower branch now, and it stared down at Aemond with hunger in its eyes. And Aemond stared back at the beast, careful not to react facially.

Y/N remained oblivious. “We’ll never succeed. We may as well die here,” she said once she had finally caught her breath.

“We have already succeeded,” Aemond dismissed.

His eyes remained locked on the branches. There was not one rodent now, but two. They stared hungrily down. There was a base level of intelligence in their eyes that was jarring. It was as if they were sizing them up, each planning which of the pair of humans below would be easier for them to take. As if they were making a plan for their attack. Aemond reached down, keeping his eyes up and lifted Y/N to her feet, starting to pull them along a bit more insistently.

“What are the three terrors of the Fire Swamp, Y/N?” he posed lightly. “Well first, the flame spurts of course. No problem - we now know there’s a little popping sound preceding each of them. We can clearly avoid that.” He nodded confidently. Y/N granted that was at least true. “Two, the Snow Sand. Ah, but you were clever enough to discover what that looks like. So, in the future, we can strive to avoid that too.”

“And what about the R.O.U.S.’s, Aemond?” Y/N asked, nose scrunched at the thought.

Aemond raised his eyebrows as if confused. As if he didn’t see the two stalking them in the trees still. “The Rodents of Unusual Size? Oh I don’t think they exist,” he lied.

Though he’d clearly intended to continue speaking, Aemond was interrupted. Interrupted by a third rodent - one Aemond hadn’t even seen - as it came flying down to him from a tree branch. Y/N shouted in surprise and Aemond went down as the rodent collided with his body. He screamed in pain as the rodent’s razor sharp teeth shredded into Aemond’s shoulder, causing blood to flow immediately from the wound. With difficulty, Aemond wrestled to keep the rodent from going for his throat. When he heard a popping sound, he took the chance to throw the rodent from his body. A column of flame took the rodent, leaving only behind a hideous shriek and a burning smell of meat.

Aemond rose to his feet, groaning in pain. Y/N stumbled to his side and gently touched an uninjured part of his shoulder. He managed a smile and opened his mouth once more. He was interrupted again, though. This time by a thumping sound. Aemond groaned his irritation and looked to see one of the two rodents he’d seen stalking them land in front of them. Then, the second landed next to him.

“Aemond,” Y/N whispered urgently.

“It’ll be fine, Y/N,” Aemond said, voice steady.

He pushed his love behind his back and set his feet. He gripped his sword in his hand and took a deep breath. He kept his feet planted as they approached and steeled himself to his fate. And suddenly, they broke into a fierce charge. He was ready. He was standing his ground. But, the two rodents charged not at Aemond and Y/N, but rather past them, launching themselves on top of the dead R.O.U.S. And beginning to devour the creature.

Aemond let out a weary laugh and wrapped his arm around Y/N, pulling them tightly side to side once more. “Come, Y/N,” he said, voice strained. “Let’s hurry. I do not wish to lose more blood in this swamp if I can help it.”

“And I’d prefer to not see such a thing,” Y/N said. Her face was still covered in a thin layer of white powder from the snow sand and she couldn’t help but smile. They were quite a pair - a miserable pair - at this point, with both looking like death warmed over.

Still, they persisted.

Together, the pair stumbled their way through the Fire Swamp. The edge of the swamp was just ahead. And Y/N could even begin to see glimpses of a beach beyond that. Of a ship docked there. Y/N couldn’t help but smile slightly. So close to freedom they were, her and her Aemond. And at seeing her smile, Aemond couldn’t help but manage a smile of his own.

And from somewhere nestled deep within them, they gather the remnants of their flagging strength. And with those final dregs, they picked up their pace, moving desperately towards the edge of the Fire Swamp. And finally they emerged, breeching the tree line with smiles on their faces as they looked only at each other.

“We did it!” Y/N said, voice alight with joyous disbelief.

“Now was that so terrible?” Aemond asked sarcastically.

Then, another change like lightning. A shift in the tale. All could feel it around. It seemed even the very trees could feel it.

“Surrender,” came the firm, loud demand of Prince Aegon.

Chapter Text

It was nearing dusk now. Y/N couldn’t help but focus on the water of the bay behind Prince Aegon. She gripped Aemond tighter and then finally forced herself to take in the whole of the situation. Prince Aegon was atop his horse, genuine fear on his face. And both Lord Strong and Ser Criston were beside him on their own mounts. And surrounding them were six other guards, armed to the teeth, it seemed. She let out a shaking breath.

“You mean you wish to surrender to me?” Aemond asked loudly. “Oh, very well, Your Majesty. I graciously accept,” he said harshly.

Prince Aegon let out a snarling laugh and dismounted smoothly. “I give you full marks for bravery, Pirate. Do not make yourself a fool,” he advised coolly. “I do not wish to hurt you. I just want my betrothed back. I want her unharmed.” He hesitated, and Aemond was surprised to see genuine fear in his eyes. “Please. I beg you.”

“I have no wish to harm Y/N,” he said seriously, feeling offended at the very thought. “But tell me, Prince, how will you capture us? We now know the secrets of the Fire Swamp. We can live here happily for quite some time. So, whenever you feel like dying, do feel free to visit. But until then see yourselves out.”

Prince Aegon’s jaw clenched. “I tell you again to surrender. You will not take her into such danger again,” he warned.

“It will not happen,” Aemond said forcefully.

Y/N looked nervously between the two men as they stared each other down. But then something caught her attention and she whipped her head around. She saw another armed guard - a seventh - cast in the shadows of the trees. He held a loaded crossbow that was aimed at Aemond’s heart. A glance to the other side showed an eighth guard also with a crossbow. Aimed at Aemond.

“For the last time, fiend. Surrender,” Prince Aegon shouted, furious.

“Death first,” Aemond snarled, even louder, even angrier.

When Y/N caught sight of a third hidden guard with a crossbow, her bottom lip wobbled. She let go of Aemond’s arm and stepped in front of him, effectively blocking any and all shots. And she saw the immediate concern in Prince Aegon’s gaze.

“Aegon please,” Y/N said, tears shining in her eyes.

Prince Aegon looked like he’d been physically struck by her. By her words. By her emotions. Something he had never gotten. It broke his heart. He took a deep breath.

“Y/N,” he said lowly. “Are you alright?”

“I am. Thanks to him,” she said, voice wavering. “Will...will you promise not to hurt him?”

“What?” both Aegon and Aemond chorused together, a look of confusion on both of their faces.

“If we surrender,” Y/N clarified. “If we surrender - freely and without struggle. Will you promise not to hurt this man?”

Aegon glanced between Aemond and Y/N. He rose one hand and placed another on his chest. “May I live a thousand years and never hunt again. I promise you. I will not allow harm to come to this man,” he said.

“He is…” Y/N began before trailing off, glancing at Aemond’s face. He looked a mixture between confused and terrified. “He’s just a poor simple sailor on the pirate ship Sunspear. I have known him since we were young, we grew up in adjacent villages. Will…will you promise to return him to his ship, Aegon? Please?”

“I swear to you it will be done,” Aegon said, stepping forward towards them to retrieve Y/N.

She turned towards Aemond. “I thought you were dead once. It almost destroyed me. I could not have you die again. Not when I could save you,” she said urgently. Y/N felt ready to come apart at the seams with her emotions all brewing up to the surface. But Aemond…he was flat, dazed and silent.

“Thank you,” Aegon said, jaw set. “For not letting the man who took her…for not letting him kill her. For not letting her die in the Fire Swamp.”

“It was no trouble,” Aemond said, voice nearly a growl.

Y/N reluctantly let go and took the hand that Aegon outstretched towards her. She returned gently to the Prince’s side and allowed him to look her over intently to be sure that she wasn’t hurt. Once he was satisfied, the Prince’s shoulders slumped visibly and he brought her into a hug that startled both Y/N and Aemond. When he pulled back, relief clear and shining in his eyes, he turned his eyes to Aemond once more.

“My men will guide you to your ship. You will be granted passage away,” Aegon said, his words a decree. “You have it on my authority as a Prince of King’s Landing.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Aemond said, teeth grit.

Prince Aegon turned his attention to the men behind him. “Get this man to his boat. That is an order,” Aegon said firmly. “I will see no harm come to him or you shall face my wrath.”

Y/N threw a final glance back to Aemond, but allowed Aegon to pull her away. He gently helped her atop Sunfyre before mounting himself. Almost immediately, they took off in the direction of King’s Landing once more. And for the second time, Aemond faded from Y/N’s eyes. And her heart shattered.

“Come, ser. We must get you to your ship,” Ser Criston drawled, dismounting and coming closer to Aemond.

Aemond laughed, the sound dark and menacing. “You and I…we are men of action,” he said. “Lies do not become us.”

Ser Criston’s lips briefly quirked up into a smirk. “Well spoken,” he granted.

Aemond was not surprised to find himself surrounded by guards; his arms roughly grabbed. Lord Strong and Ser Criston looked him over. Aemond found himself dreading what he knew would be coming. But he was resigned to his fate. A fate he wished he could’ve avoided. A fate he nearly did avoid with his sweet love…with his Y/N.

“What do you think?” Lord Strong asked, lips turned up in an uncomfortably pleasant smile.

Ser Criston looked Aemond over, unimpressed. “Take him to the Pit of Despair. The Prince need not know. Such insolence will not go unpunished. This man…this sailor could be useful to your research, Strong.”

“I swear it will be done,” Lord Strong said, gripping his reigns. He glanced out amongst all of the guards. “And none will speak to the Prince of this.”

Then, Ser Criston and Lord Strong noticed Aemond looking between the two of them, smiling. “What is it, brigand?”

“Nothing,” Aemond said smirking. “You have a Dornish look about you is all, Ser.”

“I have some Dornish blood,” Ser Criston replied rolling his eyes.

Aemond’s eyes traveled down to the scabbard at his side. He let out a weak chuckle. “And I have seen only one blade that could compare to the one you carry,” he said lightly. “Hmmm…and Strong, you say? Not a common House, I do not believe.” He looked between the both of them, an almost smug smile on his face. “There are two gentlemen looking for the pair of you, actually.”

At those words, Ser Criston knocked him out.

He clubbed him over the side of the head.

Aemond fell to the ground like stone.

The world existed in a nebula of shadow, darkness, and emptiness. He waded through his consciousness trying to find a way to wake up when he was once again aware of the fact that he needed to do so. And, ever a determined man, Aemond’s eyes opened once more. His sight filtered back after that, slowly at first until everything appeared in startling clarity.

He was chained un a cage was the first thing he was aware of. The cold of the metal around his wrists helped focus him, though, and he took the time to look around. It was dimly lit - he was clearly underground, that much he was certain of. It was dank and cold, and he heard the dripping of water from above, though he felt none in the cage. Aemond stiffened up when he saw a man, rather old and a touch frail looking, walking towards him, opening the door to the cage and bustling in like it was another average day.

“Who are you? Where are we?” Aemond demanded stiffly as the man came over. Aemond’s eyes focused further still and he saw that the man was carrying a tray of food and medication. He narrowed his eyes at the man, who remained unaffected by his words.

“Grand Maester Mellos. This is a little…project that some members of the King’s Council have granted me. You, sorry sack you are, are in the Pit of Despair,” the man said casually, plopping the tray down in the corner. Then, he turned over to Aemond and began cleaning his wounds. Aemond flinched and let out a hissing breath of irritation. “Don’t think about escaping. Your chains are much too thick. Don’t bother dreaming of rescue, neither. The only way in here is a secret. Only Ser Criston, Lord Strong, and I know the ways in and out of here. You’d die trying.”

“So, I’m to die here, then?” Aemond asked gruffly.

Mellos chuckled, a bit rudely, if you were to ask Aemond. “Well, ’til they kill you anyways, of course,” he said.

“Then why are you bothering to patch up my wounds?” Aemond asked, nearly baring his teeth as the man poked and prodded at the wound on his chest from the R.O.U.S. that he’d received. “What’s the point?”

“Ah, well Ser Criston and Lord Strong always insist that everyone gets healthy before they are broken. Quite kind of them, right?” the man asked, as if he were talking about saving a child from drowning and not healing a man to elongate his death.

“So, it’s to be torture then?” Aemond asked. A nod from Mellos. Aemond scoffed. “I can cope with torture, ’tis nothing new to me.” Mellos shook his head in refusal. “Oh, you don’t believe me?”

“Make no mistake. You survived the Fire Swamp, they told me. These wounds are from an R.O.U.S. and you came out mostly unscathed. You must be a brave sort. But…no one can withstand The Machine. Not the bravest of men,” he said seriously. “So no, I don’t believe that you’ll be able to cope with the torture, forgive me.” To his credit, Mellos almost looked sad as he spoke, regretful, even. But that changed nothing.

As Aemond remained in the Pit of Despair, mulling over his fate, Princess Y/N was safe once more in the castle. She’d been doted on by the servants and Prince Aegon alike upon her arrival, and when the King and Queen found out she’d disappeared in the first place - they too ran to her side and offered whatever comfort they could for the circumstances.

A week passed.

Then another.

The sad reality, though, was that none truly knew the circumstances. Not Princess Y/N. Not Prince Aegon. Not Queen Alicent. Not King Viserys. None of them. So, the Princess swallowed her bitterness down as much as she could and allowed the cheap imitation of comfort that they offered her. The only thing that bolstered her was the thought of Aemond. Aemond was alive. Aemond was alive and safe. That was all that mattered to her. It was all she’d ever wanted. And so, she bore the burden of concern from those who did not truly know her. She bore the burden of being stuck in a life without love - a fair trade off, she felt, for the reality that Aemond was alive. After so many years thinking he was forever lost to her…it would have to be enough.

No.

It was enough.

It would have to be.

And still, Ser Criston Cole and Lord Larys Strong looked at the Princess as she walked through the halls. There was a certain strength to her eyes - one that hadn’t been there before. But that strength did not change the way that she haunted the halls. There was still a distance to her, less cold now, but still impossible to cross. She moved like a ghost, her eyes darting around the halls as if living through the motions of a different life. Of a different person.

“So unappreciative,” Lord Strong drawled.

“For now,” acknowledged Ser Criston. “It won’t be like that for long, Lord Strong.”

“No. It will not,” Lord Strong agreed. The Prince and the Princess drifted past them and Lord Strong cleared his throat. She turned and looked at him, but it was like she did not see him. “Are you alright, Princess Y/N?”

“Yes,” she replied absently, drifting away without another word.

“She’s been like that since the Fire Swamp,” Prince Aegon said shortly to the other man, voice curt - he hadn’t liked the way Lord Strong had been acting since they ventured out to find his bride. “It’s my father’s failing health that’s upsetting her. Do not trouble her with such questions, Lord Strong. I do not care what position you may hold with my father - I will not tolerate harassment of my future bride.”

Lord Strong inclined his head and offered a slight smile. “Of course, Your Grace. I meant no offense,” he assured.

“Good,” Prince Aegon said. He then trailed off after the Princess, gently laying his hand upon her back. And he led her away towards the room that she could be oft found wasting away in since her return. “Come, my dear Princess.”

Daeron’s lips quirked up slightly, imperceptible to the kids. He kept his eyes locked on the book, and he swept them across the page. He sighed dramatically just to pique the children’s interest. Hardly needed as they already sat on the edge of the couch staring at him with rapt interest, hardly at all interrupted by the haze of illness over their eyes.

“The King died that very night. And before the following dawn, Y/N and Aegon were married. And at noon, she met her subjects again. This time, as their Queen, and -” Daeron said.

“Hey! Hey! Hold it a sec!” Jaehaerys said loudly, nasally voice pinched with stress. “Please!”

“Yes, Jaehaerys?” Daeron asked, smiling down at his nephew innocently. “What’s wrong? You too tired? Need rest?”

“No!” Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and Maelor all chorused grouchily.

“Uncle Daeron you read that wrong,” Jaehaerys declared.

“What? No, I didn’t,” Daeron immediately replied, amused.

“You have to have,” Maelor whined. “She doesn’t marry Aegon, she married Aemond!”

“She has to!” Jaehaera agreed. “I’m sure of it. After all that Aemond did for her, Uncle Daeron? It wouldn’t be fair if she didn’t marry him! It has to be Aemond.”

Daeron chuckled. “Now who said that life was fair, kiddos?” he asked teasingly. “Now where is that written? Life isn’t fair, it’s just fairer than death. That’s it. That’s all. Nothing more. Nothing less.” From her chair, Helaena rolled her eyes at her brother.

“I’m telling you, Uncle Daeron, you’re messing up the story. Now get it right,” Jaehaerys demanded, pouting.

“Do you want me to read this or not?” Daeron asked, teasing. “Any of you?”

“Yes,” Jaehaera immediately replied.

“Yes, Uncle Day,” Maelor said a moment after, pouting.

“Yes, yes I do,” Jaehaerys said, huffing as he leaned back, snuggling back into the couch, dragging his siblings with him.

“Good, good. No more interruptions then,” Daeron said. He looked back to the book. “Where was I again? Oh, yes.” He looked at them and smiled, then looked back to the book once more. “At noon, she met her subjects again. This time, as their Queen.”

The crowds were massive, overflowing throughout the courtyard and beyond. Y/N could see that even beyond the gates, there were throngs of people gathered. It was an impenetrable wall of people, keeping her locked to her destiny. It was…dreadful. She longed to stay inside, in the shade, in shadow. But, she could not. She watched as Prince Aegon - King Aegon now, she supposed - walked out onto the balcony, a grim look on his face.

“My father’s death was sudden. It startled us all,” he said gravely. The words were not true, but they did not have to be. They were meant to bring a level of comfort to the people whose beloved King had passed away fitfully into the night. “His final words were ‘love her as I have loved her, and there will be joy’ and they have struck me. I will treasure my lady wife with the same passion that my own father treasured my mother. The way that our King treasured our Queen. But now…now I am King. And I present to you, my Queen. I present to you…your Queen. Queen Y/N.”

King Aegon extended his hand back and looked back to the Princess Y/N - no, Queen Y/N now - and beckoned her forward. She shuddered, but then took a step forward. She emerged onto the balcony and descended the stairs slowly as she had once already before. Her face, beautiful and fair, was painted in a mask of indifference to mask her misery. And as she came to a stop amidst the crowd, she glanced up at the King. He stared down at her with love and she nearly flinched, looking swiftly away.

“Long may she live,” called King Aegon from above, fond smile on his face as he looked down upon her. “For she will be a fair and just Queen to have at my side. With her at my side I hope to be as good a King as my own father.”

At the King’s word, there was a sudden ripple across the crowd. Jarringly quick. And waves of people began to kneel in the crowd. On and on they fell to their knees, heads bent in deference. Even upon the balcony, Y/N was shocked to see the King himself kneeling to her. Her breath caught in her throat and tears swarmed her eyes for a moment. It was a struggle to breathe, to think. But then, something cut through the clutter.

“Boo,” came a hiss from the crowd, loud and firm. “Boo. Boo.”

Y/N’s head whipped up and she saw an old woman, aged and wrinkled beyond belief. She was the one booing, still standing, and she walked through the crowd of people still kneeling. And with each footfall, her boos continued, gaining in volume and anger until she stood directly in front of her. In front of Queen Y/N. Her chest was heaving and she blinked heavily, like her eyes could not understood what she saw. And strangely, the ancient woman’s figure mirrored the same body language.

“Why do you do this?” Y/N asked breathlessly.

The haggard woman bared her teeth. “Because you had love in your hands! And you gave it up for gold!” the woman declared, anger coloring each and every word.

“You know not what you speak of. They would have killed Aemond if I hadn’t done it,” Y/N said, voice thick with despair and unshed tears. “I did what I had to do to save him.”

The woman scoffed. “Your true love lives and you’re going to marry another,” she said, disgusted. She turned her attention to the crowd at large. “True love saved her from the fools who kidnapped her and stole her away, nearly to her death. True loved saved her in the Fire Swamp too. And she treated it like it was worthless - like naught but garbage. And that’s what she is, this Queen Y/N.” The woman glared back at Y/N, who stood, trembled under the aged eyes of the woman. “The Queen of Refuse. So, cheer if you want, cheer on the Queen of Slime. The Queen of Muck. The Queen of Putrescence. For that is all she will ever be! A Queen of Nothing. A wastrel and wanton fool!” She took a step closer still to Y/N. Y/N felt her heart race a bit more. “Boo.”

Closer and closer this woman crept, screaming her disapproval. Her old, gnarled face becoming more and more marred in a mixture of disgust and hatred. The closer she came, the more Y/N trembled. None around her moved. As if frozen in time. All knelt, eyes still aimed at the ground. Even King Aegon remained where he was, locked in place. Y/N wanted to scream. And as the ancient woman reached her aged, wrinkled hands towards her throat, Y/N did scream. She opened her mouth, a scream bubbling in her throat.

But nothing came out - it was a soundless sort of scream.

And that was the most horrible thing of all.

Y/N jerked awake from her nightmare, yelping, and she wrapped her hand around her throat, panting in distress. She sat up in her bed, hands trembling as they lowered from her neck back down to the bedsheets. She rose from her bed and grabbed a robe immediately, blinking away tears as they fell from her face. After wrapping it around herself, she exited, running into the hall. She passed by Ser Criston Cole who stood guard outside of her chambers but did not stop at his shout. Instead, she ran.

“It was still twenty days until the wedding was to happen. The King still drew breath, steady and true. But, Y/N’s nightmares were growing steadily worse. It was not something she could tolerate further. The lack of sleep was getting to her - undoubtedly so,” Daeron said.

“See! See!” Jaehaerys cried. “Didn’t I tell you that she’d never marry that rotten Aegon?”

Jaehaera gasped. “Aegon is not rotten, Jaehaerys, you just like Aemond,” she said.

The boy rolled his eyes, but Maelor smiled. “He’s good at everything,” he said.

“Yes, yes, you’re all very smart,” Daeron said, chuckling.

Y/N reached the Prince’s chambers before Ser Criston could catch up to her. She wailed on the door for approximately three seconds before the door was swung open. Aegon’s eyes widened in surprise at seeing her and he grabbed her arm gently, pulling her into his chambers. Inside, Lord Strong sat. After Ser Criston entered the chambers, huffing and scowling, he closed the door firmly behind them all.

“Are you alright, darling?” Prince Aegon asked, looking her over for injury. He frowned. “Has another nightmare plagued you?”

Her bottom lip trembled. “Yes,” she said hoarsely. “And it comes to this, Aegon. Please, I beg you to listen. The man who was with me…it was…it was Aemond. My Aemond. I love Aemond. I always have. I know now that I always will,” she said. “If you tell me that I must marry you in twenty days…and do not take this terribly personally, but I will be dead by morning.”

Prince Aegon frowned and took a step back. “I would…I would never wish such a thing. And I would not dream to cause you grief in such a way, Y/N. I pray that you know that,” he said seriously. Another step back. “Consider our wedding off.” He inclined his head slightly and took a breath. He looked between Lord Strong and Ser Criston. “You returned this Aemond safely to his ship as I commanded, yes?”

“Of course,” Ser Criston replied immediately.

“Then we shall alert him to your desires and go from there,” Aegon declared.

Lord Strong hummed and looked at Princess Y/N. “Tell me, first, Princess, are you quite certain that he still wants you?” he asked, voice light.

“Lord Strong,” Prince Aegon warned.

“I mean no offense. I merely hold concern. After all, it was you, Princess, who left him behind in the Fire Swamp. Not the other way around. Not to mention, he is a pirate. And pirates are not exactly known to be men of their word,” Lord Strong said. He shrugged subtly. “I only mean to ensure that the Princess knows what she risks.”

“My Aemond will always come for me,” Y/N said voice stern, eyes hard like ice.

“Write four copies of a letter and I shall send my four fastest ships - one in each cardinal direction,” Aegon said to her, oozing genuine care. “The Dread Pirate Martell is often close to King’s Landing this time of year. So, we’ll run up a white flag and deliver your message. If Aemond wants you, bless you both. Truly. I will even ensure that you leave these waters without being pursued by the Crown.”

“And if not?” Y/N asked, voice stiff, eyes narrowed.

Aegon sighed, frowning. “Then please, beloved, I would ask you one thing,” he said.

“What?” she asked.

“Please consider me as an alternative to suicide,” he said dryly, voice sounding exhausted in his own right. But, despite the generally dry tone…despite the exhaustion, it was…genuine.

Chapter Text

“Are we agreed, then?” Prince Aegon asked, a soft smile on his face. A funny juxtaposition to the blunt words that had fallen from his mouth. Please consider me as an alternative to suicide.

Slowly, Y/N nodded. “It would be a more suitable alternative I suppose,” she said slowly. “I will…consider such. But…but Aemond will come. He always comes for me.”

“Of course,” Prince Aegon said, tilting his head. “Then excuse me, my dear. I will make haste in having letters sent.”

“Aegon,” Y/N said, interrupting the prince practically mid-stride by taking his arm. “Thank you.”

The Prince shook his head. “No thanks needed,” he said softly. “Truly. It is the least that you deserve.”

But, while that sweet interaction was taking place, three men were walking determinedly through the woods, carrying on a conversation as though things were quite casual. It was an interesting front, considering things were anything but casual. The three men were the King’s advisor and the Prince’s grandfather, Otto Hightower, the Prince’s sworn sword, Ser Criston Cole, and the Prince’s own advisor Lord Larys Strong. They walked through the dense trees, all strangely knotted and gnarled in ways that most trees were not, stepping over roots that grew out of the ground with ease.

“You know, it truly is a lovely time of year. You were right about that Larys,” Otto said conversationally. “Truly, we’re set to have the most wonderful celebration for King’s Landing this year.”

Ser Criston hummed. “Ah, we’ve been waiting the past five years for good weather,” he said, taking the front of their trek and cutting a few low-hanging, inconvenient branches from their path. “It’s about time that we’ll finally have it to celebrate the anniversary with.”

They continued through, deeper into the woods, Larys leaning heavily upon his cane to support his lame leg. “Yes, and with the plan finally well underway, we’re in the perfect position to make our move,” he commented.

“Ah, yes. That’s true enough, still,” Otto said. “She really is a winning creature, that Y/N. A trifle simple perhaps, but beautiful nonetheless.”

“Her appeal is undeniable, many would say,” Ser Criston agreed.

“That I know well,” Larys mourned. “The people are quite taken with her. It’s terribly odd, I must admit. Never have I seen the simple folk become so quickly attached to a person involved with the royal family of all things.”

“And why would you? They hate the way the country is being run. That’s the whole point of all of this,” Otto said dryly.

“Even so, I’m grateful for that unexpected addition. When we hired Vaemond to have her murdered on the eve of her engagement to the Prince, I thought myself clever enough for conspiring such an idea with you both,” Larys said, hobbling along. “But, I think it will be much more moving when Cole strangles her on their wedding night. We have the distractions set. It will be the perfect timing. And once Dragonstone has been blamed for it, the nation will be truly outraged. Between Princess Y/N’s death, the people’s rage, and his father’s that will swiftly follow, Prince Aegon will have no choice but to go to war.”

Otto nodded. “And that time will not come fast enough,” he said. “Terribly sorry for the poor thing. But at least it isn’t someone with noble blood. This’ll hardly be a loss.”

“Where is this blasted knot?” Ser Criston asked, interrupting their conversation as he looked around the tree grove they’d entered. “It’s always miserable finding this place. We made it too secret.”

“Well, it being more open would defeat the purpose,” Lord Larys said lightly, glancing over at Otto and rolling his eyes.

“Ah, there it is,” Ser Criston said before hitting a knot on a particularly old, tall, knobbed old tree. The tree’s bark then caved in, revealing a strange sort of door leading underground. Lord Larys started hobbling down the stairs first, walking confidently despite the darkness, and Ser Criston turned to look at Otto. “You coming down with us, Lord Hightower? The Pit’s going to be a fun place today. Aemond’s almost got his strength back. We’ll be starting him on The Machine soon.”

Otto sighed and put his hands on his hips. “You know I love to watch you work, Criston. You and Larys are two of the most sadistic men I’ve had the pleasure of meeting. But, I’ve got the country’s 500th anniversary to plan, Prince Aegon’s wedding to arrange, his wife to plot the murder of, and ensuring everything’s in place to frame Dragonstone for it,” he said solemnly. He shrugged helplessly. “I’m swamped.”

Ser Criston sighed and nodded, taking a few steps forward and patting the shoulder of the elder. “Get some rest, Otto. If you haven’t got your health, you haven’t got anything,” he said in agreement.

At that point, Otto turned to take his leave, and Ser Criston turned to scurry down the steps. As the sworn sword disappeared, the tree slid back perfectly into place. It was just another grove in the forest, and the King’s advisor was just out on a pleasant walk.

When Otto made it back to the castle, he headed first to his grandson’s study. He entered after knocking, bringing Ser Arryk Cargyll with him. Prince Aegon looked up, startled, at the sudden presence of his grandfather. The King’s advisor was mildly impressed to see that his half-useless grandson looked busy, his quarters swamped with

“Grandfather? What is it?” Prince Aegon asked. “What is it?” He glanced over to the knight at his side. “Why is he here?”

“Sire,” Otto greeted, bowing his head, “I have ill news I must share with you. And with Ser Arryk Cargyll being the Chief Enforcer of all of King’s Landing, he must also be here. I trust only you two with this secret. I shall inform Lord Larys Strong and Ser Criston Cole presently when I depart here too.”

“What ill news?” the Prince asked, voice almost immediately growing sharper.

“Killers from Dragonstone are infiltrating our Thieves Forest and making their way through the Thieves Quarter. They plan to murder your bride upon your wedding night,” the man delivered voice even, grim, honest.

Ser Arryk looked confused. “My spy network had not heard of any such news. Not even a whisper,” he said, confused.

“Ah, but Lord Strong has revealed it to me. His networks have heard it,” Otto said firmly.

The three men heard the door before they could react and then saw Princess Y/N enter, a hopeful look on her face. “Any word from Aemond?” she asked, looking only at Prince Aegon as she spoke, ignoring the other two men entirely. She sounded so earnest that Otto almost, for a moment, felt bad for not having the letters sent.

“No, my dove. It’s too soon. Just be patient. There’s still some time,” Prince Aegon said.

Princess Y/N raised her chin. “He’ll come for me,” she declared.

“Of course,” Prince Aegon said, nodding. And as his grandson spoke so earnestly, Otto almost felt bad for him too. The Princess sighed and then glided from the room. Aegon looked sharply back to the other two men. “She will not be murdered. I will not see it happen. I want the Thieves Forest to be emptied and the Thieves Quarter to be locked. I want every inhabitant arrested.”

Ser Arryk winced. “Many of the thieves will resist. My regular enforcers will be inadequate,” he said.

“Take the King’s Guard and form a Brute Squad then! I want the Thieves Forest empty and the Thieves Quarter closed before I wed,” the Prince demanded seriously.

“It will not be easy, my Prince,” Otto granted. “But I shall see it done. I swear it. And I will make sure that Ser Arryk succeeds.”

“Good, Grandfather, good,” the Prince said. He then ran a hand, tired down his face, and shook his head. “But try preparing to rule the world sometime,” he said sarcastically. Otto had to stave off the urge to roll his eyes at his grandson’s dramatics - and his utter idiocy not knowing that Otto already did rule the blasted country.

While the King’s advisor placed his grandson upon the chess board just where he needed to be, Lord Larys Strong and Ser Criston Cole were diligently setting to work in their own ways. They were working on preparing everything they needed to enact their plans for their new prisoner. This…Aemond.

Now, Aemond was unconscious. He’d been moved from the cage he’d been shoved in, and onto a table. He was strapped in at his ankles, hands, chest, and head. Surrounding him were a series of wheels, wires, levers, and complexities that a lesser man would balk at. But not Lord Larys. Not Ser Criston either. Not even Mellos as, the withered old thing that he was, standing off to the side, was shooed away by the younger men. Ser Criston splashed cold water on Aemond’s face and watched, smirking as the man jerked suddenly awake and looked wildly around. Of course, his eyes landed first upon The Machine.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lord Larys asked, a wistful smile on his lips. “Took me nearly half a lifetime to invent it.” He laughed and looked down at Aemond. “I’m sure that by now you’ve discovered my deep and abiding interest in pain, yes? At present, I’m writing a definitive work on the subject. So, I’ll need you to be completely honest with me and Ser Criston on how The Machine makes you feel.” He glanced at the other man. “Ser Criston, if you’d please.”

“With pleasure,” Ser Criston said, walking over to a dial on the wall.

“This being our first try, we’ll of course use the lowest setting. So, turn the dial to one if you will, Ser Criston,” Lord Larys advised.

Dutifully, Ser Criston turned the dial from its place at zero to the notch that said one. Aemond, now with cups holding either side of his head that was still strapped down, metal biting into his skin, had to remind himself to remain calm.

“Excellent, excellent,” Lord Larys mused, looking over the machine. “Just have to wait for the wheel to spin and generate enough power. Then we’ll be in business.”

As he spoke, The Machine seemed to jump to life. The hydro wheel began to be assaulted with a hard, steady stream of water and started turning. Lord Larys couldn’t help but smile, Ser Criston doing the same. Maester Mellos though, still in the back, looked utterly indifferent, if not a bit disgusted.

“Oh, yes!” Lord Larys said as if forgetting something. He walked over and shoved a leather strip into Aemond’s mouth. “Careful now, wouldn’t want you to bite your own tongue off, hmmm?”

Aemond didn’t have the chance to spit out the strip and reply before the pain started. It was like a bolt of agony comparable to nothing he’d experienced before. It was an entirely unique sort of atrocity.

It burned.

It froze.

It ran through him like water. It turned his very blood to stone. His body flinched against the pain, trying to jerk off the table, to be freed from the horrible feeling. But nothing he did worked. The sound of his screams and cries made it past the leather, hardly muffled at all. The three men watched impassively until Lord Larys nodded to the knight who then turned the dial back down to zero. Even so, it took Aemond’s body a few minutes to cease twitching.

“Excellent, excellent,” Lord Larys said, walking over to a parchment-laden table, and sitting heavily upon a stool. “As I’m sure you’re aware, the concept of the suction pump is centuries old now. And, at its heart, this is all that it really is.” He picked up a quill and began writing some notes. “The only difference is The Machine isn’t sucking water. It’s sucking life - your life, that is. I’ve just sucked away one year of your life. If I set the dial to two…three…that would mean two years gone, two times the pain. Three would be three years…three times. On and on - you get it.”

He stood again and hobbled over to Aemond’s side, bending down to peer more closely at him. “Perhaps one day I’ll go as high as five. But, I don’t quite know what that’d do to you. My previous…subjects died by the time we hit three. Perhaps you’ll be different,” Lord Larys said. “Nevertheless, let us start with what we have now. What did this experience do to you? Tell me, and remember now, this is for posterity - for science - so you must be honest.” He ripped the leather from his mouth. “How do you feel?”

Aemond did not speak, merely let out a low whimper, his anguish was so dizzying. Lord Larys turned his head to the side, a calm, intrigued smile on his face.

“Interesting,” he mused.

“The day of the wedding arrived,” Daeron said dramatically. The twins and their younger brother gasped. “By the order of Prince Aegon, as Aemond was tortured underground, the Thieves Forest above was being cleared out by the best Brute Squad that could be formed. Not nearly an entirely effective squad, to be sure, but one that could - at least - get the worst of the ruffians from the woods. And they were busy carrying out Aegon’s orders.

“Oh no!” Jaehaera said.

“Patience, sweetheart. We’re just getting started,” their uncle said, winking.

“Oh no,” Jaehaerys and Maelor echoed, knowing disaster must be coming.

“Is everybody out?” Ser Arryk asked, looking at his brother Ser Erryk as they looked at the largely abandoned wood.

“Almost,” Ser Erryk said, glowering. “There’s a hideously drunk Valyrian just over there. Has a sword. He’s been giving us some…trouble.”

“Always the Valyrians,” Ser Arryk huffed. “Go give him some trouble, brother.” He then turned and continued his stroll, instructing more people as he went.

Sighing, Ser Erryk did as his brother bid. He walked over toward where he’d been told the Valyrian was. This would be a disaster he was sure, but, he had no choice but to do as he was bid.

“I’ve been waiting for you, Uncle Vaemond,” Laenor drawled, drunk beyond belief, slumped upon a filthy stoop. In one hand, he had a sword - just as Erryk had told his brother - and in the other, he had a half-empty bottle of brandy. The man looked terrible, unshaven, with puffy eyes, hair a mess, and looking somewhat…gaunt. It was a far cry from the man he’d been only a month earlier. “Oh wait. You’re dead. And this is where you told us to bloody go. Back to the beginning, whatever that meant to you. So here I am!” He took another swig. “And this is where I will stay! I will not be moved!”

“Ho there,” called Erryk cautiously.

“I will not be moved,” Laenor dismissed. “Keep your ‘ho theres’ for another thief.”

“The Prince gave orders,” the man said.

Almost immediately, Laenor was on his feet, swinging in deadly arcs without any intent to hit the knight. Remarkably impressive for a man so clearly drunk. “Ah, and so did Vaemond - job goes wrong you go back to the beginning. This is where we got the stupid job, so it’s the beginning. And I’m staying until either Vaemond comes back from the dead or I join the sorry sod.”

Ser Erryk scoffed. “I don’t think so,” he said. He gestured somewhere behind Laenor. “Brute, come here.”

“I’m waiting for Vaemond,” Laenor repeated.

“And that’s such a sweet declaration,” came an all-too-familiar voice from behind Laenor.

“Always with trying to do the rhymes,” Laenor reflexively groaned. But, then his eyes widened and he spun. “Harwin?” He grinned. “It’s you.”

“Hello,” Harwin grinned, patting his shoulder. Ser Erryk came closer and Harwin barely even jostled his hold on Laenor as he knocked the other man out. “You don’t look so good. Or smell so good.

Laenor laughed. “Perhaps not. But I feel fine,” he dismissed.

“Oh sure,” Harwin laughed. “In that case.” He let go of Laenor. Harwin was not surprised that he crumpled to the ground. But, like a good friend, he picked the man up, hauling him over his shoulder, and started walking.

Daeron couldn’t help but smile at the rapt attention coming from the three sick kids. “Laenor and Harwin were reunited. And as Harwin nursed his inebriated friend back to health, Laenor informed the bigger man of Vaemond’s death. And, while he was at it, he explained the existence of Ser Criston Cole, the Dornish man,” he explained. “And, considering Laenor’s life-long search, he handled the news surprisingly well.”

“How?” Maelor asked eagerly.

“He fainted right into his stew,” Daeron reported. He looked back to his book. “But don’t worry. Harwin took great care in reviving Laenor again.”

Somehow avoiding breathing in the water as Harwin repeatedly dunked his head in a bucket, Laenor came quite suddenly back to himself. He jerked himself away, swinging wildly, gasping for breath.

“That’s enough! That’s enough!” he declared. He looked at Harwin, fury in his eyes. “Where is this Criston Cole now so that I may kill him?”

“He’s at the castle,” Harwin replied, voice grim. “With my own slimy brother. The castle’s locked up tight until tomorrow after the wedding. Only one door has been left unsealed. And there are thirty men guarding it. Your revenge will have to wait the night.”

Laenor made a dismissive noise. “Eh, how many could you handle?” he asked.

“They’re the best of the Brute Squad,” Harwin said, shrugging. “Probably no more than ten. Maybe fifteen.”

Laenor groaned. “And that’d leave fifteen or twenty for me? I could not on my best day defeat that many men,” he said. He groaned and sat heavily on the ground. “I need Vaemond to plan. I have no gift for…for strategy!” Harwin pat his shoulder and suddenly, Laenor’s face lit up. “No! I have no need for Vaemond. I need that man in black - the one who bested us all! It’s him we need.”

“What?” Harwin asked, unsure.

“Think about it, Strong, think about it! He bested your strength! He bested my steel! He bested my uncle’s wit! A man who can do that? He can plan my castle onslaught any day,” Laenor said, nodding, sure of himself. “I wonder about him often still.”

Harwin hummed. “The rumors are that he was the Princess’s true love,” he said. Laenor groaned pulling himself to his feet. “What are you doing, Laenor?”

“Shut up. Tell me later. Let’s go - we’re going to find the man in black,” Laenor said, determined.

“We don’t know where he is,” Harwin pointed out.

Laenor let out a laugh that startled even Harwin. “Don’t bother me with foolish trifles like that. After an age now, at last, my loves…both of them…their souls will be at peace. I need not know. I will find him.” He laughed and sheathed his sword. “There will be blood tonight, Harwin. I swear it.”

“Ours?” Harwin asked dryly. Nonetheless, Harwin dutifully followed his friend as he romped off ready to go find the man in black, wherever he was.

As the wedding drew closer, Prince Aegon was nervously working alongside his sworn sword, and grandfather to ensure that his soon-to-be wife would be safe. He sat in his grandfather’s office, chaotic and strewn with maps and plans in a disorganized array that was wholly uncharacteristic of him. The Prince watched as Ser Arryk entered the room and his grandfather perked up from where they’d been pouring over plans.

“Rise and report,” Otto said, going back to where he’d been pouring over their plans.

“The Thieves Forest is cleared out. The Thieves Quarter has been shuttered. Fifty men are guarding the castle cate.

“And add fifty more. I want a hundred guards. My Princess…my wife will be kept safe,” the Prince added firmly.

“The main gate has one key, my Prince. And I carry that,” Ser Arryk said, showing the royalty the key that hung around his neck.

“Even so, I will not see Princess Y/N get hurt. I will not allow such a thing,” he said firmly.

“Of course, your Highness,” Otto said, interrupting them. He nodded to Ser Arryk. “Fifty more men, Arryk. See it done.”

“Ah, my darling,” the Prince said, perking up as he saw the Princess in the door. She looked pale and withdrawn, a tired, sad look in her eyes. He walked over and rubbed her shoulders affectionately, wishing he could make her smile through the obvious sadness and pain she was experiencing. “Tonight we shall marry, darling. Then tomorrow morning we shall be escorted to the King’s Landing Channel. And all our ships in the armada shall accompany us on our honeymoon.”

“Every ship but the four fastest…the ones you sent?” the Princess said, voice shrouded with suspicion.

Prince Aegon nodded. “Naturally, not those four. They have not yet returned from what I have heard,” he said. He saw her face crumple and sighed. “Take heart, sweet Y/N. I meant what I said. I will be a good husband to you.”

Her lip trembled. “He will come,” she said weakly.

Prince Aegon inclined his head. “If he does not, then I shall endeavor to do all I can to care for you. Even if he does, I shall do what I can to help you. I make that vow to you now. Before no priests...no septons. I make it before you and I mean it truly.”

“Come, Ser Arryk. Let’s get to work finding those men,” Otto said getting up and moving to the knight’s side. He led the man out, leaving the pair alone in the room with a curt nod of the head. “Your Majesties.”

Princess Y/N looked back to Aegon. “How do you know that they truly sent the letters?” she asked him. “I trust you, Aegon. But I do not trust the rest of the men here. How do you know that they followed your orders?”

The Prince looked concerned at her words. “My grandfather has been the King’s advisor since before I was born. Before my father even married my mother,” he pointed out. The Princess politely pretended like that didn’t gross her out. “And Larys has been my advisor since my father’s health began to decline. I assure you that they are most trustworthy.”

At that, the Princess sighed. “You have a far kinder heart than people realize. The wicked tend to take advantage of kindness,” she pointed out. “I merely wish for you to think on the words I say. To…to check.” She took a deep breath. “I will not refuse to marry you, my Prince. I have already said as much. But if I am to marry you, I would go into this with a clear conscience knowing that I did all I could to be reunited with him. Aemond and I…we are bound. We are joined by bonds of love that cannot be broken by distance or time, Aegon. The heavens know that I tried to let go. And I could not.”

“Y/N,” he said quietly.

“No, you must understand! For the love that I feel...it is not some simple thing. It is far from being some faithless, trivial matter that can be thrown to the side at a whim. You must understand that when I love I love deeply, my Prince. And I cannot let him go. I will not let him go. Not until I know for sure that there is nothing left to hope for. And even then…even then I shall go to the ends of my days…I shall die loving him. And you, as I said, you are a good man. You are a future King. You must know where I stand. And if…if I am to marry you, then you must know who I am,” she declared, head held high.

At that moment, Prince Aegon could hardly tell that she was ever anything but royalty. There was no hint of the humble beginnings she had. Her face was stern and strong. Her eyes were glinting with conviction. She looked every inch the Princess that he’d made her. She was beautiful. Heartbreakingly beautiful. And she was right.

“I will ensure that it was done to my will,” he said eventually. “But your life is still in danger from Dragonstone spies. I mean it when I say that I will not see you be hurt, Y/N. Stay here where I know you shall be safe. I will go investigate. And I will be back as quickly as I can.”

“Very well,” the Princess granted.

She allowed the Prince to walk her back to her room where he locked the door for her and stationed guards in front of it under orders to remain there and protect her at all costs. They, of course, agreed. The Prince then headed off in search of his grandfather…or his advisor…or his sworn sword who was still somehow absent. Little did he know, they were otherwise occupied beyond the castle walls.

Outside, while the Prince began his search for the three men he trusted most in this world, Otto Hightower was stealing through the Thieves Forest. He made his way over to a familiar old, knobbed tree and hit it just so. He swept down the stairs quickly, hearing the clunk of the tree slotting shut once more. He descended the steps and entered the Pit of Despair in a swirl of his cloak. Lord Strong and Ser Criston both looked up abruptly when they saw him enter. The impatient man knocked Maester Mellos out of the way as he stormed over to Aemond’s side.

“You truly love each other, do you? You and Y/N? Oh, you might have been truly happy, more’s the pity. Not one couple in a century has that chance. No matter what any storybook may say, no matter what songs bards may pen. And for that, I’d think no man in a century will suffer as greatly as you will,” he spat his words a dark promise.

“Otto, what is going on?” Lord Strong asked, voice flat.

“Larys he must be dealt with,” Otto declared. He then turned towards The Machine and grabbed the lever pulling it upward.

“Good heavens, no!” Lord Strong said, staggering from his chair.

“Not to fifty,” Ser Criston shouted.

Their words were too late. Both of them were. Otto had already shoved the lever all the way up and The Machine had begun to work. Otto looked down almost gleefully at Aemond’s face. The suffering was clear, written in his features in a haunting, gripping way. And Aemond fought valiantly, braver and stronger than most. But in the end, he succumbed to the pain and let out a blood-curdling scream that was not stifled by any rag or leather strip.

The scream pouring from his mouth was a scream of death.

The death scream rang out from Aemond’s mouth and echoed far beyond the reaches of the Pit. It seemed to only grow louder. The Princess could hear it in her room and her arms wrapped around herself. She shivered against the foreign sound, not knowing what it was, but knowing that it struck fear deep in her heart. Outside, Ser Arryk and his hundred brutes stood around the main gate of the castle looking wide-eyed at each other. Even they looked afraid. Even in the square outside the castle where merriment had begun to celebrate the country’s 500th anniversary, all movement stopped at that hideous sound. Parents grabbed their children and everyone was silent for a moment until the children’s own wailing of fear started.

But, in an alleyway that they were traversing quickly, looking high and low, Laenor and Harwin froze at the sound. Laenor bolted upright and grabbed Harwin’s arm. “Do you know that sound, Harwin? Do you know it, do you feel it?” he demanded. “That is the sound of ultimate suffering. My own heart has twice made that sound when the Dornish man slaughtered my loves. It is the man in black who makes it now. I am sure of it.”

“How are you sure?” Harwin asked, looking around cautiously for any of the Brute Squad.

“His true love is to marry another on the morrow. Who else has cause for ultimate suffering like that on a night such as this?” Laenor said insistently, slapping Harwin’s arm. “Come. We must track the sound. We cannot lose it.”

The pair took off running in the direction that they’d been coming from, tracing their own steps back as the sound was emanating from the Thieves Forest. It had begun to grow dark outside, but it mattered not to the two men. They persisted onwards, marching fearlessly forward toward a perilous sound that had long since faded. They stopped in a suspiciously empty grove to take a breath and compose themselves. Their patience was rewarded when they saw Maester Mellos, rolling a wheelbarrow towards one of the trees, supplies weighing it down.

Laenor grinned a savage glint of relief in his eyes. He stalked forward silently, creeping up behind the Maester. “I’m having the devil’s time tracking that scream,” he said. The Maester jumped startled, and Laenor took the opportunity to move into his sight line, revealing the sword in his hand that was leveled at the man’s neck. He smiled brightly at the scared old man. “Now, tell me. Where is the man in black?” The maester shook his head even though his hands were shaking in fear, and said nothing. “I said where, you villain?” Again, the old man shook his head. “You get there from this grove. You wouldn’t bring this blasted wheelbarrow through needlessly.” Again, the man was silent. Stubbornly so. Laenor shrugged. “Have it your way, I don’t care. Harwin, jog his memory, would you?”

The maester made a move to scream, so, reflexively, Harwin struck his head. Not hard enough to kill him. But it did knock him out. Harwin winced. “Sorry, Laenor. Didn’t mean to hit him that hard,” he muttered. Harwin expected some form of rebuttal but got none. When he turned he was shocked to see Laenor kneeling on the ground as if in prayer. “What are you doing?”

“I have been a drunk. I have been a sinner, a wastrel. I have been an absolute fool. I have abandoned my parents to follow my fool of an uncle. I have betrayed the memory of the men that I have loved by not pursuing my revenge most valiantly. I have allowed my sadness to cloud my judgment. I have let you down for years…Joffrey…Qarl…I shall not do it again. Now our misery may finally end,” Laenor said, his head bowed. “Somewhere…somewhere close is the man who can help us. The man who knows where the Dornish man is. The man who knows how to finish this. But I cannot find him alone. We cannot find him alone. I need you both. I need you.” He rose to his feet, taking his sword from where he’s stuck it in the ground, holding it before him.

“What are you doing?” Harwin asked, alarmed, as the other man closed his eyes.

Laenor ignored him entirely. “I need you to guide my sword,” he whispered. “Please…please guide my sword.” The man walked forward, steps sure, the great sword held in his hands, glinting in the low light of day as if illuminated from within. Laenor’s steps turned slightly as if being truly guided by a force beyond himself and he kept walking forward, Harwin a half-step behind him. He walked for what felt like forever until he paused a moment. He froze, taking deep breaths.

“Laenor?” Harwin asked quietly.

Still, Laenor ignored him. It truly was as if he wasn’t there. With startling speed and a suddenness that Harwin hadn’t expected. He struck the secret knot of the tree perfectly in the dead center. His eyes flew open as he did it, just in time to see a staircase being revealed.

“Holy…” Harwin began, trailing off almost immediately. He and Laenor exchanged a look. “After you, Laenor. I insist.”

Laenor glowered at his taller companion. “Fine,” he grumbled.

Even with his own reluctance, he stormed down the stairs as if prepared to head into battle. He held his sword as if it were his final lifeline and moved with a determined stride until he burst forth into the Pit of Despair, Harwin a half step behind him. The pair grinned victoriously for a moment until their eyes registered the sight before them.

The man in black was indeed before their very eyes. Not moving. Dead.

Aemond was dead.

Harwin rushed over to the man’s side, kneeling down. He touched his skin and hissed, pulling his hand back. “He’s gone cold. He’s dead, Laenor,” Harwin said gravely.

Laenor fell to a knee, despair gripping him. Truly, at that moment the Pit of Despair had claimed three, not just one. In different ways, two still lived and one appeared to be gone from this world. But all suffered a hollowness that never would have been wrought if they had not faced this treacherous place.

“It just isn’t fair,” Laenor said, his voice hardly a whisper, and choked on unshed tears.

“No!” Jaehaera declared, slamming her hand down on the soft blanket in her lap. Her face was flushed now, not just with the fever but with her righteous indignation at the story’s dark turn. “Uncle Daeron, wait! That isn’t right!”

“No,” Maelor agreed, lips turned down in a frown and his brow furrowed in a way that Daeron found quite precious on his usually chipper little nephew. “It isn’t right. What did Harwin mean that he’s dead?”

Daeron said nothing, just looking at his niece and nephews, keeping his face stoic to avoid displaying his amusement. Jaehaerys looked quizzically at his uncle from where both of his siblings leaned against him. He looked a bit more put together than his siblings but only just. He knew that if he turned his eyes to the side he’d see Helaena smiling to herself, on the verge of laughing, as she crocheted by them. So, he avoided looking at her to avoid cracking.

“Aemond’s just faking it, right? He’s not really dead,” Jaehaerys said as if that were the only logical choice.

Daeron shook his head. “He’s not faking it, no,” he denied

“That’s not right!” Jaehaera exclaimed again. “Who gets Otto? Who gets Larys? Or Criston? Someone has to!”

“I don’t understand,” Daeron said, forcing his lips to remain in a line and not quirk up from his amusement.

“Who kills those losers? At the end, somebody’s gotta get them! If Aemond’s dead who is it? Laenor? Harwin? Who?” Jaehaerys demanded.

“Yeah! And what does Princess Y/N just marry Prince Aegon after all?” Maelor asked, sounding dejected by the very prospect. “She doesn’t even love him.”

“Nobody kills them. They live,” Daeron said, ignoring Maelor entirely.

“You mean he wins?” Jaehaerys demanded. “Geez, Uncle Daeron! Why did you even bother reading this to me?”

Daeron hummed, letting himself smirk as he closed the book, carefully leaving his finger on the right page to reopen to. “You three have been awfully sick. You’re taking this book pretty seriously. I think I should stop now, let you guys get some rest.” He made a move to stand but stopped when the kids began shrieking their protests, shrill and loud.

“No, no it’s okay, it’s okay!” Maelor argued.

“Sit back down. Don’t worry! We’re okay!” Jaehaerys added.

Jaehaera nodded primly. “I’m like Y/N now, Uncle Daeron. My heart’s like a secret garden and the walls are very high. Don’t leave it now.”

Daeron chuckled, but, dutifully, opened the book once more and began to read.

Laenor cursed to himself, still bent on his knee. “It just isn’t fair,” he repeated to himself. Then, with a sudden glint of determination in his eyes, he rose to his feet again. “No. I refuse. This man and I? We’re Valyrians. And Valyrians don’t give up so easy. And Velaryons never give up. For better or worse.” He nodded to Harwin. “Come on, Harwin. Let’s go. Bring the body.”

“The body?” Harwin asked, nose scrunched in disgust.

“I have a plan,” he declared, moving towards the stairs. He paused and turned. “Have you got any money, my friend? I’ve used all mine on brandy and we’re going to need some.” He muttered something to himself that sounded suspiciously close to They’ll make me pay, I have no doubt.

Harwin nodded. “Not much. But I have a little,” he said.

Laenor nodded, face determined. “I just hope it’ll be enough to buy us a miracle. That’s all. Now come on. We have to hurry,” he declared.

So, dutifully, Harwin reached out and picked up Aemond’s lifeless body, slinging it over his shoulder. He followed Laenor up the stairs two at a time. Outside once more, the two carefully closed the tree back up. They passed Maester Mellos’s still crumpled body. And once past him, Laenor took off in a near sprint. Sighing, Harwin picked up his pace, ambling after the other man.

Meanwhile, in the safety and sanctity of her own quarters, hands still trembling from that terrible sound, Princess Y/N looked wistfully out the window. “I know you’re out there, Aemond. I know you’re coming for me. You have to be,” she whispered.

Chapter Text

The further they walked, the more miserable Laenor became. At least that’s how it looked to Harwin. It was not the kind of misery that was adult and stoic. No, rather it looked much more like a child pouting. It looked as though he were sulking over the progress that they were making. Dutifully, as a good friend—if friends were what they’d describe themselves as—Harwin remained silent, simply observing him every few yards as they walked to ensure that he would not find himself straying too far from his companion. When he finally spotted a dingy, dilapidated hovel in the near distance, largely concealed by some trees, he glanced over at Laenor.

“Not a word,” Laenor said, voice surly and gruff.

“I didn’t say anything,” Harwin replied, confused. His brows knit together in confusion and he watched as Laenor picked up his place.

“This is the place of the old miracle worker of the King,” Laenor said, voice clipped when Harwin caught up to his side. They reached the door in no time. “My father.”

“Wait what?” Harwin asked, shocked by the news.

The confused question was cut off by a shout from inside the house. “Go! Away!” It was the voice of a man. His words held the same pattern and cadence that Laenor’s own did. It was strange to hear such an echo of his friend as though he did not stand beside him alone, but inside the hovel as well.

“Is this not the miracle worker who slaved for the King for all those years?” Laenor asked loudly.

Inside, they heard a confused murmur and then a few banging sounds. Then, the small window on the door swung open and a man peered out from inside the home. His skin was darker than Laenor’s, richer, but he had the same Valyrian look about him from facial features to the shock of white hair on his head. It was clear that it was not merely white from age for there was not a wrinkle on the man’s face. There was no doubt that this man was indeed Laenor’s father.

“What are you doing here?” the man asked, glaring distrustfully toward Laenor. He didn’t pay any mind at all to Harwin’s presence.

Laenor shrugged and leaned against the door. He gave his father a sarcastic smile and wave. “Well, Corlys, Uncle Vaemond’s dead. Decided it was time to come home,” he said.

“Pity—I’m sure the fool did something to earn it. Now, beat it or I’ll call the Brute Squad,” the man—Corlys—said, slamming the window shut. Laenor rapped on the door with force behind each strike. “Keep hitting my door and I’ll do it! I’ll call the Brute Squad Laenor.”

“Is this what’s become of the Charming Corlys known throughout the whole of the Kingdom?” Laenor asked, voice antagonistic. “Is this what’s become of such a sorcerer that the King would have bowed down in fear?”

As Laenor had expected, Corlys ripped open the window again, bellowing his words out. “The King’s stinking, wretched advisor fired me didn’t you hear? Him and the Prince’s too. And his delightful sworn sword threw me out himself. A very painful subject not that an ungrateful son like you would care. Now good day!” And then he slammed the window once more. “And get out of here or I’ll call the Brute Squad!”

By this point, Harwin decided to step in. “I’m on the Brute Squad,” he said. He almost sounded apologetic for breaking the old man’s stride in his yelling. “And I’ll happily knock your son out later, but we’re in a bit of a rush.”

“We need a miracle,” Laenor said, swatting at Harwin as he spoke. He paused. The next words that came out of his mouth were weighty, almost painful as they were drawn from him. “Father…it’s important.”

The window opened again. This time, slower. Much slower. “I’m retired, Laenor,” Corlys said, his voice grave. “I have no miracle to give.”

“Nonsense. The first thing you taught me in life was how to sail. The second thing was that a Velaryon never gives up or retires,” Laenor said firmly. “You don’t understand.”

“Why would you want a washed-up has-been who was fired by the King’s men?” Corlys asked, sounding far more self-deprecating than Laenor had ever heard. “I might kill whoever it is that you want me to miracle.”

“Oh, he’s already dead, don’t worry about that,” Laenor said dismissively. He gestured down to the barrel that Harwin then wheeled forward into sight. “See? I don’t think you can possibly make this worse?”

“He is, huh?” Corlys asked, curiously looking down at the man in the wheelbarrow. “Well, why not, then? Let me take a look.” Again, Corlys closed the window on the door. This time though, he unlatched it and swung it open. “You, big man, bring him in. Hurry now.”

Knowing that it was him being spoken to, Harwin scooped up Aemond’s limp body from the wheelbarrow and brought him inside. He could feel the man’s body starting to stiffen up a bit and Harwin felt distinctly gross carrying him even just to the table that he was instructed to place him on. He then stepped back just in time for Corlys to start rushing around the table looking over Aemond’s body with a sharp eye.

He poked and prodded at different parts of Aemond quickly. He lifted one of his arms and then released it. It dropped heavily down to the table. Laenor and Harwin couldn’t help but wince at the sound, but Corlys didn’t even flinch. Eventually, he looked up at the pair in the house with him and shrugged.

“Well, he’s not as stiff as some,” he granted. He looked back down at Aemond, looking deep in thought.

“Father, we're in a hurry here. A terrible rush,” Laenor said.

“Oh, you hush up, don’t you hurry me, son,” Corlys dismissed. “You hurry a miracle worker, you know what you get? Nothing at best and disaster at worst, so keep your trap shut.” He glanced up. “You got money? This isn’t some freebie because you’re my kid.”

Laenor, expecting this, took out the coin purse from his side and hurled it to his dad who caught it with ease. A pity because he’d have loved to see it hit his father in the face, truly. “Sixty-five,” Laenor said. “What? Do you think you get a family discount? When you haven’t been home in years? I never worked for so little ever in my life. Except once and that’s when it was for a noble cause.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, father. This is a noble cause!” Laenor loudly interrupted. He pointed to Aemond, his brow furrowed. “His…uh…his wife’s been crippled. His children are on the brink of starvation.”

“Son, I’ve known you since you were born. And you have always been a rotten liar. But I think you’ve gotten worse since I last saw you,” Corlys said bluntly.

Laenor sighed. “I need him to help avenge my murdered lovers?” he said. He gestured over to Harwin. “And his father and family home?”

Corlys looked both the men up and down, unimpressed. “Your first story was better,” he chuckled. He started looking around, muttering to himself. “You say you’re on the brute squad. And I know my own son. This poor guy probably owes you some money. I’ll ask him myself.” He finds a bellows and puts it into Aemond’s mouth beginning to pump it.

“He’s dead, father, he can’t talk,” Laenor said, looking hopelessly confused.

“Oh well look at who thinks he knows so much after refusing to join the family business,” Corlys said snidely. “Well for your information, it just so happens to know that there are different kinds of dead, boy.” He started pumping more aggressively. “There’s sort of dead, mostly dead, and there’s all dead. Now, lucky for you, this fella here? He’s only mostly dead. Mostly dead is still slightly alive. That’s lucky because once they get to all dead there’s only one thing that you can do.”

“And what’s that?” Harwin asked, looking reluctant even as the words left his mouth.

“Well, I’ll give you a hint,” he said. Corlys took the bellows from Aemond’s mouth and gave Harwin a sarcastic smile. One that, again, showed with jarring clarity that he and Laenor were most definitely father and son. “It involves digging a grave, shoving him in, and then running for the hills.”

“Father,” Laenor groaned.

“Shut up,” Corlys warned. “I’m working here.” He bent down and started yelling into Aemond’s ear at full volume. “HEY! HELLO IN THERE, HELLO! WHAT’S SO IMPORTANT? WHAT YOU GOT HERE THAT’S WORTH COMING BACK FOR, KID? YOU GOTTA HAVE SOMETHING OR ELSE MY SON WOULDN’T HAVE DRAGGED YOU HERE.” He turned to Laenor and Harwin. “Don’t worry, sometimes it takes a while for the bellows to get everything working again, so…”

Corlys trailed off at the sound of a groan. No, it wasn’t a groan though. He shut his mouth and looked down at the body on his table. It wasn’t a groan at all. It was words. Quiet, almost painfully quiet, almost impossible to understand. He blinked in surprise, bending down to make sure he was hearing correctly.

“True...love,” Aemond said, the words drawn out and clumsy in his still mostly-dead mouth.

“True…true love. You heard him! You couldn’t ask for a more noble cause than that,” Laenor said, looking firmly, urgently at his dad.

Corlys stood straight, clapping his hands, letting out a short laugh, glancing around to the other side of the hovel, a strangely panicked look in his eye. “Ah, son, well true love is just about the best thing in this world except for cough drops and brandy. Too true, too true. But he didn’t say it. He clearly said ‘to blave’ which we all know means ‘to bluff’ so you three were probably caught up in some card game, he got caught bluffing and things just went from there!”

“Liar!” came the call from the door. The three men jumped, turning towards the door. In the door stood a woman—another Valyrian, gods be good Harwin was hopelessly outnumbered by them now. She had a firm look on her face, eyes narrowed as her eyes locked in on Corlys. “Liar!”

“Mother?” Laenor asked, baffled.

“Oh hello, Laenor. It’s good to see you, son,” the woman replied, a kind smile briefly on her face. She touched her son’s arm in greeting then went back to glaring at Corlys like a bird locking eyes on its prey.

“Back, witch,” Corlys warned, holding the bellows in front of him as a weapon of protection.

“I’m no witch you bumbling idiot!” she exclaimed. ‘I am your wife, but I am not sure if I want to be anymore!”

“Rhaenys not now,” Corlys huffed.

The woman—Rhaenys—pointed down to Aemond’s still prone figure. “It was true love, Corlys. By the gods it was clear as day!”

“You weren’t even in here,” Corlys accused. “Don’t say another word Rhaenys, I won’t hear it!”

With a bright smile and a malicious light in her eyes, she turned towards Harwin and Laenor. As if by reflex, both of the men stepped backward. “He’s afraid. Ever since Otto Hightower and Larys Strong fired him and Criston Cole threw him out of the door, head over foot, his confidence has been shattered!”

Corlys let out a call of irritation. “Hey, you said their names! You promised you’d never say their names,” he said. And if the other men in the house didn’t know better, they’d think that the miraculous Charming Corlys was actually, honest-to-gods, whining right now.

“And I’ll do it again,” Rhaenys declared.

“I’m not listening,” Corlys said, actually going as far as to cover his ears like a petulant child.

“Oh, they were right to fire you. They know a phony when they see one. It takes one to know one,” Rhaenys said.

“Nobody’s hearing anything,” Corlys reiterated.

“And these are your parents?” Harwin asked, glancing over at Laenor.

“Do you get why I wouldn’t enter the family business?” Laenor asked, crossing his arms over his chest. He rolled his eyes at their antics. “Mother, Father…listen to me!” Reluctantly, the two stopped their squabbling. “This man is the true love of Princess Y/N. Bring him back to life. We’ll stop the wedding of Princess Y/N and Prince Aegon. And before she rides off into the sunset, she will make sure that the advisors are handled.”

Corlys paused and looked at his son. “He is the true love of the Princess?” he asked, clarifying. Laenor nodded. “So, if we bring him back then Otto Hightower and Larys Strong will suffer?”

“Greatly,” Harwin said, voice serious.

“And Criston Cole too,” Laenor added, voice dark and promising as well. “Humiliations galore. I promise you that.”

At that, Corlys cackled. He threw the coin purse back at his son. “Take the stupid money. I’ll do this for free,” he said, borderline gleeful. “Rhaenys, bring me my Spell Encyclopedia and the Hex Appendix. I got some work to do!”

Rhaenys went to retrieve said books and Laenor looked at his son seriously. “You need to understand he won’t be good for much right off,” he said seriously.

“What will he be able to do?” Harwin asked. A fair question from the man who’d be carrying him around like a rag doll until he would be able to function again.

“Well, the wedding’s at eight tonight. Three hours away thereabouts. So, if we’re lucky…the tongue will be working. Absolutely the brain will be going by then. Eh, he might be able to walk a little by then if you give him a little nudge to get started. But that is a big maybe.”

Daeron was fully prepared to keep reading, to launch into the next section about the recipe and the process of making the miracle pill. But it seemed that the kids had something else in mind. By this point, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys were perfect mirrors of each other as they laid back-to-back next to each other on the couch. At some point, little Maelor had made his way onto the floor, making a little cocoon for himself out of three blankets he’d piled around and wrapped himself in.

“Can’t we skip over this part?” Jaehaerys whined. “We’re getting towards the good stuff we have to be!”

“Yeah! I want Y/N and Aemond to be reunited!” Jaehaera added, pouting.

“Yeah,” Maelor added from the ground, nodding eagerly. “I wanna know if Aemond is okay!”

“I don’t know,” Daeron drawled slowly, smirking.

“Uncle Daeron pleaseeeeeeee,” the three kids chorused.

“Oh alright,” he granted, leafing a few pages ahead in the book. “Where shall we go then…ah…yes, here.”

Rhaenys and Corlys looked exhausted from the effort they’d put into concocting the lump they now held. The little grotesque-looking lump was newly dunked in chocolate and smelled absolutely terrible. Though they supposed, all magic did.

“That’s a miracle pill?” Harwin asked, face scrunched in disgust.

“Sure is,” Corlys said proudly.

“The chocolate coating helps it go down easier,” Rhaenys said before handing the pill over to Laenor. “You just have to wait twenty minutes to give it to him. For full potency.”

“Perfect, right, thanks,” Laenor said, taking the pill and pocketing it. He gestured to Aemond and Harwin immediately picked the man up. “Thank you…for everything. I…I’ll come back when this is all done. I’ll…I’ll explain everything. Everything. I promise.” The pair all but fled the house, putting a now almost fully stiff Aemond back into the wheelbarrow as best they could.

“Have fun storming the castle,” Corlys called, he and Rhaenys waving after the men as they left.

“Think it’ll work?” Rhaenys asked out of the corner of her mouth.

Corlys choked on a laugh, shaking his head, still smiling and waving. “Oh, it’d take a miracle,” he said.

As the men traversed the woods, waiting desperately for the twenty minutes to pass, the countdown to the royal wedding continued steadily ticking down. Prince Aegon stood atop a balcony in the royal wing of the castle. By now, he was half-dressed in his wedding suit. His face was pinched in stress and his arms were folded across his chest. He had Ser Criston Cole at his side as they looked out over the throngs of people milling below, getting ready for the wedding that night.

“The Brutes?” Prince Aegon asked absently.

“Outside of the main gate. I’ve brought four men with me. They’re the only guards inside the castle,” Ser Criston replied.

Prince Aegon nodded. “What else is there, then? Anything I need to worry about?” he asked. He turned his head at the sound of the door and saw his grandfather, the King’s advisor, stepping out onto the terrace with them. “Grandfather, any news?”

“None. Worry yourself not, my prince. Go. Finish readying yourself. We shall care for the rest of the details. Rest assured that you and the princess are safe,” he said, a faux-sincere look on his face.

Prince Aegon didn’t like the tone in which he’d spoken. But he was far too busy and stressed to question it. Not to mention, he had only hours until his wedding ceremony would begin and he felt woefully underprepared. So, he thanked them and then returned to his chambers, intent on continuing to get ready. They waved as he went before turning their attention to each other.

“Where are we, Ser Criston?” Otto asked.

“We have the boots of an Army officer of Dragonstone at the ready. We’ll track around in the mud after I’ve killed her. I’ll say that I saw them making their escape. The boot prints will prove it. The Prince will be devastated. Not much of a case, but it shall doubtlessly be proof enough to incite rage and the Prince’s revenge. None would question him. No one ever likes to question or doubt you when you run a country,” Ser Criston replied. “We should be at war by the morning if the gods are on our side.”

“Fantastic. You know, the drive I see that you have Criston, it is so rare to find in the help these days,” Otto complimented.

Ser Criston inclined his head. “Thank you, sir. It’s all in a day’s work,” he replied.

They moved inside to continue their nefarious scheming and self-congratulatory round of compliments. But, they were so consumed in their self-aggrandizing plans, that they did not see two…and a half…figures atop the outer wall of the castle. Laenor, Harwin, and Aemond had managed to the top of the wall and they looked down at the front gate of the castle. The Brute Squad was all there, save Harwin, and a few dozen castle guards as well.

“There are more than thirty,” Harwin said.

Laenor looked at him, amused. “Far more than thirty, my friend. What’s the difference?” he said. He gestured towards Aemond. “We’ve got him. Now help me we’ve gotta shove this…miracle pill down his throat.”

“Has it been twenty minutes?” Harwin asked.

“Ish,” Laenor replied. Harwin didn’t look impressed by the approximation. “Hey, who is the son of the miracle worker, here?”

“You, apparently,” Harwin muttered.

“Look, we can't wait,” Laenor reasoned. “The wedding is in half an hour and we must make our move beforehand.”

“Fine.” Harwin carefully wrestled Aemond’s stiff body from the wheelbarrow and maneuvered him so he was sitting straight up against the wall. “How long do you think we’ll have to wait before we know if the miracle’s on or not?”

“Open his mouth and tilt his head back,” Laenor instructed. Harwin did so. He took the pill then and dropped it into Aemond’s mouth. “Your guess is as good as—”

“I’ll beat you each apart, I’ll take you both together, I swear gods as my witness that I will,” Aemond rushed out, his voice heated, stressed, and groggy all at once.

“Ah, I guess not that long,” Harwin said, sounding pleased.

Both he and Laenor looked mystified, but Aemond did not seem amazed. He did not seem amused either and was fully prepared to make his wrath known the moment that he could. The problem, it seemed, was that nothing he wanted his body to do would be done. He couldn’t, for the life of him, move. Thinking, even, it seemed like it was moving against the current for a few moments.

“Why won’t my arms move?” Aemond demanded.

“You’ve been mostly dead all day,” Harwin stated neutrally. “Welcome back.”

“We had a miracle pill made to bring you back,” Laenor stated, adding in a detail that was clearly not known to Aemond.

Aemond hummed in acknowledgment and tried to focus on moving. “I can’t move my legs either,” he reported.

Laenor scoffed. “Oh, I’m sure that’ll come. Just don’t try and overdo it. You kill yourself again and we don’t have another pill,” he said, only half-kidding.

“Why am I on this wall?” Aemond asked next, blinking. He focused in on the men next to him, peering at them. “Who are you? Are we enemies?” He had no true recollection of these men, and he didn’t know if he should or not. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Let me explain,” Laenor offered.

“Not enough time,” Harwin interrupted, knowing that Laenor would talk long enough that the wedding would be over before they were finished.

“No, there is too much,” Laenor granted. “Let me sum up. Y/N’s marrying Aegon in a little less than an hour. All we have to do is get in, break up the wedding, steal the Princess, and make our escape after Harwin and I kill Larys Strong, Otto Hightower, and Criston Cole.” He paused. Blinked. “Easy.”

Aemond blinked back. “Well, that doesn’t leave much time for dilly-dallying,” he granted. He looked down at his feet. He could feel that he was wiggling his toes now. Progress. Painful progress, but progress nonetheless. “I’ve always been a quick healer. I can feel my toes now.”

“That’s wonderful,” Harwin said, ever the optimist.

“What are our liabilities here?” Aemond asked, looking between the two men.

“There’s but one working castle gate. And it’s guarded by over a hundred men,” Laenor said.

“And our assets?” Aemond asked.

“Your brains, Harwin’s strength, my steel,” Laenor replied.

“Ah, excellent,” Aemond said. His voice was dry. “It’s impossible then. If I had a month to plan, I might be able to come up with some sort of plan. But this?” He shook his head, miserably, from side to side. “We have no chance.”

“Hey,” Harwin said hopefully, clapping the man on the shoulder. “You just shook your head. That should lift your spirits.”

“My brains, your strength, and his steel against a hundred men and you think a little head jiggle is supposed to make me happy?” Aemond demanded. “Can you imagine what it’s like for me, sitting here barely wiggling my toes while my true love marries a man surrounded by naught but murderers?” He shook his head again. “I mean…by the gods…if we even had a wheelbarrow, that’d be something.”

Laenor and Harwin looked at each other. Looked over their shoulders at the wheelbarrow a few feet away. “We do,” Laenor said stupidly, stepping to the side so Aemond could see it.

Aemond glared at them without any heat. “Then why didn’t you list that among our assets in the first place?” he demanded. He groaned. “If only we had a cloak of flames.”

“There we can’t help you,” Laenor said, frowning.

“Oh,” Harwin said, he paused and pulled a cloak from the wheelbarrow. It was long, large, and voluminous. There were massive sleeves and a big hood. The whole thing was black as night and would hide even the most well-intentioned of fools in the brightest part of day, much less a slowly darkening night like that which they were in. “Will this do?”

“Where in the world did you get that?” Laenor asked Harwin, mystified.

“Oh, your mother handed it to me before we left,” Harwin said absent-mindedly. “Fit so well when I went with her to get the volcanic mud for the pill and you were off looking for that eel marrow. She said I could keep it.”

“Alright, alright,” Aemond said, interrupting the explanation. “Help me up.” Clumsily, the two men helped the still-prone Aemond up. Briefly, his head fell forward and Harwin winced before helping him lift it again. “I’ll need a sword eventually.”

“Why? You can’t even lift one,” Laenor pointed out.

Aemond gave him a disgruntled, almost disgusted look as though he were stupid for even asking. “True. But that’s hardly common knowledge, is it?” he pointed out, rather impatiently. His head slipped back and Harwin righted it again. Aemond looked over at him. “Thank you.” He looked back to Laenor. “Now, there may be problems once we get inside.”

“I’ll say,” Laenor said, using his back to keep Aemond upright. “How do I find the Dornishman? And once I do, how do I find you again? And once I find you again how do we escape? Once—”

“Don’t pester him, Laenor. He’s had a hard day,” Harwin pointed out, seeing the growing irritation on Aemond’s face. “We’ll figure out the rest on the way. Besides, we hardly got time.”

“Right…right…sorry,” Laenor said, glancing back at Aemond who looked exasperated at the way Harwin moved his head about so he could follow the conversation.

But, the three men had a tiny, burgeoning level of hope now. And it was time for them to hold onto it tightly and refuse to let it go. It was the kind of hope that they’d ride to the ground. So, they toddled along the wall, staying low to avoid being seen by the Brutes and guards below.

“Laenor,” Harwin said, shouldering most of Aemond’s weight as best he could.

“What?” Laenor asked, eyes darting around to make sure no one saw them and no one was approaching.

“I hope we win,” he said simply.

As the three were spurred on by their sudden bout of inextricable hope, back at the castle, Princess Y/N stood, despondent and waiting. She stood in her bridal gown and looked every bit the beautiful princess she’d been turned into. There was not just beauty to her now, nothing so hollow as before. There was hope back in her eyes and life too. There was a peace and tranquility as though she were well aware that as this day ended, she would be in the arms of the man she loved most in the world. Even without knowing the struggles he was undergoing; she knew that he would come. She was sure of it.

“You don’t seem excited, Princess,” came the voice from the door. Craning her head, she saw that Lord Larys Strong stood at the door.

The peace on her face slipped off in an instant. Always she’d seen him as the conniving snake in the grass that he was. Until now, though, she hadn’t had the energy to care. Now though? It set her mind at the ready, and she paid rapt attention.

“Should I be, Lord Strong?” she asked, feigning disinterest.

“Brides often are, I’ve been told,” he said, looking her up and down.

“I shall not marry tonight,” she said, confident in the assertion.

Lord Strong gave her a patronizing sort of smile that she had the sudden and violent urge to wipe from his face. Instead, she turned away once more. She looked out the window and tried to imagine how Aemond would sweep in—for she knew that he would. And soon. There was little time left.

“My Aemond will save me.”

Lord Strong smirked at the sight and at her naive words. “I hate to tell you, Princess Y/N, but the time for your savior to come draws to a quick and harsh close. In less than five minutes you shall be in the sept saying your vows,” he pointed out. “But, by all means, I am not one to dash out another’s hope. Keep dreaming. Perhaps he is on his way.”

After that, he chuckled, despite himself, then left, off to continue on in his own plots and schemes for the evening. As Lord Strong made his moves, outside, Aemond, Laenor, and Harwin worked diligently at their own plans. They exchanged handshakes—ones coordinated for Aemond of course, for his hands were still utterly useless to him—and then were ready to enter this melee, aware that the cost could very well be their lives.

As Lord Strong had promised, not five full minutes later, a still serene Y/N had been taken down to the dazzling sept. In a world where this wasn’t her wedding, she was sure that she’d be blown away by how utterly breathtaking the room was. Each stained-glass window painted a story of the Seven, and each window was outfitted with dragons of gem and ivory to represent the King’s family lineage. Even beacons were present now in some of the imagery, stains of green and yellow, each a burning tower lighting the way in the sept. At least, that’s what Y/N imagined it was meant to be. She did all she could to avoid looking at the Septon before her. Septon Eustace was a High Septon. A well-respected man of the Faith of the Seven. And looking at him, oh Y/N could tell he was just an idiot. An absolute fool. A fool to see that she was not here willingly. Nonetheless, she waited patiently.

The King and Queen were behind her. The borderline senile old man looked nearly at death’s door and he oscillated between moaning quietly in pain and muttering to himself. The Queen at his side, ever the dutiful wife, stood beside him, shushing him quietly or offering quiet words to soothe him. After she’d entered the door was closed behind her and barred. A terrifying sort of thought that she threw away.

Prince Aegon knelt at her side. He offered her a soft, kind smile. One that she couldn’t help to return. She didn’t love him. She never would. She never could. But he’d been kinder to her than she’d ever expected. It was little credit deserved, yet she would give it nonetheless for she knew how much worse he could’ve made her life in their time together. Yet, he had been, largely, nothing but respectful. Helpful even. And she would give credit where credit was due. It was only right. It was the kind of thing that her Aemond would do.

Her Aemond.

Aemond was coming.

She knew it.

The Septon cleared his throat and began looking around. “Marriage,” he began. His voice was slightly garbled with age, thickened with a strange sort of lisp that turned any letter ‘r’ into more of a ‘w’, and any ‘th’ into more of a ‘v’ when he spoke. “Marriage is…what brings us together…today.”

Everyone around them looked utterly bored already.

“Marriage…that blessed…blessed arrangement…that…dream…within a dream,” he trailed on.

A commotion began outside of the castle and hope swelled in her heart. The guards in the chapel—the only four in the whole of the castle—all saw Ser Criston and Lord Strong give them nods. They left out of the back door, leaving only the King, Queen, Prince Aegon, Princess Y/N, the King’s advisor Lord Otto Hightower and a few nobles who had managed to make it in. This time, the latch on the door remained open. Even so, the Princess was not so foolish to think that she might escape.

At the sound, the Septon had been highly distracted. The poor man was floundering for words, acting as though he’d never officiated a wedding before. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Prince Aegon’s brow furrow in confusion and her lips quirked up in a slight smile. She found herself equally baffled by this turn of events as the Prince. That much she’d grant most certainly. Still, she schooled herself and closed her eyes, thinking only of the moment that would doubtlessly come any moment, with Aemond throwing open the door and coming to save her. White horse and all. She knew it was coming.

“Oh, that dream,” the Septon cooed, a vaguely lovestruck look upon his own face. A strange sight to see on the face of a man who was, more or less, married to the gods he served and them alone. Somehow, Princess Y/N doubted that the man was looking so dreamily on at the thought of the Smith, funny a thought as that may be. “That dream of love…wrapped within the greatest dream of everlasting…rest…” He let out a strange sort of chuckle, again, that felt inappropriate to the situation. This could not be real—truly it could not, and not just because she loved Aemond. “For if you think of eternity…as your friend…love…love will follow you forever.”

Steadily, the commotion outside only grew louder. Y/N longed for nothing more than to go outside and see the chaos. To be part of the chaos if it meant she was to be free of that which was happening inside the gorgeous Sept. But she knew not what was going on outside. Even if she did, though, there was no doubt she’d throw herself into the fray. For, her Aemond was here, so close she could nearly touch him, but too far to save her yet.

Outside, the Brute Squad, castle guards, Ser Criston Cole, and Lord Larys Strong all watched as what appeared to be a giant was seeming to float toward them. He wore a strange sort of cloak and had a bellow that could crumble mountains. The face and the voice of this giant were highly familiar to one of the men who gripped his walking staff, face paling.

“I AM THE DREAD PIRATE MARTELL,” came the call of this giant. “AND THERE WILL BE NO SURVIVORS.” Still, closer the giant drifted.

The Brutes and guards who were already showing signs of panic seemed to experience even greater stress now, starting to try and form ranks in case the giant were to attack them. Only Ser Criston and Lord Strong seemed outwardly unaffected by this strange sort of giant, though, any could tell by taking a closer look that both were also frightened. One more so than the other, one ready to turn tail and flee while the other was ready to take up his sword and hack at this frightening new giant still floating towards them.

“I AM HERE,” the giant declared. “MY MEN ARE HERE. AND I VOW THAT SOON YOU SHALL NOT BE HERE. YOU WILL JOIN THE RANKS OF THE MEN I HAVE CAST INTO THE SEA. AND I SHALL CRY NO TEARS FOR YOUR LOSS. NONE SHALL.”

The men kept shouting, Lord Strong and Ser Criston trying to keep them in ranks. But their fear only mounted as the giant seemed to move closer and closer still, floating like an omnipotent sort of being. The Dread Pirate Martell had come for them all. And they would all suffer the consequences of every wrong deed they’d done in their lives. And then? They would die for it.

The reality of this Dread Pirate Martell and this floating giant was that it was, of course, Harwin Strong. He seemed to be floating because he stood atop the wheelbarrow they'd stolen from the maester before with the cloak covering it. Laenor carefully pushed it, Aemond holding desperately onto him to keep from falling to the ground and being left prone and vulnerable.

“Now?” Laenor asked, huffing from the exertion of pushing the large man in the wheelbarrow as well as dragging the man that might as well have still been dead.

“Light him,” Aemond agreed, voice clipped.

With that instruction, Laenor the cloak of flames ablaze and Harwin raised his voice. “THE DREAD PIRATE MARTELL TAKES NO SURVIVORS. NEVER SURVIVORS. ALL OF YOUR WORST NIGHTMARES ARE ABOUT TO COME TRUE. THE DREAD PIRATE MARTELL HAS COME FOR YOUR SOULS! AND HE WILL COLLECT!”

Hearing that terrifying declaration, it was no surprise that the Brute Squad and castle guards alike all started fleeing. Even Ser Criston and Lord Strong fled. The only person that remained was the key master Ser Arryk. And just like that? Aemond was one step closer to being reunited with his one true love, with his Y/N.

But, as it turned out, time was coming to a screeching halt.

Inside the castle, Lord Hightower rushed towards the altar. “Skip to the end,” he demanded.

Unlikely to question anything told to him, the man nodded and looked to Prince Aegon. “Do you have the ring, my Prince?” he asked.

There were louder still screams outside and Y/N grinned despite herself. “Here comes my Aemond now,” she said absently.

“Your Aemond is dead,” Lord Hightower spat. “I killed him myself.”

“What, Grandfather?” Prince Aegon demanded, gaping at the news.

But, Y/N was not going to so easily give up hope. “Then why is there fear behind your eyes?” she asked.

Outside, so close to triumph, Laenor pointed his sword directly at Ser Arryk’s neck, sneering as he did so. Harwin removed the still-burning cloak, stamping on it until the flames died out. They looked altogether an intimidating group if it weren’t for the way that Aemond still clung to Laenor, desperate for some help to balance.

“Give me his sword,” Aemond commanded. Laenor handed him Ser Arryk’s sword without question and Aemond managed to grip it tightly in his hands with minimal effort. A sensational show of progress, if he did say so himself. “Now give us the gate key.”

“The gate key,” Laenor demanded, slamming Ser Arryk against the gate once, threatening.

Ser Arryk let out a strangled sort of sound. “I have no gate key!” he declared.

Laenor rolled his eyes, stepping back and focusing on supporting Aemond. “Harwin, tear his arms off,” he dismissed.

Harwin didn’t even take a full step forward before Ser Arryk took the gate key off and handed it to Harwin. “Oh, you mean this gate key,” he said. Then, he started sprinting away.

“Ah, well, that went better than expected,” Aemond said, suddenly far more cheerful himself. “Come now, Harwin, open the gate.”

As the trio opened the gate and began the next leg of their rescue journey, the tension inside the sept only grew. Lord Hightower turned back to the Septon with a manic sort of gleam to his eye.

“Man and wife. Say man and wife,” he commanded.

“Alright, alright,” the Septon said, startled by the urgency. “Man and wife.”

“Excellent,” Lord Hightower hissed, turning back to the Prince and Princess. “Congratulations Your Highnesses.” He gave a smile that was all teeth. “Escort the bride back to the Honeymoon Suite. Prince Aegon, you will come with me. You have to finish tending to the papers in your chambers. I’ll be there shortly to talk to the Princess and update her on her husband’s status.”

Without a word, he grabbed Prince Aegon’s shoulder with a strength that could hardly be expected of an aging man and made a mad dash for the door of the chapel, grandson being dragged along beside him. That left Princess Y/N alone at the altar, apparently married, a numb sort of feeling crashing over her again. She stood there, dazed, hand coming to rest over her heart. She felt the Queen at one side and the King at the other.

“Aemond didn’t come…and he said…he said he always would,” she said. Her voice was quiet and deeply, deeply sad.

Unaware of the new turn of events, the trio of men continued pushing their way through the castle. As they moved, Ser Criston and a group of guards moved toward them. Eventually, they reached an intersection where the two groups faced off against each other. Both looked fairly surprised to see each other. But none looked more surprised than Laenor, who was seeing the vile man who had stolen two of the greatest loves of his life from him callously, cruelly, and needlessly. Almost immediately, he threw all of Aemond’s weight into Harwin’s arms who shouldered it with ease.

“Spare the one dressed in black. Kill the other two,” Ser Criston said with ease, twirling his sword expertly in his hand.

But, before he could move to leave, sure that the guards could handle the two men, Laenor startled them all. A cry emanated from the depths of his very soul and reverberated across the walls themselves. He launched himself at the four guards that Ser Criston had brought with him. He moved with speed and dexterity like none had seen before, not even Aemond. The fourth guard was dead before the first had hit the floor. He took slow, measured steps toward Ser Criston, who stared wide-eyed at his now-dead guards.

“Hello. My name is Laenor Velaryon. You killed the men I loved. Prepare to die.”

For a moment, Ser Criston just stood there. His sword was in hand. He had the skill to face this battle like a man. But he did the thing that Laenor had expected. Nay, that he had anticipated happening. He turned on his heel and he ran away. Laenor cackled, following behind.

“You will not outrun me. You shall not outpace justice. You have for years. You will not today. Never again,” he shouted, following after. Ser Criston took a sharp right and slammed a door behind him. Laenor threw his shoulder aggressively at it. The door did not budge. “Harwin! I need you! He’s getting away!”

“I can’t leave Aemond alone,” Harwin called back, running in the direction nevertheless, acting as though he were carrying a baby and not a fully grown man.

“Please, Harwin,” Laenor called, not caring if it sounded like he was begging because he was.

“Be right back,” Harwin promised Aemond, gently leaning him against a suit of armor that stood in the corner.

“No, please, please. I’ll be fine,” Aemond said, voice shockingly earnest. “You have your own battle to fight. It is a Larys Strong you have to deal with, is it not?” He paused. “Finish him. You owe it to your father just as much as Laenor owes it to the men he loved.”

Harwin looked at the man before him, surprised. “You are far kinder than any could have imagined,” he said eventually.

“Oh, hardly,” Aemond denied. Then, he began painstakingly forcing his feet to move forward while the other two focused on their own battles.

While Aemond pushed forward with his own battles, Princess Y/N was still dazed as the King and Queen walked her slowly toward the Honeymoon Suite. The Queen was, as always, more spritely, a few steps ahead of them, while Y/N stayed at the King’s side, taking the same halting steps.

“It was a strange wedding,” the King managed to mumble. Somehow, Princess Y/N heard through her own haze and understood the words. She looked over at the ailing, poorly man and kissed him on the forehead. He looked surprised. “What was that for?”

“Because you’ve always been so kind to me,” Y/N said honestly, a sad half-smile on her face. “And I won’t be seeing you again.”

“Why?” the King asked, confused.

“Because I’m going to kill myself once we reach the Honeymoon Suite,” she stated casually.

“Oh, isn’t that nice?” the King asked, clearly not understanding her or hearing her correctly. He called forward to the Queen, sounding almost airy with enjoyment. “She kissed me, isn’t that nice, Alicent?”

“That’s great, dear,” the Queen called back, also clearly not listening.

Only a few corridors away, the chaos and hunting continued. Harwin ran and broke open the door Ser Criston had slammed, separating him from the bloodthirsty vengeance hot on his tail.

“Thank you,” Laenor had barely managed to call before dashing off through the now-open door down the corridor. He ran like a dog in pursuit of its dinner. Harwin knew that this was just what his friend needed.

To his own credit, Harwin was then faced with his own predicament, just as Aemond had told him he would be. He looked at the intersection he stood in and took a deep breath. “All your life, you’ve been doing things wrong,” he muttered to himself. “Not this time.”

He then began stalking the halls he’d once known. He followed the trails that looked like rats had long since walked. There were no other places that his monster of a brother would be found than those where vermin of his own kind did. Harwin Strong had his own job to do. And his job started and ended with the pathetic excuse of a person, much less a man, that he shared blood with. He’d kill his supposed brother if it were the last thing he did, and he was quite determined to make sure that it wouldn’t be.

Chapter Text

Princess Y/N, the King, and the Queen had reached the door of the Honeymoon Suite. Y/N gave them a polite nod and half-curtsey. She then walked inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. The King and Queen toddled on then, continuing on their way to their own home.

“Oh, did she say that she was going to kill herself?” the King mumbled, the thought flashing across his mind.

The Queen sighed and shook her head. “You and your hearing, dear,” she sighed.

On the other side of the door, Y/N leaned her head briefly against the door that she’d closed. Then, with a single-minded determination, she spun on her heel and walked over to the far wall. There was a display of ornate, excessive daggers. She picked one up—the largest, of course—and stared at it for a moment. Then, she unsheathed it, a look of serenity on her face, and turned it towards her chest, ready to plunge it in. But, the fluidity of the action was interrupted.

“There’s a shortage of perfect breasts in this world,” came the voice of Aemond from behind her. Instantly, Y/N whipped her head down and saw Aemond casually laying on the bed. “It would be a pity to damage yours.” She froze, blinking. “Leave them alone, truly. Put the dagger down, Y/N.”

“Aemond,” Y/N said, voice surprised and breathless. She moved to his side, throwing herself on top of him on the bed and pressing kisses to any piece of exposed skin there was. “Oh Aemond, darling.” She felt the smile on Aemond’s lips as she pressed kisses to him and was gracious at the way he returned them, but was upset that he did not wrap his arms around her like she so desperately longed for. “Aemond, why won’t you hold me?”

“Gently,” Aemond said.

Y/N let out a tiny laugh, hardly stopping in her parade of kisses. “At a time like this? That’s all you can think to say, my love? Gently?” she asked.

She wrapped her hand around the back of his head bringing him into a searing kiss. The movement stretched out his neck and Aemond winced even as she kissed him. “Gently,” he repeated once more, voice more strained and displaying pain. Out of fear of whatever she’d done to possibly hurt him, she let go of him, watching as his head fell back—as if he had no control over it—and hit the headboard behind him. She gaped at him openly, fretting over him.

“Aemond, will you ever forgive me, my love?” Y/N asked, her head resting against Aemond’s.

“What hideous sins have you committed recently that require my forgiveness?” Aemond asked. He wished quite desperately that he could reach up and touch her face, but his hands were not yet in his control—so close but not quite there.

“I got married, Aemond. I did not want to. But it all happened so fast.”

Aemond chuckled. “You did not. It never happened, my dear one,” he assured her.

“What?”

“It never happened,” Aemond repeated patiently.

“But it did—I was there, my love. The old man said ‘man and wife’ and so—”

But Aemond interrupted her, a smile on his face. “Did you say ‘I do’ while you stood there upon the altar?” he asked.

“No, we skipped that part, but I hardly—”

“Then you are not married,” Aemond said. “If you did not say it then you did not do it, my love.” He raised his voice then. “Do you not agree, Lord Hightower?”

“Well, well, what’s this then?” came another voice from the door.

As Y/N and Aemond became reacquainted with each other and turned to face the door, trials continued on elsewhere in the castle. Harwin and Laenor continued in their hunts for the men who had played a part in ruining their lives. This led Laenor through the winding corridors of the castle hot on the heels of Ser Criston Cole, determined to end this farce once and for all. It was in the great hall of the castle, with tables laid out for a feast that should’ve been commencing that they met each other.

In a desperate ploy for the upper hand, Ser Criston swung his sword, leaving a long, fairly deep cut along Laenor’s abdomen. But, this did not stop Laenor in his pursuit of justice. He did not stop, he persisted, prepared to launch himself to his death if necessary if it meant he ensured the other’s demise.

Similarly, Harwin was dead set on his self-appointed quest for revenge. He had not found his brother Lord Larys Strong, but he stayed on the rat’s trail easily. He kept his head down and focused. His brother would die today, yes, but his father’s soul would find peace, and Harwin knew which of those was more important to him. And as he moved forward, Harwin began to hear the dripping of water ahead.

Harwin paused for a moment, determined to remain calm and rational at this moment. As much as he could. He squared his shoulders and nodded once to himself, continuing on. He prepared himself for what was coming next and wasn’t much surprised when he felt air on the back of his neck as a cane was swung at his neck. With remarkable ease, Harwin turned, catching the cane, and smiled.

“Hello, brother,” he greeted in an angry growl.

“Harwin, I’d hoped you’d burned too,” was the response that he got.

In another world, another lifetime, the words would’ve given Harwin pause. But, he’d long since reckoned with the fact that when he looked at his brother, or even when he heard his name, that he no longer recognized the man before him. Harwin let out a grunt and tore the cane from his brother’s hand.

“Lucky for the both of us, no,” he said. “I wasn’t with our father when you executed your vile plots and schemes.” Harwin gave his brother a rough, harsh smile. “And thank the gods. Who else would avenge our father?” His brother’s eyes widened and he went to open his mouth, but Harwin used his free hand to cover Larys's mouth. “No. No more poisonous words from your treacherous mouth, brother. Let us be done with this—you have so long been living on borrowed time. You don’t deserve another word. You don’t deserve another breath.”

With a single twist of his perilously strong hands, the monster that had been haunting Harwin’s dreams for the whole of his life was gone. Harwin let the now lifeless form of the man who had once been his brother fall to the ground. He looked at the body desperately trying to find something to feel about the situation. But all that truly remained was partial relief and partial indifference. He was glad to be freed of the bonds of family ties now. The only tie that he would have wished to retain was the longest gone, but now he’d avenged the tragic loss of his father.

“A pity that something so hateful could have been vanquished so quickly and was not earlier,” Harwin muttered, turning away.

While he knew that sadness may come later, Harwin found it easy to make himself focus on his friends and the fact that they needed him. So, he abandoned the slumped body and started down the halls, tracing his steps towards when Laenor had run, following after Ser Criston Cole with a feverish rage in his eyes. He heard voices in the distance and he ran at full speed towards them, knowing that no matter who it was, it was likely a mess he’d be walking into.

The voices that Harwin heard were indeed those of Laenor and Ser Criston Cole. The pair had spilled out more fully in the great hall, moving along the tables as their swords danced in an intricate and deadly attack. The rapiers were a match like no other, truly a work of beauty and wonder. They were a testament to the love and craftsmanship of the owner. And seeing such a thing only incensed Laenor further and made him lunge more readily towards the Dornishman, ready to tear him to pieces at the first chance. But, his rage made his footwork sloppy, and sloppy footwork was practically a death sentence.

The Dornishman took notice of the lazy footwork and the erratic movements of the sword. His eyes tracked every tiny movement that Laenor made, and he eventually took out a small hidden dagger and thrust his blade forward with an excess of force. The blade sunk into Laenor’s gut and he stumbled back a few steps. Dispassionately, Ser Criston Cole watched as Laenor’s back hit the wall and he slumped to the ground, face losing its color for a moment.

“You must be that Valyrian I met years ago,” Ser Criston said, voice remarkably smug as he sheathed his sword. “I hope it comforts you to know that my blade has served me very well. For such a low price too. Pity you paid it twice, isn’t it?” Ser Criston let out a chuckle and stepped closer still. “You’ve been trying to find me for years now, wasting your life…only to fail now?” He leaned against the table and folded his arms across his chest. He looked at Laenor as if an insect he was dissecting beneath his gaze. “I think that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard.” His lips turned up into a genuine—and genuinely demented smile. “How marvelous.”

Shocked and dizzy from the sudden onset of pain but refusing to be cowed, especially in the face of such disrespect to the memories of Joffrey and Qarl, Laenor pulled the dagger from his belly and threw it to the ground. And with the strength of the two great men that he lost on his side, Laenor rose to his feet once more. The color returned to his face what seemed like all at once and the pain—all of it—was a distant thought when his own vengeance was so near at hand. He leaned against the wall for a moment to gather his strength, his own blade still held weakly in his hand.

“Seven hells, are you still trying to win?” Ser Criston asked, an amused smirk on his face. “You’ve got an overdeveloped sense of vengeance. It’s going to get you into trouble someday.”

Following that dramatic declaration, the knight drew his own sword once more and thrust it forward, aiming for Laenor’s heart. With no effort, Laenor blocked the attack, much to the shock of the other man. Once more, Ser Criston thrust the blade forth and once more Laenor blocked it. A third time he tried and this time, Laenor gathered the last remnants of his strength and stood up fully from the wall. Now, he was ready to make his own move—and based on the sudden spike of fear upon the knight’s face, he knew it too.

“Hello. My name is Laenor Velaryon. You murdered the men I loved. Prepare to die,” Laenor said, voice quiet, restrained, and calm.

He advanced on Ser Criston who was backing away as quickly as his feet would allow without him having to turn tail and run. Once more, in a desperate ploy for his life, Ser Criston tried to stab Laenor through the heart with his blade.

He spoke once more, his voice louder and more robust, “Hello. My name is Laenor Velaryon. You murdered the men I loved. Prepare to die.”

Ser Criston looked him up and down, lip curled up in a mixture of fury, disgust, and fear. Again, he thrust the stolen blade and tried to secure his freedom. And again, he failed to do so, Laenor easily countering the strike even as his blood was falling from his wound. The man tried to use a candelabra on one of the tables as a distraction by throwing it at Laenor, but not even that moved Laenor from his holy purpose.

Again, he spoke, this time his voice furious, echoing in the stone room. “Hello. My name is Laenor Velaryon. You murdered the men I loved. Prepare to die.”

“Stop saying that,” Ser Criston shouted, still baring his teeth in his fury and fractured focus.

The fracture in focus allowed Laenor the chance to return the favor of injuring him as he’d been injured. He sliced through one of Ser Criston’s shoulders and he felt nothing when the knight shouted at the feeling of the blade meeting his skin. He ducked as the knight swung his sword in a wild, but near-deadly arc, missing its impact, and rose with perfect precision to slash at the other shoulder with ease.

“Hello. My name is Laenor Velaryon. You murdered the men I loved. Prepare to die,” Laenor said, voice resonating with the stone, almost making it feel as if the floor was quaking from his rage and hurt.

“No,” Ser Criston hissed, trying and failing to gain footing once more in the fight.

Laenor flicked his blade with ease, slicing Ser Criston’s left cheek. “Offer me money,” he growled.

“Yes,” Ser Criston said immediately, openly showing the fear he was feeling outside of the obvious heaving of his chest as he tried to breathe.

Once more, Laenor flicked the blade once, slicing the Dornishman’s right cheek to mimic the scars that he’d been left with all the years prior. “Offer me power too.”

“All that I have and more,” Ser Criston agreed, looking Laenor dead in the eyes. “Please.”

Laenor smiled at the knight, leaning back, almost looking like he would lower his blade. “Offer me everything that I ask for,” he demanded.

“Anything you want,” Ser Criston agreed, a scowl on his face.

But, contrary to his promise, he tried for a final time to use the stolen blade to strike Laenor. And, for a final time, he failed. Laenor caught his arm, knocking the sword away. He met Ser Criston’s eyes, the fury in his eyes cracking to show the ore of grief just underneath, bursting forth now.

“I want Joffrey and Qarl back, you son of a bitch,” Laenor said, his voice a mere whisper.

With that, he drove the sword—his Joffrey’s sword—through the gut of the Dornishman, then tore it out, a spray of blood coming with it. In an anti-climactic way, one that reminded Laenor that this monster had been naught but a man all along, the Dornishman fell to the ground, eyes vacant and unseeing. Dead.

Just as soon as Ser Criston was removed from the land of the living, Harwin entered the room. He spotted Laenor and rushed over. “You alright?” he checked, spotting the wounds.

“I will live,” Laenor declared. He looked over at Harwin. “Are you alright?”

“I will live,” Harwin echoed, a wry smile on his face. “You must go find Aemond and Y/N.”

“Where are you going?” Laenor asked.

“Don’t worry,” Harwin called back, already jogging the other way. “I’ll find you!”

As the pair began traversing the castle, Harwin off on his own quest, and Laenor looking for the Honeymoon Suite, inside the room, a different drama was already brewing. Lord Otto Hightower stepped out of the shadows, an insidious smile on his face that displayed the malice both Aemond and Y/N had already known so clearly was contained within his heart.

“None shall know that they were not technically married. It is a technicality that will soon be remedied,” Lord Hightower said patiently.

Jolted by surprise at the appearance of the King’s advisor, Y/N rose from the bed, irrationally ready to stand between Aemond and the man. “Where’s Prince Aegon?” Y/N asked, eyes narrowed.

“Why do you care? You don’t love my sniveling grandson, hardly like him,” Otto retorted. “The fool is locked in his room taking…shall we say…a nap.” The man then raised a sword in his hand, eyes back upon Aemond only. “First thing’s first, before we remedy that little technicality…to the death.”

“No,” Aemond countered, sitting up on the bed, looking every bit casual that his tone did not display. “To the pain.”

Lord Hightower scoffed. “I don’t think I’m quite familiar with that phrase,” he said.

“Oh, then I’ll explain. And I’ll use small words so you’ll be sure to understand, you wart-hog-faced, ivy-climbing buffoon.

“That may be the first time in my life that a man has dared insult me,” the elder said, rolling his eyes.

“It shan’t be the last,” Aemond declared, face set and eyes hard. “‘To the pain’ means that the first thing you’ll lose will be your feet below the ankles. Then your hands at the wrists. Next, your nose.”

“Then my tongue, I suppose,” Lord Hightower suggested haughtily. “I killed you too quickly last time, but it’s a mistake I don’t mean to duplicate tonight.” He moved forward, ready to strike, but Aemond barked out a laugh that stopped him in his tracks.

“I wasn’t finished. Next will be your left eye then your right,” he said, voice harsh.

“Gods be good, yes, yes, and then my ears, I understand, let’s get on with it then,” Lord Hightower snapped.

“Wrong,” Aemond corrected, voice commanding and strong. “Your ears you will keep and I will tell you why.” It was only then that Y/N could see a flicker of fear in Lord Hightower’s eyes and she understood. She’d never seen such a passionate display of malice from Aemond—and she never intended to again after this night. “It is so that every last shriek of every last child at seeing your hideousness will be yours to cherish. Every babe that weeps at your approach. Every woman that cries out ‘Dear gods what is that thing?’ will echo in your perfect ears. That is what ‘to the pain’ means. It means that I will leave you in anguish, wallowing in your freakish misery forever.”

In an attempt to disguise the fear clearly coursing through him, Lord Hightower blinked disbelievingly at Aemond. “I think you’re bluffing,” he stated.

Aemond stared back at him, cocking his head slightly to the side, looking at the aging man appraisingly as if sizing up prey. “It’s possible, pig, that I might be bluffing. Oh, it’s conceivable, you miserably, vomitous mass, that I’m only lying here because I lack the strength to stand. But, then again,” Aemond said, voice a slow, steady drawl as he began to pull himself to his feet. “Perhaps I have the strength after all.”

With slow, purposeful movements, he stood ramrod straight, the sword of Ser Arryk in hand, and leveled it at Lord Hightower’s chest. There was a heavy silence in the room. Y/N’s eyes shone with the light of a thousand stars, joy, and relief palpable from seeing Aemond rise. Otto, on the other hand, looked on, petrified, with wide eyes at the man before him who had managed to gain life once more after he’d killed him. He took a half-step backward and then stopped himself, trying to force bravery from himself, and rose his chin defiantly.

“Drop your sword,” Aemond commanded, voice strong. Fresh out of bravery, Lord Hightower dropped the sword as Aemond requested. Aemond smiled and used the sword to gesture to a chair nearby. “Have a seat.” The man scrambled to do so. Aemond did not move the sword from its aim at the other man’s chest. He did not allow his eyes to move, either, though, when he spoke, the words were aimed at Y/N. “Tie him up. Make it as tight as you'd like.”

And that was what Laenor walked in on, seeing Y/N tying up a miserable-looking Otto as Aemond stood and watched. Laenor gaped at the fact that Aemond was on his feet, but focused himself on the next step of this unhinged plan of theirs: escape.

“Where’s Harwin?” he asked Aemond.

“I thought he was with you,” Aemond said, wavering on his feet drastically before he caught himself.

Laenor looked at Y/N. “Help him,” he instructed her.

Done with tying up Otto, she immediately moved over to Aemond’s side. “Why does Aemond need help?” she asked, worry immediately covering her tone.

“Because he has no strength,” Laenor replied.

“I knew it I knew you were bluffing. Larys’s machine was too good at what it did. I saw it,” Otto declared, ignoring the sword that was then leveled at his throat by Laenor. “I knew he was bluffing.”

“Well, Larys is dead and so is Ser Criston. So, evidently, none of you were smart enough to ensure that you knew what you saw,” Laenor said, smirking at Otto who glared back at him. “Shall I dispatch him for you as well, Aemond?”

“Thank you but no,” Aemond dismissed. “Whatever happens to us, I want him to live a long life alone with his cowardice. Well, that’s if Prince Aegon allows it when he wakes up.”

From the window just outside of the Honeymoon Suite, they heard a voice then. “Laenor, Laenor where are you?” It was Harwin. Surprised, Laenor moved swiftly to the window, Y/N carefully dragging Aemond along beside her. Looking down from the window they saw Harwin holding the leads of four massive white horses like none they’d seen before.

“Ah, there you are,” Harwin said when the three finally looked down upon him from the window. “I saw the prince’s stables. And I got us four white horses. And, hey, I knew there’d be four of us if we found the lady in time.” Harwin grinned up at her, waving. “Hello, my lady.” Y/N couldn’t help but smile and waved down at him too. “Kept them for our escape.”

“Harwin,” Laenor began, voice gravely serious, “you did something right.”

Harwin chuckled at the words and shrugged. “Don’t worry. I won’t let it go to my head.” He held out his arms. “Come on now. Someone has to start jumping. We gotta get outta here.”

Not needing another prompt, Y/N happily threw herself from the window and into Harwin’s waiting arms. The fall was almost like she was flying, it felt so slow and drawn out. As she fell, the shackles of her time stuck within the castle fell from her. She felt wholly new as she fell. Harwin caught her easily and when he put her down, her eyes were sparkling with a joy that had not been seen in her face since she and Aemond first fell in love. Aemond looked down upon her lovingly, smiling to himself as Harwin helped settle her atop one of the white horses.

“You know, it’s very strange,” Laenor commented when Aemond gestured for him to jump next. “I have been in the revenge business so long…now that it’s over, I don’t know what to do with the rest of my life.”

Aemond made a noise of understanding. “Have you ever considered piracy?” he asked. “You’d make a wonderful Dread Pirate Martell.” Laenor made a noise of half-baked intrigue and then jumped from the window, Aemond following behind.

The four, atop their horses, galloped off, with Aemond leading the group. They charged forth from the castle’s grounds and set off. They were so close to freedom now.

“They rode to freedom. And as dawn arose, Aemond and Y/N knew they were safe,” Daeron read, smiling to himself from seeing his niece and nephews’ faces from the corner of his eye. “A wave of love swept over them and as they reached for each other…” He trailed off, making a show of closing the book.

“What? What?” Jaehaerys demanded, his eyes wide.

“Nah, it’s kissing again. You don’t wanna hear that,” Daeron said casually, grinning to himself.

“Well…I don’t mind so much,” Jaehaerys said, shaking his head fervently.

“Yeah, Uncle Daeron. We don’t mind! Keep reading,” Maelor agreed, nodding his own head vigorously.

“Okay,” he granted, opening the book once more. He smiled to himself, softer now than before. “Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.” He closed the book. “The end.” He looked up from the book, gazing at his sleepy niece and nephews. “Now I think you three ought to be good and go to sleep for your mom.”

“Okay,” the kids said, sounding accepting of it, their brains still whirling from the story that they heard.

So, he helped Helaena corral the kids, first getting the boys into their room, then carrying Jaehaera into her room. He helped her settle into the bed and gave her a kiss on the forehead before standing upright. He flipped off the overhead light in her room so that only the nightlight was on, casting a flood of stars to surround them. Jaehaera giggled at the sight of the stars like she always had since he’d first gotten her the nightlight.

“Okay, alright,” Daeron said, rising to his feet, an easy smile still on his face. He turned to walk towards the door. “So long.”

“Uncle Daeron,” Jaehaera interrupted, making him turn his head. “Maybe you could come over and read it again tomorrow.”

Daeron’s heart squeezed with a love that could only come from the youngest people in his family—his niece especially—and his lips quirked up again. He inclined his head, winking at her. Her face visibly brightened even beyond the veneer of exhaustion.

“As you wish.”