Red Keep ― Royal apartments…
Since the Valyrian steel sword Blackfyre was bestowed upon Aeonar, Beatrice had sequestered herself in her private solar with her three children. There she spent most of her days plotting, scheming, and strategizing ways to strike back against the Blacks in her bid to reclaim the power she once had before the purge. Yet only one of her children seemed to be paying attention to her… whereas the others…
"Blankets of shadow. Swimming, consuming… covering all in its path," Helaena spoke cryptically, her eyes focused on one of the insects crawling across her palm. "Two sides lock in eternal conflict…"
"Look at her," Aegon the Elder pointed at his sister. "Does anyone know what she's saying?"
"Blankets of shadow. Swimming, consuming… covering all in its path. Two sides lock in eternal conflict…"
"Hey! I'm talking to you!"
"Blankets of shadow. Swimming, consuming… covering all in its path. Two sides lock in eternal conflict…"
"Pffft! What an idiot."
"Enough, Aegon!" Beatrice scolded. "If anything, would you mind explaining why you've been neglecting your studies… again?!"
Aegon flinched. "It's boring…" he answered.
"'Boring'? Any task that requires your attention, you find 'boring'? You are a prince, Aegon. A prince of royal blood! Do you think it allows you to j-just… shirk your responsibilities as if they meant absolutely nothing, sit around all day, and be lazy and act as a lowborn commoner would?! No, no I will not permit that for as long as you walk and breathe, Aegon." Beatrice cupped her son's cheeks in her hands. "You bear the Conqueror's name, you carry on his legacy, and before long, you will rise to the top and claim what is rightfully yours by divine right."
"But, mother, I-I don't want it―"
"What do you mean you don't want it?!"
"I don't want to rule. A-And I-I'm ninth in line…"
"So you would let an insult of this magnitude to our family stick without so much as a care in the world?! Not in this lifetime, not in this world! Here, we must defend our own against any who would dare threaten us. As things stand, Aeonar will ascend the Iron Thorne and Jaehaerys Targaryen will be his heir when your father passes. And to secure his claim – to rid himself of any competition he deems a threat, he'll put you, your brother, your sister, and all your children to the sword so no one may challenge him. When that time comes, will you stand by and watch it all happen? Huh?! Will you? Why can't you be more like your brother?"
"Aeonar?"
"NO, you dolt! Aemond!"
Aegon quivered at his mother's harsh words. The elder Aegon was already aware of his place within the line of succession; as negotiated by King Viserys and Lord Corlys, his position was knocked down to make room for Rhaenyra's sons – and the more male offspring his older half-brother and half-sister would produce, the further down the line he and Aemond would go. But in truth, Aegon didn't want the throne. He had no passion or yearning for it. And for that, Aegon was perceived as weak and incompetent by the Blacks.
Aemond, on the other hand, watched his mother reprimanding his brother. Although the boy was young, his mind concocted images and what-if scenarios on what the future would hold for him when he grew up. 'The Young Dragon,' 'Heir to the Flames,' 'King of Dragons', 'the Black Prince'… Aemond was in awe of Aeonar's reputation despite the hostility between his mother and half-brother. Unlike Aegon the Elder, he studied history and philosophy vigorously to meet expectations; and when he was old enough, Aemond would train regularly in swordsmanship. And he would not be left behind; no, he would push on ahead and carve out a legacy of his own.
"Blankets of shadow. Swimming, consuming… covering all in its path. Two sides lock in eternal conflict…"
Beatrice turned to Helaena. "Dear girl, please put that thing down," she instructed.
Helaena subtly recoiled at her mother's touch but didn't look at her. Instead, she moved away. "A thousand eyes see all; spool of orange, spool of black intertwining in threads of destined fate," she absentmindedly notes.
"Helaena."
Before the girl could reply, a knock was heard.
"Who is it?" Beatrice called out visibly annoyed.
"Larys Strong is here to see you, Your Grace," her handmaiden answered.
"Ugh! Fine, send him in."
The door opened, allowing Larys to enter the queen's room. Beatrice's handmaidens were quick to escort Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond out of the room so their mother could have a private discussion with the Clubfoot.
"Your Grace," Larys bowed.
"The hour is late," Beatrice said with exasperation. "Ugh! Six years, and my entire power base I worked so hard to accumulate – almost snuffed out overnight." She turned to her benefactor. "You have not been seen at court before then, though I must admit your absence did seem rather suspicious to me. I trust you've not developed cold feet since then?"
"My apologies, Your Grace. But with the Blacks systematically eliminating whatever support you had forced me to go into hiding. You understand it was for my protection until my father was named your husband's new Hand. That alone should guarantee me and my brother with plentiful protection for a time."
"So, it was for your self-interest then."
"We use each other to advance our interests, Your Grace. Call it what you will, but without one the other would be certain to fail. In any case, I've found out something that you should know." Larys limped his way over, dragging his disfigured, deformed behind him. "Have you asked yourself, I wonder, how it is… that the Young Dragon seems to know who moves where, and who reports to who at a certain time?"
Beatrice felt disgusted. She knew what her benefactor wanted if he were to provide her with the information he had. "Just get on with it. How?" Removing her heels, the queen lifted the hem of her dress and placed her feet on the edge of the table.
"There is a web of spies at work in the Red Keep. Along its threads travels news, some being fed it from multiple outside sources who seem keen on playing both sides – the closest being here in King's Landing. Your husband and my father know this but have left it in place. More than once, it has proved advantageous to those willing to feed the weaver if you know how the angle works."
"And this weaver is watching every move I make?"
"Um…" Larys motions his eyes. The Clubfoot watches as Beatrice removes the stockings from her legs, allowing her bare skin to show on display. In exchange for the knowledge the queen seeks, he in turn silently demanded sexual favors from Beatrice through her showing him her exposed feet. It was one of his many fetishes. It made him feel powerful knowing his web of influence had enwrapped the queen. "One of the little spiders is your lady-in-waiting."
"G-Graycie?" Beatrice stammered with surprise. My lady-in-waiting… was spying on me?! The nerve! How dare she repay my generosity with treachery!
"There are more like her. Even I do not know their number. There is one way to disrupt his operations, which feeds the reports faster. It must be taken out at the head. The little spiders are fed from the weavers by an information broker calling themselves the White Worm. While the Young Dragon's eyes number in the thousands, one of his safehouses would be taken care of until the time comes to replenish the Caltrops' numbers. After all, when the queen dies, the bees fly without purpose. Begging your pardon for the… turn of phrase, Your Grace."
"I assume this task falls within your expertise."
"If you wish it, it will be done."
Beatrice looked away as she raised her feet, shifting her position sideways to give Larys a better view. The Clubfoot's eyes glazed lustfully at the queen's beautiful, exposed feet. There was always something about them that turned him on. Smooth, elegant, youthful… Larys slowly slipped his hand underneath his robes, undoing the laces of his trousers before going higher to his groin. The arousal was great. Before long, Larys's hand reached his erect manhood and slowly stroked his stiff cock up and down, silently panting with desire as his eyes remained focused on Beatrice's feet. The queen felt disgusted that she had to lower herself this way, but with the information being vitally important, Beatrice simply closed her eyes and allowed her mind to wander somewhere else.
Soon, I will get everything back. All that was rightfully mine. Everything!
Red Keep ― Maegor's Holdfast…
*SMACK! SMACK!*
Aegon the Younger and Viserys sniffled, each of the twins holding their respective cheeks as they stung from the open-handed slaps they received from their mother. If not for the trouble they caused from the courtyard earlier but leaving a pale of iced water hanging above the door to Grand Maester Mellos's room – only to be caught when a loud, audible shout occurred when the prank happened. When Aegon and Viserys took off on their feet, they were surprisingly caught by Ser Harwin – who once again carried them in his arms to their mother's room, struggling all the way.
Alicent, once informed of her twins' latest prank, was understandably upset. "You think this is funny?" she scolded; her eyes filled with disappointment. "Have you two no shame? Have you no guilt, decency, or remorse for what you have done? That's three complaints your father and I received about you this morning – THREE in ONE DAY." She stopped to begin her breathing exercise to calm her nerves. Inhale through the nose, and exhale from the mouth. Slowly. In, out, repeat. "Aegon, Viserys," she spoke again more calmly. "Why would the two of you ever think that your 'innocent, victimless pranks' were just that? Carrying on like this and acting as if nothing ever happened, especially on a day like today?"
"W-W-We're sorry, mom!" Aegon cried.
"W-We didn't mean to!" Viserys pleaded.
"It's not me to whom you should be apologizing. If anything, the people you've wronged with your 'innocent, victimless pranks' are the ones you should be groveling for forgiveness. My sons, we love you, but this… this display needs to stop. What if the next time you are up to no good, the next person you decide to play a prank on is not so forgiving and ends up hurting you? What then?"
"P-Please, mom!"
"It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt. That being said, though, go to your rooms. And think long and hard about what you've done."
Aegon and Viserys kept crying softly as they slowly left the room, their heads hung low dispirited. Once the boys were gone, Alicent slowly slunk onto the chair. Letting out an exasperated sigh, the princess consort was tired. No one ever said being a mother of five children was easy – especially if they eventually get up to mischief.
"Mama?"
Alicent raised her head to see little Aemma walking up to her. "Oh, my little sweetling," she spoke softly. Picking her up, she placed her daughter on her lap.
"Di' Aegon and Viserys do somethin' bad?" Aemma asked innocently.
"My dear little girl… What your brothers did was, was not nice. That much is true. What is bad, though, is if they're not truly sorry for what they did."
"Are dey bad?"
Alicent shook her head. "No, Aemma. No, sweetie, no they're not," she replied. "Your brothers will need time to think about why it's not nice to be mean to others – even if they think it's funny. Once they understand, they won't do it again."
"But what if dey do it again?"
"Then we'll have to give them another lecture until they get it. You and me. How's that?"
"Teehee! Uh-huh!"
Alicent smiled at her daughter. Aemma was so innocent, pure, a bright child with a gentle heart. Who would have thought she and Aeonar would have a child like her? Her sweet face, her smooth Valyrian hair? Often at times, Alicent would have to dismiss her maids so she could brush her daughter's hair herself. It was a special bonding moment between the two.
"Mama?" Aemma chirped.
"Yes, dear girl?" Alicent replied.
"Can Jay and I go flying tomorrow?"
"What?"
"Me and Jay. I wanna go ridin' with Silverwing. Can I?"
"Oh, Aemma, sweetie… I-I don't know…"
"Pwease, mama?"
Remembering how she saw Vermithor take off with her eldest son and how Silverwing took a liking to her daughter on Dragonstone, Alicent was still worried – as a mother – for her children's well-being, especially when it came to dragons. But they were Targaryens, all five of them. This was the family she grew up with; the same family she had married into almost ten years ago. It was one of House Targaryen's traditions as the last dragonlords of Old Valyria. "Well… I suppose I can speak with your father about it. But Aemma, your brother also has his studies to finish – then you can."
"Really?" Aemma's eyes lit up.
"So long as your father goes with you."
Aemma kissed her mother's cheek and hopped off her lap.
Alicent watched her daughter leave the room, smiling. Despite everything, she loved all her children equally – seeking to instill in them the importance of family values: looking out for and caring for one another. By sticking together, they were still siblings who needed each other in times of hardship. Alicent needed to protect them from Beatrice, to keep the queen away from them if she decided to assert her authority.
And Seven hells be damned if Alicent permits Beatrice to raise so much as a finger on any of their little heads…
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Aeonar finished shuffling his documents and set them aside. Another long day of acting as the crown's Master of Whisperers. High above the fireplace, Blackfyre rested on the mantle. Cleaned, polished, and refurbished. But the Young Dragon was tired, groggy even. One of the letters on his desk informed him of the death of Lord Boremund Baratheon, as well as Borros ascending to rule over the Stormlands. He moved to the far side of the room to open a window, letting in more light. The breeze felt cool upon the first touch. But Aeonar's moment of silence was interrupted by the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.
"Hey, uncle Aeonar! Guess what?" a child called out.
Aeonar looked over his shoulders. It was Jacaerys, one of his nephews. Still retaining a look of indifference, the Young Dragon's pale lilac eyes examined the boy. Huh. Not one trace of Velaryon in you. Half-Targaryen, but a bastard is still a bastard. "Ugh, I despise guessing games…" he groaned.
"I'm going to be the next Lord of the Tides!" Jace said proudly.
"Well, good for you."
"Mother says after father and grandfather, that I'm gonna rule over Driftmark. Says I'll master the seas one day. Hehee!"
"Yes, well forgive me for not being more ecstatic. Lack of sleep can make anyone groggy." If only you knew the truth about your birth otherwise.
"Hey, uncle Aeonar," Jacaerys walked over. "When I'm Lord of the Tides, what will that make you?"
"A monkey's uncle," Aeonar replied sarcastically.
"Hehee! You're so weird, uncle."
"Am I now? So, your father and mother told you the history of Driftmark, didn't they?"
"A little."
"Then you must have started to understand the basics of the island, its settlements, and overall importance to House Velaryon."
"Yeah, father said our family was one of the first to settle in Westeros before the Doom. We weren't dragonlords, but we were masters of the seas."
Well, at least Jace understands that much. "Indeed, child. The Velaryon ships formed the bulk of the Royal Fleet – and so many Lords of the Tides, including the Sea Snake Lord Corlys himself, served on our council; so much so that it was almost seen as hereditary – having a Lord of the Tides commanding the crown's fleets during the first century of our reign."
"You and grandpa were on the council together?" Jacaerys asked curiously.
"We were," Aeonar confirmed. "Despite the age gap between us, we collaborated on our efforts. He commanded the fleet; I oversaw the crown's spy network. In time, we came to trust each other."
"Uncle? What does 'collaborate' mean?"
"Ugh, it means we worked together toward a common cause. Despite it all, we were relatively successful until His Grace passed over his daughter Laena Velaryon in favor of Queen Beatrice. So, we resigned from the council and left to fight the Triarchy in the Stepstones."
"Was father there?"
"Yes, Jace. He was. Ser Laenor was one of my lieutenants."
"What's a lieutenant?"
"It's a lower mid-ranking officer. But because of his mind for strategy, Ser Laenor rose to serve under my command – along with Lord Corlys and Prince Daemon Targaryen."
"So… father and grandpa were heroes. Brave heroes?"
"They were. A battlefield is no place for a child – especially an untested, inexperienced one."
"Why not?"
"Jace," Aeonar said firmly, "war is not as how the tales or songs make it out to be." He still remembered the battles at Grey Gallows and Bloodstone, his battle with Gaerys Valtaris and Craghas Drahar. Great waves of ash plumes blanketing the skies, fire leaving devastation in their wake… Aeonar momentarily shook himself out of his flashback. "Fantasy and real life… are two different things. The hot-headed young ones always seeking glory on the battlefield are the first ones to go. But those who survive the war and come back often return as different people. Things change. You can't always control how."
"Why?" Jacaerys asked.
"I'm afraid I don't have the answer for that. It's something we have to figure out for ourselves."
Jacaerys pondered at his uncle. It was rare to even speak to Aeonar – let alone talk to him, given how isolated and secretive he tends to be. But as the boy pondered what to say next, Jacaerys spotted smoke from the ledge of the windows. "Uncle," he said. "What's that?" he pointed down at the streets.
Aeonar turned toward the direction his nephew was pointing at. From afar, it could hardly be seen. But once a spyglass amplified his line of sight, the Young Dragon could see smoke rising from one of the homes near the Massive Oak Instruments & Rookery on the Street of Silk, and a faint glow of blazing ember. "Fire," he murmured under his breath.
"Uncle?" Jacaerys spoke.
"Jace, stay here in the Red Keep. Go tell the king. I'll be right back."
Aeonar turned on his heels and ran towards the castle's inner gates. Quickly draping his black robe, the Young Dragon ran past the soldiers, through the outer courtyards, and past the main entrance leading down to Aegon's Hill. The Young Dragon sensed danger coming from one of his contacts' safe houses within the city.
King's Landing ― Street of Silk…
Men hollered and shouted; women screamed and pointed. Panic spread amongst the smallfolk as one of the buildings burst into flames. The City Watch hurriedly moved to disperse the crowd to avoid having one of them crushed by the collapsing infrastructure or engulfed by the blazing inferno.
"Back! Back, the lot of you! Back!" Harwin barked at the populace. "Men! Get these people out of here!"
"It's coming down, Commander!" one of the gold cloaks hollered.
The building, still lit aflame, steadily began to crumble. Ser Harwin stared at the manse as it came crashing down, intensifying the heat, sparks flew off the burning wood and the smell of death filled the air. The Commander of the City Watch and heir to Harrenhal scrunched his face, determining there were some people trapped inside who were unable to escape. No matter how hard they screamed or how much they tried to escape, their only escape route was cut off. Even if he was regarded as the strongest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, the heat made it too intense for Harwin to approach to try to mount a rescue attempt.
"Commander!"
Harwin turned to see Aeonar approaching. "Prince Aeonar," he acknowledged.
"What happened here?"
"Arson. Some of my men spotted three people set this place on fire and took off in pursuit. We tried to evacuate as many people as we could, but it was so damned hot the flames made it difficult to get those who were still trapped inside." Harwin pulled out a burnt cloth, entailing an insignia of a dragon. "But I found this among the dead."
Aeonar recognized it. "One of my agents." He turned to the pile of burnt, charred corpses. "Brother Karden." This was no mere arson. This was a targeted assault… on my spy network. "How many were lost?" he asked.
"8 wounded, 34 dead ― if you count that agent of yours too."
"No. They were all my men."
Harwin frowned. "Then call it mere suspicion on my part, but I think there's someone who holds a particular grudge against you," he theorized.
"I think so too, Ser Harwin," Aeonar agreed. "Which way did your men chase the suspects?"
"Down that way, near the King's Way."
"Commander!" one of the gold cloaks rushed over. "Commander, we have them."
"Bring 'em over!" Harwin barked orders.
The gold cloaks hurried the others to bring the suspects closer. Two grown men, and one teenager; their clothes were worn, tattered, and burnt in some places. The three struggled against the grip of their captors, grunting and groaning – until Harwin forced all of them to their knees. "Talk! Who sent you?" he roared.
Aeonar watched his right-hand man doing some interrogation of his own. His eyes observed them until he noticed a faint stain streak along their chins. "Stand down," he instructed. "Ser Harwin, open their mouths."
Harwin looked at the Young Dragon confused but snapped his fingers at his men. One by one, they forced open the arsonists' mouths – and what they saw disturbed a few.
"By the Gods," one muttered.
"Their tongues… They've been―"
"Cut out," Harwin finished.
Aeonar folded his arms. The nerves in his head tugged and twitched again. "Whoever sent them here had their tongues removed so they wouldn't confess should they ever get captured. And judging by the dried blood on their lips…" he stated before turning to Harwin. "It would seem we have a new player in town, Commander. A clever and resourceful one."
"Mm. Wait. Look at this." Harwin pulled out a piece of burned cloth; almost unrecognizable, but there was a faint orange with a piece of a dark castle. "Does this look familiar to you?"
"Cāzaqeldlie. (The Caltrops.)" Aeonar surmised. His eyes glancing at the rooftops, the Lykirī Mēre observed from a distance. "Rhaenas pong. Zirȳ ossēnātās. (Find them. And kill them.)" Turning to the gold cloaks, the Young Dragon's ire burned fiercely. "Follow the Lykirī Mēre. They will help you find those responsible for this." So, it seems that Beatrice still does not understand her place in this world. Perhaps she should be reminded.