deadmenandthedivine

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter twenty one: an old man’s legacy

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, sexual situations (consensual § nonconsensual), eventual smut, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 7031

The corridors were loud. Dozens of heavy quick footsteps echoed through the castle. Faint orders were shouted in the distance. The princess woke up with a jolt, ears immediately on alert. Something about the air felt different. Very different, bad different. A shift that could not be connected to her rendezvous in the Kingswood just two days prior. She had not left her chambers the day before, but she knew the change was new. She could feel it. The air was still just as humid, but somehow heavier. As if awaiting a spark to ignite the whole castle. She could feel it in her shoulders. The noise in the corridors only seemed to grow. Curious as to why so many people seemed to be moving about near her chambers, the princess sprang out of bed and over to the door. She yanked the handle open only to be stopped by a piece of metal.

“Ser Gunthor?” Her knuckles tapped against the wood, “Ser Gunthor? The door is locked.”

The constant passing footsteps continued, but there was no response. Not even a pause in shuffling to listen. They could not hear her. The princess knocked a little harder. Aggressively trying to open the door a few more times, only to be met with the same results.

“Ser Gunthor? Are you there?”

He said nothing. Maetilda’s heart began to beat harder. Had her father sent his punishment? Had it come so soon? Had her father’s men taken the castle in the dead of night? Her heart pounded harder at the possibilities. Was her knight tied up? Gagged on the other side of the door so that he could not answer? Tears welled in the princess’s eyes as she tried desperately not to panic.

Running out onto the balcony that she had been avoiding for the past several days, she tried to capture a glimpse of the happenings on the grounds. The view from her perch pointed more toward the bay than courtyards, and her straining did not seem to help. The uneasiness of her grip on the bannister and her own footing on the ground only served to heighten her nerves. So many times, she had pictured herself tumbling down and into the rocks below. So many times that she wondered when it would come true.

The castle grounds, King’s Landing itself, was all louder than normal. More chatter, more footsteps, more shuffling and general movement. Something was very, very wrong.

A worried anxiety lit a fire underneath her. Not even trying to call for her maids, despite wondering where they could possibly be, the princess dressed herself to the best of her abilities. She grabbed her slate blue gown with cream yellow dragons, and awkwardly tied herself into it. The ties were looser than they’d normally be, causing the dress to hang baggier around her midsection. Luckily, her traveling cloak disguised it well. Her damned traveling cloak. She put on no jewelry this time. Leaving her entire collection to whoever had taken over the castle. She cared more about escaping with her life and dignity.

Taking a deep breath to settle herself, she crept over to the tower tapestry. The same place her father had exited out of just the other day. Her heart thumped harder as she lifted the heavy fabric over her head. Behind the large tapestry was a stone wall with an embossed inlet design that resembled wood paneling. The top panel started at about the hips while the bottom one topped off about a hands’ width below. There was no door handle or anything. There was nothing that looked even remotely door-like. It was the same design on all of her walls. 

She pushed at the top panel, and nothing happened. With furrowed eyebrows, she pushed at the space in between the panels. Nothing. When she pushed at the bottom panel, she expected nothing. Yet at the force of her push, the small section of wall shifted in its place. Almost side to side. Before she could investigate further, the door to her chambers opened and closed quickly. Taking her by surprise. An entire collection of feet shuffled around inside her room as she stood frozen behind her tapestry.

“Princess, may I ask what you are doing back there?” Rhaenys’s voice rang out softly.

Despite the knowledge that the Queen That Never Was had likely made an appearance to scold her for running off with Aemond unchaperoned two days prior, Maetilda was immediately comforted by the presence of her. The princess-by-title stumbled out into plain sight only to be met by a shocking scene of her own. Princess Rhaenys in a simple yet opulent black gown  and an inconspicuous gray cloak, one of the Cargyll twins, and Ser Gunthor dressed in tattered trousers, a torn tunic, and an ill-fitting cloak of his own. It was strange to see her knight with no armor, no shoes. The three looked worn. Sad. Their shoulders carried a weight that had not been there before. Maetilda’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“Your uncle has died in his sleep.” Rhaenys’s voice cracked as she continued to speak softly. 

The princess-by title’s heart dropped, as if the floor had come out from underneath her and she was left to plummet down to the black cells. It was the last news she had expected to hear despite how likely it had seemed to be coming within the next year. Such news had felt so out-of-reach, so far into the future that she had always assumed she had more time. He was supposed to be at her wedding. Jace’s, Luke’s, and the twins’ too. He was supposed to see the birth of his first granddaughter. Together, he and Rhaenyra were supposed to restore the good Targaryen name back to King’s Landing and the Red Keep. There was so much work left to be done. In the Realm, in the Stepstones. He was not done.

“The Hightowers are moving to have Aegon crowned in Rhaenyra’s absence.” Rhaenys continued, “They plan to hold the two of us hostage. We must go now.”

Maetilda’s eyes combed over the chambers she had been calling her own in shock. Her mouth hung open. She had just been trying to escape, yet her feet suddenly felt stuck to the ground. As if melted in their place permanently. The Hightowers. It was always the Hightowers. They had been the ones polluting the castle, the kingdom. They were ignoring the King’s word, their own sworn oaths, and the rest of the Realm’s sworn allegiances. And for what? What was there to show for it? For how long had they been ruling in all but name? Yet had not seemed to be capable of the responsibility. Viserys’s economy was a well-oiled machine, the kingdoms had known relative peace for over a generation. But politics extended far beyond the economy and absence of war. There was always unrest lurking just out of reach. The Triarchy had returned. Lord Corlys himself had been wounded in the squirmishes. 

“Maetilda, we must go.” The older princess repeated more firmly.

“We must?”

“Yes, my dear, it is time to go.”

“We are not coming back?”

“No, darling. Leave your things. Come now.”

The younger princess clutched her sisters’ grandmother’s arm as if her life depended on it. Her body shook like a leaf while Rhaenys remained the perfect picture of statuesque calm. 

“There is a hidden passage behind the tapestry.” Maetilda told the group as evenly as she could, “But I don’t know how to get to it.”

The older princess let out a single chuckle before she sauntered over and pulled the fabric back. The Cargyll knight followed behind her eagerly. Maetilda and her own unarmored knight remained frozen in place. Rhaenys nudged the bottom panel in the wall before pushing the section to the side with ease. Revealing a long dark hallway made of stone. As if the princess-by-title truly was one of her granddaughters, the twin’s grandmother held out a gentle hand. “We must be quick. They will come to dress you soon.”

“B-but Helaena.” Maetilda continued to gasp like a fish outside of water.

Without a word, Ser Gunthor placed a hand on the princess’s back and guided her forward. Keeping her safe was his job, especially as she found herself too caught up in her own disbelief to move. Perhaps it was a dream. Perhaps they would walk down the dark hidden passage only to find the ghost who had been playing tricks on her mind. Perhaps she would take her next step and find herself plummeting down into the depths of the sea again. She would see the lady with the obscured face. The one who gave her warning before her father hit her with the rock in his hand.

Ser Gunthor continued to push her along as their group followed Princess Rhaenys’s lead. Ser Erryk shut the door behind them and took up the guard at the rear. The passage was even darker with the door shut. Their footsteps seemed as loud as thunder as the sound bounced off the walls. Maetilda stumbled with each step. Her sworn knight was the only thing that kept her moving forward. She could hear the beat of her heart in her ears. It was a different fear than what she had felt in her time at the Red Keep leading up to that point. Every last inch of her stood on edge. Her ears stayed open and vigilant. Her eyes grew more and more paranoid. She was more awake than ever. Wide awake.

Their group of four followed the hidden passage for as far as it would go, keeping left at every fork. Seeming to know exactly where they were, Rhaenys led the way. An expression on her face unlike any Maetilda had seen before, almost that of worry. But it was unlike Rhaenys to ever be worried. It made Maetilda wish her sisters had been there. They would know what to do, what to say. With Baela’s courage and Rhaena’s strategy, they were the perfect duo. Yet Maetilda’s heart sank knowing that even if the two were with her, they would likely be too angry to lend her any assistance. As if the older princess could sense the younger’s running mind, Rhaenys reached back and locked arms with her grandchild-by-marriage. Together, they stopped in front of what appeared to be a door.

“This takes us just next to the holdfast’s courtyard, Ser Erryk.” Rhaenys whispered.

“Brilliant, Princess.” He whispered back as he rounded to the front of their pack, “If we are to make it out of here, you all must trust me. Do as I say, before I have said it. Do you hear me?”

Maetilda desperately shook her head ‘NO.’ Yet not a moment was wasted before the stone door was pushed to the side, and their group scurried back out into the open. Ser Gunthor quietly closed the door behind them. The corridors were littered with handfuls of people moving quickly. Throwing their hoods over their heads and wrapping the fronts of their cloaks around their dresses, the Targaryen princesses desperately tried to conceal their identities. In a place like the Red Keep, such efforts felt to be made in vain. Nonetheless, they kept their pace as quick and even as possible, just slow enough to not raise suspicion.

As light as mice, they made it down the corridor that opened up into the courtyard of Maegor’s Holdfast. The princess-by-title quickly looked about to check for more people, only to be met with an empty courtyard. That is, aside from the hanging body of Lord Caswell. His dangling boots grabbed her eyes immediately, taking the breath right out of her throat. She couldn’t hold back the yelp that escaped her, eyes immediately overflowing at the sight of the rope around his neck. His head lulled to the side, the strain of his last gasp of air plastered on his face. His lips seemed to have darkened from the lack of air. His eyes were bulging and bloodshot. She watched his chest for movement only to find none, despite how badly she hoped for the opposite. She could still remember how he had scurried out to greet her and her family when they had first arrived at the castle, how he had been the only Lord to do so. It made Maetilda sick to her stomach to see him strung up and displayed in such a manner. Without any other Lords by his side, yet again.

Arms still locked together, the Queen Who Never Was had stopped in her tracks too. Ser Gunthor gently pushed them from behind while Ser Erryk pulled at their arms as inconspicuously as he could. The princess by title pulled the hood of her cloak down further. To her, every step forward felt like a months-long trek. Her brain thought painfully hard as she reminded herself which foot came next. It did not matter where she looked, if she closed her eyes or not — all she could see was Lord Caswell and the state he was left in. Did he have the choice? Had they killed his wife too? Where was she? How long would they leave him there?

There was no time for her to stop and ponder as before she knew it, they had made it outside of the castle walls unseen. The sight of the city lifted a weight off of her chest. That was, until she realized how far they were from any escape. The front gates, the port. How were they to leave the city?

“I will not leave Meleys.” Rhaenys stated low yet firm to the knight that guided them, unlinking her arm from Maetilda’s in order to better conceal her identity with her cloak. “If I could get to the Dragonpit, then—”

The Cargyll knight broke protocol to cut her off, “No. They’ll expect you there, Princess. You won’t get past the gates. We must make for the riverfront and find a ship. Before they know you’ve gone.”

Ser Erryk gave her a curt nod before he led them around a corner and down a side street. Stone streets her feet had never set foot upon before. It was almost surreal for Maetilda to see the city from such a perspective. The shops, the homes, the places for people to gather. It was welcoming, inviting. She couldn’t help but feel like she stood out like a sore thumb amongst it all, despite how much she tried to blend in. Looking at her sisters’ grandmother, Princess Rhaenys had her cloak wrapped perfectly around her, arms and all. Effectively concealing the things about her that were undoubtedly expensive. The princess-by-title wordlessly tried to mimic her. 

They followed one street for a few intersections before making another turn. Ser Erryk knew exactly where they were. Glancing down toward her shoes as they passed a thick group of people, Maetilda caught another glimpse of her unarmored knight’s bare feet. They were red and dry and scraped up from the stone street, but his steps were even and determined. She glanced up at his face to find his head on a swivel. His eyes darted around the crowd, taking note of each and every face. His face was almost as green as his eyes. He was nervous too. What had happened to him? She wondered incessantly. Something had to have happened over night. When she had gone to bed, he had been at her door. He had been in full armour with boots to protect his feet. There had been a sword at his hip.

As their group quickened their pace, the princess’s sworn knight kept his gaze averted. He looked anywhere but her face. She could not remember a time he had ever acted in such a way. A time where his eyebrows scrunched together with such emotion. His eyes, face, and shoulders donned an emotion she had never before seen on his person — fear. Not only was he nervous, he was scared. The knight sworn to protect her life with his own was scared. A thought that turned her bones to ice with terror. If they had hung Lord Caswell, would they have done the same to her knight? Would they have done the same to her? Was that what the wasps’ nest wanted? To see them all dead?

The more her thoughts raced, the tighter her chest constricted. Each breath grew increasingly shorter and more shallow. Doom settled deep in her guts. They bubbled as if they would spill over, yet never did. Her legs felt as if they were filled with stone. They locked up just as they had in the courtyard in front of Lord Caswell. Had they hung him because he tried to leave too? They had to have a reason. Didn’t they?

The noise around them pitched upwards as they all turned onto a shockingly narrow yet very busy street. A current of people pushed down the middle of the crowd, all moving in the same direction. Clots of others collected against the buildings as some questioned where the mass of people were headed, including the group of four. Even while momentarily stopped, Maetilda’s breath continued to escape her. The world around her doubled and blurred when she tried to look around for help. She gasped for a large gulp of breath.

“Move it! go! go!” A large voice bellowed atop the crowd. “This way!”

The princess rubbed her eyes until the world around her came into focus. More specifically, the line of Goldcloaks — one of which was on horseback — that started to direct everyone in the same direction. People in the crowd almost immediately began shoving each other around in an attempt to move forward. Those who did not move with the flow were no better than a rock in a river. An arm looped through Maetilda’s, the familiar arm of Rhaenys. “Stay with me, darling.”

“Keep it moving!” Another goldcloak shouted.

With two out of the four locked together, they all did as they were told and moved with the crowd. The Kingsguard grabbed the older princess’s arm and directed the group around the nearest corner and with a small sidestreet. A few stragglers from the crowd lingered in it. A man with one leg and his wife. A woman with a screaming child. At the next intersection was another current of people all moving in the same direction, their own set of Goldcloaks directing their movements. Where was everyone being directed to? Were the Hightowers already searching for the missing princesses? Maetilda feared the worst. That the townspeople were all to be lined up outside the city until her own group of four had been found. She wondered if all the streets looked the same. If they each had crowds of people moving in the same direction, all being shouted at by the City Watch. 

“This way.” Ser Cargyll directed them to join the crowd.

Bells began to toll throughout the entirety of King’s Landing. Maetilda felt lightheaded, yet the hold her sisters’ grandmother had on her seemed to keep her upright. Her vision less blurred as she nervously scanned their surroundings. The homes and shops that had once been so welcoming and inviting suddenly loomed large like a cage around them. People pushed and pulled at others around them as no one seemed capable of moving at the same pace. Some weaved around others at a horse’s speed while some hobbled slowly with aching limbs or old age. Some carried baskets of wares, some carried children, some carried nothing but the clothes on their back. Rhaenys’s arm tightened around Maetilda’s elbow.

Another line of Goldcloaks blocked off a fork in the road, directing the crowd to turn down a set of stairs. The crowd was no nicer on the steps than they were in the street. Shoulders hit shoulders as more people squeezed together than the street allowed. Chests collided with backs. Maetilda glanced behind her to check on her knight once more, only to find an older man standing behind her instead. They locked eyes for a moment. He had long silver honey hair that hit his shoulders and a decently shaved face. His tunic was tattered and his eyes were lidded as he drunkenly stumbled down the steps. He furrowed his eyebrows at her as they held each other's gaze before the princess turned away in fear.

Her head scanned what it could in front of her, doing what it could to avoid the man behind her. The two knights were nowhere to be seen. She spared another glance behind her in order to check the crowd behind the drunk man only to find nothing. Her heart pounded in her ears as her body went into full alert. Their knights were gone. Lost in the crowd.

“Rhae—”

“Shhh. Head down.”

Hoping their cloaks would continue to keep their identities concealed, the two princesses followed the flow of the crowd. They reached the bottom of the steps and continued forward until the streets all funneled into one big street. At the end of it stood a towering structure — the Dragonpit. The largest group of Goldcloaks yet pooled at the entrance, forming their own human funnel as they directed all the townspeople inside. Maetilda did her best to keep her head pointed down, to keep her face concealed. She wasn’t sure if any of the Goldcloaks even knew what she looked like, but she could not leave it to chance.

They crossed the distance until they were at the front entrance, ascending the steps until they passed through the doors. The two princesses were within arms’ reach of the City Watch, yet they miraculously slipped by them without so much as a second glance. Two cloaked women with their heads down had to have looked suspicious enough, she thought. Did the goldcloaks not want to search them for weapons? See what they concealed beneath their cloaks? Perhaps all their identities would be searched once inside. Or perhaps the goldcloaks were told to look for a group of four, and did not expect to encounter the two princesses without their guards. It made no sense to her.

More people than she could ever imagine to fit, began collecting towards the back of the dragon pit. There was a higher platform that riders used to look face-to-face with their bonded dragons. On top of it stood a lineup of Kingsguard, all at the ready, as what was left of the royal family posed at the center. The King’s Hand Lord Otto, Queen Alicent, Princess Helaena, Prince Aemond. No Aegon. A few members of the High Council stood behind them on either side. The bells continued to toll around the city like the roaring of thunder.

“It’s a coronation.” Rhaenys whispered in Maetilda’s ear as the older princess pulled the younger into a spot amongst the crowd. 

With their cloaks rewrapped around their limbs, the two settled into place. Watching, waiting, waiting. The crowd around them was slightly tamer inside the doors than outside them, yet everyone continued to stand shoulder to shoulder. It was strange to see her family at such an angle, from the perspective of the townspeople. If one would have asked her that morning where she would have more likely stood, she would’ve said on the platform. But she felt as if she had been flipped on her head. From up there, Queen Alicent, Princess Helaena, Prince Aemond no longer looked human. Instead they looked no better than the funny tapestries on the walls of the Red Keep. Ultimately, Maetilda was glad she stood where she did.

After a long while, once the Dragonpit had been packed fuller than it should have been, a long line of Kingsguard parted the crowd down the center. Their commander shouted orders over the crowd and the knights separated to form an aisle. More orders and their swords were raised into a canopy. Whispers began to echo across the crowd right in time for the trumpets to sound — halting all gossip and side comments. Maetilda found herself glancing back up at the platform. They would crown Aegon up there, she thought. It was his coronation. She looked between the people on the platform and Princess Rhaenys, wondering what her sisters’ grandmother had planned next. How could they possibly escape all the Kingsguard? What if they were recognized in the crowd? Where were Ser Cargyll and Ser Gunthor? 

Maetilda’s hands balled into fists. Her fingernails dug into the palm of her hand. She scanned each one of their faces again. The Hand, the Queen, Prince Aemond. They all looked out over the expanse of the Dragonpit with grandeur and pride; the same expression on each of their faces. But when the princess’s eyes fell on Princess Helaena, it seemed her cousin had already found her in the crowd. The two young princesses’ eyes locked together in a tight knot. Maetilda’s own grew wide with fear. Had they come to her chambers in hopes to drag her up there too? Only to find her rooms empty? Did they send a party out to retrieve her? Had Helaena made that party obsolete? But the princess on the platform did nothing. Helaena simply looked at her, not even shocked to see her cousin in a poor disguise amongst the crowd. Prince Aegon made his walk down the man-made aisle, yet the girls didn’t look away.

‘Please,’ Maetilda mouthed in vain, hoping Helaena would know what she meant.

The princess on the platform shook her head. It was as if she knew what was already about to happen. Because she probably did. Helaena always knew. She had never once been wrong. One eye closed, two fires sparked, the heads of three have long been marked. Helaena’s voice echoed in Maetilda’s head. Aemond’s eye, the fight, the coronation — one eye had long been closed, but two recent events had sparked new grievances. Now three would have to die. It wasn’t fair. Who? When? Now? In the princess-by-title’s mind it seemed the most obvious three would be Princess Rhaenys, Ser Gunthor, and herself. To be strung up alongside Lord Caswell. To be a warning.

“I feel ill, Maryanna. We must get air.” Rhaenys grabbed the younger’s hand, using her other hand to cover her mouth.

Abruptly breaking the cousins’ eye contact, Maetilda was the first to turn away. Her sisters’ grandmother had already begun pushing through the crowd of people as best she could. Seeing as most wanted a better view, there was not much argument. As Aegon ascended the steps to the top of the platform, the crowd surged forward. Nearly compromising the man-made walls of the Kingsguard aisle. The two princesses slowly made progress paddling against the current. The feet of the townspeople were harder to maneuver than between the trees of the Kingswood where Maetilda had treaded just two days before. She’d give anything to be back there.

Spotting a collection of more Kingsguard along the perimeter of the crowd, the two lowered their heads even more. Maetilda relied solely on the grip of Rhaenys’s hand to keep her on course. Her heart beat so loud in her chest, it nearly

muffled out the sound of the ceremony. Her hand grew increasingly more sweaty, making it harder and harder to keep a hold of her guide. She wanted to cry out in panic, to call out for Ser Gunthor, but somehow managed to bite the urge back. Butterflies, birds, and every other creature that could fly seemed to burst into her stomach. Triggering her throat to gag repeatedly in feeble attempts to let them out.

Rhaenys hesitated. Her even pace halted just before she stepped out of the line of people. Maetilda anxiously watched her turn to look back at the group on the platform one last time. An unreadable expression — as layered as the age rings on a tree — breached through the calm exterior the older princess held. Like the smallest chip in an otherwise smooth marble. It sent a chill down the younger’s spine. It was so unlike Rhaenys; the stoic, statuesque swan. Maetilda was so nervous she could wet herself. For once, instead of running away, she wanted to stay right where she stood. There was an odd sort of safety amongst the crowd. It was harder to be singled out when standing in a sea of so many others. Despite the fact that Helaena already had.

“Come,” Rhaenys whispered.

The Queen that Never Was checked their surroundings on both sides twice over, watching for any Kingsguard or Goldcloaks looking their way, before leaping across the gap of empty space the crowd had left for the guards. Not a single head turned in her direction as she tucked herself into one of the side corridors that led down into the tunnels where the dragons kept their nests. Their escape. There had to be a way out from down there. A place no one would think to look for them, as long as they avoided Meleys. But if they managed to get to Meleys, would it matter if anyone knew where they were? The two would be untouchable on dragonback. Unless Aemond or Aegon or Helaena chose to chase after them.

They could find a tunnel that led to the bay and escape by boat. That is, if anyone with a boat wouldn’t simply cash out with the quick coin that was the bounty undoubtedly placed on their safe return to the Red Keep. Never in the Princess’s life had she wished for her father so much. Despite his constant threats, she was safe under his watch. He wouldn’t kill her without reason. Would the Hightowers? They killed Lord Caswell, the reason for which she still could only speculate on. Would they kill Rhaenyra if given the chance? In order to solidify Aegon’s claim. Would they kill Rhaenyra’s sons? Maetilda’s brothers?

The princess’s heart pounded so hard in her chest that her ears began to ring. She glanced about her surroundings twice over, just as she had seen Rhaenys do. But the Goldcloaks began to move, rotating their positions around the perimeter. One of them would surely see her. Her pulsing heart fell into her stomach. What was she to do? Rhaenys had been so good at thinking on her feet, Maetilda internally cursed in her absence. No Rhaenys, no Ser Erryk, no Ser Gunthor. Maetilda was by herself. Alone outside the castle walls, perhaps for the first time in her life.

The city watchman that had formerly been on the princess’s right side took heavy calculated steps until he stood directly in her path. Her escape called after her from behind golden cloaked shoulders. There was no way she could sneak across unseen in his presence. What was she to do? Would Rhaenys leave without her? Save her own skin? Could it be that  their knights were still trying to find them? Would they find her in the crowd? Perhaps when the ceremony was over? If she could stay unrecognized, if the knights for the Hightowers didn’t find her first. Or perhaps the Goldcloaks would rotate positions again, and Maetilda would finally get her moment.

Small pockets in the crowd began to grow restless. Bodies began to sway much like waves in the Blackwater Bay, helplessly pushing the princess about. All it would take is one slip of the foot, and she would be buried under countless shoes. It was no wonder she was kept sequestered in the castle unless accompanied by guard. The townspeople had no care, no manners, no sense of space. How could they? After being shepherded into the Dragonpit like little sheep. Where they herded like that often? Perhaps the pushing in close quarters was normal. A crowded market was not much different, she thought. All she knew was that it scared her. She was scared and she wanted out. Out of the Dragonpit and out of the city. Out of the family arguments and out of responsibility. She wanted out of everything.

Panic shook Maetilda’s bones, chilled them to the core. She wondered if Helaena could still see her, if the soon-to-be crowned Queen could see her struggle amongst it all. Elbows, shoulders, kicks to the ankles. It had felt like ages since she last had sight of Rhaenys. The pushing and shoving of the crowd only got harder, surely enough to bruise, before spilling over into a fight. Right in front of her eyes, two men squared their shoulders before swinging fists. One landed a punch across the other’s jaw, sending spit flying off in random directions. Those surrounding the two did not hesitate to jump in. Some joining in fists, others trying to split it up. 

The shout of authority came from right next to her ear, “Alright, you lot! Keep the peace! We will arrest you!”

“Get off me!” One of the men shouted.

The Goldcloak unsheathed his sword, “I said, ‘Keep the peace!’”

More Goldcloaks came out of nowhere. Wide eyed, the princess struggled for breath as she stumbled out of the crowd. Her hands desperately reached out for the wall to hold her up. She practically tripped into it, the cold stone scratching at her cheek before her hands could truly catch her. She peered over her shoulder to see the two original fighters both apprehended. Each man in the hold of two city watchmen.

A hand grabbed Maetilda’s wrist and yanked, pulling the princess forward. It did not pause to let her catch her footing before it continued to pull her deeper and deeper down a corridor. The sound of the crowd growing muffled. As soon as the princess could look up from her own feet, she was relieved to find the hand belonged to Rhaenys. Her hood had fallen to her shoulders, leaving her silver hair fully exposed. The dragonlords would not stop them. They would not risk Meleys’s trust, not after spending a lifetime gaining it. Gaining any dragon’s trust was not easy. A fool would take it for granted. A king would be foolish to punish them for it.

The two princesses made a quick descent into the Dragonpit’s tunnels. It was not long before the crowds erupted in cheers. The croaks of disgruntled beasts around them echoed in response to the ruckus above. Loudest of all was the Red Queen, who only got louder as the two rounded the corner to greet her. The majestic red dragon trilled out a ‘hello.’

“Gaomi daor emagon olvie jēda, uēpa riña.” Rhaenys replied. (We do not have much time, old girl) 

Meleys required no other warning. Like battle trained soldiers, Rhaenys threw on the armor she had traveled to the city in and her dragon positioned herself to be climbed. With no armor to change into, Maetilda could only tie down her hair the best she could. She had no extra laces to fasten it. Her heart hammered in her chest as she watched her sisters’ grandmother climb atop her dragon. Breathlessly, the princess by title followed suit.

Unlike riding with Aemond, Maetilda took her seat behind Rhaenys. Wrapping her arms as tightly around the older princess’s torso as best she could, but the cold metal armor made it hard to keep grip. Rhaenys strapped the younger in with the leather leashes on the dragon's saddle, typically used in combat. Maetilda’s stomach churned. They had no other choice, and she knew it. This was the only direction that she could run. 

“Jiōragon īlva hen kesīr. Ivestragī zirȳ gīmigon pōja tubissa issi mība.” (Get us out of here. Let them know their days are numbered.)

Without a moment’s pause, the Red Queen rocketed off. Her wings and hind legs crawling up the tunnels like a bat. Maetilda squeezed Rhaenys tightly. At Meleys’s speed, one slip could mean a fatal fall. The princess had encountered death so many times that day, she was not ready to succumb to it just yet. Despite how tempting its dark embrace was. The princess was so close to home she could practically taste it.

To no one’s surprise, the ascent atop dragonback was far faster than their descent. Once she could climb no higher, the mighty red beast used her hard head to break through the ceiling. Her wings angled upward to shield her riders’ heads from the falling rock. Screams from the crowd above echoed off the high ceilings of the training room turned coronation hall. Maetilda could barely believe her eyes as it happened before her. Stone pieces of floor fell around them. People scattered in every direction, some only to be crushed under more stone or Meleys’ feet. It was chaos. Yet the Hightowers on the platform stood firm. 

As if by habit, the prince had spotted Maetilda well before she had found his face amongst his family. She glared down at them all from her high place behind her sisters’ grandmother. The fury of a thousand armies laced between her eyebrows. For once, she felt mighty. Like she had the power to decide what happened next. Rhaenys had fooled them. With the help of the two knights and the cover of the crowds, Rhaenys and Maetilda had bested the Hightowers. A dragon had power far beyond any coronation or crown. 

Maetilda’s eyes combed over each one of their treacherous faces. The unyielding Ser Otto, the slinking Lord Larys, the cowering Prince Aegon. As Meleys let out a thunderous warning, the green mother scurried to place her body between her eldest son and the great red dragon. It was almost admirable. Despite the palpable lack of dragon’s blood, she ran straight towards a scorching fate. A final act of love. Meleys sauntered closer, and yet they didn’t move. Maetilda allowed her eyes to move on, finally settling upon the final two: Aemond and Helaena. Her betrothed and her friend away from home. They stared back up at her defiantly, secure in each other’s embrace. Prepared to hold their embrace until the very end. Prepared to face the wrath brought down upon them.

The princess by title  could feel the emotion build within her. Relieved to know her escape was imminent. Angered by the memories of the morning that flashed before her eyes. Saddened by the loss of her uncle and the execution of Lord Caswell. Scared for the two knights no longer by her side. Jittery from the residual fear of almost being caught. Fearful of what her father would think when he finally heard of her actions. 

He would want the Hightowers dead. All of them. There would be no question to Rhaenyra’s claim after that. Meleys had the perfect shot. No Dreamfyre or Sunfyre or Vhagar to protect the green and black clad traitors.

“Dracaerys?” Maetilda asked, tone full of uncertainty.

A shameful regret permeated her veins. She wished she had never let Aemond have his way. She wished she had fought harder and never let him touch her. She wished she had screamed for Ser Gunthor to save her or for a passerby to have stumbled upon them and split them apart. All she ever did was exactly what she was told, and all it ever did was get her in trouble. The doom seemed to follow her, no matter where she went. It would continue to follow her, unless the problem was nipped in the bud. It was up to her and Rhaenys to nip the Hightowers in the bud. 

But Helaena was down there too. Maetilda was sure she would not be able to live with herself if anything happened to her sweet cousin. The one she could tell anything to. Helaena did not deserve a traitor’s death. But there she stood. Without him even being there, Maetilda knew her father would have cast her cousin down right alongside the rest of her family. Guilt by association. A crime that he would have her pay the ultimate price for.

With her snout only a short distance away from the newly-crowned king, Meleys’s mouth began to open. Aemond’s lilac eye filled with fear as he pushed Helaena behind him. His face pleaded for his betrothed’s mercy so that his words did not have to. The way his eyebrows lifted in surprise and his jaw dropped in apprehension. The deep ache of betrayal pooled in his pupils. Maetilda watched every emotion dance over his face in surreal awe. Transfixed by every detail she could see and feel from such a distance. She watched shock turn to fear, turn to sadness, turn to disbelief, which soon turned to anger before settling upon contempt. As Meleys’ mouth continued to widen, preparing to kill them all, Aemond squared his shoulders in preparation. Almost goading his fate into coming closer.

Knowing there was nothing she could do as Meleys only answered to the princess sat in front of her, Maetilda braced herself in anticipation. Narrowing her eyes in preparation to close them completely, unable to watch the inevitable unfold. And yet, it never did. The Dragonpit sat in a long suspenseful silence. Hot smelly air poured out of Meleys’s throat, waiting to be ignited. And yet, Rhaenys never gave the signal. Instead the older princess sat silently from her perch. Looking down her nose at the scene below her. The fate of the Seven Kingdoms suspended in her vocal chords. The stoic, swanlike woman sat as nonchalantly as ever. Afraid of no consequence or outcome. All while Maetilda shakily squeezed all the air from her torso.

Just when one thought the room would erupt in unforgiving flames, the entire Dragonpit — including its tunnels down below — shook under the weight of Meleys’s threatening bellow. A war cry. A promise of vengeance, of blood. The Red Queen held the deafening note for as long as her lungs would allow. Letting the echo ring out like a Norvosi bell. Soiling every set of trousers in the vicinity. Only to turn away, tear straight through the front doors, and carry the two princesses safely out of the city. The Hightowers left to live with their consequences.

A/N: i was having sort flashbacks to writing chapter three as i was writing this one! i had a lot of fun with imagining how maetilda and gunthor would navigate this whole situation. but unlike chapter three, things are no longer as light and consequence-free!

in my head, this is what i would consider the end of part one. not that there are parts, but it’s the end of Maetilda’s time in King’s Landing (for now). i have chapter 22 done too! i'm trying to get all of maetilda's time in dragonstone written before i post anymore (unless i get too excited and change my mind).

thank you so so so so SO much for reading this far. i really appreciate it. :)

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe @nessjo

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter twenty: the weight of aged wings

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, sexual situations (consensual § nonconsensual), eventual smut, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 7529

Standing before Vhagar’s snout made the princess feel as if she were a little girl once more. The great dragon had only continued to grow since Lady Laena’s passing. Aemond’s growth spurts likely had an influence on her late-aged growing. The mere sight of her made the princess wonder if Shrykos’ growth had stunted in their time apart. Maetilda could feel the pull of her skirts as Vhagar breathed her scent in, eliciting an almost childlike giggle from the prince. He watched their exchange with a close eye and a giddy grin.

While the princess was consumed with her late stepmother’s dragon, the prince took the opportunity to come up behind her. She jumped at the feel of his fingers brushing through her hair. When she tried to pull her already styled mane away, he stopped her by the wrist. “I shall need to see where we are going.”

Skeptically, Maetilda allowed her betrothed to split the bottom half of her cascading updo in three and braid it to the end. Taking the lace to the neck of his own tunic to secure her hair together. He was not as quick as Adelyn, but his work was determined and careful. The prince proudly rested his silver honey masterpiece over the princess’s shoulder before he turned to his dragon.

“Vhagar, eman maghatan iā laehurlion kostā gīmigon!” (I have brought a face you may know!)

The great lady in question moved her head to get a better look at the silver haired couple. The princess could not help her own grin. “Eman bōsa syt ao, Vhagar. Gaomagon ao gīmigon īlva jēda isse Pentos?” (I have missed you, Vhagar. Do you remember our time in Pentos?)

The dragon chirped her own deep acknowledgement that rumbled the ground beneath them. For the first time since the start of the couple’s carriage ride, their eyes met excitedly.

“I should hope that was a yes.” Maetilda beamed.

Aemond happily nodded, “She has most certainly missed you.”

“Eman mazverdagon mirrī pār īlon ūndan se tolie mōrī, emagon nyke daor?” Unable to take her eyes off of her old scaled friend, the princess giggled at her own joke. (I have grown a little since we saw each other last, have I not?)

In response, Maetilda received a huff of air through the dragon’s snout. Slow and careful under the weight of her own body, Vhagar moved her head to give the two Targaryens better access to her shoulder. No other invitation was required. Both Maetilda and Aemond eagerly jumped into action. It was almost like a race as they each desperately grabbed at Vhagar’s ridges and spikes to pull themselves higher. The breeze grew stronger the higher they climbed, and the air cooler. It would only get cooler and breezier with flight. Yet the two could not seem to hide their unadulterated glee for much longer.

Aemond sat comfortably in the saddle that had been made for him. Lady Laena’s fishing net adorned saddle was long gone. It felt wrong for the princess by title to climb so high only to find an impostor where she once sat. Upon making it to the top of her climb, Maetilda found herself ready to slide right back down. The mere sight of Aemond’s saddle felt like a betrayal. A dragon that had once felt like home now felt like a stranger. Before she could act on any of her thoughts, Aemond grabbed each arm and pulled her to him. Memories of their night on the balcony flashed through her mind at the familiar squeeze of his grip. She would never escape him, she thought. He wanted them to be caught. He wanted her before her father could stop it. Almost as if she were a rag doll, he repositioned his hands around her waist in order to plop her down in front of him.

Once they were both in proper position, the Prince did not waste a second before letting out a proud, “Sōvegon!” (Fly!)

The old dragon lifted off the ground like an elderly cat waking up from a nap. Her muscles stretched with her movements before she finally regained her groove as she flapped and flapped and flapped her war-torn wings, getting a bit of a running start. Finding nothing but comfort in the familiar gait of Vhagar’s take-off, Maetilda’s smile ran from ear to ear, holding tightly to the horn of the newly made saddle. Aemond gripped the saddle more toward the sides, practically pushing himself right up against Maetilda as the wind tried to pull them backward. She could feel his chest against her back, the bulge of his pillar and stones against her butt. It made her heart quicken, thoughts winding back to their night together. As much as she hated it, she liked the way it felt when he held her. Yet she couldn’t help but stiffen at his closeness. Something about him told her that he would pounce at any moment, and she would be his meal.

“Se Kingswood, Vhagar! Se Kingswood!”

The couple’s world leaned to the right as the dragon immediately took direction. In only a short time, the Red Keep became a small speck on the horizon. Vhagar soared the sky like the old majestic beast she was. Her wings spanned out as far as the Red Keep was wide. Even with the growth the years had brought Maetilda, her late stepmother’s dragon still remained unfathomably large. She could not even begin to imagine the magnitude of Balerion at the end of his life. What the world would look like from his back. King Viserys was the last to ever know.

As their ride stabilized, the prince dropped the grip of one of his hands in order to wrap an arm around Maetilda’s waist and pull them even closer together. His lips ghosted the top of her ear as his cheek rested against her head. For a brief moment, she could smell his familiar oud, sandalwood, and saffron scent in the wind before it was mercilessly blown out of nose’s reach. The warmth of Aemond’s body was a welcoming guard against the cold of the clouds in the air.

As they glided over the Kingswood, Vhagar dropped back down beneath the clouds. It gave all three of them a better view of the green sea that was the tops of the trees. Scanning the expanse with a hawk’s eye and a rhythmic click of his tongue, Aemond’s thumb stroked shapes into Maetilda’s side. She could feel his chin brush against the back of her head as he wordlessly moved around her to see. There was a part of her that wished he had left a kiss where his cheek once sat before switching sides. She couldn’t help but frown at herself the more she thought of it, the more she quietly longed. Her skin had not yet quit itching.

“Rȳ se ñāqa paktot!” (At the east side!)

With an almost juvenile vigor, Vhagar made a hard left. Shifting the pair to the other side. Maetilda leaned into the turn on instinct, just as she would on Shrykos. Her left hand absentmindedly found Aemond’s arm wrapped across her. As if she could hold them both in place, she wrapped her fingers around the thickest part of his forearm. Her thumb almost tucked perfectly inside his elbow. And when Vhagar straightened back out, her hand remained still. Effectively holding his arm in its own place as well.

Aemond’s chin brushed the back of Maetilda’s head once more as he moved his lips back to the top of her ear, “Do you trust me?”

“Do you ever think to ask me anything else?”

Maetilda could feel his smile form against her head, “Your answer changes. Every time.”

“I am not certain that is a good thing.” She giggled, eyebrows scrunched together with confusion.

“That depends on your answer,” Aemond chuckled back with a playful nudge to the side, “This time, you were meant to answer yes.” 

“Is that so?” Maetilda challenged.

He cleared his throat before he lightly teased, “Yes, so that I may do this.” The prince strapped himself into his saddle, tightening his hold on the princess, “Vhagar, ivestragī īlva arghugon!” (let us hunt!)

The great jade lady cracked her wings like two large whips. The sound of it echoed across the horizon. The wind whizzed past the couple’s ears, mercilessly tangling any strands of hair that were not tied back. The princess let out a gleeful laugh. Vhagar dove down toward the treeline of the Kingswood. The dive was fast and hard, enough that it felt like the princess’s cheeks were blown backward. Further east to the Kingswood were pastures and fields and a few dwellings in the distance. The harder that Vhagar dove, the more Maetilda could see. Clearly, the dragon spotted her meal far before the princess had. Fenced in quarters way too small for the amount of them, perhaps two dozen sheep were stuffed in an enclosure just outside of the trees. Just as Maetilda caught sight of them, the old dragon opened her mouth and unleashed her flames. Within a blink of an eye, the sheep were all cooked. 

Vhagar floated down as gracefully as she took off, a landing that shook the ground. Aemond unhooked himself and loosened his grip around the princess as his dragon began to curl around her dinner. His chin dropped down to rest on Maetilda’s shoulder as the two sat in place. His thumb stroked her side tenderly. The princess shouldn’t have been surprised when the prince moved his chin so that he could pepper kisses on her shoulder. Her heart skipped a beat. Her mouth went dry. Her head inflated with air. She desperately searched her mind for something to say.

“Do you always feed Vhagar like this?” She managed.

“When I can.” His smile rested against her skin in the corner of her neck as he burrowed into the neckline of her traveling cloak, “Do you miss Shrykos?”

“Every moment I have been here.” She sighed.

“I am excited to take our dragons riding together.” He lightly bit down.

Despite her immediate flinch, Maetilda tried to keep her demeanor even, “Me too.”

“Like Aegon and Rhaenys.”

She tried not to grit her teeth as she spoke, only to be interrupted by the prince as soon as a noise left her mouth. “Come with me, ñuha jorrāelagon. Let us take a walk while Vhagar eats.” (my love)

With a final peck on her shoulder, Aemond scooted back in the saddle and brought his legs back together on one side. Maetilda glanced down towards the ground. Even when grounded, they were too high for comfort. The prince pointed toward Vhagar’s back leg, pulling her attention away from the ground far down below.

“Climb down as far as you can, and then slide the rest of the way. I’ll go first,” He smiled cheekily, “Cushion your fall.”

“Fall?!” She gasped.

The princess wanted to hit him for his comment, but Aemond moved out of the way quickly. Walking across the dragon’s back and gracefully slithering down her leg. It made the princess’s heart flutter as she watched. He was as smooth as porcelain — in appearance and movement. When he finally landed, he looked smaller than a mouse. He was as minuscule as one of Helaena’s beetles. She couldn’t help but giggle when he waved up at her.

“Come on! I’ll catch you!” He cupped a hand around his mouth to help the sound carry.

Her first instinct was to shake her head no. Her bones seemed more breakable than when she was ten. The distance between her body and the ground was so much scarier than she remembered. She could feel her betrothed’s gaze lingering on her, as if she were being tested. He was watching her to gauge how she acted, to see if he approved. And as much as she wanted to deny it, she desperately did not want to fail. She was to spend a lifetime with him; the King had ordered it so. 

Gathering all the inner strength inside of her, she stood on shaky feet and eased herself down Vhagar’s back. The dragon’s leg was just as large. Longer than the length of two ships. Bent leisurely at the knee. Vhagar’s thigh moved as the princess proceeded forward. Maetilda’s shoes sank into the old girl’s fleshy muscle, making for unsteady ground. Aemond had made the route look so easy, yet she felt as if she were about to fall with each step. She could not allow herself to look down. Instead she kept her eyes glued to the path in front of her. Slowly and carefully, the princess reached the dragon’s knee. The rest of Vhagar’s leg sat at a steep decline. Only as she imagined herself tumbling down scaly calves, did Maetilda feel brave enough to look down at the ground. 

Aemond stood directly below her with arms outstretched. The distance was not so far now, but definitely high enough to shatter her ankles if she jumped. He wore an inviting smile on his face. There was boyish excitement in his eye. It brought a smile to the princess’s face to see. It made her heart flutter. He looked so beautiful like that, she thought.

“Slide down now! I’ll be under you the whole way.” The prince reassured her once more.

Practically jumping to sit, Maetilda immediately did as she was instructed. Once seated, she gave herself a generous push until the air took over and began to pull her down. The steep incline allowed her to quickly gain speed. She couldn’t help the concerned squeal that rang out of her mouth like the screech of a cat. Seemingly echoing through the trees. A call sent up to the birds. 

It took muscles in the core of her stomach to keep balance as she slid. The uneven surface of Vhagar’s leg wanted her to topple over and fall off the side. The princess held her arms out like wings, allowing her to keep balance slightly better. Maetilda’s melodic squeal faded into a chirping laughter. She wondered if with the flap of her own wings she too would take flight. The speed of her slide alone was enough to send her body flying. And she would get close. Despite all her efforts, the princess hit Vhagar’s ankle at an odd angle and Maetilda’s center of groundedness shifted, flipping her over the edge. Her skirts flew up into her face as she plummeted, letting out yet another squeal.

Her arms flapped like wings as she fought to move her cloak and skirts out of her eyes. Which only seemed to be done in vain. Her muscles tensed as she blindly readied herself to hit the ground, praying to any god who would listen that she wouldn’t land on her head. Without being able to see, she no longer knew which way was up and which was down. She felt the embarrassment hit her before the ground did. Aemond had made dismounting Vhagar look so easy. It was not the princess’s first time dismounting either. But back when she was that small, Lady Laena would hold the princess by her little wrists and gently drop her tiny frame down to Prince Daemon who would wait on the ground below. The princess could still remember the way her stomach would sink in the freefall. Without any fear of ever being hurt, the sensation would always make her laugh.

Now trapped in her older, much bigger and more breakable body, Maetilda still laughed. But this time out of fear. Despite her laughter, her muscles did not relax as they continued to brace for impact. Which soon came after the first few notes of giggles. However, she never actually hit the ground. Hard arms and a solid chest cushioned Maetilda’s fall. The arms dipped from the impact of her body, but steadily regained their strength and returned back to the place they caught her at, safely cradling her weighty body. For a moment, she couldn’t believe it. She thought perhaps she had fallen to her death, that the arms that held her belonged to Balerion, the Valyrian God of Death, or perhaps the Stranger. But the outside air still seemed to come in and out of her nose, her chest rose and fell with each breath, and the smell of charred sheep remained ever present.

“Got you.” The smirk was present in Aemond’s tone.

 It took her a moment to untangle herself from the traveling cloak tied around her neck. Its fastening dug into her windpipe as she fought to push the fabric behind her. And even once it sat properly, it pulled at the tender spot in her cradled position too. “Thank you.”

“That landing would have hurt.” He pointed out, gently sitting the princess down on her feet.

“Would have had a broken bone or two.” She agreed.

“Imagine having to explain that away.” He chuckled dryly.

The tall trees shaded their first steps. Arm-in-arm, the two carefully inched forward into the Kingswood. Shrubbery lined their path. Vhagar could be heard dining for quite a distance. The sound of her bites and swallows played like a group of musicians in the couple’s silence. Maetilda could not help but take in her surroundings in awe. Light peaked in through the canopy of trees similar to the way stars sprinkled the night sky. A sea of tree trunks continued on for as long as the eye could see, growing thicker and denser as the vegetation extended deeper into the forest. Despite how alone the couple felt, the green-leafed sea was full of life. Birds and bugs alike sang their songs in one grand chorus. Rabbits and other rodents scurried off at the sound of their synced footsteps.

“I must say, I did not expect to see that traveling cloak of yours again so soon.” Aemond broke their silence. 

The princess could still picture the dark colored fabric laid out on her balcony. Her body tensed at his teasing insinuation. 

Maetilda rolled her shoulders back as she tried to keep her mind focused, “That is why I must speak with you. My handmaids saw what you drew. On me.”

“They saw?” The prince repeated back.

“Yes! I panicked! Blamed it on a book I swiped from the library.” She scowled, “You must pay them for their silence, Helaena suggested so.”

Aemond stopped his steps to look at her, taking a moment to glance down at her abdomen where there was once a rune made of blood. After a long moment, he gave his betrothed a firm nod. “I shall take care of it.”

“What does it mean? The rune.”

He smirked, “You do not want to know.”

“Of course I do! That is why I asked.”

The prince shook his smug head, “I cannot tell you.”

“Why not?”

“I am afraid that would ruin it.” His shrug felt no better than a slap across the face.

In turn, the princess’s response came out childlike and helpless. “You don’t know that.”

“I do not make a habit out of questioning the gods.” The prince retorted sharply.

“Is that a joke?” The princess teased incredulously.

“Of course not.” His back straightened as if to prove his seriousness. “Listen, all you do is speak in circles.”

“That is because I do not trust you. I am waiting for you to act just as any other Hightower does. But instead you act exactly like my father.” The words left her mouth before she had ever truly thought them through.

“Act like a Hightower? Act like your father? Are you mad?” Aemond dared her to repeat her words, moving to stand face-to-face.

Maetilda’s eyes threatened to spill over with tears from the confrontation. She turned away from him almost immediately, “You make me feel mad.”

His calloused hands cupped her cheeks, holding her in place as he moved to stand in front of her again. “Kostilus gaomagon daor limagon, ñuha jorrāelagon. You are fine. Everything is just fine.” (Please do not cry, my love)

“No, it is not. You cannot tell me that it is.”

“Maetilda, kostilus.” (please)

She reached up to move his hands away, but they did not budge. “Kostilus keligon.” (Please stop)

Aemond stopped his hands, turning away from her to rub his head. “Ao mazverdagon nyke ribazmoqitta.” (You make me mad)

“Skoros nyke gaomagon?” (What have I done?)

“Ao dōrī henujagon ñuha bartos.  I am reminded everyday that the gods made us for each other. I cannot train, cannot study, cannot sleep.” (You never leave my mind) He turned back around slowly as he spoke, not stopping until the toes of their shoes touched. “Not without the interruption of your face in my head or the thought of what you might be doing at that moment. These months spent apart planning feasts and ceremonies feel so pointless. Iksan aōhon se iksā ñuhon. Emi īlva paktot sir.” (I am yours and you are mine. We have each other right now.)

The prince sealed his words with a firm, passionate kiss. He practically sucked on her bottom lip as his mouth begged the princess’s to move. Her feet grew weightless from the feeling. It felt good, better than good. Better than she had remembered. Her heart and mind erupted with an unfamiliar euphoria. A feeling she found intoxicating, wanting nothing more than to get drunk on it. Before she was fully aware of her own actions, she was kissing back. Mimicking the way his mouth moved against hers. Ignited by the way he sucked and nibbled at her lips. She didn’t want it to stop. That is, until his tongue found its way into the mix. That felt too good. Eliciting a spark down in her flower that scared her.

Maetilda put her hands on his chest and pushed away, but he held on at her elbows. “Ao kivio! One time and then not again until we wed.” (You promised)

“Nyke kivio.” (I promised) He nodded, closing his eyes and gripping her elbows tighter, “I shall honor my promise.”

Despite his words, he kissed her again. Picking up right where he left off, no passion lost. His hands slid up to her shoulders. One soon abandoned the other to grab the base of her neck, thumb on her windpipe. With their mouths still connected, Aemond walked her backwards until her back hit the nearest tree. The princess pushed him off of her again, taking a moment to look at what was happening.

“‘Tilda, iksi mērī.” (we are alone)

“Ao kivio.” (You promised)

“Iksan gaomagon ñuha kivio.” (I am keeping my promise)

“Issaros massigon bē īlva.” (Someone could happen upon us)

“With Vhagar right there?”

“Oh.”

“Small folk are not like us. They’re afraid of dragons.”

“Of course.”

As if to prove his point, he kissed her once more. Only breaking away in order to start peppering more wet nibbles down her neck. The princess squirmed at the nearly ticklish sensation, disrupting her betrothed’s path. But before she could move far, his hands pinned her shoulders back firmer. The tree’s bark dug into her back, reminiscent of the way the balcony railing pinched her back as he nearly bent her backwards the last time they kissed. She much preferred the sharp scratch of the tree bark.

“I thought we were to go on a walk.” She pulled back again, hitting the back of her head against the tree trunk.

“Is a walk what you wish?” He challenged.

With her head spinning from the knock to her skull, the princess did not know what she wanted. She wanted Aemond, as long as he behaved himself. She wanted her family to forgive her, and everything to go back to normal. She wanted her father to stop plotting, to leave her alone. She wanted to rule over Runestone peacefully with Shrykos flying overhead.

“No.” The princess panted as she tried and failed to regain her breath.

The prince took the hand that was left on her shoulder and started to pet her hair with it. Maetilda was certain she had to look like an utter mess from the wind, but not as bad as she did after her fight with her sister. Either way, it did not seem to matter what state she was in. Aemond seemed to desire her regardless. While she didn’t understand it, she knew she wanted more.

“You,” Maetilda struggled to find her words. “I— Aemond.”

He smirked, peppering more kisses on her shoulder as he spoke, “Ñuha jorrāelagon, ivestragī nyke dohaeragon ao.” (My love, let me serve you)

He waited for only a moment. His eye studied her face, her jaw, her neck, her shoulders. The deep satiny plum of his iris jumped to each place like a bee perusing fresh blooms. Dry mouthed, the princess watched as he licked his lips before descending on her. Diving like a dragon out of the sky. His kisses seemed to follow the same haphazard path his eye had. Her lips, each cheek, her neck, her shoulder, her chest. Overwhelming all of her senses. All she could do was hold onto his shoulders as if her life depended on it.

Aemond grounded her, made sure her feet were stable on the earth beneath them as he continued his assault. Taking their own opportunity to roam, his hands traveled from her head and neck down to her chest. Unlike the other times they had ignored common decency, there was a different kind of frenzied fervor that guided his movements. His palms cupped her breasts, curling his fingers around as much flesh as he could fit in his grip. The boning of her stays and the elaborate dragon embroidery on her gown blocked his pursuit. Finding only resistance from the fabric that encased her, his hands soon traveled elsewhere.

Next was her waist. His mouth returned to her own as he cupped her sides in the space between his pointer fingers and thumbs. The squeeze of his hands combined with the compression of his body pinning hers against the tree was enough to overpower the princess completely. Spellbound by the vastness of her betrothed and where their actions were likely to lead them, Maetilda only clutched Aemond’s surcoat in her fists tighter. Wherever his lips went, he left a damp ring of saliva that grew cold the second the air touched it. 

When he pulled their lips apart, his hot breath fanned her face. Her lips turned as cold as the other spots he left down her neck, shoulder, and chest. She couldn’t help but smile as her stomach twisted and flipped into knots. He held her gaze with an intense smirk. She was like wet sand in his hands — and he knew it. Every breath she took was muddled by his smell. The intoxicating oud, sandalwood, and saffron with hints of rosemary and red clay that she wished she could bottle and carry around.

“Iōragon iēdrosa.” (Stand still)

Back straight with anticipation, she stood alert like a knight on guard. Leaving a trail of kisses over her dress, Aemond ever so slowly got down on his knees. Her heart pounded mercilessly as his face inched between her breasts and down her stomach. Finishing his tender path with a kiss to each hip. Her chest rose and fell quickly with her short, deep breaths that never seemed quite big enough. Her head spun in circles. She didn’t understand how she could be fully clothed — traveling cloak and all — yet still feel utterly naked. Bare to the world.

The hands that once balled the prince’s surcoat in fists pulled back to her chest. Unsure what to do with them, her arms anxiously folded up into an almost prayer-like fashion. Aemond’s hot breath fanned over her lower stomach through the skirt of her gown. Maetilda watched him vigilantly, contemplating whether or not to ask what his intentions were. Unwaveringly, he stared right back at her. Not once breaking eye contact his whole journey down. What was he to do on his knees? Did he plan to undress her by starting with her shoes?

“Nyke kessa vūjigon tolvie angotan hen ao.” (I shall kiss every bit of you)

“Va aōha ybon?” (On your knees?)

The prince’s hands dropped to the bottom of her skirt, lightly playing with the hem between his fingers. A smirk toyed at his lips as he nearly failed to remain straight-faced. “Va ñuha ybon.” (On my knees)

At a complete loss for words, the princess opened her mouth to speak. Yet not a sound was uttered. She watched him wide-eyed and heavy-breathed as the prince inched the bottom hem of her skirt upward. The fabric bunched between his fingers as he ran his hand up her leg, starting at the back of her calf. Smirk only growing stronger through his actions, the tip of Aemond’s tongue brushed over her skin with each wet kiss. 

The foreign feeling tickled the entirety of her, both inside and out. It made her want to squirm and kick her legs out, but she fought against every instinct inside of her. As weird as his touch felt, it also excited her. In a way she had never felt before. Similar yet different to the thrill of claiming Shrykos and flying by herself for the first time. A combination of fear, excitement, and completeness. Like destiny was unfolding before her. Submerged in her own mess of feelings, all she could do was bunch her hands up in to fists and hold them still in place. Where was the princess who threw the carafe? Where was the princess who rolled in dirt with her sister? Where was that princess when she needed her?

Aemond’s hand slipped past her knee and continued further and further up her thigh. His mouth followed close behind, leaving a wet languid trail across her skin. Maetilda’s heart pounded so hard it shook her whole chest. The prince blinked slowly while he watched her. Seemingly enthralled by the sight of her unraveling. His hand eventually reached her hip bone, yet his mouth did not stop. It kept going, headed straight toward the apex of her pillowy thighs. It was then that the panic set in. The princess realized then that he did not plan to stop. 

“Aemond!” She unsuccessfully tried to push her betrothed away and free herself of his perfectly set trap.

“Shh, shh, shh, shhhh, ñuha jorrāelagon.” He cooed gently. “We mustn’t announce our whereabouts.” (my love)

His face got closer and closer to her flower. His path only blocked by the squish of her soft thighs. Methodically, his idle hand grabbed the back of her closest knee and lifted her leg up. Propping it over his shoulder. Almost immediately, the princess went to put her leg back on the ground. Only to be stopped as Aemond’s hand held it in place. His fingers curling into her skin. Now completely exposed to him, his hot breath fanned over her delicate, forbidden little flower.

Her excitement seemed to burst within her. As if stomach butterflies travelled through her veins and out to every part of her, each finger and toe. An entire swarm pooled at the center of her ladyhood. She clenched her teeth together, accidentally biting down on her cheek. When her neck jerked back in a wince, she hit the back of her head on the tree. A yelp of pain escaped out of her mouth. Iron flavored liquid pooled around her tongue.

The prince chuckled from below, “I have yet to make my move.”

“My cheek!” She whined, “I can taste blood.”

“You’ll be alright,” He assured, “Allow me.”

Aemond’s words had hardly reached her ears by the time his mouth dove into her flower. No different than a bee on the hunt for pollen. Her skirt sheltered his face like petals around its pistil. The warm muscle of his tongue parted her own petals with ease. A quick lick that left as soon as it started. Maetilda squirmed even more. The bark of the tree digging into her back. The wet foreign feeling tickled in a way that left her wanting more. She wanted nothing more than to feel it again. 

She could not control the jerk of her hips as they rolled forward in search of Aemond’s face. Desperate to feel the lick of his tongue for just a moment longer. Instead, she felt his hot breath as he chuckled from inside her skirts. He laughed at her. Embarrassed, Maetilda’s cheeks felt hot. Her hips snapped away from him, body rigid once more. Her breath shook with uncertainty. He thought her to be foolish. Of that, she was certain.

But instead of pulling away to make jokes at her expense, his fingers dug deeper into her hip and yanked her ladyhood closer. His fingernails practically cut into her skin. Aemond’s sharp tongue dragged through her petals once more. Slower the second time, as if savoring her taste. A low hum from deep in his chest vibrated her frame. The princess couldn’t hold her eyes open. They lulled shut as the world spun around her. Balance soon a thing of the past and wherewithal fleeting, she tipped forward off-kilter.

The prince’s worship only continued. His mouth as frenzied and feral as a starving animal. His normally sleek, smooth hair, made frizzy and ratted from dragonback, tickled at the princess’s thighs. Still trapped in his grip, she helplessly squirmed. Her legs buckled beneath her, dangerously close to losing her footing all together. Aemond’s face and hands were the only supports that kept her upright. 

The inner flutter was better than any wine and far more intoxicating. His wet tongue slid and swirled inebriatingly all across her southern pearl, drawing shapes until he found her most sensitive button. Formerly bent forward, the princess’s spine snapped back. The tree hit her head as hard as ever. Maetilda’s vision darkened at the corners, putting stars in her eyes. At mercy to her own involuntary movements, her thighs squeezed around her betrothed’s head. 

He grunted and moaned against her bundle of nerves. Eliciting lilted notes from the princess’s own throat. Like a parched creature stumbling upon an oasis, he lapped and lapped and lapped at her mound. Drinking her in — body and soul. Not leaving behind a single drop. The flutter in Maetilda’s flower only built and grew. She squirmed and thrashed between Aemond’s hold and the tree. Her body hot and clammy. Desperate for a stabilizing force, her hands searched for something to hold onto. The tree bark scratched her palms, her dress was too malleable, nothing but air extended in front of her. 

An unexpected tightness formed near the bottom of her gut, one that was tethered to the insatiable hunger building in her flower and petals. The prince’s hands roamed where they could, continuing to keep her held tightly in place. One of the princess’s strained fists found his, and she curled her fingers tightly overtop. More lilted notes spilled out of her mouth as she gasped for breath.

Aemond’s mouth broke away momentarily only to say, “Ivestragī aōla jikagon,” before he was deep in her honeypot once more. (Let yourself go)

Her brows furrowed in confusion before she felt something below her gut drop. Similar to when her dragon took a dive too quickly and she was forced to hang on for dear life. The nerves in her petals and pistil exploded like dragon flame. Every muscle in her body clenched. All the while, Aemond’s head remained tucked between her thighs. His tongue remained incessant in its work. His own content sighs vibrated her flower.

The sounds the left the princess’s throat were completely involuntary. As were the rolling of her hips and the squirming of her arms and legs. Tension below her gut built and built. Like a rope about to snap in half. Part of her wanted to push herself up off the tree and run back to Vhagar, but a bigger part of her felt too overcome with euphoria to move. What Aemond managed to do with his mouth simply felt too good. A wave of ecstasy beyond anything she had ever experienced overcame her, relaxing her clenched muscles.

The prince’s tongue slowed to a more languid pace as his betrothed pulsated above him. In her near drunken state, her hands lashed out towards his head. Her fingers dug into his hair like tree roots into the ground. Her fingernails scratched at his scalp. The body-binding pleasure crashed over her like waves. Her own wetness seeped out of her sensitive flower, smearing over both Aemond and her inner thighs. His movements slowed in pace with her, syncing up to the languidly calming waves.

As the princess leaned against the trunk of the tree once more, now out of breath, it was as if a fog in her mind had slowly dissipated. Her betrothed had made a harlot of her once more. She had let him. Somewhat happily. If they were caught, if any passerby happened to see them, she would be done for. Although she already felt she was done for the moment she walked arm-in-arm with Aemond into the courtyard to greet her sisters. By the Gods’ mercy — whichever one was responsible — she was simply living on borrowed time.

Aemond left a few wet parting kisses before he pealed his face out from in between Maetilda’s thighs. His chin, lips, and cheeks practically glistened in the sunlight that peaked through the tree canopy. He looked so uncharacteristically improper that it made her blush. The sight of him too much, she looked away. 

None of the surrounding trees or shrubs had moved, yet the world felt as if it had turned on its head. Completely upside down. The tree trunk at her back hardly grounded her. Staring forward, she tried to blink the near-vertigo from her eyes. With enough vigor and focus, she managed to gather herself again. Suddenly realizing where her betrothed resided, her thighs clamped closed around him.

With a chuckle, Aemond pried himself free and got up from his knees. Easily towering over her within seconds and blocking her view of their surroundings. She watched with wide eyes and mouth ajar as he wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand. Wordlessly, he fixed her skirts and adjusted her dress back into perfection. He planted a gentle kiss on her hairline when he finished. 

For a long moment, the two stood in silence, leaning into one another. They breathed each other in. Their various perfumes, oils, and body odors clouded together in the air. Timidly, the prince’s arms inched around Maetilda’s shoulders, pulling her into a hesitant hug. Once wrapped in his arms, he held her tightly. His chin rested on top her head. She buried her own head into the dip in his chest.

She could not understand what it was about him. His handsome face, his quietly firm presence, his sweet words, the way he looked into her eyes when she spoke. His stare affected her in a way no one else’s did. Excitement, awe, fear. Perhaps it was the stones under her pillow or the rune he had drawn across her belly. Perhaps she was under his spell. Perhaps Helaena was mistaken, and Aemond was the earwig after all. The longer she breathed his air, the more she was certain old magic had been involved. Something ancient and far beyond themselves. Like Aegon and Rhaenys. Yet unlike the Conqueror’s queen, she was completely powerless.

After holding her for a long moment, Aemond pried his betrothed from her hiding space in his chest. “We should be getting back.”

Maetilda nodded as thoughts of what her father would think collected at the back of her head, “Yes. Y-you’re right.”

Aemond led the way back to Vhagar as the princess clutched onto his arm in a dreamlike state. A part of her felt as if it never left the trunk of the tree, like its bark had fused with her back and her feet had rooted into the earth. It was miraculous that she managed to move forward at all. Even more so that she made her way atop Vhagar once more. Her hands gripped the saddle weaker than they had before. Her eyelids hung heavier as they fought to stay open in the wind. All the way, the prince kept her grounded.

The energy between Maetilda and Aemond was palpably different upon their journey back toward the city than it had been at their departure from it. She couldn’t deny it. She liked the way he felt next to her. Their bodies sat closer, leaning into one another. Practically melding together as one. Maetilda sat in front of Aemond, who kept his arms securely wrapped around her body. The princess’s skin never once cooled down. Not as the breeze blew across her face, not as the sun traveled closer to the horizon, certainly not as they approached King’s Landing. 

The sight of the greenish-red castle and the mighty sept on Visenya’s Hill only served as a reminder of her sins. A punishment that felt like a slap across her face. Guilt poured into her gut like a waterfall, weighing her down like rocks. Thousands of heavy rocks that somehow squished together into her torso. The lords and ladies would certainly talk about their flight — her father was undoubtedly going to receive his own version of the story too. A chill shocked her bones at the realization. Her father had his dragon now. The only thing that kept him from flying to the city to punish her was Rhaenyra herself. But the Rogue Prince was never one to give up so easily. The weight in Maetilda’s gut only worsened as Vhagar took her landing. 

As soon as the old dragon’s feet touched the ground, the princess could feel every single set of eyes in the city turn towards her at once. Aemond called out commands to his bonded dragon, but his words turned to mush in her ears. Her stare was locked on the stone houses and shops. The expanse of buildings that made up King’s Landing. She could already feel their whisper of speculation, crawling down her back like spiders. The wasps’ nest would undoubtedly create tales of their own. They’d say the couple got up to much worse in the woods. That the princess had completely thrown caution to the wind. They would not be entirely wrong either. Maetilda knew she had been reckless, and she hated herself for it. Yet she liked the way it felt too much to stop it.

Upon ungracefully  dismounting Vhagar once more and assuming her place arm-in-arm with her betrothed, the princess recognized the lord waiting for them by his moniker, the Clubfoot. He stood at a slant as he favored one leg over the other. He clutched a cane in one hand to help him move about. Lord Larys Strong was a man with a less than favorable reputation. His serpentine eyes watched the both of them closely. The princess felt as if she was being dissected alive. Split open down the middle, pulled apart, and examined. A Kingsguard stood to the left of him. Not one of the twins, but Ser Criston Cole himself. The one who tried to take Lucerys’s eye at the Queen’s command. She would never forget the look on his face as he charged toward her brother. Not an ounce of doubt, sympathy, or guilt. When she looked at him, she could still see it.

“What a fine match the two of you make! The King is a smart man.” Lord Larys attempted to smile in greeting, “Apologies for my lack of pleasantries, Queen Alicent sends for her son.”

“Helaena is not enough to keep her occupied?” The prince was bold in his reply.

“She says the matter is urgent.” The quiet lord countered.

Aemond’s ears perked up with interest, “Urgent?”

“That is the word she used, yes.”

“So she sent you?”

Maetilda’s jaw dropped in shock at her betrothed’s words, his tone. The prince was condescending, malicious. To someone who hadn’t wronged him – to her own knowledge. Where had that Aemond come from? Was that the face he showed to those outside his family? Was that who she was to marry? Was that the Aemond that lay at his core? A shiver ran down her spine as her eyes darted between the two men. Her fingernails dug into Aemond’s arm.

“Yes, my prince.” The lord nodded meekly. “I have earned the Queen’s trust through my years.”

“Hmm.” Aemond stuck his chin out as he dragged a toe through the dirt, inspecting the lord up and down, “At least you’ve brought Ser Criston.” With his head held high, the prince stalked off toward the carriage and horses waiting for them, leaving the princess behind. Aemond threw the lingering three an impatient look when he turned back to find they hadn’t moved. “Let us go now. If this matter is as urgent as you say.”

A/N: this was actually going to be just a small little section of the next chapter before i realized that this was actually like a moment-moment *wtf was i thinking* and it needs to be its own chapter. so then boom, i started writing a whole other rendezvous i hadn’t planned!

i am so sorry for the slow updates!! essentially, i am trying to stretch more plot into the last episode of season one as possible and its been hurting my poor little brain as i try to make everything cohesive!! thank you for being patient with me and enjoying my baby as much as i do!!!

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe @nessjo @elliott-calls

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

WHERE HAVE I BEEN?!

before i start my ramble, i’d first like to apologize for my absence (again). i’ve gotten into the habit of writing a bunch when i’m in the groove, but then i fall out of it as life gets busy. i thought i was going to have both Chapters 20 & 21 posted by now.

back in july, i moved out of my old apartment, and totally thought my new apartment was haunted when i first moved in. actually, i’m still convinced we have a surprise roommate. there’s this quirky little thing that happens where if my roommate and i aren’t already awake around 3AM, one or both of us will mysteriously wake up at that time. but that’s been the only quirk that’s really messed with me though. the house was built in 1910, so i expected the creaking floor boards and whatnot from the house settling, but not this. i’m a very heavy sleeper, so the whole thing has been weird and unexpected.

the good news is: i have Chapter 20 finished! i’m also about 3000+ words into Chapter 21! originally, these two chapters were going to be squished into one, but i realized somewhere in the first section that i was going to need more space. i really hope you’ll like what’s on the stove! i am having a lot of fun with Chapter 21. it feels similar to how it felt writing Chapter 3, which excites me! (to date, i think that was my favorite to write.)

once those two are posted, i think i will consider that the end of “Part One.” i didn’t plan on having different parts/sections when i first started this. but as i write, i am realizing that where Maetilda is in Westeros has a great effect on her too — a different locations means her whole environment changes. all fish need to be acclimated to new waters, and i want to give my characters space to come to their own decisions instead of forcing them into predetermined plot points. after “Part One” is done, i want to write through to the end of S1E10 before i post more.

i hope you guys are doing well, and that this summer was extra special! did anyone do anything cool? or cool adjacent? i didn’t really get on here after the season 2 finale. were we all disappointed on that? i was under the impression we were getting two big battles this season! and then with GRRMs blog post about how removing Maegor will cause a big butterfly effect with the rest of the story moving forward! OOF. i’m optimistic, but… am i?

keep it classy San Diego

xoxo messy <3

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter nineteen: when the canary sings

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, sexual situations (consensual § nonconsensual), imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 4635

Dirt and grime. It felt like a layer of both coated her skin no matter how hard she rubbed and itched at herself. Her skin was starting to redden with the irritation of her picking and scratching. The feeling spanned throughout her body. Both inside and out. Eating at her slowly but thoroughly. A sensation she couldn’t escape. Despite the fresh cleanliness of her limbs, she still felt too filthy to be laced into her fine gown. With a myriad of old Pentoshi songs and plenty of coaxing, her handmaids had eventually convinced her to dress before the sun had reached its daily peak. What a princess she was. A poor excuse for a Targaryen. She was nothing more than an animal, confined to the enclosure that was her chambers and itching for another flea bath. She desperately wanted to feel clean again.

The day felt strange from the moment she opened her eyes. The castle walls were eerily silent. Less footsteps, less chatter, less life floated down the corridors. There was a hole in her chest, a hole the size of her family. After their departure, the princess forced Ser Gunthor to read to her for the rest of the afternoon. Both Ser Eddrin and Ser Wyllam traveled back to Dragonstone to see about the transfer of all of her belongings to King’s Landing and Runestone, leaving Ser Gunthor to remain with his princess. Despite how much he struggled to decipher the bigger words on the page. She wanted the tales of the Bronze Kings to drown out any lingering thoughts of Dragonstone. The place she had called home for the longest. The place she would likely never see again, unless specially invited by Jacaerys. If only his nose hadn’t been broken by her betrothed. Perhaps then, she would have been invited regularly. She would have visited her nieces and nephews twice a year, if not more. Perhaps they would have visited her children at Runestone too. 

But what had once been a given was now a question. King’s Landing was beginning to feel like a fever dream. Everything seemed backwards and wrong. From the castle decorations to the lords and ladies’ behavior at court. Each movement, each breath felt made on borrowed time. As if when traveling there by boat, her family had all taken a wrong turn and docked in Sothyros. In a false city meant to trick them into thinking it was King’s Landing so that the locals could pick them off one by one. And she was the last one left, finally awoken to the horror of it all. If that were the case, at least her dreams would make sense. She felt like she was going mad. 

After breaking fast with her father the day before, she had not gone down to the main courtyard to see the rest of her kin off. She felt too shaken up after the table had been thrown. Her maids had brought a bath and scrubbed her skin raw, yet she still felt dirty from the other night.  She didn’t want to leave her chambers in the slightest. The guilt of it all ate her alive. She did not even have the decency to send her own family off. If they hadn’t hated her already, they certainly had to now. As much as she did not like it, the princess could not blame them. They were not wrong to feel she had betrayed them. In many ways, she had.

A knock sounded on the chamber door before Ser Gunthor stepped inside. Maetilda looked up at him from her embroidery scribbles as she remained perched on spot in the fainting chair. Respectfully, he bowed before announcing that the Princess Helaena Targaryen had come to visit. Her cousin was immediately welcomed in. The princess-by-birth wore a beautiful periwinkle gown with a high neckline and seven-pointed star brocade. Her hair was pulled out of her face and left to flow down her back. She smiled wide upon entering.

“I visit my mother every evening with the children before we all go to bed. I do think I shall visit you every morning that you are here.” The younger smiled.

“I should have no bad days if they all start with a visit from you.” Maetilda smirked before giggling at the face Helaena made.

“You have spent too much time with my brother already.” She scrunched her nose up.

“He is the one who will not leave me alone.” 

“I have not thanked you yet, for what you did.”

“Thanked me?”

“You stood with my brother, and I am not the only one who appreciates your loyalty.”

“Yes, well.” Maetilda could not help the lost sigh that escaped her, “I do not feel as if I did the right thing.”

Helaena nodded bluntly, “There shall be repercussions.”

“I can feel them coming.” The princess-by-title laughed dryly, “But I do not know what to watch for.”

A silence fell between the two as Helaena stood rigid in thought. Alone in the room together, they dropped all traces of any act. Behaving as they felt most natural. The princess-by-birth seemed to jolt out of her own head before she took a seat on one of the other loungers.

“Do bugs break fast? Or do they have meals at all?” Helaena thought aloud.

Eyebrows furrowed, the princess-by-title responded honestly, “Suppose it depends on the bug. ‘Some must.”

“Do the silverfish and the earwig?”

“They get a meal when they can. Don’t know if one could call it anything.”

“The earwig eats the silverfish, in the end.”

“Unless the silverfish can get away.”

“But that does not always happen.”

“No, it doesn’t.” The princess-by-title sighed again, “Is Aemond the earwig? And I the silverfish?”

“You are the silverfish. That I know.” Helaena nodded.

“Who else would wish to eat me?” Maetilda laughed.

“From what Aemond has told me, he already has.” The princess-by-birth smirked as her cousin’s jaw fell to the floor, “On the balcony, was it?”

Maetilda’s cheeks enflamed to a bright red, “He told you?”

“Spilled all his deepest secrets on our walk yesterday.”

“It was his idea.” The princess-by-title crossed her arms, “Don’t believe I ever agreed to it actually.”

Helaena shook her head knowingly. Yet despite the knowing in her eyes, the rest of her was more rigid. “Do we ever?”

“How do you stay afloat amongst it all?”

“My family, my children. I find a purpose in them. Then the rest does not seem to be so much.”

Maetilda nodded, as her mind raced on the inside. What was she to do if her family hated her? She had no children to focus on and her family likely would not speak to her. Finding a purpose would not be so easy. Perhaps she didn’t have one. Perhaps she was meant to live a life alone in exile at Runestone. Perhaps she was meant to be her generation’s cautionary tale for maidens who waited too long to wed. 

“You shall find what brings you joy with time. I did not like my own children at first.”

The princess-by-title laughed so hard she nearly snorted, “Well, of course! You had two at once!”

“Thought they were a curse when they were born. I see why they were given to me now.”

“You do?”

“Yes. The gods could not leave any one child to suffer alone with me.” She laughed, “They are meant to keep each other company, keep each other distracted. I could have  never had just one.”

The princess-by-birth looked so relaxed when she smiled. It spread a sense of peace throughout the room. The sun shined brighter, reflecting off the surface of her teeth. And just like the sun, Helaena seemed to practically glow. In their youth, the princess-by-title always envied her cousin. How pretty she was, how neat her curls were. Three children later and nothing had changed. Yet, so much had changed. She remained under her mother’s watchful eye more than ever. She stayed tucked away in her chambers unless accompanied. After their time in the Godswood, they hadn’t seen each other much at all — unless attending dinner or visiting the other’s chambers. Amongst the same castle walls, should they not be inseparable?

“May I ask you something?” Maetilda broke the silence.

Helaena nodded idly.

“Why is it only now that you have come to visit me? Have you and the children been in your chambers for the duration of my family’s stay?”

Again, Helaena nodded. 

“Do you hate them all?”

This time, the princess-by-birth shook her head. “No.”

“If that is the case, why make yourself sparse?”

Helaena only smiled. While she was younger, she often seemed as if she had far more years’ worth of knowledge. Far more than the others around her. There was an answer to her cousin’s question present in her eyes, but it never actually became words in her mouth. Her eyes were always so much more expressive than the rest of her. The two stood in a silent standoff as Maetilda waited for a response that never came.

“I am sorry. That was unbecoming of me to ask of you.” The princess-by-title looked down at her feet, wondering if perhaps she was the only one to let all improprieties fly between them.

“No, no. Do not apologize.” The younger giggled.

“Have I not offended you?”

“Not at all.”

“Have you no answer?”

“Not one that comes from mine own mouth.”

The room fell silent again. The princess-by-title stared at her cousin incredulously, not fully understanding what her words meant. Regardless, she could feel the restraint in her throat. She wished to say more, but could not. For whatever reason. But perhaps that was truly all she needed to say.

“May I ask you something more?” Maetilda piped up again.

Helaena gave her silent ‘yes.’

“Do you think my siblings will ever forgive me?”

The younger took a pause before proceeding with her answer, “They will not extend the olive branch first. You are one and they are many.”

“‘Suppose that is in our nature. But I do not wish to be made to choose between my family and the man I should marry. A marriage is supposed to do quite the opposite actually.”

The subject seemed to pain the princess-by-birth the longer they lingered on it. Her face scrunched in discomfort. She practically squirmed in her seat, mumbling under her breath. “What is left after the beast eats itself?”

“All the evidence.” The princess-by-title shrugged.

Helaena let out a brief dry laugh. “‘Suppose so.”

A thoughtful silence fell between the two. Maetilda did not know what to make of her cousin’s line of questioning. She couldn’t seem to find the meaning behind it, couldn’t figure out what was being hinted to. It felt as if the answer was staring her down the nose, yet she still could not see it. It made the hair on her arms and legs stand uncomfortably on end. She wondered what she was missing.

“Will you promise me something?” The princess-by-birth seemed to snap out of her own head again.

“Of cour— What is it?”

The younger hesitated, stuck on her words, “The storms.”

The princess-by-title waited for her to finish.

“Silverfish cannot swim.”

“No, they cannot.” Maetilda nodded. “Can dragons?”

Helaena’s body squirmed again. She shook her head, hard, before she eventually dizzied herself into stopping. She clutched the closest furniture piece until her knuckles turned white. Long fingernails scratched into the wood. Her dizzy head swayed until it eventually gained balance. Her eyes focused on something in front of her that the other could not see. When she was done, her demeanor had changed. Like she was a different person entirely. Maetilda’s mouth hung open in shock. Unsure what to do or how to help.

“Helaena, are you alright?”

“Shall we take a stroll? Perhaps visit Aemond?” The princess-by-birth suddenly inquired, effectively changing the subject.

“A-are we allowed?” 

“Why would we not?”

“I have not left this room since my family’s departure.”

“No you haven’t,” Helaena nodded slowly, “Are you alright?”

Maetilda shook her head, “I must have been cursed.”

The younger cousin laid a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder, “I understand how you feel.”

Helaena’s words felt weird to Maetilda. It was such a simple sentence. Yet after it touched her ears, her breath seemed to come with more ease. Like a weight had been pulled off of her chest. That is, before she remembered her cousin’s comment from earlier.

“Aemond told you everything about what happened?”

“Most everything. We are each other’s closest friend.” Helaena gave her an unreadable look.

“I still cannot fathom it. I feel so rotten inside. I cannot show my face at court ever again. I am a disgrace.”

“Maetilda, no one shall ever know. No one saw you.”

“He drew a rune on me in blood, Helaena. My handmaids saw it while I was dressing.”

“He drew it in blood?”

“Yes! I don’t know what it meant. ‘Wiped it away before I got a good look at it.”

“Was it yours? Did he hurt you?”

“I… never… felt a cut. ‘Haven’t found one yet either.”

“Aemond would not hurt you.”

“You said he told you of our evening! How much did he truly tell you?” Maetilda crossed her arms.

“I did not ask for every detail.” Helaena attempted a giggle before clearing her throat, “Your handmaids likely have not kept this knowledge to themselves.”

“I begged their mercy. But gold coins are worth more than tears.”

“True.” The younger nodded, “Perhaps the gold should come from you then.”

“I have none.”

“Aemond does.”

“You suggest I ask him for coins to pay off my maids?”

“Precisely! He is to be your husband after all. It is his duty to protect you.”

The princess-by-title felt her back straighten with an unusual wave of confidence, “Yes, you are right. It is. Perhaps we should visit Aemond after all.”

“Yes, let us go! You shall have plenty more time to stay cooped up in this room. Aemond was going to go riding this afternoon.”

“Riding?” Maetilda gasped, perking up even more.

“Vhagar must stretch her old bones.” Helaena giggled again.

“Let us make haste then.” 

Throwing on her traveling cloak, fighting off the flashbacks the fabric gave her, the princess-by-title did not ask another question before she was pulling her cousin out of the room. Large grins on their faces, the two scurried down to the training yards with Ser Gunthor a few steps behind them. The princess-by-birth’s giggles carried throughout the corridors. The cousins walked hand-in-hand, fingers linked, just as they did as girls. Practically skipping, the younger took the lead. The light of her smile radiated out even more. Suddenly, the wide expanse of an emptier keep did not seem so dreary.

Down the stairs, through a corridor, across a landing the older did not recognize, through another mysterious corridor, and down several more flights of stairs. Maetilda was shocked when her cousin pulled her through a door and out onto the grounds. Very close to the training yards. Even closer to the front gates, where she should have bid her family a safe journey the day before. Guilt weighed down on the princess-by-title’s shoulders, it made her stomach bubble with nausea. She spent so much time fretting over whether or not they hated her, whether or not they would ever forgive her, when she already knew the answer. What had she done to earn their love and forgiveness? They would be foolish to take her back. Unaware of the other’s inner turmoil, Helaena simply continued smiling.

“Sunny day!” The younger chirped.

Looking up, only to be blinded by the big star itself, the older nodded in agreement, “I had not yet noticed.”

“I quite like the sun.”

“The two of you are one in the same.” Maetilda lightheartedly remarked.

Helaena giggled, “Have we already found my brother?” 

“Suppose we should stop our search!” The older shrugged innocently.

“Nonsense!” The younger smirked. “Where should we start?”

“The training yards lead to the Dragonpit, yes?”

“That is one direction to take.”

“There is another?”

Helaena giggled harder. “Of course!”

Of course, there would be. Maetilda thought to herself. With all the different passages throughout the castle, the city itself was likely the same. It would be absurd to only have one path that led to the Dragonpit. Perhaps she was as thick-headed as her father thought.

Helaena grabbed hold of both Maetilda’s hands before she spoke, “Should we try the stables first?”

The older immediately nodded her head, “Would you lead the way?”

From behind them, Ser Gunthor cleared his throat. “Forgive me, Princesses. I believe the Prince has already found you.”

The two cousins spun around in opposite directions until they each found the man in question. He took long purposeful strides, eye locked on his target destination. His hair floated behind him in the wind of his own speed. He was dressed in a cloak and riding leathers, ready to mount Vhagar at a moment’s notice. Wherever she was. Linking their elbows together, Helaena eagerly led Maetilda to meet him in the middle. Ser Gunthor followed behind with a menacing swagger in his step and an arm casually draped on the hilt of his sword. A soft warning to the Prince to be on his best behavior.

“Helaena, where is your guard?” Aemond asked as soon as they were close enough to have a private talk.

“We have Ser Gunthor with us!” The princess-by-birth replied innocently.

“That is my intended’s guard, dear sister. Where is your guard?”

“With the children.”

“Right,” He nodded with a frustrated sigh, “What brings the two of you out here?”

“You.” Helaena smirked.

Maetilda answered simultaneously, “Are we not allowed to be outside?”

“Funny! I was just beginning to believe you were locked in your chambers, Princess.”

The princess-by-title froze, utterly shell shocked at the fact that he seemed to know where she had and had not been. “Why do you say that?”

“I went down to the gates yesterday to bid your family a safe journey home. Mother and Helaena did too. You, however, were noticeably absent.”

“Yes, I… I had a hard morning.”

“Your siblings refused to speak to me. Except Joffrey.”

“They are upset with the both of us.”

“We have done nothing wrong.”

“I have.” Maetilda shook her head, “I shouldn’t have fought with my sister like that.”

“No, ñuha dōna, you were right to defend me.” (my sweet)

“Fighting was not the answer. For any of us. We should all be shackled and locked in the same room until our differences are settled.”

“Shall we do so before or after the wedding?” Aemond snarked.

“They shall come back before then. My brothers, at least.”

“I have nothing to say to them.”

The future couple stared each other down, a duel of intense glares. Each refusing to be the first to cave. Ser Gunthor and Princess Helaena were left to stand and watch as the moment dragged on. The prince and princess were both as stubborn as the other. It was an infamous Targaryen trait they both shared.

“If you care for me, you care for them too. It would do you good to remember that.”

“If you care for me,” His eye burned with a passionate fire, “You will not allow them to make a fool of me — of us — any further.”

“The only fool I know wears a hat with bells.”

“You jest enough, I should have one made in your size.” He crossed his arms, “It would suit you.”

“Have it made for me so that it may become yours once we are wed? That is the way you wish to have things, is it not?” The princess-by-title smirked, knowing how the deeper meaning behind her words would cut through the prince’s armor easier than butter. “How clever of you.”

Helaena giggled as Aemond sucked his teeth and laughed incredulously. He glanced about the grounds as if looking for an audience. “Any other man would have the intelligence to not take a woman who tempts fate to wife.”

“I cannot bear to witness this any longer!” Helaena interjected.

Ser Gunthor stifled a grunt behind them. A reaction that the princess wished she had made. It was not she who wished to tempt fate. He needed an accomplice in his crimes.

“My apologies, dear sister.” Aemond turned to look pointedly at Helaena, “I hope we have not made you uncomfortable.”

“Only slightly.” The princess-by-birth nodded.

“What brings you both to find me? Truly.”

The two princesses shared glances back and forth, unsure who should explain. Maetilda ventured a peek at her knight to find him watching their conversation intently. She wondered if he had any inkling of something being amiss. She wondered if he could tell something was different about her. His face did not give much away. Regardless, the princess-by-title’s skin crawled. The night she shared with the prince was burnt onto the back of her eyelids. Her thoughts all wandered back to that night. That cursed night, him, the rune, the consequences. She couldn’t escape any of it. 

“We wish to speak with you.” Helaena finally answered.

“Speak with me? Now?” The prince seemed shocked, “Vhagar is hungry.”

Maetilda’s eyes timidly flicked between her cousins. Wanting to escape the conversation and any ramifications that came with it, her mouth moved before her brain had given it permission. “Go then. You mustn’t let her go hungry.”

The siblings shared a confused look. Aemond took a second a moment to give his betrothed’s traveling cloak another once over. His weight shifted from one foot to the other. “Come with me?”

The princess-by-title could not help the smirk that spread across her face. “I rode her long before you did.”

“You rode with Lady Laena?” The princess-by-birth smiled.

“All over Essos. Well, not everywhere. We hadn’t made it as far east as father originally planned.” A sorrowful longing added to the ever present guilt that weighed down her insides. Vhagar was a bittersweet memory.

Aemond chuckled before offering out his arm for his betrothed to take, “The game we have fenced up in the Kingswood is not quite as exciting as Essos, but I would love to reunite two old friends.”

Helaena’s face lit up like a spark. “Ser Gunthor? Would you take me to my mother’s solar?”

Shockingly, the sworn knight immediately tried to decline. His head already shaking no. But the princess-by-title cleared her throat. “Ser Gunthor, please see Helaena to where she needs to go and meet us back at the Dragonpit.”

The knight’s body went rigid, his face screamed all sorts of obscenities. Yet not a single dissenting word left his mouth. “As you wish, princess.”

Without much word of fair departure, the unnatural pairings went their separate ways. As feather-light as a sprite in the wind, Helaena floated off back toward the castle with her cousin’s sworn night trailing behind her. It was weird for the princess-by-title to see her knight walk off without her, without leaving another knight in his place. Instead she was left with her betrothed. Unchaperoned. Alone with Aemond again. 

Arm-in-arm, the prince led them off in the direction of the stables. “Shall we have a carriage dressed for you?”

“We cannot ride horseback to the Dragonpit?”

Aemond chuckled, “It would be unbecoming for the princess to be seen riding as a man through the capital.”

His words sat funny in her gut. He only seemed to care for her reputation when it best suited him. Where was this care when they were alone on the balcony? Perhaps he knew what he was doing. Perhaps through his lifetime spent within the greenish-red walls, he had learned exactly where to place his feet to avoid the lingering booby traps. She hoped for the latter.

“And if I rode as a woman?” The princess probed.

“That is for our wedding night.” He laughed again.

Maetilda promptly dropped his arm, “Despicable.”

“It was only a joke!” Aemond exclaimed, feigning innocence. “I shall fetch some Kingsguard.”

And he did so immediately. A party of four mounted white cloaks and a horse-drawn carriage were assembled quicker than she ever thought possible. Closed roof, so that they could not be seen from the outside, but the Kingsguard on horseback at each flank would give their presence away regardless. Made of a glossy dark wood, the carriage was far nicer than the one she had arrived in. Black, red, and green dragon brocade curtains framed each window. Aemond held her hand steady as she stepped inside to find the same brocade fabric duplicated on the seats and the ceiling. Nonchalantly, he slipped into the carriage after her. Closing the door behind him. Yet again, they were left unchaperoned. As if forever coated in dried mud, the ever present itch across her skin only seemed to get worse. 

“Aemond!” The princess hissed.

“Yes?”

“We are alone!”

The prince smugly smiled from his place on the opposite bench, “We are. As we shall be alone on dragonback.”

“You wish for the servants to whisper. You wish for my virtue to be questioned.” The princess narrowed her eyes.

“Of course not, ñuha dōna. I want a good wife.” (my sweet) 

“A good wife would have shunned you from her chambers if you came to her before her wedding night.”

“That is different.”

“How? Tell me.”

“Because you—“ He looked down to his lap for a moment before looking back up at her more confidently, “You could not help but surrender to your own destiny.”

The princess crossed her arms over her chest, “That is not how I remember it.”

“No?” He gasped.

“If following my destiny feels like making a grave mistake, then…”

“What? Then what? Do not tell me you wish to call off the wedding now. What should be left of your good name after that?”

“You twist my words.”

“Tell me what you want. Tell me what upsets you.”

“You upset me. I want you to promise not to ruin my name.”

“What tells you I shall ruin anything?”

The princess’s mouth hung open gobsmacked, “Take a look at us!”

He rolled his eyes. “You worry too much.”

An angry, stubborn silence fell between them. Maetilda’s skin continued to itch in a way that seemed to gnaw at her. The carriage jostled them slightly as its wheels rolled over the stone streets of the city. The hustle and bustle lining their path filled any sort of silence they would have had inside the castle walls. Children’s laughter, merchants advertising prices, the hum of chatter. It sent a buzz through her bones. A peaceful, calming buzz, like the rumble of thunder in the distance.

“Listen, I am sorry.” Aemond finally conceded.

“Are you?”

“Of course.”

“Hmm.”

“You do not believe me?”

“No.”

He rolled his eyes again, “Of course.”

“You think I am craven?” Came Maetilda’s quiet challenge.

“Slightly,” He nodded.

“Because I fear what could happen?”

“A craven fears the future. A wise man prepares for it. Does he not?”

“What future do you prepare for?”

“The one where their jabs and laughter turn to fire and blood.”

“Who are they?”

Almost confused, the prince shook his head, “You do not know?”

“Do you mean my siblings?”

“Of course,” He deadpanned, “But not just them.”

Maetilda crossed her arms, subtly scratching at her them as she turned to look out the window instead of at her betrothed. With a nearly inaudible scoff, Aemond did the same, making sure to stare out the opposite window. Despite the noise outside and the jostle of the carriage, the two remained as silent and as still as stone statues for the remainder of their journey.

A/N: you know when you know you’re in deep shit, but you can’t yet fathom just how deep that shit runs? yeah? maetilda’s there.

the next chapter is in the oven! it may take a bit longer because the next few chapters are more show related and i will need to go back and review said episodes again. the new season has really been lighting a fire under my ass though!! it’s giving me lots of new inspiration for where this train is headed!! thank you for continuing to read it!

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe @nessjo

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter eighteen: a father’s last words

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, sexual situations (consensual § nonconsensual), imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 3845

She had never truly understood how it happened, what all the act entailed. Throughout her life, she had been given clues. The way lords, songs, and peasants alike all spoke of it in the same grotesque manner — some more poetically than others. With the various details and snippets she had pieced together, she thought perhaps she would be prepared. But it was unlike anything she could have ever imagined.

Pain, euphoria, instincts, and sweat. Pressure at the bottom of her gut gave way to a wave of full-body and mind inebriation. Like flood waters overtaking an ill-equipped dam. Connected to her betrothed as intimately as could be, her limbs shook at the overflow of sensations. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. The prince kept his hand over her mouth to muffle her yelps.

“Sȳz riña.” (Good girl.) He grunted into her ear.

His other wet hand stroked a shape across her belly. He touched her all over as she lay limp. Desperately trying to regain her breath. Her vision was clouded, and each gasp of air felt just as contaminated. The smell of Aemond — oud, sandalwood, saffron, and sweat — overtook the entirety of the balcony around her. With his body on top of hers, he was everywhere. Utterly inescapable.

After a long break, drinking the moment in, he pulled himself out before standing to his feet. She could feel herself leak, feel the extra wetness seep out of her drip by drip. Like a plug being pulled from a drain. All she could do was lay in her shame and guilt. Her fate had been sealed. There was no turning back, only pretending like nothing ever happened. The only ones to know the truth would be her, Aemond, and the Gods. 

The hum of the dragon’s song softly returned, just as gentle and sweet. A painfully familiar calloused hand slid under her back, the other under her neck, and pulled her to sit up. Her muscles strained and twitched with weakness. She could hardly hold her own head upright. The princess surrendered completely as Aemond plucked her off the cloak and carried her back to her bed. Helping her use the chamber pot before tucking her into place. The cushions and covers were plush and soft. She couldn’t help the audible sigh of relief that escaped her. 

With heavy eyes, Maetilda was determined to watch her betrothed. Prepared to brace herself for his next move. She studied the way he carefully cleaned up the scene of the crime — returning the cushion to its seat, hanging her traveling cloak back up in her wardrobe, and disposing of any lingering evidence. Still undressed, his body captivated her. Each strain and flex of muscles that seem to double in size only when in use. Like animal camouflage that fools its enemies into thinking it has no strength, his body was far more powerful than it appeared. The sight of such a strong man ever so daintily picking up a mess made her smile. Almost giddily. Until she remembered the severity of the circumstance. That very body had just deflowered her, had taken any semblance of her good standing in proper society. The fleeting swarm of stomach butterflies immediately gave way to mortification. Deep, soul-shredding mortification.

Tears flooded her eyes, only making them feel even more heavy. Her face contorted into a frown. The corners of her mouth pulled down as her bottom lip jutted out. Silent sobs escaped out of her chest. She curled into a ball and hugged her knees. The prince did not notice until his boots, trousers, and tunic were in proper place on him again. It was then that he turned back to her and took notice of her depleted form. With a look of concern, Aemond immediately floated over and wrapped his arms around her. “Shh, shh, shh, shhhh, gaomagon daor limagon.” (do not cry)

“Se Jaes kessa qrimbrōzagon īlva syt skoros emi gaomagon.” (The gods will curse us for what we have done.)

“Kesi dīnagon se kessi jurnegon bē īlva lēda vaoreznon.” (We shall wed, and they will look upon us with favor.)

“Gaomā daor emagon lēda ao pōja vēdros sir?” (Do you not feel their anger already?)

“Daor vala gīmigon pōja vēdros tolī hen nyke.” (No man knows their anger better than me.)

“Se sīr ao jaelagon naejot vēdros zirȳ tolī? Qrimbrōzagon nyke lēda ao?” (And so you wish to anger them further? Curse me with you?)

“Iksā ñuhon, dārilaros. Ao kessa sagon rȳ ñuha paktot va moriot. Morghon kessa daor arlinnon bona.” (You are mine, princess. You shall be at my side forever. Death will not change that.) He attempted to jest.

More silent sobs shook the princess’s body. Doom, despair, hellish heat of the Fourteen Flames, the cold air of the Stranger. She could feel it all. Bombarding her with punch after punch to the gut. She had acted against everything she had ever known. There would be nothing but consequences. The Gods knew what she had done, regardless of whether or not her father would ever know. Aemond ran his fingers lightly up and down her arms and across her back. He buried his head in the crook of her neck and held her. He let her silently sob into her pillow, and peppered her with soft kisses along her neck and shoulder. It was warm. Comforting. A kind of comfort she wasn’t sure she had ever felt. With each peck, the sadness felt more and more distant. Although it never completely went away.

“Sleep, ñuha dōna.” (my sweet)

The humming returned once more, even softer than before. His arms squeezed lovingly before fingers began to stroke her hair. More gentle than any comb, the ginger pull at her scalp made her eyes feel even heavier. The tears that blurred her vision slowed their rivery path down her cheeks. Exhaustion weighed down every piece of her body. She had fought against it, but her eyelids only drooped lower and lower. Each comb of Aemond’s fingers rendered her more helpless. Seeing no use in resisting, she succumbed to his care. He had already taken her virtue; there was not much else for her to lose. If anyone were to find them, the worst had already been done. There was no turning back.

Within seconds, there was nothing but weightless darkness. An expanse of nothing. As black as a starless night sky or a room full of smoke. It was endless with no obstructions, no nooks or crannies. And she was the lone soul to exist within it. Aemond’s hum had become a distant echo, a barely audible background accompaniment. His arms were long gone. No more comforting squeeze to soothe her sorrow. His fingers no longer combed through her hair — the air did. 

She looked around her, trying to see anything that would orientate her or tell her where she was. Not a single spec, figure, or shadow. When she looked at her arms, outstretched like dragon wings, they could be seen as clear as day. Clad in her nightgown, the figure of her stood out like a sore thumb against the expanse of nothing. She soared through the air on her belly. Her nightgown floated around her as if she were underwater. Her ease of breath serving as the only proof that she wasn’t submerged in Blackwater Bay. But when she flipped onto her back to look above her, she suddenly wasn’t so convinced. There was light. It was obscured by the crashing of dark waves on the surface far, far above her. But it was there: the moon.

As soon as Maetilda realized just how deep below the waves she was, the air around her vanished. Was stolen straight out of her chest. Opening her mouth only brought in water. Trying to paddle herself upward got her nowhere. She was to drown. A pair of familiar calloused hands wrapped around her ankles and dragged her down. Trapped in the clench of her father’s grip. Devoid of air, she watched helplessly as the hands pulled her farther and farther away from the light of the moon. Until it couldn’t be seen at all. That was when she hit ground. The jolt broke her ankles free of their five-finger shackles and sent a rush of air to her lungs. She wobbled to her feet, the weightless feeling no more. There seemed to be a world around her, if only there were light to see it with. She was at least grateful she could breathe again.

Still trying to find something, anything, the princess turned around and couldn’t help her jump of shock. Behind her stood a woman in riding leathers and trousers, slightly blurred without the moon to illuminate her. Nonetheless she seemed to glow. The woman was similar in stature, but a bit thinner and more muscled. She had brunette hair that stopped at her squared shoulders, or was perhaps tucked back. Strong brows framed her eyes. The princess took a step forward to get a better look, but it did no good. All she saw were vague features. The woman only pointed to the expanse of nothing that stood behind the princess. Following the woman’s finger despite the sense of doubt, Maetilda was once again startled. This time by the infamous cloaked figure. It loomed over her with its obscured face, hand outstretched upward. In its hand was a very jagged rock.

A shove from behind sent the princess colliding with the ground. Landing on her elbows, she rolled onto her back only to be back in her bed once more. Golden morning sunlight poured in through the windows. Aemond was gone, along with any sign of his presence. Instead, Noarysa, Adelyn, and a few other servants knocked at her door. Waiting to ready the table to break her fast. A meal that her father would be attending. At the realization, Maetilda had never jumped out of her bed so quickly. Racing to the door, she called through it.

“Yes! Who is it?”

“Your maids, Princess! Here to dress you.” 

There were quick greetings and the sound of shuffling feet as she ripped the door open. As soon as they entered, the room felt full. Suffocating. Wordlessly, the princess marched over to the balcony doors and ripped them open. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked at the floor she laid on the night before. At least it was clean, she thought, no evidence. The scene looked much more stale in the morning light. She could still picture it on the backs of her eyelids. When her nose caught the breeze, she swore she could still smell him too. The tune he hummed played on in her head like a broken record. 

She couldn’t bring herself to look out over the bay. Instead, she ducked tail and practically leaped far back into her room. Her legs strained at the movement. Trying to keep her face from showing how frantic she felt, the princess gave her handmaids a smile. They smiled back more apprehensively. Maetilda could feel Adelyn’s eyes do an investigation as Noarysa held her gaze.

“Princess, are you well? Should I send for the Maester?” Noarysa seemed to hold herself back.

“No need to worry. I had a bad dream about the sea. Seeing it again gave me a fright. That is all.”

The older handmaid nodded, “It is right to fear the sea. It holds monsters beyond our knowing.” 

‘Dragons must pay dues to the sea gods too,’ Helaena’s voice echoed between Maetilda’s ears. Chills rippled across her skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She tried to shake herself of the thought, “Funny to think anything could be bigger than a dragon.”

“You’d be speechless from the stories sailors carry with them, Princess.” Adelyn smirked, “Although my mother always said that sailors tell the tallest tales. The sea can drive a man mad.” 

“You don’t think there’s some truth to their stories?” Maetilda countered.

“I believe there’s always at least a crumb.” 

The princess nodded, “I suppose we should ready me before I go mad dwelling on it.”

The two handmaids immediately got to work. The three moved closer to the wardrobe before assuming their routine positions. With the usual Pentoshi tune as music, Noarysa and Adelyn helped Maetilda out of her nightgown. While comforting, the feeling of being hummed to made the princess’s skin crawl with guilt. She hated that she missed the way it felt to have him hover over her, the way it intoxicated her more than wine. She hated that she missed the tickle of his hair falling on her cheek. She hated how much she missed the way his gaze effortlessly made her go weak. For the trouble it would undoubtedly cause, it felt good. He made her feel good. But before she could get lost in reminiscing anymore, the princess was shocked back into reality by the horrified gasp of the handmaid in front of her. The younger one, Adelyn.

“Princess, what is that?”

“What?” Maetilda looked around in panic.

“That!” The younger maid pointed at the princess’s abdomen. 

Bare without her nightgown, and not yet dressed in her shift, she looked down to see a symbol drawn in a dry, flaky red across her abdomen. A rune. Her hands quickly tried to cover it, but the lines covered the expanse of her stomach.

Desperately, she attempted to rub at all the red and come up with a believable explanation at the same time, “I—I—I—I stole a book about Runestone and runes from the library and I was being silly. I beg you do not tell a soul. Please. I beg you tell no one. I was just being silly.”

“Wait! Princess, please, let us help.” Noarysa’s hands hovered out, waiting anxiously for permission.

“Please do not tell a soul. I didn’t do anything!” Maetilda pleaded, “I am not a witch.”

“On my life, Princess. I shall not tell a soul.” The older maid nodded.

“I swear I shall not, Princess.” Adelyn chirped in.

Maetilda took a deep breath, “Let us put on my shift and the rest of my dress. I shall have a bath after my family departs the castle.”

Soon after the princess was dressed in one of her more simple gowns — a purple mauve a-line gown with monotone brocade and a simple square neckline  — and her chambers were readied for a meal, a firm knock sounded on her door. He was early. The two handmaids graciously let the guest in before parting to send for the food. Her father stood in the entrance silently, taking in her chambers. 

“I should send smugglers, after I have left.” He started, “But I do not trust any man would be able to stop themselves, given the opportunity. And a smuggler’s bastard most certainly would not do.”

“No, it would not.” She agreed, unsure how else to answer. She could feel herself start to perspire.

“Did you sleep well, tala?” He slowly started to make his way toward the table with two place settings. (daughter)

“I slept fine.” She lied, “How was your sleep?”

“Barely had any.” He shrugged, “All I could think about was what I shall do with you… and my wife.”

“Your wife, the future Queen.”

“Yes, thank you. I need not forget.” His eyes rolled.

Maetilda nodded. She stood idly at the back of her chair, unsure if he would pull it out for her or not. He did. And pushed it in tightly. By the time he took his own seat, a knock at the door announced the arrival of food. Trays of pastries, fruits, and sausages. Far too much for the two of them. The servants bowed before they left. Prince Daemon dug in immediately, diving for the meat and bread. The sound of him eating was loud on their silence. Maetilda couldn’t seem to make a choice on where to start, eying each tray carefully. In truth, she was not very hungry. 

“If this day goes as planned, you shall be alone in this castle with only Rhaenys to watch over you.” Daemon spoke with his mouth mostly empty.

“Yes, I am eager to prove myself to you, kepa. I am more than capable.”

“Do as you wish. I shall know everything.”

“In the absence of smugglers, you send spies?”

“I need not send what already exists.”

“Of course, your loyalists.” The princess nodded in remembrance.

Her father smirked. “You think you are so smart. There is so much about politics, about power that you do not know. Do not understand.”

“You think so low of me.”

“You are my most difficult child, indeed.”

“All I have ever wanted is to make you happy.”

“Yet, you always fall short.” The prince laughed as his daughter hung her head, “Although I must say, I am glad we get to have this time to bond before I must go.”

“Yes, of course. It is very nice.” Maetilda numbly agreed.

“Almost bittersweet! We have not been apart since your mother was alive.” She froze. He had actually spoken of her. Or had he? Perhaps she had imagined it.

“How sentimental. I do not remember such a time.”

“Of course you do not. You could not even walk.”

Their golden cutlery scraped against their plates. Her father took large bites that he swallowed after only a few chews. The princess could only push her food around on her plate. Something felt off about his statement. His tone of voice was uncomfortably sharp. As sharp as the knife he used to cut his food. 

“You did not walk for moons after I took you,” He spoke again after swallowing a mouthful, “Thought you never would for a bit. It was well past your first nameday when you finally did. Laena worked with you every day.”

“Thank the gods I did.”

He chuckled as he took another bite, taking his time to chew and swallow, “Yes, thank the gods. Practicing to be a Hightower already.”

“That was not my intention.”

“I saw you.” He spat.

“Saw me?” The princess’s heart began to pound as remnants of the night before clouded her senses.

“Pretending to be a doting little wife.”

“You did not watch the scene that I did!”

“I told you to make them all regret it, did I not?”

“You did.” She nodded.

“The scene that I watched was of my wife and my brother’s ball-and-chain more secure in their decisions than ever!”

“I tried my best.”

“You did nothing.” He spat, “Now I must take care of matters.”

Maetilda’s eyes immediately filled with tears, “Kepa, please don’t. Please don’t hurt me.”

“Only the low born beg.”

“What else do you want? What can I do?”

“Do not whine like a little girl. Accept your sentence like the Targaryen you are.”

“A Targaryen would not suffer the humiliation!”

“You swore! You swore to me! If I do not see to your punishment, your gods will.”

“You’re wrong!” The princess cried.

“Am I?” It wasn’t a question.

The tears in her eyes spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. Fork in hand, she took a forced bite of wastel bread with an elderberry jelly. Anything to keep her from responding to him.

“Do not worry, little girl. You will not see it coming.”

“Did you invite yourself here just to threaten me?”

“If I wanted to threaten you, I would simply walk in here and do so. As is my right. I came here to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“It is a mercy of me to bother, really.”

“You tell me this shall happen, but do not tell me when. How can you call that mercy? To have me look over my shoulder without instruction on what to look for?”

“Mine own blood runs through your veins, and you require instruction?” He laughed incredulously before taking a gulp of wine, “Even your mother was not so clueless.”

The princess said nothing. To have her mother mentioned twice in the same conversation by the same man who despised her most made Maetilda’s head spin. Perhaps she was still dreaming. Perhaps she would blink and be back in the depths of Blackwater Bay.

“I see, both stupid and mute. Is that what your little betrothed wants from you?”

She resigned herself, “What must I do in your absence to keep you happy?” 

“Tala, you are impossible.”

“If you wish to kill me, do it. If you wish to have me tortured, get it over with. What is the point in dragging it out?”

He laughed, “Ñuha tala ēza sīmonagon lēda vēdros.” (My daughter has woken up feisty)

She squared her shoulders, “Ñuha kepa jaelagon naejot tepagon nyke ōdres.” (My father wishes to humiliate me)

“Gaomā sīr mijegon ñuha dohaeragon.” (You do so without my help)

“Yn gaomā daor henujagon se ōdres yno naejot iā valzȳrys.” (Yet you do not leave the pain of me to a husband)

“Emā va moriot issare ñuha ōdres.” (You have always been my pain)

“Se emā issare se mēre qilōni maghagon ñuhon.” (And you have been the one who brings mine)

Sausage and wastel bread went everywhere as the table flipped. In the blink of an eye, Prince Daemon stood directly over his daughter with an angry glare. Maetilda wearily kept hold of her fork that no longer served a purpose. Her father’s face got within inches of hers before he whispered, “Gaomā daor gīmigon ōdres.” (You do not know pain)

She shook at his words, how untrue they were, but she would not fight him. Not without a table between them to shield her. Tears lined her eyes. 

“I should not have come. Spoiled an already rotten day of travel.” The prince griped further.

His daughter remained sitting in her chair. No matter how old she had gotten, he treated her like a child. In turn, she felt like one. Helpless. The tears spilled over and down her cheeks.

“Pār henujagon.” She muttered softly. (Then leave)

Her chair broke beneath her before she hit the ground hard. Knocking the wind out of her lungs. Rough fingers knotted into her hair and yanked her to her feet. He held her close, giving her no space to look away from him. Locking eyes with her. She saw nothing but rage.

“Ao ȳdragon sīr nēdenka skori ao daor mīsagon aōla.” (You talk so smart when you cannot defend yourself)

“Iā zaldrīzes iksis iēdrosa iā zaldrīzes.” (A dragon is still a dragon)

He laughed again, practically spitting in her face as he did so. “Addemmagon ñuha vali iksis dovodedha skori pōja mirre kessa sagon mijegon mirre.” (Paying my men almost feels wasteful when their job shall be so easy)

As if he grew bored, he dropped her before dusting himself off. He practically beelined to the tower tapestry and pulled it up. The princess watched confused as he dropped the fabric behind him. She heard fiddling before the lump of him disappeared. Leaving her standing alone in her chambers, surrounded only by a broken dining set and scattered food.

A/N: surprise!! i realized when writing the last one that i was trying to overstuff the envelope, so i had to make into two chapters. then i decided to finish this one before posting both. i’m still writing the next one.

the plot is thickening though!!! will daemon find out about aemond and maetilda? when will he send his men? what is he waiting for???

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter seventeen: last suppers and sealed deals

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, sexual situations (consensual § nonconsensual), imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 8820

“She was not so uptight in our youth!” Rhaenyra defended with a nostalgic smile, “We used to be friends once.”

“And I used to be a Faith Militant.” Daemon snorted as he finished off his goblet.

“You jest, yet your eccentricity suggests otherwise.”

Clearly tired of being outdone and outranked that day, the old prince huffed at his wife’s words. “The High Septon and I were only good friends.”

Although the humor didn’t quite reach the eyes of Rhaenyra and Maetilda, the table laughed. Joffrey cackled the hardest despite not quite knowing what was funny. There was a false sense of lightness in the air as everyone sort of pretended they were not mad at anyone, that everything was all a joke. Yet a dark entity lingered in the corner that they all ignored. One that could lash out at any moment.

“Joke all you want. Alicent and I were friends for a very long time, good friends. The real kind.” 

“What happened?” Jace inquired curiously. His voice distorted by the bandaging and swelling around his nose.

“My father married her.”

Both Jace and Luke glanced at their sister-by-marriage before looking back toward their mother. Rhaenyra stroked her swelling belly as she ate.

“Otto plotted all of it. Your father has always trusted him too much.” Daemon grumbled.

In sudden frustration, Rhaenyra shook her head, “Let us stop this conversation. Talk about something else.”

The room fell silent aside from the light patter of rats' feet in and out of the walls of Rhaenyra’s old solar. Another room that had thankfully been left untouched. Maetilda scanned the table with her eyes for any verbal escape.

Joffrey quickly piped up, “Viserys cried all day today!”

“He did? What did the wet nurse do?” Daemon questioned, leaning forward.

“She rocked him and sang to him and fed him and bathed him! His face turned red! He wouldn’t stop!”

“Yes, he must have been angry at something.” Rhaenyra nodded as she furrowed her eyebrows, “He was very tired by this afternoon.”

“Do you plan to birth our sister here in King’s Landing?” Jacaerys wondered aloud, the nasally ‘a’ in landing made the table hold back giggles.

“You three older boys were all born here. Right in my chambers.”

“Me too?” Joffrey gasped.

“Yes, my prince! You were the third!” Rhaenyra smiled at the youngest of the Velaryon boys.

Jacaerys perked up, “Will we come to stay when she arrives?”

Rhaenyra playfully chided her eldest, “We don’t know what the baby will be yet, Jace—“

“I hope it’s a girl!” Joffrey announced.

“But yes, of course you shall come stay.” She finished.

“As long as you’re here, will you make it look normal again?” Luke chimed in.

“Perhaps not by the Worm Moon or by the baby’s arrival, but in time.”

Maetilda finally gathered the strength to ask a question of her own, “If the baby comes after I am wed, may I stay until she does?”

The older two brothers looked to their sister in unison. Dressed finely with her hair now fixed neat. She was to wed the man who stole Baela’s dragon and broke Jacaerys’s nose. She was to betray her brothers, and disappear off to a castle they had never seen before. Clear out in the mountainous Vale. The princess could only hope they would forgive her with time. As she thought of Princess Rhaenys’s words from earlier, Maetilda wondered what kind of future her brothers envisioned. If it still included her after that afternoon. Certainly, it was one of Jace taking over the Throne after his mother and Luke would have the Salt Throne from Lord Corlys. She could not possibly threaten that. Not in Rhaenyra’s solar or in the future. Her betrothed was a second son with no castles to his name. He was no threat either. Only the Hightower side of him.

“Of course, I shall see to it.” Rhaenyra nodded, “You must be here to meet your sister.”

“See! You even admit the babe is a girl!” Luke teased his mother.

“I said nothing of the sort!” She gasped before taking a gulp of tea from her goblet.

Daemon chuckled, “Shall we place bets?” 

“I will not have you teaching my sons to gamble before they even carry their own coin purse!” Rhaenyra scolded.

The Rogue Prince rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. Maetilda finished off her own goblet. A servant came to refill it, but she simply grabbed the pitcher itself from their hands. Personally filling her goblet to the brim and leaving it on the table in front of her. She could feel eyes watch her as she carelessly slurped the top until she could safely pick up her drink without spilling. The new red wine was bitter and dry, but it became tolerable the more she drank.

“Thirsty, Lady of Runestone?” Luke barked with laughter.

“Absolutely parched.” The princess retorted, eyes narrowed in opposition.

He smirked back as he briefly held his goblet out, “Would you like mine too?”

With a challenge laid before her, the princess was not about to back down. She was her father’s daughter after all. It was in her nature. Just as a dragon could not help but set fields of crops and livestock ablaze. Her younger brother was trying to provoke her, that much was obvious. He had not had his fill of turmoil that afternoon. He sought to finish what he started. 

“Certainly, if you should be too small to finish it.” Maetilda smiled back.

“Give it here, Luke.” Jace grumbled, trying to take the drink from his younger brother who dodged him.

“It looked like Til needed it more than me.” Lucerys chuckled with a sip as he teased his older brother, “I’m not sharing with you!”

Jace puffed out his chest, proud smirk smeared across his face, “Very well. And I shall remember next time Driftmark needs my assistance!” 

Luke scoffed, “Driftmark? Need your help?” The shake in his voice paired with the darting around of his eyes betrayed his air of confidence.

“With Rhaena in charge, Driftmark shall thrive.” Maetilda smiled mischievously, “Do not listen to him, Luke, we shall all be gray by the time Jace sits the throne.”

“Long live our queen.” A smug Daemon interjected.

“Just because we are in my private solar does not mean you may talk so freely.” Rhaenyra stroked her stomach.

“If the servants hear me, should I be charged with treason?” Her father rolled his eyes. “Does my brother’s bitch scare you so?”

“You should act to the standard your name suggests or be held accountable.” The future Queen stated resolutely.

“Of course, your grace.” His words did not match his tone.

A fire burned behind both pairs of eyes as the long-wedded couple stared each other down menacingly from opposite ends of the table. The princess was exhausted from it, from her day, from everything and everyone. She could hardly stomach the sight of them. Which only encouraged her to drink more. To the point where she could feel it pooling in her stomach. It was unbecoming of her. Something she only recently began to care more about. Perfection. Although she was not quite certain what perfection looked like, she knew she had to have it. She had to embody the very meaning of the word, live it and breathe it until she and the word became one. Perhaps then, she would see a day without an outburst from her father. Perhaps then, she would be able to breathe easy. Like Rhaenys did. Like Laena and Rhaena, and even Baela. Like Queen Alysanne herself. Until then, she could only pretend. Mimic what she saw in them and hope she had done it right.

His words suggested submission, something her father did not do easily. He would much rather fall on his own sword than kneel before another. The King seemed to be the only exception, his older brother by four years. And even then, Prince Daemon’s patience only looked like it grew more thin. It was no secret that before Rhaenyra had been named heir, Daemon would have been the one to fulfill the role. But even Ser Otto Hightower preferred a woman to the Rogue Prince. That would be his legacy. Both of their legacies. No matter how deep the rivalry ran, they would both be two men close enough to the Throne to taste its power — get drunk on it — but would never get close enough to actually wield it.

“We shall leave for Dragonstone on the morrow. When I come back, I will set things right in this castle. While we are apart, I expect you all to reflect on your behavior during this stay. It’s shameful, on all of us. Word of what happened today will travel — word of everything that’s happened. Tell me, have we inspired much loyalty during our time here?” Rhaenyra spoke with a slow and menacing authority in her tone.

The table shamefully hung their heads. Jace, Luke, Maetilda, even Joffrey. All except for Daemon, who only smirked back at his wife.

“We have. We managed to bring the King to his Throne, while his second-in-command has clearly been keeping him from it. We have reminded them who we are. Towers are nothing, but a dragon’s chew toy.”

“There is no proof for such accusations, Daemon. We do not know they are behind it.” Rhaenyra was firm before softening to point out, “Father was sick before we left.”

“Not. like. that.” 

The chair scratched against the stone floor as the Rogue Prince shot to his feet and grumbled out the solar. The door shut loudly behind him before the room was smothered in silence. Maetilda watched as Jace and Luke exchanged looks in the unspoken language only they knew. They had an entire conversation without moving a muscle. Occasionally, the two would take turns glancing at their mother. Following their eyes over to her, Rhaenyra sat deadly still. Hand mid-stroke across her stomach. Her eyes were fixed on where her husband had been. She was frozen for a short moment before she blinked herself back into reality. 

“Are any of you still hungry?” Rhaenyra asked.

“I want dessert!” Joffrey proclaimed.

“Dessert!” The older boys smiled.

Maetilda glanced down at her plate. Mostly empty. She had several servings of spiced pork, to the point where the greens and pomegranate couldn’t be finished. The thought of eating more made her stomach churn, “May I be excused? I am done eating.”

“Yes, my dear. Have a good rest.” Rhaenyra nodded.

“Not parched anymore?” Luke teased.

“I have thrown carafes before, do not tempt me to do it again.”

“Where was all this in the maester’s solar? I only got involved because it was the honorable thing to do.” He pressed, mocking her earlier words.

“That remains true. Throwing the carafe after you’ve been given ample notice is the honorable thing to do — honoring my word.” The princess sassed, “But because I am civilized, I shall choose not to, given the day we have had. Thank you again for throwing blows at my betrothed.”

“Of course! Need I remind you that he is the one who broke my nose?” Jace retorted.

“And who was the one who took his eye?” Maetilda fired back.

“Children.” Rhaenyra brought her authoritative voice back out, gaining the three’s attention. 

In the midst of everything, Joffrey had run to her side and clung to her apprehensively. The tension was thick as Maetilda felt an anger brew in her similar to the one she had at dinner with the Queen. The princess could feel it in her shoulders, squared defensively.

“Him of all people.” Jace shook his head in disappointment.

“I did not choose him.”

“You do not behave as such.”

“And what do you expect me to do?”

“Make him see reason!”

“I cannot even make you see reason!” The princess by title stood to her feet, “When you return to this castle, return with an apology.”

Before he could respond, she turned around and stormed out of the room. Much like her father had. Ser Gunthor had been waiting on just the other side. His face dropped when he saw the tornado in her head, the scowl that dragged down her face. She stormed down the corridor in a random direction, not entirely sure of the way back to her own chambers. As much as she thought she had a good sense of direction after seeing a path at least once, the Red Keep had a way of making her question everything. From which corridor led where, to whether or not her own family still cared for her at all. All the uncertainty felt like a knife to the heart. It made her stomach bubble. She could feel it in her throat. Her limbs shook with each step. Her arms shook at her sides. Never in her life had she been so utterly alone and righteously angered. 

The more she thought, the more certain Maetilda was that her siblings would never speak to her again. Perhaps Rhaena would, but only if Baela was not in ear shot. And she could not blame them. If Maetilda were in their shoes, she would probably feel the same. Once they got word that she demanded an apology from her brothers, there would be nothing nice left to say. They had supported her a few days ago, but she would never see it again. Maetilda’s betrothed broke Jacaerys’s nose, and she demanded an apology from him. She could already hear the impassioned arguments. As her mind ran faster than her feet, she could not hear the sound of her knight’s armor. Nor could she hear him ask if she knew where she was going. It was not until he sped up his pace until he passed her and parked himself promptly in her direct path that she finally remembered he was there. Only then did she stop. But with the emotions coursing through her, she felt too still. Her fingers played with each other as her weight went from foot to foot.

“Mi’lady—“

“Do you think I have betrayed my family?”

“Princess, you shouldn’t talk like that. Especially here.”

“I do not like that they are leaving while I stay here.”

“This shall be the first time you’ll be properly away from Prince Daemon since you were a babe.”

“I wish my mother was still here. Everything would be better.”

“Aye, it would be. ‘Can’t contest you there, mi’lady. But you and I both know the Stranger likes her too much to ever give her back. ‘Bet she’s the only one who can drink ‘em under the table.”

A smile ghosted the princess’s face, “From the stories I have heard, there would be no greater contest.”

“One day, hopefully when we’re both old and shitting ourselves again, we shall get to see it.”

“Are you suggesting that you have stopped?” Her joke almost went unnoticed through the seriousness of her delivery. She simply could not help herself when it came to teasing Ser Gunthor. 

The knight’s eyes bolted around the two of them for any witnesses, “There is no need to announce that to the whole castle!”

A bit of the tension visibly left the princess as she halfheartedly laughed. The knight joined in a bit more boisterously. Like the two old friends they were. They had a humor that only they shared. From the years of spending day after day together. He knew her as well as any of her brothers.

“Now that’s out of the way,” Ser Gunthor sighed as his laughter settled down, only for him to giggle through his next question, “Do you know where you’re going, mi’lady?”

In that moment, she looked around her to find that she did not recognize the corridor they were in at all. Her vision had tunneled in her turmoil, and had most definitely made a wrong turn. Embarrassed, she looked back at her knight with her head hung low. “Do you know the way?”

Ser Gunthor chuckled, “Hardly, but if we put our heads together, we should have more luck, yeah?”

With a nod from the princess, they were off down the corridor again. This time at a more level headed pace.  They used various familiar looking green tapestries and Faith of the Seven statues to guide their way. It took longer than it should have, but they eventually made it to the wing of bedrooms that contained her chambers. Her two handmaids were already waiting for her when the knight opened the door. Ser Gunthor bid her good night before shutting the wood door behind her, staying guard outside it. Her chambers felt cold at the loss of his presence. A part of her wished her knight could have simply sat with her as she was readied for bed. But that would never be appropriate. Her name would forever be tarnished, more than it already was.

The handmaids had less work this time around in taking down her hair. No impossible rats or tangles. The updo was undone into a single thick braid that cascaded down to her tailbone. Adelyn secured the bottom well before both handmaids worked to undress Maetilda and help her into her nightgown. The two worked silently. Not a single hummed note or whispered word under one’s breath. The princess missed the Pentoshi songs and the warm chatter. She missed learning new things about the two baseborn girls with a thousand stories. She missed her old handmaids too, Kayla and Loreyne. The ones who remained behind at Dragonstone, and always would. They knew her better than anyone, better than her own family. The sensitive parts of her scalp, her favorite flowers, the best way to wake her up in the morning, how she liked the temperature of her bath. They read her better than any book. They knew her in and out.

But she would never see them again, not until she returned to Dragonstone. The possibility of which only seemed to dwindle. Instead she would have Noarysa and Adelyn for as long as she remained at the Red Keep. Only six days prior, the two had been as good as strangers. And in only six days, they had earned their princess’s trust. They had proved themselves the most consistent and most reliable two in the entire castle. While there was always the possibility they were telling someone everything they knew, the princess seemed to get the sense that they cared. At least, she wanted to think that they did. They would only have each other for three more moons, and however much longer it took for her new sibling to arrive. Perhaps they would be assigned to her upon her visits to see Aemond and Helaena, but there was no guarantee.

The thought of Aemond made Maetilda uneasy. The image of him storming out of Maester Orwyle’s solar was engraved in her mind. She was certain she would never forget it. He had not looked at her once. Aside from when the maester saw to her very minor injuries. It filled her with worry. She hoped he would make good on the promises he made her, that he hadn’t changed his mind after everything that had happened. His callousness was enough to make her question. He was going to go through with the wedding, that much had been made clear. But would he live at the Red Keep all his life? Would he risk daily confrontations with her brothers once Rhaenyra was Queen? Would they ever find a way to get along? Common ground or understanding? With such uncertainty, would Aemond force his way into Runestone? Would he demand she let him live there? Would her people look to him over her if she were to allow it to happen? Would she allow it all to happen? Or would she even have a choice in the matter?

As the princess had been lost in the depths of her own mind, she almost did not realize her two handmaids had finished their duties and turned to leave. Timidly, she called after them to let them know her father would break fast with her in the morning before wishing them a good evening. They smiled warmly at her, lingering by the door.

“Would you like help getting into bed, Princess?” Noarysa inquired sweetly.

“Thank you, I am afraid I am far too restless.” Maetilda declined, “I shall see you both in the morning.”

The two sweetly curtsied before the door clicked shut behind them. And then it was almost silent. Barefoot and clad in her nightgown, the princess vacantly stood in the middle of the room. Eyes fixed on the door through which her maids left. She felt hollow, filled only with anxiousness, remnants of anger, and the pitcher of wine in her gut. It weakened her legs, made them more malleable. Her arms were loose and limp. Her throat was dry, as if it were coated in a thin film when she swallowed. The light pitter-patter of rats occasionally echoed between the walls. It was a maddening sound. Some tiny feet scurried off into the distance while others only grew closer. The rats certainly knew where the secret passages were. They certainly used them to run about the castle. With only the rat catchers to stop them.

In her solitude, all she could think of were her siblings. Their faces of disgust and betrayal and anger. They hated her. The princess did not know how it all happened so fast. Any of it. Just days ago, she had stood in the corridors with her brothers refusing to swing at a belligerent Aegon first. The three had been as close as ever. They had giggled down the passage until their cheeks were red. At the time, she couldn’t have imagined anything different.

Only evenings prior, she had thrown wine and a carafe at Aegon. All because he had prevented Luke from stepping in between Aemond and Jace. He had done the same thing the princess was just doing that afternoon. He stood up for his brother. He kept the fight fair. Baela’s actions that afternoon were no different than what she herself had done at dinner with the King. What made everything so different? Had she truly switched sides? That had been the last thought on her mind as she dove for her sister. Yet whether her actions had been intentional or not, there was no doubt her father would do something about it. Something that would most likely hurt. And there was no promise he had the patience to wait until their morning meal to deliver his revenge. Perhaps it would be easier in the cloak of night.

The evening air was chilly as the princess opened the door to her balcony. The breeze stung slightly as it cooled her cheeks, a subtle reminder that her day had been real. Her family’s entire stay at the Red Keep had all been real. Not a dream, real. As much as she wished she could wake up from it all like a nightmare, consequences would still be waiting for her when the sun came up. Unknown consequences that only caused her to spiral the more she speculated about them. Perhaps if she were lucky, the sun would never come up. If she were lucky, everything looming over her would simply disappear. All of her troubles and consequences would cease to exist, and all of her family would all get along. If it were a dream, perhaps such things would be possible.

The small stack of books from the library sat at her bedside table. Her eyes were glued to them. Practically in a trance. While alone, all she could do was think. No one had scolded her for the other night. For wandering about the castle late at night, scantily clad in nothing but a nightgown, only to steal books from the Royal Library. If she had been seen by the wrong person, such behavior could have been yet another blow to Princess Rhaenyra’s name. Yet she hadn’t been scolded for it. Although, nothing could have been more disastrous for the King’s Heir than what took place that afternoon. All of her children of age had been involved and only one of Queen Alicent’s. Yet Maetilda had hardly been scolded for that. She felt like she was walking into some sort of trap, but she had no idea what it was or what triggered it. All she knew is that she wanted her siblings back. If they would ever agree to have her again. Filled with an anxious energy, the princess grabbed the book on top and took a seat upon the chaise lounge.

The Mighty Histories of the Bronze Kings. It was the smallest out of the books she had taken. She hoped its size would make it easier to read. Bound in a dark brown leather with bronze titling, she carefully bent the book open to the first page. The Preface, written by Maester Seban. 

“In my many years at Runestone following Aegon’s ascension to the Iron Throne, it was my pleasure to learn of the Vale’s extensive culture, steeped in thousands of years of history. A history that cannot be discussed without first discussing the many Bronze Kings. I was honored to collect my information through many conversations with various different members of the mountain people. Former regality, merchant class, and peasants alike. All of which shall be accredited accordingly.

My accounts shall serve as proof that not even those as stubborn and mighty as rocks saw it in their best interest to bend the knee to our great King. May he also conquer the deserts.”

She read the preface over three times before the words on the page could fully process them without distraction. Before she understood what was being said. A quiet two-tap knock sounded from within her chambers, only a small distance away from where she sat. Picking her head up from the book, she saw nothing out of place. Just like when she awoke from her bad dream the other night. Her chambers were eerily untouched. Nonetheless, she felt a presence. As if the cloaked figure was back again. In an effort to make it appear, she looked back down, clamping her eyes shut for a moment, before looking back up again. Nothing. Putting her book in the seat beside her, the princess stood to look around. Still nothing. She looked out onto her balcony. Finding nothing out of place there, she closed the doors and latched them before pulling the curtains closed.

Facing the room again, it remained empty. She expected the cloaked figure to jump out at any moment. As if it was waiting for her to let her guard down. But the last thing she wanted to do was give the spirit the upper hand. Deciding to face her fears head-on, the princess began checking the corners and crevice of her chambers. Under the bed, in the wardrobe, behind the bookshelf, anywhere she could think. Yet in the midst of her hunt, she did not see the new guest enter.  By the time she turned back to the rest of the room, there was a figure standing before her, but it was not the cloaked ghost. It was Aemond. He had knocked before entering, through an entrance that was not the door. He had knocked just as he had promised.

“I thought you were the ghost.” She whispered.

“Do I haunt you so?” Aemond quipped smugly, just as quiet.

“Presently, it seems. Yes.” 

“And to think I assumed we were allies now.” 

“That’s one way to phrase it. Co-conspirators against the future crown.” 

“Shall we take this to the balcony then? So your friend won’t hear us.”

“I did not welcome you into my chambers, my prince.”

“Do you wish to come to my own then? I owe you many thanks for what you did.”

“So thank me now. Why must we go anywhere?”

“Do you trust me, ñuha dōna?” (my sweet)

“No. Not entirely. The way you stormed off without a word. The way you would not even look at me in the maester’s solar. How can I trust that?”

“Ziry vestragon nyke enkagon kirimvose se iā vaoreznuni.” (It seems I owe both thanks and an apology.)

“Kostōba laesi.” (Astute observation.)

The prince grabbed Maetilda’s hands in his own. The action reminded her of the inappropriate attire she was dressed in, but simultaneously prevented her from covering herself. While he meant for it to comfort her, to pull at her heartstrings, his hands only angered her. She fought away from him.

“What words are so important they cannot be said to me tomorrow after my family has left? I’ll be stuck here for three moons. We shall have plenty of time to talk.”

“Please come with me, Princess.”

“No.” She hesitated, voice firm yet quiet, “We have already made too much of a stir today.”

“I cannot sleep. My mind cannot rest until you have heard my words.” His whispered plea pulled at the princess’s insides.

“And I must trust these words are so dire they truly cannot wait until tomorrow to be spoken?”

“Emā pāsagon lēda nyke?” (Do you trust me?)

“You have already gotten an answer to that question. No. If we are caught, I only came because you threatened me.”

“What a tale that should be.” He tried his best to muffle his laugh, “Did I hold a dagger to you as well?”

“Yes, and said you’d end my life if I didn’t do as you bid.”

“You didn’t come that easy. Did you?”

“Of course not.”

“That would be absurd.” He shook his head, “Shall we go?”

The princess did not budge. She only looked back at him, thinking of all the promises he had made her that morning, “You haven’t changed your mind, have you? About the tower we shall build you.”

He stilled, making her heartbeat quicken anxiously, “You are the Lady of Runestone. Your castle, your land. But I wish to talk.”

The princess’s heart stopped, “Fine. We can go to the balcony. Let me get my cloak.”

She practically ran to her wardrobe. A fire burned her from the inside out, it was as if her feet felt too hot to touch the ground. With the same shaky quickness, she grabbed her traveling cloak and threw it over her shoulders. Her hands struggled with the fastening. Aemond’s eye lit its own fire across her skin as she stood so vulnerably in front of him. The two stood and stared at each other for what felt like the whole night. Something within Maetilda stirred, did not sit right. She knew how wrong it was for him to be there. She knew they could very easily get caught. But Aemond seemed to know just what to say, knew how to intrigue her just enough so that she could not resist him. He seemed to read her mind without hearing her thoughts. She watched as he adjusted his unlaced tunic before moving to open the doors to the balcony.

It was at that moment that the princess realized how underdressed her betrothed was. He was dressed just as inappropriately, certainly not dressed to be visiting her. She wondered what he was thinking. Perhaps his state of dress had been a symptom of his urgency and running mind. He was too deep in thought to consider the clothes on his back. Or lack thereof. The lacing on his shoes was also undone. Perhaps thrown on as an afterthought in his fervor. Perhaps he had to turn back for them. It was the closest he had ever come to resembling Aegon. The way his trousers hung on his hips reminded the princess of how Aegon’s slipped down his legs as he drunkenly ran down the corridor. How proud the Queen would be. Weighed down by a sheathed dagger, the right side hung down more.

Knowing well enough that all of their parents were already angry at them, Maetilda attempted to confidently stride out onto the balcony. She would much rather be flogged through the streets before allowing the prince to see just how much his words had shaken her. She did not want to give her power to him so easily — or at all. Aemond followed behind her, shutting the doors as a way to further block sound. The princess pulled her cloak around herself again, both for warmth and modesty. The evening breeze was cold at their height. Closer to the ground, the night would have been far more comfortable. Peering downward, ant-sized people carried torches as they moved from place to place. At any other moment, she would’ve been mesmerized and entranced. Unable to pull her eyes away. But the presence behind her kept her at attention. Tense and alert.

“It astounds me how each time I look at you, my breath is taken away all the same.” His voice was still hushed, yet not as quiet as before.

“I don’t like compliments that are given as tricks.”

“You think I wish to trick you?”

“You wish to win me over with flattery before you convince me to reconsider the promise you made. You got into a fight with my brothers, and now you want my castle.”

“Ao vīlībagon aōha mandia, ñuha dōna. Ao tymagon isse se tegon, tepagon aōha brōzi syt nyke. Skorkydoso īlon glaesagon mijegon se tolie?” (You fought your own sister, my sweet. You rolled in the dirt, risked your reputation for me. How could we possibly live apart?)

“Ēza daor yet issare iā jēda. Emi va moriot glaestan mijegon se tolie.” (It has not yet been a fortnight. We have always lived apart.)

“Nyke daor glaesagon mijegon ao, lēda se prūmia eman sir.” (I cannot live apart from you, feeling the way I do now.)

“Se ñuha sombāzmion iksis mērī iā tȳne gūrotrir?” (And my castle is simply an additional reward?)

“Your castle is yours. I do not want it. I want you.”

Maetilda was shell shocked, completely hollow. Her mind went blank. Her heart stopped as if it had never started. His words were so direct they felt exposing. As if with three sentences, he suddenly had full access to every thought and feeling she had ever had. As if he could see through her skin and in her guts. It was something that filled her with panic and terror. As much as her heart pounded, she needed to make him stop.

“Skorkydoso kostagon nyke gīmigon gaomā daor pirtir? Ao kessa mērī ērinagon.” (How can I know you are not lying? You have everything to gain.)

“I am sorry. I deeply regret not bidding you farewell before my departure from the maester’s solar. I do hope you will find it in you to forgive me.”

“It is more than that. You barely acknowledged my presence. I felt like I was going mad. Like you were as disgusted with me as my family.”

“It pains me that you feel so hurt from my actions when I have nothing but pride for yours. The only disgust I have is for your family. Not you.”

“I am a part of my family. You cannot feel disgust for them and not feel that same disgust for me.”

“We shall be a family. Our own family.”

“Bona ao kessa sagon se bartos hen?” (That you shall be the head of?)

“Ñuha giez ābrar, eman mērī mirre udlitan naejot ñuha muña.” (My whole life, I have only ever answered to my mother.)

“Qilōni udligon naejot zirȳla kepa. Mirre aōha ābrar, emā udlitan naejot aōha rōvēgrie kepa.” (Who answers to her father. All your life, you have answered to your grandsire.)

“Sir ao ȳdragon hae aōha kepa.” (Now you sound like your father.)

“He is a smart man. I would be foolish to question his assessments. Vestras ao se aōha rōvēgrie kepa jaelagon ñuha sombāzmion.” (He says you and your grandsire want my castle.)

“Lo nyke jeldan aōha sombāzmion, mazeman ziry. Kesan daor epagon aōha udir ēlī.” (If I wanted your castle, I would take it. I would not ask your permission first.)

“Se Vāle māzigon naejot ao lēda vīlībāzma. Sȳrje daor sylugon ziry.” (And the Vale would declare war against you. Best not try it.)

“I mean to keep my promises to you, Maetilda. In return, I ask that you keep me at your castle. I cannot live my life looking over my shoulder in my own home. Please, you cannot let me live like that.”

The princess hesitated. She wanted to tell him no, to remind them of their agreement. But the look on his face made her second guess. His eye full of desperation as it swam in hers for answers, mouth ajar with worry. His eyebrows were raised in question, causing small creases around the strap of his patch. His expression reminded her of the times when they were little. In the small windows of time they slept under the same roof. Maetilda and Helaena would be off in their own world, Aemond always trailed close behind. Whenever the rest of the boys would run into their trio while playing, they never failed to stop and single little Aemond out. His own brother and nephews took pleasure in taunting him. Calling him a girl, mocking his lack of a dragon, pushing him around. The Kingsguard usually stopped them before it got to blows. Every time it happened, Maetilda always saw that look. A cry for help, for mercy, for peace.

“We do not have to decide this tonight. We can talk about everything after we have both had sleep. After my family leaves.” 

“You may have time to think about your response to my proposal. I can sympathize with that.” Aemond nodded resolutely before adjusting the bottom of his tunic, “The issue remains that I cannot sleep.”

“And why is that my concern?”

The prince took small, careful steps forward, “Because it is you that I am thinking about.”

“Picture me counting stitches in a seam. You should fall asleep rather quickly.”

“What was it your father said?” Aemond glanced off for a moment in thought. “I know you wait for my back to turn. You wish to take what is yours.”

“Something of the sort. He won’t give up my castle any easier than me.”

Aemond chuckled breathily, “He was not talking about Runestone, ñuha dōna. He was talking about you.” (my sweet)

“My prince, in order for something to be a joke, it must be funny.”

Before she could react, his hands were cupping her face. Their chests resting against each other. Never had her nightgown felt so thin. Memories of his last visit flashed in her mind. The way he stole her first kiss after professing his love — his desire for love. He had talked to her so differently that night. He had an air of authority, just as her father always did. He spoke of bedding her so eagerly. Just as Aegon had in the corridors. The two were not so different. A realization that scared her. Perhaps as the years went on, Alicent’s eldest sons found common ground. Maetilda had not seen them fight once. Had not heard Aegon insult Aemond even once. The older brother had even stepped to the younger’s defense, at dinner when Lucerys tried to help Jacaerys gang up on Aemond. 

“Princess, I would never hurt you.” He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks.

Maetilda stared back in confusion. It was her turn to search his face for answers, “And you think my father would?”

“I know he would. I heard him.” Aemond’s voice was so low and serious, it sent shivers down her spine. But worst of all, he was right, “Your father would hurt anyone for the right reason.”

The princess did not know what to say. She was sure her mouth had flapped open and shut like a fish out of water. She felt like one. Unable to breath as the person who had her on a hook and line sat and watched her flounder. While the prince may have been right, Maetilda was still her father’s eldest daughter. Aemond could not possibly be right. She simply could not accept it.

“Dōna, I do not wish to wait for his back to turn.” (Sweet)

“I beg your pardon?”

“I wish to take you right from beneath his nose.”

Her eyes widened in surprise yet again as she watched the prince’s face jump towards hers, crashing their lips together. Just as the first time, she was frozen in shock. His lips moved against hers while she remained still. One of his hands was clamped around her face, crushing her cheekbone under his thumb. The hand that had been petting her hair locked around the back of her head, ensuring she could not pull away. With his hips, he pinned her against the edge of the balcony. The force of him was heavy. It pinched the vertebrae in her spine as the weight of him bent her backward. No wall stood behind her back to catch her. With nothing to anchor her feet, she felt as if she could flip over the side and plummet down to her death. The image of it played in her head. All the while, Aemond continued to kiss her.

Had it been earlier in the day, she would have welcomed it. She eagerly would have kissed him back. Without question or hesitation. But too much had happened. She felt treacherous and guilty. She felt a pending sense of doom. The hand at the back of her head slipped to the base of her neck, lacing fingers into the back of her scalp and tangling themselves into her braid. Aemond pulled away only to rest his forehead against hers.

“Please, Maetilda. Do not deny me.”

“Ao jaelagon naejot gūrogon nyke.  Iksis bisa daor skoros jaelā?” (You wish to take me. Is this not what you want?)

“Jaelan ao.” (I want you.)

“You don’t—”

“Jaelan ao. Jaelan ao. Jaelan ao.” (I want you, I want you, I want you.)

Tears welled in the princess’s eyes as she struggled to shake her head, “Aemond, you can’t. We can’t. Not yet.”

“Maetilda, please, just once. Just once while he is still here. Just once, so he may never deny our union, and then not again until we are wed.”

She could feel the wet trails begin to form down her cheeks, only to be wiped away by thumbs that were not her own. Two hands cupped her face again. Warm, wine and liquor scented breath fanned her into a trance-like state. Her voice was soft, weak, and wavering as she tried to hold her ground, “Mazemilā lēda iā mijegon hen ñuha udir.” (You will take regardless of my word.)

He kissed both cheeks, right next to his thumbs. He kissed her forehead and both temples. He kissed each corner of her mouth before he slowly kissed her again, continuing to bend her backwards. Causing her to yelp. Taking advantage of her open mouth, Aemond caught her bottom lip in between his teeth. He had the grin of a lizard lion, the smirk of a dragon with its dinner in its jaws. She was no different than charred sheep.

“Ilagon syt nyke, dōna. Kostilus.” (Lay down for me, sweet. Please.)

Only then did he peel himself off, giving her back a sense of relief. But Maetilda didn’t move an inch. The two locked eyes for what felt like the longest time. The princess would not dare move. She felt like a mouse, helplessly cornered by a tomcat. One movement and the prince would pounce. 

“Lay down, Maetilda.”

Looking down at the balcony floor, she could barely form words, “Here?”

Aemond shushed her as if she were a crying baby. He stepped forward again, “Shh, shh, shh, shhhhh.” His hands came back up again. This time, they unlaced the fastenings on her cloak. Slowly and carefully, so as not to stress a single stitch or seam. “You are in my hands. Do not fret. Nyke kessa mazverdagon ao sȳrkta emā mirre issare gō. I shall give you se vys se skoros ilagon rēbagon ziry.” (I shall make you feel better than you have ever felt before. [I shall give you] the world and what lays beyond it.)

Pulling away from her without breaking their stare down, Aemond swiftly flicked her cloak out like a blanket. The princess’s knees shook at the sight. The prince was serious, the chill of the breeze confirmed it. More tears slipped down her cheeks. Instead of wiping them away, the prince took a cushion from the bench and laid it down as a pillow. When he made his way back over to her, she could not look at him. Only at the cushion sat atop her cloak — where she was to rest her head. More tears glided past her cheeks and down her neck. Was that truly where she was to be deflowered? On the cold, dusty ground of her balcony. No marriage. No ceremony before the Gods. No dowery. No grand feast. Nothing. 

By the waist, Aemond moved her to stand at the bottom of the cloak. Preceded by his warm, liquor scented breath, came feather-light kisses that started at her cheek. They traced along her jaw, down her neck, across her collarbone, and up to her shoulder. Tickling her skin all the way. Her heart pounded like war drums in her chest. Overwhelmed with embarrassment for what was to come, she could feel the heat rise in her cheeks. The soft tug from the shoulder of her nightgown being gently moved out of place sent off bells of alarm in her head, she instinctively wanted to squeal. But instead, she made a point to bite her mouth shut. More kisses dusted the top of her shoulder.

“Aemond, —“ She tried desperately to keep hold of her resolve.

Another kiss to the corner of her mouth cut her off, followed by the low hum of a familiar tune. Not that of the Pentoshi songs her handmaid sang, but one her father and Laena would sing to her and her young sisters, proudly proclaiming that the girls were three heads in their own right. It was a song from Old Valyria. When she closed her eyes, she could almost hear the bright melody of Lady Laena’s voice. Chirping out the words like the call of a morning bird. 

Drakari pykiros

Tīkummo jemiros

Yn lantyz bartossa

Saelot vāedis

(Fire breather, winged leader, but two heads, to a third sing)

Hen ñuhā elēnī:

Perzyssy vestretis

Se gēlȳn irūdaks

Ānogrose

(From my voice, the fires have spoken, and the price paid, with blood magic)

But Lady Laena’s voice was not truly there. Maetilda knew it wasn’t. Her body laid with the Gods beneath the waves. Her dragon answered to a new rider, and he stood before the princess humming. He was the only one humming. Yet, it was like a ghost lingered around them. The hair on her arms stood on end. Chills electrified her spine. It did not help that the tomcat only continued to close in. Eye alert, claws sharp. The closer he got, the more his humming unsettled her. The voice of Lady Laena still rang on in her ears.

Perzyro udrȳssi

Ezīmptos laehossi

H��rossa letagon

Aōt vāedan

(With words of flame, with clear eyes, to bind the three, to you I sing)

Helping her down with an arm on her back and the other grasping her hands to steady her, Aemond laid Maetilda down on the cloak. His hair tickled her cheek as he hovered over her. The princess’s entire body trembled. Goosebumps erupted across her skin from the ground’s cold touch. More tears escaped out of her eyes. She could hear her heart pound in her ears. Pools of snot began to clog her nose, which only made it harder for her to catch her breath. All the while, the prince undid the knot at the top of her nightgown. She wanted to scream. Her knight would be there in only a few steps. The rest of the castle would undoubtedly hear her too. Her father included. They would find her underneath her betrothed, and everything she had ever dreamed for herself would be ruined. She could not scream.

Hae mērot gierūli

Se hāros bartossi

Prūmȳsa sōvīli

Gevī dāerī

(As one we gather, and with three heads, we shall fly as we were destined -- beautifully, freely)

The hum of the song repeated itself on a loop. She could not bare to watch any longer. Each of his boots had haphazardly plopped to their own corner. Maetilda clamped her eyes shut as she felt her betrothed on his knees, positioning one of her legs on either side of him. His trousers came down easy. She could hear him slide them down his thighs. Most of his clothing had already been undone. The cold air bit at her legs, her hips, her torso as her skin became exposed to the night. He had lifted up the bottom of her gown, and she soon felt the fabric bunch at her waist.

Her mouth went dry and her eyes flew open. Anxiously, her hands grabbed at the bunched fabric and tried to cover herself back up. At least down to her thighs. At least enough to keep some dignity in tact. But the tomcat only pushed her hands away, gripping them both in one of his own paws. Aemond held them above her head, using his spare hand to pull at the neck of her gown. Her vision seemed to cloud as her head felt like it was filling with smoke. As if a fire had started burning somewhere inside her. Her organs only blackened the fumes.

It felt warm and cold all at once, causing her to flinch away from the feeling. The fleshy sensation that poked at the place that was never supposed to be touched. The place worth her body weight in gold. Her heart fluttered through the haze clouding her mind. Her gut screamed. A shiver ran through every bone in her body. Aemond used one of his knees to pin her hip down, to keep it from flinching away from his touch again. His free hand came up to his face. Eyes lidded, he stared straight into Maetilda’s soul as he stuck two fingers in his mouth. Coating them in a layer of spit. Without hesitation, his two fingers cut straight down her torso and toward the apex of her thighs. The princess’s gasp covered up the yelp that was lodged in her throat. His hand found refuge between her pillowy thighs. Wet fingers played with her flower, lightly rubbing it in slow circles. 

On instinct, her knees tried to snap together only to be obstructed by the prince’s body. He held her down and kept her knees apart with ease. She tried to squirm, but she could hardly move. Her mind screamed and screamed and screamed. The humming stopped and Lady Laena’s voice was gone. Instead, her father’s voice echoed between her ears. Shouting angrily about how much she disgraced and disgusted him. What if anyone were to find out? What if someone were to hear? Or to walk in? She wouldn’t live to see the sunrise, wouldn’t live to see another day. She would be better off dead. A princess soiled before her wedding day. A lady without morals. A no good harlot. Yet she couldn’t stop Aemond. As filthy as she felt, she didn’t want him to stop. As long as his fingers continued their circles. Sliding his two fingers south, he used his thumb to continue the tantalizingly gentle pattern. The wet pair slid ever so slowly until they reached the lid of the princess’s honeypot. Maetilda’s breath shook. A lilted note spilled out with it. Bottom lip trapped between his teeth, Aemond’s eye seemed to glaze over at the very sound. Velvety lilac deepened to satiny plum. It couldn’t mean anything good.

A yelp escaped her mouth as one of Aemond’s fingers inched inside of her. Splitting her body in two. The prince’s lips soon met her own, muffling the sound of the princess’s quiet whines. His tongue poked its way into her mouth, dominating all of her senses. He consumed her. As if she truly were charred sheep. He only stopped in order to pull his fingers out of her carcass and lick them clean. The feeling was intoxicating, but the view of it even more so.

A/N: this little diddy has probably been over-revised. i’m sorry it took so long!! hopefully it was well worth the wait! happy season 2 premiere day!!!

it’s my first go at anything kinda sexy! i was excited to try it! kinda nervy to post it (hence the hold up) but i hope it does something for you! the freak continues in the next guy though, hope ur cool with that HAH (the next one will be coming much faster)

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

SMALL UPDATE!!!

i don’t mean to leave anyone hanging again, but i keep getting stuck in different parts of chapter seventeen. admittedly, i have high expectations for it, and am probably just overthinking. the chapter will be coming as soon as i finish it.

some serious things have been going on in my personal life as well, which has been making it hard to write more than a few paragraphs at a time even when i have an inspired moodlet. i am hoping this is not the new normal. it is likely just part of grieving.

that being said, i am hoping this new chapter will be well worth the wait!! i am 5,000 words in with a good chunk more left to go, but am really excited with where it’s going.

thank you for letting me cook. 🙏

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § THE DIVINE

chapter sixteen: relearning from the same mistakes

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 3953

Aemond acted tough and unphased, but Maetilda could tell that he was reeling on the inside. His jaw was clenched, shoulders were tight, and a firm, stoic expression never left his face. When she managed to catch his eye, she could see it all. Fear, overwhelming fear. They had arrived after the others, after Maetilda’s brothers had been bandaged up, but it did nothing to calm him. Shaking like an autumn leaf, she stood behind her betrothed and ran her fingers through his long tangled hair. His promises from earlier still rang in her ears. She thought of her home that would truly be hers. The thousands of ravens they would send back and forth. The visits she would have to see both him and Helaena. The tower she would build for him. Their future. Had she been a fool to think such fantasies could be real? Had she been a fool to trust the words of a Hightower? Had she been a fool to not listen to her father more closely? Certainly, her father would not let any marriage happen now. Maester Orwyle looked over Aemond’s various bruises and angry knuckles with a careful eye. The old man had already examined Maetilda’s scalp and her various scratches, per the request of the King’s second son, and had applied ointments and oils to hurry along the healing. Aemond’s bruising had only darkened with time. The worst one was on his back, close to his spine. Likely where he had been kicked.

No one was allowed to withdraw from the room until the Queen and Princesses Rhaenys and Rhaenyra were aware of the incident. Jacaerys, Baela, Lucerys, and Rhaena sat in a corner across from the pair. The boys both wore bandages of their own, nose dressing for Jace and a splint for Luke’s leg. But not a hair was out of place on the twins’ heads. Not even Baela’s. A part of Maetilda itched as she thought of the small pockets of opportunity she had to grab and pull, to make Baela look just as feral and unkempt.

“Maetilda, to your chambers. Now.” Prince Daemon sneered, barely crossing the threshold of the door before he spoke.

“Now?“

“I heard all I needed to hear. Get away from that boy. Go pack your things.”

“Prince Daemon, stop! As Queen, I declare that no one shall leave until I have given approval!” Queen Alicent asserted immediately upon her entrance.

She rushed forward, placing her hands on her second son’s shoulders in an outstretched embrace. With all the seriousness in the world, the royal woman studied his face. Looking him straight in the eye. Not once did she glance up at the princess who hovered behind them. Instead, Alicent waited for her son to give her a firm nod before she turned back around to face Daemon. Maetilda felt her entire body switch back into alert mode at the sight of her father’s hand on the hilt of his sword. He threw all of his weight onto one foot, jutting out his hip with attitude. He looked at his goodsister with bitter disgust. If not for the presence of Maester Orwyle — who would undoubtedly write his perspective of events in the histories — the princess had no doubt he would have spat at the woman’s feet, cursing her title and her name and the very idea that a Hightower would have any power over him. 

“The King! Where is he?! Bring him here!” The old prince bellowed to the Kingsguard. But none of them moved.

The Queen’s eyes narrowed in challenge, “He is in bed, where he will stay. He is not well.” 

“Horseshit!” 

“My patience for your outbursts is wearing thin, Prince Daemon.” A threat.

Instead of showing fear, the Rogue Prince smirked, “What will you do about it, your Grace?” 

“Luke! Jacaerys!” Rhaenyra’s panicked shout made it to the room before she did. Rhaenys trailed in right behind her.

“Girls.” The Queen that Never Was sighed in relief before rushing forward to hug her granddaughters.

Princess Maetilda watched the women joyfully reunite with her siblings. Warm hugs, kisses, doting examinations of their wellbeing. She couldn’t help the jealousy that sat in her heart. Of course she would never have what the rest of her siblings had. She wasn’t deserving of it. From the day they were born, they were better than her. It was a secret that her parents were not good at keeping. But she loved them anyway. All of them. Better or not, she had always thought that they were good. That they had everyone’s best interests at heart. Yet as the little green monster sat on her shoulder, she found herself questioning those beliefs for the first time. How could they turn on her so quickly? Especially when she was trying to act honorably. Was it truly that easy for them? The Maester’s solar grew deathly silent as the regal four — Queen Alicent, Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, and Princess Rhaenys — turned to face each other. It felt all too familiar. They were just missing the King, Lord Corlys, and an audience of funeral guests. The hair on Maetilda’s arms stood up straight. It was as if she saw double, living both the past and the present at once.

“I’m calling off the wedding. It is clear to me that the one eyed boy is a savage! I will not have him tainting my bloodline.” Daemon was the first to start.

“Careful! There is a black cell waiting for you.” Alicent retorted.

“Bring my brother here! Let me speak with him!”

“Daemon, you will not call off the wedding.” Rhaenyra stepped forward, shaking her head.

“Look at her! She has already sided with him!” Baela interjected, pointing directly at the eldest of the three.

Rhaenys grabbed her arm to silence her, “I see the state of your sister. The fingers are not necessary. Rhaena, tell us what happened.”

“We were in the training yards. Luke and Jace were showing us how much they had improved in sparring because Baela had mentioned how she thought a dragon rider should be able to hold their own if challenged. The boys had offered to teach us, but we did not think they would be sufficient enough.”

Daemon smirked proudly at his second daughter upon hearing the younger twin’s words.

“They were about to let us try when Maetilda, her knight, and Aemond tried to sneak past us. Unnoticed. In the training yards. Baela called after them, started asking questions, and they got defensive. At first, I thought we were all joking, but then the insults started. Before I knew it, Jacaerys’ nose was broken, and Baela and Maetilda were on the ground. I tried to stop them!”

“Ser Wyllam ran to fetch the Kingsguard to help split them up.” Ser Criston added.

Prince Daemon glared at his eldest daughter. His feet moved to start towards her before Queen Alicent spoke, stopping him in his tracks again, “Who started the insults?”

“Baela,” Aemond and Maetilda answered simultaneously.

“Aemond!” The other four chorused louder.

“It doesn’t matter who started it. These grudges must be thrown to the wolves. It is what the King wants!” Rhaenyra shook her head.

Maetilda asserted herself with crossed arms, “Aemond and I were going to the Dragonpit, to see where Shrykos would stay, when we were interrupted. Baela taunted Aemond, to which he countered. When Jace and Luke inserted themselves, the taunts turned into insults which turned to blows. I only fought Baela because she was about to jump on Aemond’s back while the boys were already having exchanges. Who knows what the three would have done with collective force? That is what happened.” 

The adults in the room looked at her in shock. For once in her life, the princess knew without a shred of doubt that she had not said too much. Her chest warmed knowing she had said just the right amount. The Queen was the first to react, moving over to Maetilda to take her future gooddaughter’s hands in her own.

“Thank you, Princess.”

“I shall take the boys back to Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra nodded to herself resolutely, “I shall return alone on dragonback, along with Shrykos, to continue our plans. Daemon will care for the children in my stead.”

“Over my mother’s grave would I leave my eldest daughter here with that conniving, ruttish codpiece! If I shall leave, Maetilda will come with me.”

“For what reason must she go with you?” Aemond challenged, not moving from his chair.

Prince Daemon laughed, “You do not fool me, boy. I know you wait for my back to turn. You wish to take what you see as yours.”

“Princess Rhaenyra, there is no need.” The Queen shook her head, “Please, you must stay.”

“I will stay. After I know my sons are out of trouble in Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra replied.

“Let us try having everyone again. After the next moon. Give them a little over a fortnight to change their tune, to see reason. The children must not be squabbling when the guests arrive.” Alicent suggested, “As you said, it is what the King wants, for the children to get along.”

“Yes, alright. When the Worm Moon is full, we shall try again.” The heir to the throne agreed.

Prince Daemon grumbled, rolling his eyes, “Worm moon.”

He angrily shifted his weight from foot to foot before he practically spat in Maetilda’s direction, “You shall not stay in this damn castle without me.”

“Quiet your hysterics, Daemon. Maetilda will be safe with me.” Rhaenys spoke up. “The twins will go back to Dragonstone as well until I can deliver my goodnephew’s body back to Driftmark. They should stay in a livelier keep before Vaemond’s funeral.” The Rogue Prince unabashedly chuckled as she continued, “I will see to correcting their behavior on my own.”

“It’s settled then. Have the ship readied. We shall leave on the morrow.” Rhaenyra declared, words booming authoritatively without having to shout.

The King’s only brother grabbed his wife by the arm and pulled her aside, but she was quick to pull herself free. Rhaenyra scurried back to her sons, enveloping them in her embrace. She whispered things into their ears. They nodded. Maetilda’s heart hurt as she watched them, with almost owlish eyes.

Speaking loud enough for the room to hear, Rhaenyra smiled sweetly when she turned back around to Daemon, “Husband, don’t you think it is time to go check on the little ones?”

It was the opposite of what Maetilda had expected to hear. Her father seemed taken back as well, but only briefly before he reset the expression in his face. He would rather his head sit on a spike for an entire summer under the unforgiving sun than allow the room to know of his shock. He would not be phased so easily.

“Certainly! I am sure the Queen has called for one of their eyes in our absence.” 

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra scolded, “I will sew your mouth closed if I must.”

The Rogue Prince’s eyebrows rose in interest as a smug, devious grin slowly overtook his face, “I would love to see you hold me down, wife.”

“A sentiment we did not need to know. I’m sure you all have packing to do.” The Queen nearly tapped her foot with impatience. A hint that the discussions were over.

The room seemed frozen. Like the smallest movement would break the tension and open the largest can of worms the world had ever known. Yet she felt the pull anyway. What was Aemond thinking? Was he disgusted with her father? Was he relieved their engagement had not been called off? Before the princess by title could turn to look at him, Aemond had already sprung out of place. Pushing passed her without so much as a glance. The Queen came up beside her and grabbed the princess’s hand in hers. Together, the two wistfully watched after the King’s second son as he disappeared out of the room. His footsteps carried off down the corridor. The Queen’s hand did not serve the comfort it was supposed to. Instead, Maetilda only felt trapped.

“Boys, I shall see you at dinner. Go.” Rhaenyra ordered her sons.

“To your chambers, girls. I shall collect each of you in time for our meal.” Rhaenys nodded to the twins.

As the group of four made their own exit, the adults remained still. Maetilda locked among them in the cold grip of Queen Alicent. The tension was thick. Far hotter and stickier than the humidity outside. The princess’s heart pounded in her chest, overtaking the sound in her ears. Her hand was undoubtedly sweaty, but the Hightower Queen’s hold did not loosen even for a moment. Maetilda was completely stiff, body tensed in preparation for whatever came at her next. Which just so happened to be her father. Rhaenyra let him out of her sight to exchange a few words with Rhaenys. Free of supervision, the first thing he did was march up to his daughter. Eyes completely ablaze despite the soft smile on his face. If his daughter had been Vaemond, she would’ve already been chopped in two.

“Bested by your little sister?” Daemon taunted his eldest.

“I never wanted to win. Only to make it even.”

“Of course, your goodmother shall have such a lovely time trying to keep your reason about you.” He sighed, “I do wish you the best of luck, your Grace.”

“I am not surprised, Prince Daemon. Only girls with your spirit would behave so...” Queen Alicent replied.

He cocked his head to the side in challenge as her highness searched for the correct adjective. “Forget not, once your husband is dead, my wife inherits his throne. You sit comfortably now, but you are no Targaryen.”

“And yet, three of her sons shall carry on the name. One of which will do so through your daughter.” Rhaenys butt in as the two grown princesses joined the other three.

“There is no certainty the pignut can sire children.” Maetilda’s father spat. His face as red as the finest ruby.

The Queen cleared her throat, “Forget not, my prince, it is a mercy you still have your tongue given the treason that ceaselessly rolls off it. What better proof of my love for your brother! May my care of your daughter serve as further proof.”

“Trust that I shall hear everything.”

He hinted to moles of his own. Throughout both the Red Keep and King’s Landing, my father had sympathizers. Yet the princess did not know of many who know how to read or write in order to send a raven. Unless the messages were delivered personally, which would not be ideal in emergencies. Outside of the mysterious other informants that she could barely begin to understand. Had he always had them? Even when they lived in Pentos? Beyond that of servants, who else could they be? As long as the princess remained at the Red Keep, there were always her knights. Only Ser Wyllam was known to tell her father anything, that much the princess was sure of. But hearing of multiple informants made her itch. She knew her men well. Didn’t she? Certainly well enough to not question them in a moment like that, but apparently not. As she stood shell shocked, Maetilda cursed herself. She was weak of body and mind, proving everything her father had ever said about her true. She was pathetic and stupid and a traitor to their family. Her brothers and sisters hated her. Never in her life had she ever seen them so angry. At least, that angry at her.

The only time they had been that ravenous had been the night that Aemond lost his eye. It was as if it still continued to play out right before her eyes. As if the sun had never come up the next morning and she never left Driftmark. Still the tallest out of all the royal children, young Aemond had come back inside after sneaking out to claim Vhagar as his mount. He was the only one out of his siblings, besides baby Daeron, who did not have a dragon to call his own. Both Jace and Luke had one each, even though the creatures had not been big enough to mount. The four boys had always been competitive — Aegon, Jacaerys, Aemond, and Lucerys. Although it usually resulted in the three others ganging up on Aemond. They mocked him mercilessly. It was only natural that he silenced their taunts for good by claiming the largest mount of them all. But having been the old faithful companion of Lady Laena Velaryon for as long as her daughters could remember, it had been assumed that Baela would inherit Vhagar — not Aemond. Baela, herself, had never claimed a mount either. As if she were waiting for her turn with the legendary dragon. Only for her years of patience to be crushed in a single evening. Baela never forgave him. Not completely. Perhaps she would never forgive Maetilda either. Perhaps instead of bridging the gap in their family, they had burnt any remnants of the bridge that lingered.

“Trust that your threats do nothing, but make me laugh.” Queen Alicent was firm, standing her ground.

“Careful not to strain your side.” Daemon snapped

Princess Rhaenys daintily cleared her throat,“I do believe we could all use a good laugh after this afternoon. Your Grace, might I suggest tea with the fools? Perhaps a bard performance in the gardens?” 

The Rogue Prince groaned in frustration, “I have had enough.” He turned abruptly on his heels to storm out, mumbling obscenities about the frivolousness of highborn women, only stopping in the doorway to tell his wife, “I shall see you at dinner, Rhaenyra.”

With that, only the four remained. Aside from Maester Orwyle who had remained a silent spectator throughout the entire ordeal. He had not said a word that did not have to do with the injuries at hand. He was smart. If there was one thing Maetilda had learned in all her years, it was that silence was often the safest. With enough people in the room, one could hide in it. Which is exactly what the maester had done, and the princess-by-title wished she could have. But that possibility vanished the minute she had collided with her sister. The more time the princess had to think, the more she wished she had second guessed her actions in the training yards. Had she butted into their back and forth sooner, been more firm in de-escalation, could they have avoided everything? She should have said something. She should have stopped them. She wished she had done more. And done less in other places.

Upon her father’s exit, the rest of the four visibly relaxed. Their shoulders dropped in unison as they all collectively released the air held in their lungs. The three older women shared a look that the youngest could not read. As if flocks worth of messages passed between their eyes. The princess-by-title could not remember a time the three had ever gotten along well — even Rhaenys and Rhaenyra only tolerated each other at best. She could not remember there ever being a time the three were close enough to communicate so intimately silent. But just as soon as their eyes started, they stopped.

“Maetilda, darling girl,” Rhaenys sighed aloud, “Please know you are not in trouble.”

“You have my utmost appreciation for your actions today.” Queen Alicent smiled.

Her words felt wrong. They filled her insides with more guilt and shame and paranoia. Maetilda could practically picture her father listening in from just around the corner. Waiting to punish her, to bring the boot down upon her head. Her muscles remained tense and tight in preparation. Only a fool would let their guard down. Princess Rhaenyra reached forward and tried to adjust the chaos on her daughter-by-marriage’s head, tucking a piece behind her ear, “Only a dragon could be as brave as you.”

“I am ashamed our argument came to blows.” Maetilda replied earnestly.

“We shall try again soon enough. Sooner than you realize. You’ll like it here.” Rhaenyra nodded.

The youngest took a deep breath to gather her courage before she spoke again, “Forgive me, but I don’t believe time apart is the answer. We all need to be locked in a room — no weapons or anything, perhaps tied to chairs — until we talk through our disagreements.”

“Enough damage was done today with hands and feet alone. You children said yourselves that this started from simple jokes. Being locked in a room would only result in more of the same.” Queen Alicent tucked a strand of hair behind Maetilda’s other ear, “This shall be for the best.”

“I shall return on dragonback before the next fortnight. We will plan your wedding and more! You shall be free of your father’s smothering! You will love it so much you won’t want them to return.” Rhaenyra agreed.

Maetilda laughed, “My father shall find a way to watch me.”

“He surely will.” Rhaenys chuckled, “Princess, may I walk you to your chambers? Both you and Baela should need a bath after rolling in the dirt like animals.”

The other two laughed as the four ladies all took their exit. Venturing off on their separate paths in pairs. Princess Rhaenyra made sure to remind her daughter-by-marriage of dinner before they both rounded different corners. Rhaenys calmingly ran her fingers along Maetilda’s arm as they walked. In the same way Lady Laena used to, back in the princess’s youth. Especially on evenings when she couldn’t sleep. Lightly across the skin with just the right amount of fingernail pressure. Princess Rhaenys kept pace on the outside in an attempt to keep her  obscured from any passersby. For what felt like the first time that day, Maetilda could finally take in a full breath. Even as they walked up several flights of stairs.

“Please tell me you were holding back, Princess. Your sister looked far too scratch free.” Rhaenys smugly smiled.

“I pounced on her and had the upper hand for a moment!” Maetilda tried, but the look she received was not convinced. “Yes, I was not trying to hurt her.”

“Good. I figured as much.” The older princess laughed.

“I am very sorry. I know I should have—“

“Stop. I simply will hear none of that.”

“My father—“

“I know exactly what he thinks and what he is going to tell you. I don’t need to hear you tell me.”

Maetilda could not think of a proper response, one that would make the woman beside her happy. The younger princess’s mouth sat ajar, moving to form words she couldn’t fully commit to.  “H-he’s just…”

“There is one thing I learned as a girl growing up in this castle that would do you good to learn.” Rhaenys did not speak condescendingly but in a way that suggested she hadn��t always been the woman she was known to be, “Each and every person in this world has a motive, a goal, a future they are working toward. Learn one’s motives and you shall never be surprised by their actions.”

The older princess’s words made Maetilda’s brain explode. She was so stunned, her legs got tangled in her skirts, causing her to stumble forward. If it weren’t for Rhaenys’s grip on her arm, the princess-by-title would’ve tumbled to the ground. She was practically in shock. All words left her mind again. Rhaenys was right, and Maetilda knew it. Every joint in her body agreed.

“How will I know that I am right?”

“When your head, your heart, and your gut all agree.”

A/N: Alicent and Rhaenyra are trying so hard to make things work! I also thought that the show needed to hint more toward tension in Daemon and Rhaenyra’s marriage before he assaulted her at Dragonstone over his own jealousy. So this is my trying to build toward that. They fundamentally disagree and there is tension and Daemon is reactionary. But in order to come into her own, Maetilda must overcome her biggest hater. Which is her father. I hope that comes across!

The pot is stirring though!!! If I do my job correctly, things should only get better from here baby B)

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe your comment made me giggle and kick my feet and i appreciate you so much!! thank you! i missed you too!!

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter fifteen: dragons have horns

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 5207

“You will leave and never come back whole.”

Helaena always had a way of knowing too much. Too much for her own good. She saw everything coming. Even when they were children. Whether she saw it in her dreams or predicted it outright, she was no fool. She was something far greater. Someone who had been blessed by the Gods themselves. Only a fool would take her warnings for granted. Only a fool would deem her mad. Her words echoed in the princess’s ears into the afternoon.

“I shall see you once your family has left.”

It was as if Maetilda had been knocked off her feet. Her family had no plans to leave, not that she had been aware of. They had a wedding to plan. They needed to pick flowers, performers, foods, and more. There was still so much left to do. Of course, arrangements would be made for her belongings at Dragonstone and for the transportation of Shrykos, but neither of those would require her family to leave. Not any time soon. Such a small statement had thrown the princess into a complete tailspin. What did she mean? What had she been trying to tell her? Was that supposed to be a warning? And if so, what is she to do? At some point, the answerless questions began to make her head pound. Maetilda tried to keep herself distracted so that she would not continue to ruminate. To keep herself sane. First, she stopped at the library. Shamefully, she had yet to even attempt reading the books she had taken the other night. Pacing the shelves with Ser Eddrin in tow, she felt as if she could not pick up any others. Instead, she scanned the spines and gathered what she could from the covers she would stop to glance over. The library was much different during the day. Far less creepy and intimidating, making it easier to allow her imagination to run wild with each book she felt drawn to. Yet even so, the library soon grew boring. One could only stay entertained for so long without actually opening a book. Especially when a future of pain and misery loomed overhead. It seemed that no matter where her imagination ran, the path always led back to everything she was trying to avoid. After the library lost its shine, the princess wandered over to the Godswood. The day was more humid than it had been previously. It felt like the air clung to her skin. Ser Eddrin’s armor squeaked and clunked more than usual. Together, the princess and her knight willfully strode the muddy path that would only get muckier with more rain, which the heavy air suggested to be just around the corner. But when she glanced up toward the clouds, or lack thereof, the sky was clear and blue. Not a sign of rain in sight. 

“There are no clouds.” The princess told her knight.

“Aye,” Ser Eddrin nodded, “No clouds.”

“Seems like there should be, does it not?”

“You want me to do somethin’ about that?” His voice was strained.

“No,” Maetilda shook her head with a ghost of a smile, “But you could do something about the humidity.”

Ser Eddrin’s face was blank and serious before he erupted into laughter. He gave her a pat on the back before his howling stopped quickly, too quickly. The abruptness of his silence was jarring, but the pat had been comforting. Even if it would have been considered unbecoming in good company. As if she were in need of comfort. The knight looked at her with wide eyes as he realized what he had done. Immediately, he bowed his head and began a long tirade of apologies. “Mi’lady, I don’t know what came over me. ‘Won’t ever happen again. You have my sincerest apologies. As your knight, it is my duty to—”

The princess tried to flash a comforting smile as she cut him off, “No harm was done. I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

“You are far too forgiving.”

“You have been by my side for as long as I can remember.”

“Proudly.” His nod was firm and absolute.

“And so, there is nothing to forgive.”

“Princess, it was not honorable of me to touch you. I will not make light of it. I am sorry it happened. There will not be a second time.”

All she could do was cross her arms. She felt on edge, and the weather was not helping. She felt like she had offended him. Riddled with guilt and uncertainty, the princess spent her journey recounting every instance in which she had asked too much of the people around her. Forcing Ser Wyllam to follow her around the castle in pursuit of Helaena at his old age. Expecting Ser Eddrin to dig her out of the hole that was the rune-carved stones. Forcing Ser Gunthor to stand outside in the cold while she slept. Her knight was undoubtedly tired of her. Even so, he did his job effortlessly. He managed to successfully distract her, whether she had asked him to or not. Instead of ruminating over Helaena and her vague warnings, Maetilda had become consumed by the appropriateness of her own behavior. And as soon as the silver honey haired royal arrived at the entrance of the Godswood, she was overwhelmed with even more turmoil. Reminded of her dream just the night before, locked in horror from the very thought, her legs refused to cross the threshold. What if the cloaked figure was hiding in there? What if it was waiting with the jagged rock in hand? Would Ser Eddrin be able to stop it? How would one fight a ghost? The uncertainty was a definitive deterrence. She did not want to find the answers to those questions. Instead, she scanned the courtyard for alternative options. Anything to get her out of there. Anything to get her away from her own mind.

The courtyards were fairly busy that day, as well as the  browning gardens. Subjects and attendants littered and meandered about the grounds. Some dressed in fine silks and gowns, many more dressed in their working attire. The princess quickly decided to avoid the crowds. As she looked around, her eyes caught sight of the Dragonpit in the distance. Sat at the top of Rhaenys’s Hill, the structure domineered over the horizon. King Maegor had ordered its construction, and it showed. The infamously cruel king had never seen the masterpiece to completion, the construction having lasted into his cousin’s reign, but his essence oozed from every crevice. It was built to house every dragon left in the world and any dragon yet to be born. Large and imposing like a castle, yet was still too small for Balerion or Vhagar — who had never stopped growing. But could it hold Shrykos? Having hatched in Valyria just the same, she was smaller but not by much. A beast who was large and domineering, yet not enough to hold a candle to her late stepmother’s mount. While Shrykos was not there, it seemed that she would soon be visiting frequently. She would need to have a place of her own to stay, to nest. And it would be no one but the princess’s job to see to that standard. No one knew Shrykos like Maetilda. Almost immediately, the princess’s heart was set. There would be no other way to spend her afternoon. Tunnels that sprawled beneath the ground could lead her there discreetly. Or she could travel by horse and carriage. As the princess weighed her options, Ser Wyllam made his way over to them in order to relieve Ser Eddrin of his duties. They smiled and nodded to each other like old brothers. 

“Mi’lady has been feeling adventurous today. Good luck!” The younger knight teased.

The older knight chuckled, “Our princess likes to keep us young!”

“Young knees and full pockets.” Eddrin joked.

“To think it was love for my mother that brought you into my service!” Maetilda gasped teasingly.

“It was,” the Tollet nodded with a smirk, “And it’s the money and the laps through castles that’s kept us.”

“You are feeling quite funny today!” The princess placed her hands on her hips as she returned a smug smile.

“Ser Eddrin, watch your tongue.”

“No,” The princess snapped, “His jokes are fine.”

“Do they not reveal his true feelings?” Ser Wyllam argued.

“Do you discredit me?” She challenged.

“Of course not, princess.”

“Then we shall allow Ser Eddrin to have his jokes, and I shall punish him when he has done something worth punishment.”

The younger knight gave the older one verbal directions as the three began to pace in the same path the princess and her betrothed had taken to welcome her sisters and their grandmother to the castle. Ser Eddrin excused himself soon after. Ser Wyllam and the princess continued on their way in a tense silence. The knight had been red faced ever since she had corrected him. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he glanced about with his head on a swivel. Strange feelings churned within her stomach as she thought about how Ser Eddrin did not trust him to not betray her to her father. Ser Wyllam had been quick to defend her, quick to attempt to knock her fellow knight down a peg. Perhaps too quick. And as quick as his mouth was, his pace was slower that day. While he led the way, he lagged behind. The princess kept her own strides smaller in order to not overwhelm him as they walked in silence down an exterior corridor lined with arches and columns. She studied the breathtaking architecture as they passed.

Without Ser Eddrin, it was harder to keep distracted. The Coldwater knight was no help in that regard. Instead, she had no choice but to take in the details of the tiles on the wall.  Otherwise, she would go mad before she made it down the corridor. As she passed the stones, she tried to picture those who had built it. She tried to picture the attention to detail and the painstaking work. The sweat on their brows and determination in their eyes. She wondered if someone — or many someones — had dedicated their entire lives to building the keep and its walls. If it had taken more than a generation to build the Dragon Pit, certainly the Red Keep would have been the same. Masterfully built to house her family for generations to come. To stand until the world, itself, opened up and swallowed the great castle whole. She couldn’t help but wonder how her own castle compared. If the walls held the same intricacies and mastery of craft. If the grounds were anywhere near as expansive. She knew that if Shrykos were near, they would have already flown off to go see for themselves. They would have left together as soon as her betrothal was announced. Perhaps they would have never come back. Depending on how her people received her, of course. 

A flash of silver and black springing out from behind a column pulled her out of her ruminations. But despite his abruptness, he smiled sweetly, “Good day, princess.”

“Good day, Prince Aemond,” She avoided looking at his face.

“Are you feeling better?”

“I feel fine. I never felt ill.”

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere.”

“You are not very good at lying.”

“You think that will make me tell you?”

“What has made you so upset with me?”

“Do not pretend like you do not know.”

“You cannot still be angry for that, can you?”

“I can, and I am. For that and much more.”

“Then why do you not tell me?”

“Because I cannot.”

“How can I fix anything if you do not tell me what is wrong?”

“Figure it out. Or ask Helaena.”

“Will you please at least tell me where you are going?”

The princess sighed as she finally conceded, “The Dragonpit.”

A devious look, filled with plots and pride, smeared across his features. His back straightened as his interest piqued. He turned so that he stood next to her and stuck his arm out for her to grab. Recoiling away from him, she feared she had said too much.

“May I join you?”

“I fear you shall follow me, even if I say no.”

He laughed, “You might as well compare me to a fly.”

“More like a vulture.”

“That’s a bit more morbid,” He frowned.

“But far more accurate.”

Nonetheless, the princess hesitantly took her betrothed’s arm and they continued walking in the direction of the training yards. Under her fingers, she could feel his arm tighten ever so slightly. Holding her to him as if she would run away at any second, which she very well might have. Their first steps were taken in silence. Ser Wyllam loudly followed behind them. It was a wonder how not one of her knights could be quiet.

“I apologize for my mother and myself yesterday. We have not been as sensitive as we should.”

“I have been nasty.” The princess replied softly, “I have not acted like the wife that you should want.”

“I have already forgiven you. I am willing to forget.”

“But I cannot forgive. I cannot forget.”

“Why?”

“Because you and your mother and your grandfather, the whole lot of you,” She seethed before stopping herself.

“What is it that we have done? What is it that you hold above my head?”

“I will not smile as you take what belongs to my mother. What belongs to me. What belongs to my family. It is not yours to take.”

“Listen to me, ñuha dōna, I am not marrying you for your castle. I do not know how else I may prove it to you.” (my sweet)

“Never step foot on my castle grounds.”

He stopped and turned to me. He was silent, mouth firmly shut, as his eye scanned my face four times over. After a long pause, he finally nodded, “Alright. I shall never step foot in Runestone. It’s yours.”

“Truly?” She gasped incredulously.

“I swear it. I shall live here, and you shall visit the Red Keep often. I will send you ravens every day. Once there are children, we can meet at the Gates of the Moon. Less of a distance for the little ones. I’ll take our sons hunting and our daughters riding. We’ll decide together who they marry.”

His words made her heart flutter, yet her mind continued to scream ‘no.’ She looked away from him, desperate to be clear of mind. But all she could picture was a future in which she ruled over Runestone and her husband stayed away out of respect. Where he refused to set foot in her castle, just because she told him to. Where he proclaimed her birthright to be hers, and only hers. The smile on her face was subconscious, but radiant and large, “I would like that very much.”

“Besides, you shall have to visit Helaena too. You won’t be able to hide from me.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“You are such a jester.” He chuckled.

She only smirked to herself, ready to carry out the challenge just to prove a point. A light hand moved to brush against her cheek before lifting her chin to face the prince again. Never in her life had she felt so bashful. It was like he knew exactly what to do to overwhelm her senses, and disarm the little guards in her head.

“In our youth, I always told myself that I was going to be a good man, a good husband, a good father. Better than my own. I shall make good on this promise. I shall make good on all my promises.”

“Good.”

“Allow me to start by escorting you to the Dragonpit, where we shall…”

“See to the preparation of Shrykos’s nest. For when I visit, of course.”

The two walked arm-in-arm with wide smiles across their faces. Like two children becoming friends for the first time. Their strides synced without them even looking down. The two did not notice the servants who passed by and whispered. Not a single one of them. They stared into each other’s eyes only briefly glancing forward to watch for a clear path.

“I am excited for us to finally ride together. The two oldest dragons left in the world will be quite the spectacle.” Aemond spoke proudly.

“Perhaps it is a good thing we both do not live at Runestone. The townspeople would starve trying to keep both our dragons fed.” Maetilda pointed out.

Aemond nodded and laughed, “You are right. A disaster for the rations.”

“When I see what the funds look like, perhaps I shall build you a tower to stay in. A hidden one some distance away from my keep. But you shall have to fly elsewhere to feed Vhagar. I have seen how much that lady eats.” She thought aloud.

“I would help fund such a tower.” He nodded enthusiastically.

“It’s settled then, you’ll pay for it.” She laughed, to which he only shrugged.

“You shall make a very fine leader.” He smirked, “You are already a skilled diplomat.”

“Do not ever forget.” She retorted.

“You are not someone that can easily slip my mind, princess.”

The giggle that left her was unlike any she had ever emitted. It was almost shameful, “Good.”

He paused for a moment before he spoke again, “If our children are nearly half as clever as you, I’ll be doomed.”

His words felt foreign, setting off all sorts of distress signals in her head. He spoke so casually of a future she had not thought she would have. Ever. She thought it was impossible. That such a future would take a miracle from the gods.

“Our children shall be raised in the Vale. May all seven kingdoms beware.”

Aemond let out the most excited laugh she had ever heard. There was practically a skip in his step. The princess bit her lip to keep back any more shameful giggles. In that moment, he reminded her of the boy she knew in her youth. The one she would only see from time to time on her occasional visits to the castle, who would always end up attached to her and Helaena as if he were their shadow. She had never been more excited for her future. While she was not paying attention, he placed a lingering kiss on her temple. It nearly caused her to trip. Just as she had when they had danced together the other evening.

“They’ll write about our family in all the history books. Perhaps we shall even be dedicated our own.” He smiled, “A chapter for each of us.”

“The Dragons of the Vale.” 

“Yes, a perfect title.” Another lingering peck in the same place punctuated his sentence, as if her knight was not walking right behind them.

“You are shameless.” She laughed.

“I am elated. I have never been so happy.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

Maetilda laid her head against his arm in place of a hug. He had practically swept her off her feet with a single conversation. She did not question it. Not for a single moment. Together, they descended the stairs into the training yard. The same steps she had taken with her brothers only six days ago. Just as before, the steps were narrow, barely wide enough for one person. But Aemond held his betrothed tight, placing her body on the inside as he took the outer edge. His frame was almost like a shield, blocking both the breeze and the direct sunlight. His presence was such a small luxury, but it felt utterly priceless. She knew immediately that she would miss it the next time she went without it. Her knights never walked close enough to do the same. Her brothers never troubled themselves, saving such attention for ladies they actually fancied. And when her father walked next to her… well. Casting a glance over the yard, it was almost ironic how she immediately spotted said two brothers sparring in a corner together while her sisters watched. They were engrossed in their match. Using real swords and shields, not sparring ones. Jacaerys had the clear upperhand. Aemond’s entire body tensed as soon as they reached the bottom of the stairs. She looked up to find that he, too, had spotted the party. Just as the princess was putting the pieces together in her brain, the prince had already started bee-lining in the direction of the gates. Clearly determined to make it to their destination unnoticed. But of course, Maetilda’s sisters could not let that happen.

“Til! Where do you think you’re going? Maetilda!” Baela teasingly called after them.

The pair froze, the knight behind them halting too. The last thing the princess wanted was for her siblings to ruin their moment. Or worse. It also seemed that Aemond preferred to avoid them too. A reasonable reaction considering dinner the other night. But the twins had stayed out of the fighting. They did nothing but encourage her to find a good husband. Rhaena had even encouraged Aemond’s flirting just the other day. At least with the twins, there was nothing to fear. But Baela was on the fence. Luke and Jace were another story.

The eldest sister hesitated, “Nowhere.”

Aemond snickered as quietly as he possibly could, but the older twin caught on anyway. Baela smirked, “You too are up to something. I can tell.”

“That’s quite the accusation.” The princess crossed her arms.

“Should you not have a chaperone?” Baela argued smugly, swaying backwards and forwards in mock innocence.

“Would that mean we need one as well?” Rhaena pointed out as she caught up to them.

“Certainly!” Maetilda gasped in mock horror, “Where are your chaperones, sisters? What of your honor?!”

“Funny of you to bring up honor, sister. Your accomplice looks rather smug.” Baela crossed her arms too.

“What sort of insinuation is that?” The eldest gasped genuinely.

“Whatever it needs to be.” The older twin nearly boasted.

“You cannot avoid the question, Til. You have been caught.” Rhaena grinned more sweetly, but she was just as visibly hungry for gossip, “Where are you going?”

“I had only ran into Princess Maetilda in the lower courtyard and asked to accompany her.” Aemond butted in, “Took quite a bit of convincing, actually.”

The corner of Baela’s lip tilted upward. Proud of herself before she had even opened her mouth, “Did you really ask her? Or did you send your knight to ask her instead?”

Snorts and giggles filled the air as the twins fell into stitches. Maetilda’s jaw practically hit the ground as she turned to look at her red faced betrothed. She could feel his arm flex beneath her hand as she remained attached to him. The air felt uncomfortably heavy. Heavier than just humidity. Thick with unresolved tension. The older twin had only meant to tease, but her jokes were hitting far too close to home. Maetilda knew instinctively that she would be the only one to fix it, but was clueless as to how. They already hated each other. Baela said herself that she would never forgive him for claiming Vhagar. That entire night had burned so many bridges. But it was Aemond and Maetilda’s marriage that was supposed to rebuild them, if the King’s decree was to be honored. 

“Baela!” The princess finally scolded.

“S’alright. I am sure your sister is quite tired from watching her intended play sticks.” Aemond chided.

“Aemond!”

“Play sticks!” Baela exclaimed incredulously.

“I am sure with practice he shall be ready for the lists eventually.” He laughed.

“My intended—“ Baela started to sneer.

“What about me?” Jacaerys made his presence known as he approached, Lucerys flanking his side.

“Sticks or no sticks! Jace shall inherit far more than Aemond ever will.” Baela spat.

“The whole Seven Kingdoms!” Luke proudly clarified.

“And yet, I swing a sharper sword and claim a bigger dragon.” Aemond gloated nonchalantly, “How shall you defend your holdings, nephew?”

“You stole her! You stole Vhagar.” Baela corrected, “Don’t lie!”

“Baela, put it to rest!” Maetilda tried.

“One cannot simply steal a dragon,” Aemond barked, “Get that through your thick head.”

“Aemond!” Maetilda gasped.

“You will not talk to her like that.” Jacaerys growled.

“Then mind how your sheep-biting scut speaks!” Aemond spat.

“She is not a dog! I will not muzzle her. Do you question my lady’s virtue?” Jace snapped.

“Clearly after dinner the other evening, it is you that needs muzzling.” Luke added.

“I question nothing of the sort,” Aemond pivoted to stare at the younger Velaryon, “However I do question, why your ladies must suffer.”

“Suffer?” Rhaena searched for clarification.

“To be stuck at the beck and call of two soft bellied cowards until death, I could not imagine a worse fate.”

Luke crossed his arms with pride, “Call us what you wish. Closer to the throne than you’ll ever be.”

“It is Prince Aemond who is the coward.” Baela glared at him like she wanted to spit fire, “He is the one who hides his face.”

The princess stood with her jaw wide open, completely powerless to stop anything. The silver haired prince turned to the older twin, “I see that grandmother of yours has failed to teach you basic decency. There won’t be any kingdom for your husband to inherit with your mouth at his side.”

“I know jealousy when I see it. What do you have to your name, Aemond?” Jace reversed his tactic.

“Don’t they call you One Eye now?” Luke jabbed.

“Don’t they call you bastard?” 

The training yard moved in slow motion as the royal bunch acted all at once. Jace and Luke sprung toward their uncle, fists first. Aemond pushed Maetilda behind him, shielding her from any stray swings. Baela came around the side and got her own shoves in. Rhaena tried in vain to grab at her older sister’s dress, her betrothed’s arm, crying for the heir to stop. Punches, claws, and kicks. The brothers ganged up on their uncle who stood his ground as long as possible before Baela launched a sneak attack from the other side. Ser Wyllam immediately bolted, heading straight in the direction of more guards. Blinking rapidly, it took the princess a few moments to sync up with the world around her again. Her eyes zipped between each of their faces. The three boys were close to the ground as they flailed and swung. Ready to pounce again, Baela crouched to gain momentum. She was aimed directly at Aemond’s back. Maetilda’s feet moved of their own accord as they frantically carried her straight into her younger sister, effectively tackling the future heir’s betrothed. Baela did not hesitate to start yanking at her older sister’s hair, trying to pull the princess off by force. The girls rolled in the dirt, soiling their dresses, until they collided with legs. 

Bodies toppled over bodies. Grunts and yelps and growls. Rhaena’s voice of opposition was a distant buzz. A knee collided with the princess’s head as she used all of her strength to pin Baela down. Fingernails scratched like cat claws, stinging all the same. Both girls tried not to flinch so as to not let the other gain any more of an upperhand. When Maetilda stared down into the older twin’s eyes, all she could see was blind rage. A completely unrecognizable look, one never before scrunched onto her face. The princess did not want to hurt her, but she did not know how to stop her, how to subdue her. Frustrated tears threatened to blur Maetilda’s vision in the struggle. Fighting to lasso Baela’s wrists into her hold, the princess couldn’t seem to feel her hands. They instinctively snapped, jerked, tightened, and more to meet each of the younger’s attempts at freedom.

“You shall never hear me silent! And you shall never see a day of peace! I shall rot in each of the seven hells before you ever! EVER! breathe a sigh of relief!” Baela bent over backwards to shoot daggers at Aemond with her eyes, “That is a promise!”

“If I must lose an eye, what allows you to keep your tongue?!”

CRACK. Maetilda’s head flicked sideways to see nothing but blood. Jacaerys’s hands went to cradle his nose as Luke and Aemond only continued their brawl. Except the younger was much too small to take his uncle on by himself and was quickly thrown to the ground. Jacaerys tackled Aemond to keep him off of his brother. They rolled similarly to the sisters and were soon oblique to each other. Blood continued to pour out of Jace’s nose and splattered everywhere. While Maetilda was distracted, Baela gained the upper hand. They rolled again until the younger sister sat on top.

“Seize them!”

Armor clanked all around them. But not that of Maetilda’s three nights. It was a smoother, lighter sound. One that could only belong to the white armor of the Kingsguard. A tighter grip weaved around the roots of her hair, clamping down before the hands of knights tried to pull the noble sisters apart by the arms. Baela did not let go.

“I don’t care what grandmother says! I won’t hear it!” The older twin bellowed resolutely.

“Baela, let go!” Rhaena cried.

“You are such a child!” Maetilda sneered.

The knights began to pull harder, but Baela’s grip did not budge. She was a dragon rider after all. “You attacked me first!”

“Because you were piling onto Aemond like a dog!”

“Were you listening to the words leaving his mouth?!”

“Yes, and I heard the ones leaving yours too!”

“Who’s side are you on?”

With one final yank, two knights holding onto each girl, Prince Daemon’s daughters were successfully pulled apart. The usual cascading waves and curls had shifted to the left in a mess of tangles and frizz. The formerly fine combed front bumped up unevenly. The various braids and smaller details lost in the rats’ nest. Plucking loose strands of silver honey hair out from in between her fingers, Baela upturned her nose as she turned her back and marched her way over to Jacaerys. Blood continued to drip steadily out of his nose. The cartilage in his bridge looked broken. He suddenly looked older and angrier, more like a man. The same scarlet red that poured out of his nostrils had puddled everywhere. That which was smeared across his face had already started to dry, clumping hard atop his skin. Lowering their heads so as to not be heard, Baela and Jace whispered to each other. Rushed, impassioned whispers. Spit flying from their mouths despite the lack of volume. Just as quickly as they started, they stopped.

Almost completely in unison, all four of Maetilda’s siblings turned to look at her. Disgust, betrayal, confusion, hurt, shock. A different emotional concoction on each face. She felt her heart shatter, heat rising in her cheeks. When she went to take a step toward them, they all stepped back. Even Rhaena, who lightly shook her head. What had she done? For the gods’ sake, what had she done?

A/N: another apology for taking so long with this chapter! thank you for sticking with me as i write this. writing is a big passion of mine, and i’m hoping that if i can finish a fanfiction then i can one-day write a novel! maybe even a series! i’ve tried to write this here lady *slaps hood* with all sorts of parallels and shit. i think this chapter slaps you on the face with that the most. constructive criticism is always welcomed!

also, let me know if you still want tagged!! i wasn’t sure since it had been so long and don’t want to be annoying.

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

SMALL UPDATE!!!

i said i was hoping to post something by february, and i’m sticking to it! chapters fifteen and sixteen will get posted this week as soon as i find the time to do some light proofreading. chapter seventeen is trucking along already as well! i keep adding stuff to it, so the first chunk might end up being twenty-one chapters instead of twenty. (now i know why george can’t get his shit together either 😅)

i’m super excited about what’s to come!!!

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

Don’t know if you’ll see this but are you thinking of updating the story

hello!!!

thank you so so so much for reaching out. i am very sorry for my unexplained/unexpected hiatus. as soon as i saw your message, i realized it wasn’t cool of me to drop off the face of the earth like that.

i have every intention of updating and finishing this little diddy! since i posted the most recent chapter, i started learning a lot more about global politics (boy howdy, the united states government is going to kill us all). for a while, i felt very selfish and had a lot of guilt about my writing — about the fact that i had the luxury to sit in my quiet house and contemplate plots, characters, and stories. and because of that, i put this project on the back burner.

that being said, i originally started writing (and posting) this because i wanted a way to encourage myself to keep pushing through when my writer’s block tries to take the reigns. to give up on this project would be to give up on my initial goal, and i will not let that happen easily. i completely understand if the inconsistent posting makes it hard to follow along and keep interest. i don't blame you at all if that is the case. i appreciate everyone that's read my work, and i cannot express how much it means to me that y’all like it enough to keep reading.

the good news is: i have Chapter 15 written! a few weeks ago, i had tentatively planned to write through Chapter 20 before i started posting chapters again, as a sort of buffer. currently, i'm still writing Chapter 16, and i’m not sure how much longer it will take me. i would like to have it done before february.

but i am willing to post this however you would like!! should i post Chapter 15 now? should i wait until i've finished Chapter 16 and post them both? or should i wait until i have finished Chapter 20?

thank you again for checking in. ❤️

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter fourteen: what the lady beetle does

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 3955

The first thing the princess did when she woke up that morning was check beneath her pillow, terrified the cloaked figure might have been the culprit behind the stones. There had been nothing in the Godswood the night before, but she could not take the risk. Her knight had searched her room but not her pillows. That morning, she checked every last one. Had the counter-curse not worked? Had it been too late? There were no more stones to be found. There was nothing beneath her pillow or any of the others. The dream had just been a dream — a nightmare. Although the small relief from a lack of looming runes was enough to let her breathe again, every hair on her body still stood straight up. Uneasy and on edge. Her limbs were tangled in her bed sheets just as they had been in her dream the night before as she fought to sit up properly and look around her chambers. Her heart pounded. Nothing looked out of place or disturbed; however, the feeling of eyes watching her every movement remained. She had felt the same way as Ser Gunthor had assisted her back to her chambers in the night, but she had been far too tired to worry about it. She glanced around a second time to find her room still empty. Nothing had changed. She successfully got out of bed on her second try. Her feet were still in her shoes, surprising her when her bare feet did not meet the ground. When she looked down, she found herself still dressed in her red evening gown too. Jewelry and all. Her maids knocked and entered soon after. They burst into giggles upon seeing her.

“You slept in your shoes and everything?” Adelyn smiled lovingly, “How were you comfortable?”

“Soldiers and knights do it, do they not?” The princess smiled.

“Aye and you, princess, are as tough as they come.” Noarysa joked.

“I am!” Maetilda nodded despite the maid’s sarcasm.

“You are!” Adelyn echoed as she began unlacing the princess’s shoes.

The two maids worked together to undress the princess before wrapping her in her housecoat and sitting her at the vanity. All with smiles on their faces. They brushed the knots and dirt from her hair before they began to weave it into the usual cascading style. From the speed at which they worked, it was clear that they were in a hurry. The princess took off her earrings, her rings, and her bracelet as they braided. But she could not get her necklace. She had hoped to save them time. That morning marked her sixth day at the Red Keep, and it felt as if she had been with her two maids for ages. Similar to her maids back at Dragonstone, she felt warm in their presence. Safe and looked after. But unlike her maids back home, she was oblivious to where their loyalties resided, and that was what kept her careful. Once her hair was done, Noarysa went to her wardrobe and pulled out a soft plum gown. It had a higher neckline than the red one from the night prior, puffed sleeves, and a full skirt that flared out beneath the bust. The hems and trims were decorated in blush pink and squash orange. Little ivory bows adorned the decorations. The princess selected her bronze citrine and sapphire jewelry to match. She was full of color, but not a single one clashed. At least not to her eye. The maids began to work at cleaning her chambers as Ser Eddrin came to collect the princess.

He gave her a warm smile as he held his arm out for her to take, “Ser Gunthor told me you had a cold evening.”

“He got me an extra blanket. I was not cold.” Maetilda smiled.

Ser Eddrin chuckled quietly as the princess took his arm. His creaking armor echoed down the hall as he escorted her to Rhaenyra’s chambers for breakfast. The princess’s eyes and limbs remained heavy and tired as they walked. The morning had come upon her quickly and she almost felt stuck in the events of the evening — the last two evenings. She did not understand what it all meant. The cloaked figure, the valley, the horse, the fall. It all felt so foreign and familiar at the same time. She wished Shrykos was near so they could go flying until they found the cliffs and hills of her dream. But just as her father had said the day before, Rhaenyra knew what she was doing when she made them travel by ship. Both the princess and the Rogue Prince were trapped in the Red Keep. In the castle of their ancestors that no longer felt like it was theirs. It was her sixth day at the Red Keep, and her life had been completely flipped onto its head. Rune binding, deception, marriage pacts, secret corridors, plotting, humiliation. It was as if she had been listening to a badly written book. What more would she encounter? What could possibly be worse? They made it to Rhaenyra’s chambers quickly. The anxiety in the princess’s veins set the pace quicker than normal. Two kingsguard stood at the entrance as usual. They smiled as they knocked and opened the door. The table seemed lively as she quietly stepped across the threshold. Jacaerys and Lucerys were already laughing. Joffery was haphazardly throwing words together to get his point across. Rhaenyra followed Joff’s story attentively as Daemon watched the group with pride. They all turned to Maetilda as she made her way toward the table and took her usual seat.

“There she is!” Lucerys teased, “The beautiful bride to be.”

“The prettiest in all the Realm.” Jacaerys chimed in.

“We have been blessed by the mere sight of you!”

“Like a star, plucked straight from the sky!”

“The brightest diamond!” 

“The twinkle in my eye!” The two boys' eyes filled with tears as they held back laughter.

“Make one more remark about my beauty.” The princess warned.

“You are very pretty, Til!” Joffrey interjected.

She could only sigh, “Thank you, Joff.”

Luke smirked as he opened his mouth again,“It’s going to take one beautiful lady to handle—“

“That is enough. Both of you. As far as I am concerned, you older three are still treading on thin ice.” Rhaenyra warned.

“Thin ice?” Maetilda gasped.

“For dinner the other night when we were,” Jacaerys glanced toward Joffrey before looking back at his sister, “disruptive.”

“I was only defending Luke!” The princess immediately barked in her own defense.

“Of which, you did wonderfully.” Daemon chuckled.

The princess nearly choked when she heard his words. Complete and utter disbelief. She nearly did not hear the conversation that followed as she questioned if she heard him correctly. If he had truly said she had done something well. Certainly he did not, but he had laughed. He spoke jovially. Did her ears deceive her?

“My favorite part was when you threw the carafe!” Luke muttered not so quietly.

“Til threw what?” Joffrey gasped.

“Nothing!” Rhaenyra pointedly exclaimed.

Jace and Luke looked down before taking big bites of their food to avoid talking. Joffrey took an innocent sip of his tea, clearly basking in the safety of being the baby of the Velaryon brothers. Both Daemon and Rhaenyra adjusted themselves in their chairs.

Rhaenyra cleared her throat before she opened her mouth to speak again, “I expect all three of you to be on your best behavior for the rest of our stay. Make amends with Queen Alicent’s sons. I will confiscate inheritances if I must.”

In unison, Jacaerys, Maetilda, and Lucerys nodded their heads shamefully. It was never fun being scolded by the King’s heir. The future Queen did not threaten or punish often. And so there would be no question when her fire did spew, it was well deserved. The three had acted like children at dinner. They had embarrassed themselves and their parents. Even if they were defending themselves. In doing so, they had almost done more harm than good.

“How was dinner with the Queen last night, Maetilda?” Rhaenyra calmly changed the subject.

“It was… the food was wonderful.” The princess smiled.

Her father leaned forward to listen closer while her stepmother fixed her brow suspiciously. Rhaenyra gave the princess a once-over with her eyes, “And how was the company?”

“The Queen said that she was looking forward to seeing you more.” Maetilda stated innocently.

“How lovely of her,” Rhaenyra smiled, not at all fooled, “What else did you speak of?”

“So many things. I can hardly recall them all,” The princess nervously laughed.

“The wedding hasn’t been called off yet.” Her father pointed out.

Jace and Luke laughed, but Maetilda knew what that really meant. He was not happy with her, but neither was Rhaenyra. To make one happy, she would undoubtedly have to upset the other. The thought filled her with panic. If she wanted to get through the day unscathed, she would have to be honest. In front of her stepmother.

“Dinner did not go well,” The princess confessed, “I believe there was a time when the Queen told me that I was lucky she did not have my tongue taken out.”

It was then Daemon’s turn to laugh, “Those Hightowers would love themselves a little silent bride.”

“You riled her up, didn’t you?” Rhaenyra fixed her glare on her husband who straightened in his chair.

“I only told her to do what was necessary.” He seethed.

“Necessary for what outcome?” She retorted.

“The best one for all of us.”

“Daemon, you will ruin everything.”

“The only thing I will ruin is Otto Hightower’s fucking plans.”

“Children, you may be excused.” Rhaenyra barked for the rest of them to leave as the tension between her and her husband grew, “Go bond with your uncles. Behave yourselves.”

Maetilda did not wait a moment longer before she practically ran from the room, nearly crashing into Ser Eddrin on her way out. The knight caught her by the arms but said nothing as she led them far away from the chamber doors. They did not cover their suspiciousness well. She practically dragged the aged knight into the first empty corridor she found. Her breathing was labored when they stopped. She had no choice but to take a moment to collect herself before even looking up at Ser Eddrin. With his back, he shielded her from where the end of the corridor they stood in met the main one. Her mind replayed breakfast on a loop. She had no doubt that her father and Rhaenyra were arguing at that very moment. She wondered if her father argued with his wife like he scolded her. She feared what would happen in that room. But not enough to go back. Her feet would not carry her in that direction. 

As soon as the princess caught her breath, she narrowed in on where she needed to go. They needed to move out of the open. She needed to get away from everyone, but did not want to be alone, “I wish to spend the day with Helaena.”

“Funny you say that, mi’lady,” Ser Eddrin smiled, “A certain white cloak happened to inform me that the Princess is in her chambers with her children and requested your company.”

“I never thank you enough.” She looked at the man like he had put the sun in the sky.

But the knight only chuckled and shrugged before replying, “He came to me. Told me she asked for you. I merely stood there.”

“You have my gratitude nonetheless.”

“Shall we?”

Mindful of the amount of stairs, the princess and her knight paced their journey to Helaena’s chambers. The corridors only grew busier after everyone broke their fast. She was stopped numerous times to be congratulated on her engagement. Every well wish felt wrong, as if each one were a farce. She thanked each one as politely as she could manage before excusing herself. While the script of it all started to become soothing, the whole charade quickly became infuriating. Just as she had guessed, many were condescending in tone. Most were. They looked down at her out of their inflated heads with cold eyes and poorly hid crocodile smiles. She was no fool. She saw right through their kind words. The Mootons, Lord Fossoway, Lady Graceford, the lot of them. By the time they had actually reached Princess Helaena’s door, the princess-by-title found herself wondering if she had gone mad. If she was seeing enemies in everyone. Or if the Red Keep was truly more dangerous than she had previously thought. With every lord and lady she encountered, Maetilda could not escape the piece of her father that lived in her mind. Never afraid to voice his opinion. Sometimes to the point where she could barely hear her own thoughts. Most times. She was not surprised to see one of the twins guarding Helaena’s door. Both kingsguard bowed their heads respectfully.

“Good morning, princess.” He sounded like Arryk, the one from the gardens.

The princess mustered her best smile, “Fine morning, Ser Arryk.”

“Ser Erryk.” He corrected, debunking her earlier suspicions.

“Ser Erryk.” She repeated, staring him down in an attempt to find the differences in his face from his brother’s. Yet even his own mother was known to struggle.

The door opened to a large bedroom chamber. The princess gave her sworn knight a parting nod before she entered. Not focused on a single hue but the entire spectrum of color, Helaena’s chambers were perhaps the most colorful of all the rooms within the Red Keep. Greens, yellows, reds, blues, purples, oranges, and everything in between. There was less furniture and more space for activity, but it was soon clear why. Two white haired children scurried in front of her as if she had been a permanent fixture. They did not even turn to look at her. Their giggles bounced off the walls. A tired maid chased after them. Twins. Maetilda still remembered the day they had received the raven with the news. A boy and a girl, Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Born to Aegon and Helaena in the dead of night. The princess-by-birth had been young at the time, still was. The maester at Dragonstone had privately expressed his concern. That fortnight had been one of the first times the princess-by-title had been thankful for her father’s overbearing nature. At least she did not have to marry Aegon. Or produce children before her body had finished maturing. It was a fate no woman deserved, Helaena least of all. Maetilda got a strange feeling from watching her cousin’s children running about. She had never met them as babes. They were still quite young, and yet old enough to run and jump and play. A younger babe, old enough to have perhaps seen his third nameday, sat next to his mother as she pointed to different creatures in her needlework. He was white haired, just as the older ones, and already bore a resemblance to Aegon. Maelor. She could remember that raven too. Prince Daemon had been sour for three whole moons after it came. He drank from sun up to sun down, and grumbled tirelessly about the heir and spare that Otto planned to supplant him with. But they were all only children. Children that ran and played through their mother’s chambers. Children that still needed help feeding themselves. Children that held no responsibility or blame. What harm could they cause? Princess Helaena perked up when she noticed Maetilda, both grinned ear to ear. The King’s second daughter was dressed in a chartreuse gown with long paneled sleeves. Her neckline was high cut to her mother’s approval.

“Maetilda, I am so happy to see you!”

“It has been too long yet!”

“I know. I miss the days of our girlhood.”

“When we would sleep in each other’s beds.”

“Never went a day without seeing each other when we were in the same castle.”

“I miss those days.”

“Me too. But you must meet the children.”

“I must!”

The tired maid cornered and corralled the twins while Helaena readjusted the youngest’s outfit. As the older pair became aware of the unfamiliar presence, they quickly lost interest in their game of cat and mouse. Maetilda watched them with a smile. The maid instructed them on appearance and etiquette before moving aside to give them practice. Jaehaera rushed forward on the balls of her feet, a wild grin to match. The girl skid to a halt mere inches away from the princess-by-title.

“You are my aunt.” Jaehaera declared.

“Not yet, my love! She will be your aunt. First, she must marry Uncle Aemy.” 

“She will marry Uncle Aemy?”

Helaena nodded eagerly as the bride-to-be used every ounce of her strength to keep her face even. Staring at the unfamiliar children wide-eyed, her weight shifted from foot to foot.

“Hello, Jaehaera.” The plum-clad princess crouched down to the girl’s level, “It is lovely to meet you. My name is Maetilda.”

“Muh-til-da!” Jaehaerys enunciated from behind his sister.

“Maedilda!” Jaehaera cheered after him.

“Very good,” She giggled, already picturing the three moons they would spend together before she left.

Suddenly, it all felt real. Her engagement, her marriage, returning to her castle, producing heirs. Terrifyingly real. In three moon’s time, her life would begin to look like Helaena’s. She would be responsible for bearing children of her own — Aemond’s children. They would run and giggle and play through the halls and courtyards of Runestone. 

“Do you like lady beetles?” Jaehaerys inquired.

“I love lady beetles.” The princess confessed, “And butterflies. And earthworms… And silverfish.”

“I like earthworms!” Jaehaera exclaimed.

“They are so funny!” Maetilda replied.

“Funny, yeah!” Jaehaera giggled.

“Do you know what a lady beetle does?” Jaehaerys quizzed.

“No, I do not. Do you?” Maetilda shrugged

“Of course! They eat the bugs that eat the garden.” Jaehaera jumped at the answer.

“How honorable!”

Jaehaerys nodded, “Do you like dragons?”

“I love dragons very much. I have one!”

“Where?!” The twins gasped in perfect unison.

“She lives in a volcano!”

“Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, do you remember what a volcano is?” Helaena chimed in.

“A mountain with  fire!” The boy answered as his sister did a big, loud, and bold demonstration.

“Well done!”

“You are both so smart!”

“That was a compliment! What do you say to a compliment?” Helaena asked them.

“Thank you!” Jaehaera butted in before her brother could answer.

“Well done! You are welcome.” 

“Very good, indeed! Judyth, send for refreshments and then you may be excused until nap time.”

With a nod, the tired maid left the room. The door clicked behind her, leaving two princesses and three children. Helaena handed Maelor over to Maetilda before setting the older children up with a new game that involved their dolls. Maelor wiggled restlessly as he fought to join his siblings. The princess-by-title did not argue, promptly setting him down on his feet. He took off like a little winged bug. As soon as the children were lost in play, their mother returned to her previous seat. The giggles chorused in the background as the cousins smiled to each other.

“I am very glad you came.” Helaena grabbed Maetilda’s hands in her own.

“I am sorry I have not been around more.”

“No, you are newly engaged and this place is exhausting. Besides, I must be the one to apologize. When we saw each other in the Godswood, I was feeling…”

“Overwhelmed?”

“Yes, overwhelmed. There is so much I must tell you. And I do not know where to begin.”

“The words will come when they need to. It is alright.”

“But it is not. You are in danger. We all are. What I told you in the Godswood was only the beginning.”

“One eye closed, two fires sparked, the heads of three have long been marked. That was what you said. Are you telling me that more than three will die?” Maetilda asked, “Who?”

Helaena’s eyes filled with tears, “All of us.”

“And it shall start with the death of three?”

Helaena nodded.

“When? How much time do we have?”

Helaena shook her head; she did not know. Maetilda wrapped the other princess up in her arms. They sat in still silence for a moment. After a while, Jaehaerys brought his mother a doll to hold before he ran back to his siblings. Helaena held it close to her chest.

“I’m sorry, Maetilda.”

“For what?”

“What will happen.”

“Whatever shall happen, it will not be your fault.”

“I… I feel as though… I feel… dread.”

“I shall be here with you for at least three more moons. We can dread the future together.”

“You will leave and never come back whole.”

Maetilda’s heart sank, “Will my marriage truly be so terrible?”

A tnk, tnk, tnk signaled the opening of the chamber door before platters of food and carafes of teas and juices and wines were carried in by several hands. It was all laid out neatly, placed just high enough to be out of the children’s direct reach. But of course, all three ran over to their mother and future aunt, begging for bites. Helaena loaded a small plate up for all three of them. The siblings scrambled for a place to sit. Maelor settled on his future aunt’s lap while the twins took the floor. Their mother handed them their plates, and for once they were silent as they snacked.

“May I hand you anything, Maetilda?”

“I have just come from breakfast, but I would love some wine.”

Soon, both women were giggling with goblets of wine in hand. Maelor leaned back against the princess-by-title even after he had finished eating. The servants tidied up slightly before they bowed and left. Just as they had been directed to. It surprised the princess-by-title to see how matronly her cousin’s servants looked. It was almost suspicious how none of them seemed close in age to the woman they served. They looked old enough to have grown children, not nursing babes. Helaena was the King’s second daughter, wife to his first son — more appropriate maids could not be found? Maetilda drank deeply from her wine, careful to hold it out of Maelor’s reach when she was done.

“You are scared.” Helaena observed aloud.

The princess-by-title nodded, “Have been since I got here.”

“You are not going mad.”

“Did you hear about my behavior at dinner with Aemond and your mother?”

“He recounted the evening to me.” Helaena nodded, “Word-for-word.”

“Yet you think I am not mad?”

“A mad woman would have no reasoning behind her actions.”

Maetilda sighed, “‘Suppose you are right.”

Jaehaera tried to hide her yawn as she rubbed her eyes. Jaehaerys blinked slowly with heavy eyelids. The twins had been watching the two women the entire time. Maelor had gone limp with sleep somewhere in the middle of it all. His half-eaten plate had been forgotten on the seat cushion next to them.

It was Helaena’s turn to sigh, “It looks as though we should take a nap early.”

The twins immediately perked back awake in order to voice their dissent. As if the word alone was enough to give them a second wind. Their whines filled the room and awoke Maelor, who then began to cry. Helaena took her youngest back into her arms before calling for the wetnurses. More matronly maids filed in. Maetilda watched it all wordlessly, as if she were looking into a crystal ball that told her future.

“I shall see you once your family has left.” Helaena smiled to her cousin, “I will be busy with the little ones for quite some time.”

A/N: Maetilda and Helaena never get enough time together imo. But stress will do that to you. Miss Tilda is in here over her head! But this sixth day is not over yet!!! Just y'all wait!!!

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe @snh96 @imsoshygirl @faesspace (if anyone wants added or removed, please just let me know!)

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter thirteen: the ghost of years coming and years past

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 5357

Her entire body shook as if she were trapped in an overboard barrel in the middle of a sea storm. She had already survived a dinner with the Queen once before. What was another meal? What harm could it do? What harm could she do? This meal was far different than any before. She would be alone. Alone with her Grace. Under sole scrutiny of the powerful woman after the princess had been mouthy with her in the Godswood. Maetilda felt if she were to stick one toe out of line, that evening’s dinner would most certainly be her last. She had fretted over her choice of gown the entire afternoon, and had Adelyn redo the two braids in her hair more than once — before ultimately telling her to take them all out. It was like a monster had crawled inside and taken over. An ugly green monster. She could already anticipate each of Queen Alicent’s judgmental comments. How her neckline was too low or her hair was not quite right. It was exhausting. But then there was the other part of her that wanted to give the Queen gray hairs. She wanted the Queen to be just as upset with the affair as her father, just as he wanted. She wanted to make her father happy. Perhaps then, he would spare her. If she was lucky, he would even be proud. Although if she were to ever hear the words ‘well done’ come out of his mouth, she would most certainly need to seek maester’s assistance. While providing her with healing services, the maester could also take an official record of the historic incident. Two birds with one stone.

She was stalling, staring into the looking glass at her reflection. Her knight hadn’t knocked yet. No one had come to collect her either. And she refused to put her jewelry on until the last minute. Instead she looked at her gown, her lowest cut one. Warm red taffeta with a tighter waist, trumpet sleeves, and an A-line skirt. Picked specifically to upset the Queen. Never in her life had she deliberately set out to anger someone. Especially a royal someone. She wondered if she would truly be doing the right thing or if she would be thrown in the Black Cells for conspiring with her father. Yet she saw no other way forward. If the Hightowers did not kill her, then her father would. Her choices were not abundant. Her eyes darted to the balcony doors, suddenly thinking of a third choice. But she quickly shook the thoughts from her head as fear immediately began to set in again. She had to remember that she was not herself. Not completely of sound mind within enemy territory. Regardless, she needed to be at her best, her sharpest, if she were to disgrace herself without disgracing herself. Although she still was not entirely sure just how she was going to do that. Her father had given her no guidance. She stared down at the bronze selenite and pearl jewelry she had laid out on the vanity. The same set she had worn to family dinner the evening before. The light whites of the stones sparkled against the red of her gown. As the day had passed by, the pink of her darker cheek had slowly started to subside. Very slowly. She scoured her brain for what she could remember of the Queen, what the woman hated. Impropriety, disorder, and chaos. How far out of line would the princess be allowed to go? How many missteps before she would be an unspoken-for-woman once more?

A quick knock at the door announced Ser Gunthor’s arrival before he stepped inside. The princess cast her eyes over her shoulder to find his jaw clenched, but he tried to hide it, “Prince Aemond is here to take you to dinner, mi’lady.”

“Thank you. Send him in.”

Keeping her back to the door, she turned back to her vanity and avoided glancing up at the looking glass. Yet she felt his presence nonetheless. Her hands shook as she threaded her earrings through the holes in her earlobes, looped her belt around her waist, slipped the rings on her fingers, and fingered with the clasp of her necklace. She tried and tried, but she could not get it to unlatch.

“Are you ready, ñuha dōna?” The prince’s voice inquired softly.

“No,” She admitted, back still turned, “I cannot seem to put my necklace on.”

“Your handmaids did not put it on for you?” He did not hide the surprise in his voice.

“I wanted to do it myself.”

There was a pause before the sound of a few soft footsteps forward echoed through the room, remaining a respectable distance away, “May I help you?”

The princess remained rigid, only handing the necklace back to him by an extended arm backwards. His footsteps crept closer, until they were right behind her. He held the proffered hand in his own for a brief moment before he took the jewelry teasingly slow. She dropped her hand back to her side. Her entire body was still as she waited to see what he would do next. In only a few moments, the cold bronze of the necklace shocked the skin at the front of her neck. Aemond clasped the necklace over the top of her long silver honey hair before he tenderly pulled it all free. Taking the time to play with a few strands and run his fingers through the tresses. After trying several braided styles, Maetilda had instructed her handmaids to leave her hair down, completely undone. Allowing it to trail down to its full length. The Queen certainly would not appreciate the lack of decorum. Paired with the jewelry, the princess nearly resembled the women of the night who often warmed her father and other lord’s beds. 

“You are so beautiful.” Aemond whispered.

“Will you be joining dinner?” The princess ignored his remark.

“Yes. My mother invited me after our meeting with the Small Council.”

“Just the three of us then?”

“Yes, Aegon and Helaena will be at future dinners, but not this one.”

“Future dinners,” The princess quipped as the words brought a chill down her spine, “If your mother doesn’t hate me; that is, if she doesn’t already.”

“Is that what you think?” He chuckled.

“You think I am mad?”

“Not mad.” He smiled, “Certainly not.”

“Hm,” She mimicked him.

“My mother only wants to assure your comfort and happiness once we are man and wife.”

“My comfort… in which castle?”

He opened his mouth before closing it, noticeably hesitant with his answer, “We shall spend our time between both Runestone and the Red Keep.”

“Did she decide that?”

“It does not matter.”

“I think it does.”

“My apologies. I am not at liberty to tell you.”

“I see. Quite the husband you shall be.” She scoffed, attempting to see how far she could push him.

“Are you questioning me?” He dared her to take her prior statement back.

Refusing to step down, she turned around to meet his gaze. He smirked at the expression on her face. It was enough to rattle her composure, but she fought internally to keep him from seeing it. She would not be thrown off her footing that easy. He reached forward and brushed more pieces of her hair with his fingers. Something he would do to Helaena when they were children. He would play with her curly hair as the two girls spoke. Always more fascinated by her hair than his own.

“You are,” He answered his own question smugly. “The dragon rears her horns.”

“You seem amused.”

“I am.”

“A young boy laughing can crawl under your skin, yet I cannot?”

That piqued his fascination. He leaned forward, “And why do you wish to get under my skin, ñuha dōna?”

He caught her. She had walked right into it, given away the plot, and the princess had not even made it to dinner. Her body tensed as she thought of an excuse, “I am only trying to understand you.”

“We have our whole lives to understand each other.”

“And if our lives should be short?”

“Now you seem hopeful.” He joked.

“I like to plan for the worst.”

His spine straightened as he got a bit more serious, “What did your father say to you earlier?”

“It does not matter.” She cocked her eyebrow at him, daring him to repeat the same words they had just said, silently asking him if he liked how it felt to be on the receiving end.

“Let us go. My mother is waiting.”

Arm-in-arm, Aemond lead Maetilda wordlessly up several flights of stairs and down numerous corridors. Ser Gunthor followed behind them. He was tense and she could feel it from behind her. His armor made its characteristic jingle with each step. The Red Keep was expansive, but her gown was far much easier to move in than her others. However, she could feel her gown slide lower on her chest with each new set of stairs. Aemond’s eyes burned her skin as he watched her readjust. After exactly four stops to fix her gown along the way, the two finally came upon a set of doors in one of the tallest towers. Two Kingsguard stood at the ready. One of them was a Cargyll twin. The future married pair had come to the Queen’s personal solar. Aemond turned to her and assisted his future bride in her pruning before giving the signal to open the doors. Her heart skipped a beat at the burst of deep emerald green. Everywhere. The bedding, the curtains, the rugs, the tapestries, the chairs. The most green she had ever seen in her life. In the center of the room, a large dining table had been brought in and dressed. A green brocade tablecloth with citrine colored candles, and golden platters of finger foods. Three ivory place settings with golden plates and cutlery. Two sat on one side while the third sat across from them. The Queen occupied the lone setting, standing to greet the couple who made their entrance. Her gown was a very dark green. It had gorgeous ivory and gold trim that nearly matched the table. The neckline crawled up her neck and stopped at her chin. Her golden seven pointed star necklace gleamed in the candlelight. She was the image of modesty and humble regalia. The princess kept her head held high as she let go of her betrothed’s arm to take her seat. Her footing only faltered when the chair moved back without her touching it. Maetilda glanced behind her to see Aemond patiently waiting to push her in. She carefully took her seat and lifted her feet just high enough for the chair to glide forward with no issue. Aemond then quietly took the seat next to her. As soon as they were situated, actual food was brought out to the table. Spiced ham, fresh greens and vegetables, pastries, pies, and more. A cupbearer filled her goblet to the brim with honeywine. The princess rushed to take the first bite, determined to get even a crumb in her mouth before the Queen. But the cupbearer blocked her access and Alicent was already chewing before Maetilda had anything on her plate.

“Thank you for joining me tonight, both of you.” The Queen broke the silence.

“Thank you for having us, mother.”

“Yes, thank you.” The princess echoed less enthusiastically.

A silence settled around the three. Only the sounds of cutlery on plates and chewing could be heard. It made her spine tingle, like a deer sensing a nearby hunter. She was being hunted. By owls in the rafters.

“Have you enjoyed your accommodations, princess?” The Queen poked.

“They have been suitable. Although I find everything so much different than I remember in my youth. The green from outside seems to be everywhere but. Oh, and the spirits! Gods be good, I hope I am not cursed. Spirits are everywhere. There seems to be one that lives in my chambers.”

“Spirits?” The mother and son gasped in unison.

“Yes! A tall ghost with a black cloak, no face, and a raised arm. It stands in my room at night.”

“This is the first I have ever heard of…” The Queen trailed off.

“Princess, are you certain it is a spirit you are seeing?”

“I would not lie about such things.”

“I will have the High Septon come to bless your chambers.”  Alicent nodded resolutely.

“The High Septon?” Maetilda asked.

“Who else should I send?” The Queen challenged.

The princess shrugged before drinking more wine to avoid responding. Her Grace’s question had been a trap. Yet the princess would be smarter than to walk into it. More silence settled around the three. The sounds of eating were slower and quieter. The three were suddenly more careful of the noise they made. But of course, such silence would sear the skin after a while. Too much of it burnt. The Queen opened her mouth again.

“I have been thinking about the many feasts that will be happening in your honor.” Alicent started, “And I decided that it would be best for you to see a dance teacher.”

“Is this because of my performance last night?” The princess laughed before taking a deep gulp of her goblet.

“Of course not. You are a wonderful dancer.”

“That I am! Come to think of it, I do not believe I have ever seen you dance, your Grace.”

“I save such frivolous activities for special occasions.”

“Oh, yes! Excuse me for being so daft. Would not want to anger those seven gods of yours.” Maetilda nodded casually.

The Queen chuckled dryly, “Something tells me they are preoccupied with others.”

Others. The less pious. Those less married to their Gods. Maetilda. Her father. Her family. Of course. The Queen thought her seven Gods would smite them all before they so much as looked in her royal direction. Silence consumed the three once more. No sounds of chewing or cutlery on plates. They all sat forward in thought. The princess herself stewed like a concoction over a fire. She had not done enough. Had not stepped far enough out of line. The Queen thought she was going to one of the seven hells and still did not fight to keep Aemond from marrying her. Could the princess not condemn Aemond too? Guilt by association? Was the Queen not worried that she would no longer see her son in the afterlife once the vows were said? The princess found herself questioning if it even mattered. If she could completely humiliate herself and still be subjected to the marriage, to her father’s promise of ruin before it happened. Frustration bubbled within her. She wondered what her father would say. If he would give her warning before he sent his men after her or if they would use the element of surprise to their advantage. 

“Three moon’s time is not very long.” Aemond stated awkwardly, suddenly drumming his fingers on the table.

“Not at all. Everyone will be working diligently.” Alicent agreed.

‘Josey Flowers,’ The princess thought. The name of the woman who had measured her and talked of necklines and trains just the other day. “I was measured for my gown yesterday.”

“How wonderful! Songs will be written about your beauty.” Aemond smiled.

“Like they were written for me,” Alicent huffed sarcastically before she sipped her own goblet. Her tone was bitter. There were no known songs to ever be written about the Hightower Queen, none that framed her in good standing.

“The bards save their songs for special ones.” Maetilda joked.

Aemond visibly tensed, “There have been songs written for you, mother.”

“You must have heard some that I have not.” The princess shrugged.

“Songs are not important. It is not the bards that I care about pleasing.” Alicent snipped.

“Of course! What is a song in your honor when you are eternally burning in seven hells?” Maetilda laughed, “Which one do you think my mother went to?”

Both the Queen and her second son choked on their drinks. Lady Rhea Royce’s was a name most often whispered. There were many rumors about what had happened to the late Lady of Runestone, but no one ever spoke of her to Princess Maetilda’s face. Except for Daemon himself, and it was a subject he hated. Yet the mention of the late woman did not seem to have the effect on the Hightowers that it did her father. Sorrow, awkwardness, and discomfort rather than rage. The Queen cleared her throat before she answered, “She went to the Father’s Golden Hall.”

“Do you think the rumors are true? Do you think she was murdered?” The princess pressed farther, hyper focused on having an awful dinner in order to make her father proud.

“I do not know what you speak of.” Alicent lied.

“Hmm,” Maetilda nodded.

“You are not being fair to my mother.” Aemond stated.

“Your mother was not fair to me or my family upon our very arrival! Or have you forgotten?”

The Queen let out a loud sigh, “You are right, Maetilda. That gesture was not fair. But as my husband preached last night, I only wish to make amends.”

Seven hells, the princess thought. The last scenario she had expected was one in which the Hightower Queen extended an olive branch. The princess crossed her arms, unsure of how to move forward. Unsure of how to make her father happy. She could feel the lilac eye study her closely again, as if she were an ant under a magnifying glass. As if he could dissect her — mind, body, and soul — just by watching her alone. She wondered what he thought, if he regretted ever being pleased with their arrangement. The princess scoured her brain for words as she attempted to form a response. There was nothing. Not a word.

“Maetilda, you will be my daughter soon. You will give me grandchildren—”

“I will supply your son with a castle,” The princess listed along without missing a beat. Suddenly springing into a fit of passion, “It seems I have a lot of things that other lords and princelings want.”

“Need I remind you this was the King’s decree? Not mine.” The Queen’s face began to turn red.

“Before the previous two days, when was the last time the King made a decree himself?”

“He has not been well.”

“And why have only the maesters been consulted? Their methods have only seemed to make him worse.”

“They have prolonged his life.”

“According to who? The same maesters poisoning him?”

“You are lucky that I have not yet called the guards in here to take your tongue.”

“Take my tongue! It does not change the truth.”

There was a pause as they all exchanged glances between each other. Smoke practically poured from the princess’s ears. She felt cornered and outnumbered, but it only made her feel bigger. Perhaps that was how her father felt during his outbursts. She was ready to leap from her chair and continue the shenanigans of the night before. She did not care how effortlessly her betrothed knocked her brother to the floor. She would not let them win so easily. 

“You are sounding like your father, Til.” Aemond spoke gently, but his words cut deep.

“Gaomas bona vēdros ao, valzȳrys?” (Does that displease you, husband?) The princess mocked him before turning to the Queen, “Will we be traveling to my castle as soon as the festivities are over?”

Alicent all but rolled her eyes, “Yes.”

The mother and son looked taken aback when Maetilda responded with laughter. Genuine laughter that sharply turned dry and sarcastic. Just as her father’s had earlier that day. She felt absolutely mad, but she found the lack of subtlety quite humorous. It seemed to be a sick joke. First the decorations in the castle, down to every damned tapestry. Then the stars and the prayers and piousness. Next was her castle. She should have guessed when she saw the books in the library. Someone had been reading about her family on purpose. Someone had been carving runes into stones on purpose. That someone had not been Aegon or her father. It was Aemond, and he was after her home. The rug was being pulled out from underneath her. She had not realized it until that very moment.

“The castle is mine, it belongs to my family. The Vale will never be Oldtowne. Try as you may.”

“I do not want your castle.” Aemond stated.

“Were you not the one studying its history and power in the library?” Maetilda fired back, “Nearly gutted the whole section of the damned library. Or was it your drunk brother?”

“I was curious.” He admitted, jaw locked and fists clenched.

“You’ve been plotting.” She called his half-bluff.

“It was the King’s decree!” The Queen repeated.

Maetilda crossed her arms in her chair. Another serving was brought out for them to eat. Not one of them touched it. Fresh fruits and deserts, all covered in powdered sugar. Not one hand reached forward. Not one person moved. It was a stand-off as they all sat around the table.

“I am looking forward to Rhaenyra’s presence around the Keep more. I would like to keep it that way.” The Queen sighed, “I do not fault you for the way that you feel. Or your outbursts. Runestone is where your mother died. I lost my mother when I was young too.”

The princess stood up in her chair, breathing hard like a dragon ready to explode. “Do not pretend to know how I feel. You do not know the last thing about me.”

Maetilda’s eyes narrowed at the woman. The princess’s breathing only grew more uneven. The sound of Aemond’s chair scooting back tickled her ear, but she did not flinch. The princess and her future sweger stared each other down intensely. Both refusing to be the first to look away.

“May I excuse myself, your Grace?” Maetilda calmly seethed.

Alicent nodded. Her head barely moved as it did so. The princess did not wait another moment before she catapulted out of the double doors. Her body trembled, anger, fear, anticipation of consequences. She didn’t know how to think or how to feel. She was like one of the ghosts that roamed the Keep, practically floating as she moved at an erratic pace. Ser Gunthor’s bronze armor jingled after her, the sound serving as a constant reminder as to where she was going. She wanted to get away. From everyone and everything. And she knew that her chambers were not safe, not from Aemond or her father. She knew they would look for her there. Where could she go if she did not want to be found? The place where no one went at night — the Godswood. So that is where she ran, straight to the safety of the weirwood tree. The lack of walls was a bit unsettling. She was not sure who or what could lay beyond her sight. But she felt safe knowing her knight stood guard. The roots of the tree cradled her as she curled up and leaned back. Bugs sang their nightly songs and soft bustles hummed in from Flea Bottom. The citizens of King’s Landing were enjoying their eve wing, unlike her. The soft breeze was slightly chilly, but it wasn’t so bad once the princess hugged herself. She got comfortable in her spot, and laid her head back. The bark of the tree was hard but smooth. Somehow it felt more restful than any feathered pillow she had ever laid her head on.

Ser Gunthor stood a few paces away. His head on a swivel as he scanned the Godswood for danger, “Are you alright? ‘Sure you wouldn’t rather lay in your bed?”

“I’m sure.” She stated.

“Y’look cold, mi’lady.”

“I said I am fine.”

“You said you were sure, not fine. But alright.” He shrugged, crossing his arms as Maetilda closed her eyes.

The rocky cliffs, rolling hills, and rain-cast shores soon returned. Instead of flying over them, she rode through them on horseback. Unlike any horse she had ever been gifted or owned, it was white with no spots, not a single blemish tarnishing its ivory, and donned dark brown leathers, adorned with runes. Its mane was cropped for function, assuring that none would whip into the rider’s eye while at a full gallop. The reins and stirrups were worn from extensive use. The seat of the saddle molded around its rider’s butt like an old pair of shoes on one’s feet. The two rode together down a clearly definite trail. In the valley between the small mountains and cliffs. The horse had been there before, its hooves traversed the land effortlessly. It knew their destination regardless of whether or not the princess knew. Like two lifelong companions on a morning commute. In a delicious rhythm, horse’s hooves met the Earth over and over again. Clunk, clunk, clunk. Echoed off the rocks around them. Clunk, clunk, clunk. It almost had a tenor pitch. Smaller yet sturdier than any horse she had ridden before; it had not been bred for a smooth ride or to pull a carriage. As if it knew what she had been thinking, a whinnie joined in the chorus of hooves. A familiar whinnie that had echoed in her ears before. Everything seemed to foreign yet familiar. Including the land. She had only seen the land once before. From above as she plummeted to the ground below. It was breathtaking from any vantage point, deserving of its very own tapestry. She wished she could weave what she saw from memory and replace the damn tower one in her chambers. She wished she could capture the mist and the clouds and the air. She wished she could commit it all to physical copy so she could show anyone who would look. It was a beauty that deserved to be admired, that graced and blessed all who looked upon it.

The princess glanced up toward the heavens, curious if she would catch sight of herself crashing through the clouds. Yet there was nothing. Not even a seagull. Perhaps it had been the rains. They had clearly passed through recently. The dirt was darker, and it clumped together like clay as the horse’s hooves kicked chunks backwards with each stride. Would they ride up upon her body after it had already fallen? Would she see what had become of her before she had jolted up in bed? Would the horse stop and allow her to stare? To see herself in all her grace and glory? Or would the horse keep running? Perhaps it would never stop. The white horse and the princess’s silver honey hair would blur together in one smudge as they ricocheted from one coast to the next. Perhaps they would stop, sooner or later. Much like a sailor once long at sea, the princess would sway as she stood at their final destination — where it would be. Although she hadn’t remembered meeting the mighty white mount, she trusted it. She felt nothing but safe atop its back. Between its shoulders and hips. Their pace never faltered, never slowed. The hills merely continued to roll on. The two ran until the horse came to a sudden halt. The princess felt as if she were in a daze as she struggled to keep balanced. All her work went to shambles in the blink of an eye. The white steed reared up in its hind legs, making itself big and intimidating, only to tip back too far. Time seemed to slow down as she fell, the horse’s wide and heavy back looming after her. It was almost funny how one moment she had been completely at peace only for the next moment to be nothing but fear, horror, and regret. Perhaps it was a good thing. Perhaps the horse was doing her a mercy by crushing her. No more marriage, no more threats, no more scheming. It would be bliss. She felt her body hit the ground as she sat up straight in her bed. Her chambers were dark and foggy, but it did nothing to obscure the cloaked figure in the corner. It floated tall with its arm stretched upward, holding a jagged rock. Her heart began to pound. She immediately knew what came next. She did not have to wait for the figure to come rushing forward before she desperately tried to scramble out of her bed. Everything happened so fast. The sheets grew tighter as they wrapped around her ankles and locked her there. Keeping her trapped in the confines of her bed. The figure ran forward in the blink of an eye. Quicker than humanly possible. Rock raised and at the ready. Her body tensed. She screamed as she clamped her eyes shut and braced for impact. She could feel the air move as the figure descended upon her.

A gentle hand met her forehead and her entire body flinched, trashing away from any harm. Her eyes shot open. Only to see Ser Gunthor crouched over her. His hazel and sage eyes were flooded with worry and concern as he brushed her hair from her face and spoke words she could not hear. Her ears rang like a bell. Her sworn knight wrapped her tighter into a blanket she had not had before. It was thick and warm, and she grabbed at it feverishly before pulling it farther into her. The knight ran his hands up and down the princess’s arms quickly, creating a small amount of heat to help warm her. He began counting his breaths aloud as he inhaled and exhaled. His eyes never once left her. Soon the sounds of the numbers came into focus, the ringing in her ears very slowly dulling. Ser Gunthor’s voice was even and steady. Like a mother’s heartbeat while her babe rests on her chest. He continued to count until her breathing evened.

“You were sleeping well there… until you weren’t.” He remarked.

“I had a bad dream.”

“Must’ve been a scary one.”

The princess nodded, “Similar to the one I had before I found the stones.”

She quickly glanced around the Godswood, making sure there was no cloaked figure. By the time she looked back at her knight, he was searching the area himself. He searched the brush, the surrounding trees, anywhere he could search through. But they both found nothing.

Ser Gunthor looked at the princess seriously as he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, “Let’s go back to your chambers. I will do a look-through before you go back to sleep.” 

As soon as Maetilda nodded in agreement, he gathered up the blanket that had been laid on top of her and helped the princess to her feet. He then draped the blanket over her shoulders and offered out his arm for her to take. Tiredly, the princess took his arm and laid her head against his armored bicep. They walked together slowly and steadily all the way back to her room. Maetilda’s eyes and limbs felt heavy with sleep as she struggled to keep pace, but Ser Gunthor slowed every time he noticed her falter. She was exhausted, even with the fear of death coursing through her veins. Her eyes lulled shut as she allowed her knight to lead their way back. A journey they seemed to have made in record time. She must have fallen asleep while walking. The knight did just as he had promised, checking every last nook and cranny in her bedroom, before he assisted her into bed. It felt as though eyes watched her as she moved, but there was no cloaked figure to be seen. Her tired eyes scanned the room to be sure. The only one watching her had been her knight. He tucked her into the blankets and draped the new one over top. She smiled and thanked him through her yawns. Gently, he wished her goodnight before he closed her door behind him. Eyes still heavy as giants, the princess was fast asleep soon after.

A/N: so maetilda still has some growing before she reaches her final form. arguing with the queen is… a choice… but she’s also not exactly thinking clearly… that being said, i love me some Gunthor :) i promise this isn’t a cheesy love triangle, i just love him.

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe @snh96 @imsoshygirl @faesspace

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter twelve: drowned in insignificant details

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 4593

“The ravens have already been sent so preparations can be made, but we must come to a decision on the official invitations.”

“That is your first matter at hand? What pictures go on which piece of parchment?” Daemon sneered.

“No, my Prince, it is merely the most time sensitive. Perhaps they should have a tower and a dragon? Both strong and formidable sigils to symbolize the strength of the union.” The Queen stated with a cold calmness.

“No towers, no fucking towers!” Daemon snapped.

“What of iron studs or runes? I think towers should be included only if the sigils of House Royce are as well.” Princess Rhaenyra suggested, giving her husband an unwavering warning stare.

Needless to say, Prince Daemon did not like his first late wife’s insignia anywhere near the topic of discussion either. He growled and slammed his goblet on the table much like a child. Lady Rhea and her house were among his sorest subjects. Throughout her entire life, the princess had tiptoed around the subject of her own mother. Careful not to pull an untethered outburst out of her father. To the point where the mere mention of the long dead woman from another party’s innocent mouth was enough to make the princess tense. The Prince was no stranger to a violent outburst or a barrage of verbal assaults. His wife, too, knew it well. Yet Princess Rhaenyra did not seem to cower like Princess Maetilda did. Rhaenyra poked him like a sleeping bear. Without fear of his response. Without tensing for what came next. Unlike his wife, the Rogue Prince’s daughter was still shaken from the night before. Each time she looked at him, she could feel the sting in her cheek. It was still pink that morning and her maids had to use every remedy they could think of to take the swell away. But most pretended they did not see it, that her cheeks had always been two different colors. A few pairs of eyes lingered, but not for long.

“Perhaps you should sell me to the Triarchy while you’re at it.” He grumbled.

“Might I suggest two dragons that meet in the middle? One of them colored green and white, the other red and black.” Aemond piped up.

Maetilda spared a quick glance toward her betrothed. He had a goblet in hand, just like her father, but was not flinging it around or throwing it onto the table. Regardless, the resemblance between the two was growing uncanny, making her stomach churn and flip and knot in a wave of nausea. What if Aemond began to act like him? Would she be as steadfast and fearless as Rhaenyra? She was not sure. And that was a scary thought, a scary possibility. She hoped she was wrong. The two shared a resemblance, yet the King’s second son was far more handsome. Harder to read, but intriguing. He had a face that she wanted to stare at. She could not deny it. His eye, his nose, his chin. He was ethereal, as if he was etched in stone. His shoulders were squared and hunched. His stare was fixed on his uncle as he swirled the contents of his cup. She wondered what thoughts were running through his mind, if they had anything to do with the words he spoke in her chambers. As her husband, he would put her father in his place. Of course, a Hightower would be all too excited to do such a thing. She stewed as she reminded herself that Aemond had likely become just that — a tower wearing a dragon’s skin. He had said it himself the night before, he would not sit and allow her family to further disrespect him. Not after Lucerys took his eye. She wondered if the wound continued to cause him pain to that day. In the time she had seen him again, he had not let on if it had. Instead he sat diligently for a meeting on their wedding and thoughtfully contributed. Seemingly more mentally present in the room than herself. Both Alicent and Rhaenyra smiled and nodded, even Daemon did not grumble at the proposition. He had successfully made a compromise in the span of one suggestion. The Queen gave the artisan who stood before the table an official nod to signify that the decision was final. He smiled and nodded eagerly in return.

“Any florals, your Grace?” The artisan asked respectfully.

“Oh yes, certainly. Aster, myrtle, purple columbine, daffodil, honeysuckle, and iris.” Alicent’s answer was fast, consulting no one.

No one argued. The artisan smiled and nodded eagerly again.

“Perhaps we should let our Queen marry her son in place of my daughter. Her Grace seems to have already planned for it.” Daemon goaded with a sneer.

“Husband!” Rhaenyra scolded before turning to the room, “My apologies. It seems my husband has gotten too lost in his cups this morning. It is quite emotional to see all of our daughters getting married so quickly.”

“Yes, it is a very emotional time.” Alicent agreed.

“How much are these invitations going to cost? Can we not send a pageboy with doves in a box?” Lord Beesbury, the Master of Coin and Lord Treasurer, interjected after looking up from his book full of numbers. “I mean no offense to you, Mister Booker. I only mean to say that the cost of the invitations only increases with the number of great houses invited.”

“With all due respect, Lord Beesbury, this is not only a royal wedding. As my husband has declared, it is the joining of two branches within the great royal house. No expense shall be spared.”

“Make sure there is a seven-pointed star in prominent display at the top. We must not forget to honor those who have given us such a union.” Ser Otto spoke up.

“Then you must also include a symbol from each of the Valyrian gods. We best not forget to honor those that granted us the Throne in the first place.” Rhaenyra added.

“Will there be room left on the invitation for the words?” Lord Jason Lannister laughed at his own joke before he turned to the artisan, “Do you know how to read? Are you in charge of the words?”

“Do not answer that, Mister Booker,” Princess Rhaenyra shot dagger eyes at the Lannister before turning to the artisan, “The Marriage of Prince Aemond & Princess Maetilda Targaryen. By command of the King — followed by each houses’ name — you are directed to be present in King’s Landing promptly before the Equinox of the Flower Moon.”

“How many feasts shall we have before the wedding? We must tell the families to arrive in time.” Lord Jason suggested.

“There shall be exactly six prior. The wedding shall precede the seventh feast.” Otto stated.

“Absolutely not. Thirteen feasts, with the wedding as the fourteenth.” Rhaenyra pushed back.

“Fourteen feasts! My apologies, your Grace, I may need to see the maester after hearing such a number.” Lord Beesbury chortled.

“Fourteen feasts for fourteen flames. A royal wedding never to be forgotten. Nothing less for my eldest daughter.” Daemon pushed farther.

“Absurd!” Otto barked back, “The Seven should curse the union if any such thing took place.”

“Feasts are not sacrilegious, grandfather. If the ceremony should be in that of The Faith, we may honor our heritage in other ways. Fourteen feasts, which require fire in its making, to honor the Fourteen Flames. And we spare no expense, as my mother already stated.” Aemond spoke with finality.

“Can the Red Keep house all those extra lords and ladies for an entire fortnight?” Ser Otto countered.

“There are plenty of rooms! Are there not? We’ve held tourneys that last longer.” Rhaenyra bellowed.

“Yes, your Grace, but the waste. The castle may begin to smell. A situation we best not risk.” Ser Otto explained.

“‘Smell better than you on any given day.” Daemon grumbled, slurring his words.

‘You smell so pretty, ñuha dōna,’ the words echoed in her mind. Spine rigid as she sat up uncomfortably straight. Her cheeks felt hot as she was certain she was the only one plagued by her thoughts.

The Hand’s response was quick and overly pious, “Pardon me, Prince Daemon. But you may be excused if you cannot remain appropriate.”

“I will excuse it this one time, Ser Otto, as I am a man of mercy. But I will remind you that it is not your place to tell me where to be or what behavior is appropriate. Tread carefully.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Only if you make it one.”

“Enough!” Alicent and Rhaenyra snapped simultaneously.

The room fell completely silent. The princess twiddled her thumbs in her lap. Daemon could sustain anger and a grudge longer than anyone the princess had ever known. A single marriage was not about to quell his ages of hatred for Ser Otto. He had hated his brother’s advisor for longer than any of his daughters had been alive. After the night before, she had expected her father’s insults and more. But if what Maetilda and her knight had done that same evening worked, then the arguments might have been a sign. She could not be bound in marriage to anyone if no agreements could be made. If the marriage would prove to do the opposite of its intended purpose. However, Aemond seemed to be in a compromising mood. If his actions of the night prior proved anything, he had to be the culprit behind the stones. At the very least, he had proven that he knew how to sneak into her room. She did not understand him, where his motivations came from. What did he mean when he said they were more alike than she realized? In what ways were they alike? Certainly he was not that motivated from a few commonalities. As she watched, those around them actually seemed to listen to him, value his word. She was expected to remain silent unless spoken to, even in her own wedding plans. It was a rule uniquely hers, never given to her younger sisters or other siblings. Her father hated it when she stuck her neck out around others. In his words, she could never say the right thing or always said too much. Despite how hard she tried, it was always wrong. She could never figure out why. Yet at that moment, the princess did not raise any complaints. Unsure what she would even want to say. The wedding did not feel real in the first place. A feeling in her gut told her that all their planning would be in vain; her father would find a way. He was a man with 10,000 and 1 contingency plans. He would sooner drop dead before he allowed such an event to actually happen. Perhaps she was the only one who saw their planning for the farce it was.

“Shall we talk entertainment then? Each feast should have a different theme!” Daemon smirked, downing another cup.

“Heavens no! I always get the days mixed up.” Lord Beesbury shivered.

“Shall I have them written out for you, Lord Beesbury?” Lord Wydle, Master of Law, interjected genuinely.

“Or would the parchment be too expensive?” Lord Lannister teased.

“There should not be anything that deters attention away from the bride. Themes might allow other ladies to upstage.” Alicent disagreed, “Unless done properly.”

“Is there anything the Crown cannot do?” Daemon countered.

The princess’s skin tingled as their conversation continued. She did not like to imagine lords and ladies from across the Realm all gathered to watch her. To witness her wedding and bedding. She had to fight the grimace that wanted to smear itself across her face. The thought of such attention fixed on her was enough to make her lose her meal, but she kept it swallowed down. She hated to imagine what they would say, the snide whispers about how the princess was only quickly wed to save her good name. To save her from a life of solitude and disgrace in the eyes of the kingdoms. Pathetic, that’s what they would think of her. Pathetic, ugly, lacking any sense of dignity. She would be the joke of the Realm. They would hold their bellies and laugh through the entire fortnight. Through each meal. She could already picture it. And others wondered why Helaena shrunk into herself. It was not fun to be the topic of the whispers, the lady being watched, the butt of the joke. Maetilda wished she could crawl under the table and never come out. Perhaps if she acted completely ridiculous, Ser Otto would convince the King to call it all off. Her reputation would be shattered regardless. It would not matter if it was her fault or theirs, no lord would want her after. She wondered if that would be her fate, marked by the Gods. Inevitable to happen. Cursed to a life of solitude. Once her father died, she would be too old to find another husband. She would return to the unfamiliar castle she was born in as a woman grown, never to leave it for fear of shame. She would wallow and rot in its halls. Perhaps she would find the ghost of her mother.

“There should be a tribute to both of our dragons. The last living ones to be born in Valyria.” Aemond’s voice cut through the hum of them all again, “Would you enjoy that, Princess Maetilda?”

Startled by her sudden inclusion, she blinked a few times before fully realizing she had been asked a question. The princess sat up straighter and adjusted her posture before nodding her head, “Yes. A tribute to the last eyes to see Valyria in all its beauty.”

“Perhaps have a song composed about them? Or a tapestry made? Which would you prefer?” He pressed farther as the room watched them.

“Why not both?” She shrugged, unsure of which option was the correct answer.

“Yes, of course!” Aemond nodded to his mother, “And there should be portraits made, multiple. Both at the ceremony and in the portrait room.”

Portraits, tapestries, songs. All for display. A wedding all for show. The night before, Aemond had been so sure, so certain. But as time took more, Maetilda only felt more unsettled. Like sailing on a ship stalked by a leviathan, her next moments felt numbered. If she did not act, she would be in its belly. What was the purpose of delaying the inevitable? Aemond still looked so fixed, determined, beyond any doubt, a sort of confidence that only a prince could have. She was almost jealous of him, almost. But then she remembered her father again. He lived inside her head. He would not be happy with her for such a submissive agreement.

“Worry not, nephew. I will take it into my own hands to instruct the artists to paint the bride prettier. You must not be troubled with such tasks on your wedding day.”

The princess’s heart sank to her stomach. Her father had insulted her. And for what reason? There were eyes on her, she could feel them. But she kept her stare fixed forward on the wall. Chin up.

“Please do not bother, uncle. We all know you will be far too lost in the festivities to remember.” Aemond threw the rest of his drink down his throat, “She’ll be more than pretty warming my bed.”

The father of the future bride barked with laughter, clapping his hands together and slapping his knee. As the howls droned on, they grew drier and drier. He was the only one that laughed. The princess could feel each change in pitch claw at her skin like talons. She felt her blood pool in her feet as she listened to her father’s very public shaming. It had to be some sort of joke or game. Why else would he speak of her in such a way in front of the Small Council? Why else would he give lords and ladies an invitation to insult them? He was either stupid or plotting. While he was never known to be stupid, she could not see any of the logic.

“Would you like a portrait of that too?”

“Yes, I shall have two made and send the second to you.”

“You’re eager. Aren’t you? Like a dog on a chain. Is that your grandfather holding the other end? Or is it your mama?”

Not a sound was made. The uncle and nephew stared each other down with stern red faces, furrowed brows, and locked jaws. If they were dogs, they would have been growling. The princess could not tear her eyes away, anxious to see what punishment her father would rain down upon her betrothed. Her skin tickled as if spiders scurried all over her. Had the sleeves of her dress not itched at her arms, she would have felt completely naked to the room. She wanted to tell them off, to demand their respect. But it would get her nowhere. They owned her. Through marriage, her father would be handing Aemond the keys to her cell. For Aemond to own. If the Gods gave them children, he would own them too. She could die, and he could do as he wished with them. Just as her father had with her. But the man liked control too much to hand the keys over nicely.

“No matter what the King declares, that will always be my daughter, boy.” Daemon spat, “Those Gods you worship may giveth, but they shall also taketh.”

A threat. In front of everyone, the entire Small Council. He was a bold man, capable of far more than anyone else in the Realm – only second to the King. Able to commit unthinkable acts, say unspeakable things, without fear of losing his head. The most his brother would do is banish him. No assassin would be brave enough to collect any bounty on his head. Not with Ceraxes and Dark Sister at his side. Despite this, the princess had expected more out of the legendary man. Where were the fists? Where were the swords? Where were the consequences? Or were they only reserved for her now? Her chest felt tight as she tried to keep her face from betraying how she felt.

“They give us all what we deserve.” Ser Otto righteously interjected.

“I know what you think I deserve, Lord Asswipe. But are you aware of what you deserve?”

“I will not hear another word of it.” Rhaenyra commanded.

Just as she had declared, all words stopped. All the eyes in the room darted about, anxious to see who made the next move. Maetilda was not the only one on edge. Everyone seemed afraid to speak. All except her father, who only continued to drink. He set his goblet down on the table with a loud echo, causing the princess to jump. He reveled under the supercharged attention of the room. He smiled.

“The privy is more deserving of my presence than this room. Planning may continue tomorrow.” Daemon stated as he gathered himself to leave.

“They must continue now. We will run out of time.” The Queen retorted sharply, “We will proceed with or without you, Prince Daemon.”

“You shall continue without the bride as well then.” Daemon chuckled before setting his hard eyes on his daughter, “Maetilda, come.”

On instinct, the princess nodded her head obediently. She rose out of her chair in a trancelike state, only stopping when she heard Queen Alicent say her name. Her legs froze midstep. Her neck snapped to the side to meet the owlish stare of the Hightower queen. “Come to dinner in my chambers this evening. Just you.” Her brown eyes flickered to her father warningly before nodding to the princess, officially dismissing her from the room.

The three sets of footsteps echoed down the staircase together. Ser Wyllam dutifully followed behind them. His armor would scratch every few steps. It formed an odd rhythm with the pounding of her heart and the pumping of her blood. After a few paces, a rough hand idly gripped the back of her neck. Leading her firmly back in the direction of her chambers. Certainly the servants had heard him behind her doors the evening before. Certainly they had begun to talk. She was still marked from it after all. She wondered what had been said, who all had heard. Would the lords and ladies talk too?

“Rhaenyra knew what she was doing when she demanded we travel by ship.” He stopped himself from speaking farther, Ceraxes’ name on the edge of his lips.

“Ao zālagon se sombāzmion ilagon?” (Would you burn the castle down?)

“Nyke gaomagon skoros iksis bēvilagon. Hae ao kessa gaomagon skori nyke udrāzma hen ao.” (I would do what is necessary. As you shall do when I command of you.)

The walk had been far easier, less painful, but just as tense as it had been the night before. It seemed to be their new tradition, their new way of bonding within the Red Keep – tensely making their way to the princess’s chambers together. She missed his small moments of tenderness. The relaxation in his shoulders while they lived at Dragonstone. If she was wed, would he visit her at the Keep? Where would she go after the King died? Would he ever allow her and Aemond to live at Runestone? Would Aemond hate her castle too? Would she? What of the Royce family that remained there? Would they reject all the Targaryens in their family home? She would not blame them. As much as she longed to return, she found herself worried she would be a foreigner in her own home. Just as she felt at the Red Keep. Although nothing felt as bad as she had felt at the Red Keep. Poor little princess, she thought. When the father and daughter arrived at the same door he had slapped her behind the night before, he gave her a knowing smile. They entered the room silently. Just the same, her father locked the door behind him. But instead of his menacing actions the night before, he gently stepped forward and wrapped her in his embrace. His hugs were always good. He always knew just how much to squeeze. Even when he reeked of alcohol, they brought a strange sense of comfort. Yet the princess could not wipe the memories of the night before from her mind. Her body remained rigid, on edge in close proximity to the man. She would not let her guard down so easily, despite how much she had missed the softer side of him. Where had this father been then? The side of him that cared how she felt. The side of him that dried her tears instead of mocked them. He stood back after he pulled away and held her at arms’ length.

“You seem tense.” He pointed out as he gently squeezed up and down her arms.

She hesitated as she formulated her response, “Are you angry with me?”

“Why would I be angry with you?”

“…When Aemond asked if I liked the tribute, I did not tell him no.”

“Worry not, Maetilda. I am not angry with you for agreeing to tributes for your dragons. It would be an insult to the great kings before us to disagree with such a proposal in Shrykos and Vhagar’s honor.”

“Thank you, father.” She nodded dutifully, glad that he had not nitpicked her for once. Almost wondering if he had heard her thoughts when she had longed for his softer side. But as she continued to stew, it felt more and more wrong. Why had he not nitpicked?

“You did well to remind the council just where she hatched from, where we come from.”

“Yes,” She nodded eagerly, “It would do them good to remember.”

Prince Daemon menacingly held her gaze. She tried to hold back her shaking as she wondered if he would grab her hair and smother her to death in her pillows while her guard was down. Was he trying to play a joke on her? Without question. Anticipation built within her for the punchline. The smell of wine permeated off of him like a foggy cloud even at their slight distance. It made her nose scrunch. The smell and his mood swings seemed to be the only signs of his intoxication. He did not sway or stumble. His hand was firm as he reached upward from her arm and lightly caressed the same cheek he had slapped repeatedly the night before. Brushed his knuckles over the skin. It was still pinker than the other. Yet no one had said a word about it. The only ones whose eyes lingered were enough to count on a single hand. Her father, himself, and Rhaenyra. Queen Alicent, Prince Aemond, and Lord Larys Strong. Three of which had already seen her face before the meeting. Her father and Aemond in the shadows of the night before, and Rhaenyra that morning. Yet not a question about it. The lack of acknowledgment hurt like a bee sting on her heart. Did they not care to know what happened? Did they not care to know she was alright? Aemond had. He had come to check on her. He had heard what her father had said and wanted to make sure she was okay. He had shown her kindness, and she had told him to leave. Guilt began to drip into her blood and spread throughout her veins. In pursuit of her father’s happiness, she had insulted her betrothed. She had hit and slapped him, taken her inner turmoil out on him without hesitation. Was she the one in the wrong? Now she had left the very room where their wedding was being planned, and he had remained. She had listened to the commands of her drunken father, and he had upheld responsibility.

“How many decisions will be made in our absence?” She inquired.

“If they were smart, they would have agreed to meet later.” He replied, shaking his head as if it were a fist at the Gods, “However, if your stepmother stayed, it is hard to say. She likes to play monarch, you know.”

“She is the heir.”

“She is, and I am her husband.”

“Yes, father.”

“And you are the Lady of Runestone, Maetilda. You are in charge of it now. But as soon as you have a husband…”

“How can I be in charge if I have never even been there?”

“You do not need to be there to be in charge.”

“Is that why the King dragged himself to the Throne Room?” She crossed her arms.

“A good ruler knows when their presence is required.”

“And mine has not been for how long now?”

“No one is trying to take the Bronze Throne. There is no need for you to defend the damn thing.”

“The Hightowers are.”

Daemon’s eyebrow hiked up in interest at the princess’s words. He smirked and it filled her chest with warmth. Commendation. She had a point, and he had realized it. His face had given it away. Whether he had wanted to give her such praise or not.

“They are,” He nodded, “And now you must defend your Keep from here.”

“Me? Here? What?”

“While at dinner with the Queen tonight. Make the ugly bat regret her own marriage to begin with.”

“…But how?”

“You are so naturally gifted at angering me, I am certain you do not require my help.”

A/N: lol i heard you guys asking to give Maetilda a break!!! so she got a hug!! but also she got a hug?? i promise there is light at the end of the tunnel!! we just have to be dramatic first. Chapter Thirteen will be posted shortly! (most likely tomorrow)

also, i had a lot of fun with the dialogue in this chapter. hopefully it’s not too cheesy! i was making myself giggle as i wrote it so i hope y’all like it too 0:)

TAGLIST: @marvelescvpe @snh96 @imsoshygirl @faesspace

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter eleven: the tower tapestry

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, thoughts of self harm and annihilation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 8138

“Ao mazverdagon nyke uēmagon. Pendagon iksā jāre naejot sagon se vok byka ābrazȳrys syt bona valītsos? Iksā iā doru-borto, ojūdan, byka aspo. Iksā daor zaldrīzes, yn iksā ñuha tala. Iksā ñuhon.” (You make me fucking sick. Think you're gonna be the perfect little wife for that boy? You’re a stupid, clueless, little bitch. You are no dragon, but you're my daughter. You’re mine.)

His words were so quietly growled she could barely hear them. An endless rant. A barrage of criticism and insults and digs. The grip on her wrist was so tight it caused her heart to beat in her ears. It was a sound she became more and more accustomed to that day. Her fingers felt like they were being stabbed with billions of different little tiny needles. Her father yanked harder as he seemingly decided she was not moving fast enough. She glanced down to find that her hand had turned purple. Only then did she feel the immense pain it caused her. She yelped as she tried to yank her hand away, to allow blood flow to return to it. But he only yanked harder and tightened his grip. Tears welled in her eyes as her face twisted with torment and torture. Her feet tripped over the excessive skirts they drowned in. They clumsily slammed into the steps as the two climbed both up and down various staircases. The princess desperately looked around for her sworn knight, for anyone who may save her. But she and her father were alone in the corridors. Where had Ser Gunthor gone? He had just been with her at dinner. He had just shielded her from being recaptured by the Kingsguard. How could he have disappeared so quickly? How could he leave her alone at such a time?

“Kepa, kostilus! Ñuha ondos.” (Father, please! My fingers.)

“Keligon aōha relgos gō nyke keligon ziry syt ābrar. I will cut them off if I see fit.” (Shut your mouth before I shut it forever.)

As usual, she did as she was told. He dragged her all the way to her chambers without uttering another word. He never once loosened his grip. The door slammed behind him and he locked it. She was locked in there alone with him. He released his grip on her once he had her in the confined space. Trapped and at the mercy of his every whim. He pushed her forward into the room. The princess stumbled before she caught herself. She nursed her right hand as blood began to flow back to it. The pace and distance of their journey left her breathless. Her heart beat wildly as she tried to fill her chest back up with air. Prince Daemon looked at her like a rabid predator as he entered further. She was cornered.

“Do you think yourself to be a smart girl?”

“I-I-I don’t know.” Her nerves blocked the words from escaping her mouth in a succinct manner.

“I-I-I—I don’t know!” He mocked, “You do not fool me.”

She gaped in disbelief, mind racing to understand what his words were supposed to mean, “Fool you? I do not know what you think you see, but—”

“Se mērī run nyke ūndegon skori nyke jurnegon rȳ ao iksis se narysta aspo ao māstan hen.” (The only thing I see when I look at you is the spiteful bitch you came out of.)

He took slow ominous steps forward as he spoke, carefully closing the gap between Maetilda and himself. She opened her mouth to respond, but he slapped her across the face before she could. Quicker than the flick of a frog’s tongue. Her cheek stung similarly to how her hand still did. Undoubtedly reddening as blood drew to the surface just beneath the skin.

“Sepār hae aōha muña, ‘kostagon dōrī vestragon naejot keligon aōha relgos. Iā aōha kris. Pendagon aōla gūrēntan? Pendagon aōla rōva ribazma? Skori kessa ao gūrēñagon. Pranced around with him like a fucking doll. Sat at the table like an empty headed slag waiting for him to come address you. If you had a shred of my mind, you would have told him no.” (Just like your mother, ‘can never seem to close your mouth. Or your legs. Think yourself clever? Think yourself intelligent?)

Her father paced as he began to monologue. The sound of his boots set off alarm bells inside her. He knew just the way to carry himself that would intimidate her the most. He knew she was scared of him. He used it to his advantage. His steps were heavy yet even. No hurry or stomp. They gave away no sign of anger or panic, remaining completely stoic as he continued to pace. Back and forth and back.

“Idiocy plagues your bloodline. ‘Seeps in from every side. ‘Stood no chance with a mother and an uncle like yours. To think I thought my blood would be enough to make you right. Your sisters came from Laena, their stupidity can only be from your uncle. You’re the one who gets it from both sides. I should pity you. I should. Yet you make it so hard. So fucking hard! You act just like her, sound just like her. Sometimes you move just like her.”

The princess swallowed the lump that began to grow in her throat, careful to keep her mouth clamped shut. She wanted to say something. To soothe him, to placate him. But she didn’t want to set him off farther. He was not talking to her, but thinking out loud. As long as he was occupied with his thoughts, she was safe.

“Iksā se doru-borto aspo bona ipradagon hen zȳhon ondos. Bloody fucking King. Iksā ñuha tala, daor zȳhon. Ao rijībagon ñuha udir.” (You are the dumb bitch that eats out of his hand; You are my daughter, not his. You obey my word.)

“Iksan vaoreznuni, kepa.” (I’m sorry, father.)

Her face whipped to the side before the sensation of the second slap actually rippled across her cheek. She furrowed her eyebrows as she wondered why she was suddenly staring over at the tapestry on the wall. It was a few moments until the billions and trillions of needles pricked her cheek, just as they had her hand. Tears welled in her eyes again at the sting.

“Skoros iksin nyke naejot gaomagon lēda ao?” (What am I to do with you?)

Whatever he decided to do, she hoped it would be over soon. Her arms wrapped around herself in a hug. Scared to look back at him, she kept her eyes fixed on the big tapestry on the wall. A floor-to-ceiling tapestry depicting an old tower built atop black stone, a bay with ships in the back. It could not have been the same tapestry that was placed there by her great grandparents or the grandparents that came before them. As she determined before, it looked like Oldtowne, a city she had only flown over only once before. She knew she would not last long around the Hightowers, but even they were the more favorable choice when her father was angry. Regardless of what tower it happened to be, who the tower belonged to, she wished she could crawl into it and hide. She hoped it would be somewhere her father would never find her. Somewhere his wrath could never reach.

“Ziry pendagon ēza ērinagon. Pōnta mirre gaomagon. Ziry se mirre lī kasta orvorta. Pendagon kostis dīnagon ao hen sepār hae pōnta gōntan nyke.” (He thinks he has won. They all do. He and all those green twats. Think they can marry you off just as they did me.)

All she could think to do was nod, afraid that opening her mouth again would result in a third slap. She did not want to risk the bruise. It would be her reputation to come into question from such a mark, not his. Yet as she kept her mouth shut, her mind remained fixated on her father’s next moves. He would not allow Aemond to have her. But how? What was he planning? An elaborate scheme or a quick shove from a high cliff. Her eyes briefly darted toward her balcony, as if to make sure it still remained where it had. Her heart began to pound as she pictured her father pushing her over the railings. That would be the easiest way to keep his ducks in a row — to get rid of her entirely. It wouldn’t be the first time she thought he may do so. Whispers that he had been responsible for her own mother’s death were never far from her ears. Perhaps they were true. Perhaps she was next.

“Nothing will be fixed, you know?” His smile was sadistic.

“Yes, I know.” She nodded in agreement.

“And yet, you already let the Queen’s favorite son parade you around like some conquered relic.” Another slap sent her twisting over again, “Nyke gōntan daor manaeragon bona!” (I did not raise that!)

The sting in her cheek only sharpened as the skin grew more sensitive. She felt uncomfortably hot. The last thing she wanted to do was betray her family. From the moment they had arrived, she had been trying to do the opposite. The princess did not feel like herself. Not in the slightest. She felt weak and confused and tested. Like whatever move she made would set off a chain reaction. Regardless, Maetilda was going to do everything in her power to not let it show. She was a Targaryen. She was not afraid of anything. Except another Targaryen.

“I will do better, kepa.” She did her best to disguise the sound of tears in her voice.

“Of course you will.” He seethed, “Do you remember what I told you before dinner? I almost did away with you once. I can still do it, I can do whatever I want with you. Swear to me you’ll do better.”

“I swear.” She assured him, tears pouring down her cheeks.

There was a pause before his words chilled her to the bone, “Swear on your maidenhead.”

“Pardon?”

“Swear that you will not betray me. Swear that if you fail, each and every one of my men will each get a turn to disgrace you for the rest of your life…”

“I—What?”

“Don’t question me, swear to me.”

“I… I… ssswear.”

“Swear what?”

“I swear… to do better… to not betray you… or our family.”

Prince Daemon looked at her expectantly, hinting to the princess that she was not done. That there were words she had left unsaid. The pain of knowing exactly what his look was hinting at hammered inside her head. He wanted her to say it out loud. He wanted to hear her say the words herself. With a forceful hand, he pushed her onto her knees. He tilted her chin up at him, petting at it in order to coax her next words out.

Tears welled up even more in her eyes, pouring down her cheeks like a mile wide river. “I swear… on my maidenhead.”

He smiled as soon as she said the word. The sound of her swallowing any sense of pride or dignity seemingly more pleasing to him than any compliment. His hand came down to cup her face as his eyes glanced across her kneeling body, an emphasis to the filthiness she already felt. Her stomach flipped as the words she had just sworn had fully processed through her mind.

“Good girl,” Her father lovingly patted the cheek that he had been assaulting, “You know, it is not a bad idea on its own. The more I ponder it, the more it makes sense. If my men took your little flower, all of my problems would be solved by sunrise.”

Maetilda shook her head in horror, tears dropping down her cheeks. Her skin crawled. Daemon’s threats were never empty. If he liked the idea too much, there would be nothing to stop him. Her knights were not enough to take on him and his men — not without a miracle sent by the Gods. Of which, she didn’t quite believe in. The cold rough hand that patted her cheek dropped down to her shoulder. She closed her eyes as the grip tightened. His thumb slowly inched toward her throat, tracing the line of her jugular.

“Mm. But—“

A light tnk, tnk, tnk on the other side of the door made her jump.

“Princess, did you mean to lock the door? It is Noarysa and Adelyn. We were told dinner was over. Please let us in, you must not sleep on your hair.”

“One moment!” Her father responded.

His grip remained for a moment longer, only tightening the more it stayed. With one final squeeze, he let go of her shoulder, but he did not release her completely. His hand moved down to the small of her back, forcefully guiding her back up to her feet and over to the vanity chair. From where she sat, she could see the reflection of the tower tapestry looming over their shoulders. She refused to meet her father’s eyes.

“I shall see you tomorrow. There will be a meeting in the Small Council chambers to discuss the nuptials that will not be happening.”

She nodded again. Much to her relief, he seemed satisfied by her response; he did not linger. Rather, in a way to mock her and the blood pounding through her veins, Prince Daemon idly walked toward the door. Coming to a full stop before he unlocked it. He paused before actually opening the iron latch mechanism. He opened it causally, putting on a show comparable to any street actor. As if he hadn’t just slapped and threatened his daughter inside, the prince nodded to the handmaids who also avoided his gaze. Once in the corridor, his pace picked up significantly while he sauntered away. The two handmaids scurried in immediately, waiting only for the Rogue Prince to be out of the way before rushing over to their princess. Maetilda sat in the wooden chair and stared at her reflection in the looking glass. Her left cheek was light purple and bright red. Her right one was flush pink. Her right hand still hadn’t returned to its normal color either. Her once intricate updo had shifted and fallen from where it had sat at the start of dinner. As soon as the princess had noticed the presence of the other two women, her gaze fell to her lap. She hoped they would not say anything to anyone, but she knew word of what her face looked like would be worth a life changing amount of money. She could not fault them.

“Good evening, Princess. Why don’t we get you into your nightgown before we take out your hair?” Noarysa’s voice was soft and gentle, like a mother’s coo to her tired baby.

The princess could still remember Noarysa’s snippets about her family, about her children. She was a dedicated mother, it made sense that Maetilda felt so comforted. The silver honey haired girl wanted nothing more than to be held, cradled, and rocked. To feel the way she did whenever Lady Laena would tuck her into bed and tell her a bedtime story. It had been so many years since the last time the Velaryon had laughed with her or wiped her tears. She longed for her late step mother’s presence every day, yet she felt guilty when she longed for Laena and not her mother. She missed her mother first. The tent of a dress was soon untied and stripped from her body. It was not until she felt the cold of the room that she noticed she was no longer sitting. She did not remember standing up or stepping away from the vanity. Regardless, Adelyn helped her into her nightgown while Noarysa scurried over to the fireplace. The older maid hummed an unfamiliar tune as she added another log and put on a cauldron of coals to begin warming for later. Maetilda stared forward but looked at nothing. Her entire being felt rigid and still. Her mind became overwhelmed with billions and trillions of thoughts at once. Tears wells in her eyes once more, but she blinked them away. Both Noarysa and Adelyn assisted the princess back into the vanity chair. Together, they worked to take down the silver honey nest on her head. In all of the action at dinner, it had tangled painfully at the crown of her head and nape of her neck. The maids took gentle care to unknot each strand, oiling the tresses when needed. Noarysa continued her unfamiliar tune. It had a happy melody, but the key was virtually unheard of to the princess’s ear. The notes in the tune flattened and sharpened at surprisingly mesmerizing places. Before long, the princess found herself leaning into the maids’ touch. The collective buzz from the night bugs far down below could be heard chorusing in the gardens, serving as Noarysa’s musical accompaniment. It would have been enough to put the princess to sleep had she not already felt wide awake. As if the Gods themselves were holding her eyes open.

Had Noarysa continued her song, Maetilda would have sat contently in her vanity chair for the entire evening. Adelyn used her skilled hands to massage the princess’s scalp as the number of braids dwindled. They had not known her long, but they had treated her with such gentle care. It felt wrong. As much as she wanted to revel in the moment, soak it in and relax, her senses all remained on high alert. She could not ignore the part of her that feared her father would barge back in at any moment. Having had a chance to stew over their exchange and turn back around. She could still remember the day her father had returned to her chambers three separate times to continue the same argument. She had been five and ten at the time, a few moons after she had her first bleed. They were at Dragonstone during the actual dispute, but the inciting incident had taken place in Driftmark that morning. Lord Corlys had allowed Daemon to take her and the twins flying. When storm clouds began to brew, they had all landed and retreated back into the castle only to find that Lord Manderly and his eldest son Warren had arrived unexpectedly. They docked to avoid the brewing storm and came to treat with the Lord of Driftmark. As the men went about their business in the morning thunder, the princess and her sisters took Warren on a tour of the castle. When the four had returned to the Great Hall, where the men had conducted their business over goblets of wine, the Manderly boy had the princess on his arm and hanging off of his every word. He had tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her hand before turning to her father. It was clear to everyone in the room that the Manderly was about to ask the Rogue Prince for his blessing to court his eldest daughter. But just as the boy had opened his mouth to speak, the Targaryen prince had shoved the boy back and yanked the princess from the hall. He had flown them home immediately in a rage. Through the downpour and all. Although Shrykos was older and larger than Ceraxes, the younger dragon was faster, more agile, and had a far more skilled rider. She knew there would be no sense in trying to escape him. When they had arrived back at Dragonstone, her father had dragged her all the way back to her chambers by her ear. His grip had been much gentler at the time. They argued for the rest of the day. Her father left only to go eat his dinner, after which he returned to continue. He tried to leave the argument twice more before he was actually successful in staying away. He was a stubborn man who would not accept a truce, not even with his own daughter. Especially with his own daughter. When the maids finished with her hair, they made ready the bed. The hot coals on the fire were dumped into the iron and ceramic bed warmer, which was then tucked underneath the bed frame. Adelyn blew out the different candles across the room. The atmosphere was comfortable and inviting, yet the princess sat on edge. Despite their best efforts, the maids could not distract the princess from the evening she had.

“Thank you, Noarysa, Adelyn. Thank you.”

“It is our pleasure, Princess.” Noarysa responded softly.

“Certainly.” Adelyn nodded in agreement.

“You both may go. Have a good night.” Maetilda tried her best to smile at them.

“Respectfully, Princess. Do you want help getting into bed?” Adelyn asked.

Maetilda’s smile grew genuine, “I will manage.”

“Good night, Princess.” Noarysa curtsied before she exited, Adelyn soon parroted her.

The door latched closed behind them, after which Maetilda rushed forward to lock it. Hoping the lock would be enough to keep her father away for the rest of the evening. Her mind replayed every last glimpse of him she could remember from dinner as she paced about her chambers. He had seemed so jovial, even smiling and laughing along with Rhaenyra and his brother. While she had not acted in the most ladylike manner by getting into the boys’ tussle, he had never once voiced an issue with that. He was angry that she was to be married, that she had agreed to dance with Aemond. Perhaps he was angry that she did not do more to denounce the one eyed prince. Her stomach churned with the unknown. She felt hot, clammy, nauseous from it all. Yet her pacing only continued. Her vision darkened at the edges a bit as the feeling of doom loomed over shoulder. She felt as if she were already too late, her oncoming fate already sealed. The room soon grew stuffy. Her lungs struggled to intake a full breath. Her hands shakily clawed at the neckline of her nightgown. Her eyes ripped through the chambers, desperate for relief. She spotted the balcony door first, and barreled through it, steps labored and unbalanced. The entirety of her body felt heavy, down to every limb. The cogs inside her brain felt rusted. She took a seat on the wooden bench and stared out at Blackwater Bay. The gentle waves reflected the twinkle of the waxing gibbous moon. It was so dark that she could not tell where the sea grew deeper, where the water gradually darkened in color. It made her mind picture sea monsters and krakens lurking just below the surface, camouflaged in the black of the night. She imagined their tentacles entrapping her before pulling her to the bottom with them. Ripping her body to shreds with razor sharp teeth. It would not be a pretty end or a graceful death fit for a princess. It would be just like her mother’s, occurring in nature and shrouded in mystery. An ending that she found far more fitting. She would have much preferred the ocean’s unknown to her father’s return.

A choked cry escaped her throat despite how hard she tried to hold all tears back. The cry soon became a desperate whimper that quickly turned into a single sob. Her thoughts scared her, sent chills through her bones. Never before had she wished for death so often, so repeatedly, and in so many different ways. It felt like the world was caving in on her, like she was on a sinking ship. It felt like her days were already numbered. Yet a big part of her was too afraid to find out what waited for her in the afterlife. Deep down, she knew it would not be as simple and wonderful as her mother. Life was never that good, so how could the afterlife be? Maetilda physically shook her head to try to dispel the thoughts, wiping the wet tears from her cheeks. She felt so silly, so ashamed. There were other ladies who had it worse than she. There were ladies who were wed before their first blood, were beaten until they bruised, were belittled to the rest of Court by their own spouses. Ever since she had been little, she had told herself that such a life would never be hers. How naive of her to think herself any different from any other lady, to think herself worthy of any other fate. Perhaps gnashing teeth and murky waters would be exactly what she deserved. Perhaps the Gods were teaching her a lesson, just as her Septa would say. Perhaps she was destined for the cruelest of fates. A life of shame and misery and solitude. She could already feel the cold of it all, settling inside so that she would never truly be warm again. Without a doubt, she knew her father would never be satisfied. Not until she was no longer betrothed. Not until there was no other prince or lord to threaten his claim over her keep. Would that be the rest of her future, her life? A constant battle for the chance to be sold off until there are no buyers left standing. A never ending auction with no final bid in sight. If her knights and all the castle’s guards would not immediately come running, she would have thrown her head back and screamed. Her lungs craved the scratchy release. Only on the back of Vhagar would Lady Laena let the young princess scream at the top of her lungs. Vhagar would roar back in a pitch that matched, and they would soar until Laena decided it was time to eat. What she would do to feel such freedom and wonder again. Back then, she had never been scared to let go. She had never feared losing grip and falling. She just knew she never would. When she had eventually mounted Shrykos, she was just a few years older. Yet old enough to know that falling meant death, old enough to know that falling was amongst the worst ways to die. To idly await the collision that ended it all.

“Princess?” The voice startled her entire body into restarting before her head whipped around to find her betrothed.

Her heart stopped at the sight of him, in the last place he should have been. He would ruin any and all of her father’s plans. In fact, Aemond’s own plans could not be any more innocent. He stood in the doorway of the balcony with his hands up in feigned surrender, still dressed in the same clothes from dinner. He was tall enough that he took up a majority of the frame. His figure loomed. Her mouth went dry.

“How did y— What are you doing? How long have you been hiding in my chambers? Get out!” Maetilda gasped as she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to hide it.

“Pardon my intrusion, ñuha dōna.” He replied almost solemnly. (my sweet)

“How did you get in here? Passed my knights? Passed the lock?”

“Keep your voice down, and I will tell you.”

“My voice is down. Tell me.”

“You must know of the passages between the walls. Maegor had them built.”

“I know he murdered the men who built them to keep their whereabouts hidden. You know where they are?”

“I have lived my whole life amongst these walls. Plenty of time to search.”

“And what has brought you through them and to my chambers? You risk my good name. Leave. Go!”

“Maetilda, please. I heard everything.” He stated, “Every word your father spoke. I—I had to make certain you were alright.”

“Allow me to make certain I heard you correctly. Since dinner, you have been hiding in my walls and listening to my private conversations?”

He sucked a breath in, forcing his back to straighten. After a pause, he nodded, “I had not intended to eavesdrop. I only wished to sit near your presence for a moment after everything that took place at dinner. I was never going to come in… But your father is loud. And potentially treasonous.”

Her limbs moved of their own accord. She launched out of the bench like a projectile from a catapult. Before either of the two could blink, the princess had already slapped and shoved her betrothed at least twice. An angry cry left her mouth this time. Each of the many emotions she had felt on the balcony that evening spilled out of her all at once. With all of her might, she tried over and over to knock the prince off of his feet. But much like at dinner, he did not even flinch. The only sign of discomfort he showed was his shift in stance and the crease of his brow. The latter of which disappeared as quickly as it came, allowing his face to return to its stoic thinking position. His lack of reaction only angered her more, she threw fisted swings at his chest. His lips thinned into a line, but he remained unmoving. With another frustrated cry, the princess pushed and hit him harder. Thunk, umpf, thunk, thunk, umpf, smack. Their struggle almost made more noise than their conversation had. After a few more harsh slaps to the chest, the prince finally reacted. As she continued her attempts at hurting him, Aemond reached up and snatched his betrothed’s hands out of the air. Careful to avoid her still red wrists, his palms encompassed her fists in his grip. His hands clamped over her own like a glove that was far too tight. At least for the moment, she was lassoed and subdued. Maetilda tried to tug herself free to no avail. It was on her third tug that the dams broke. Tears welled in her eyes and streamed down her cheeks before she had the chance to blink them away. Her mouth turned down into a helpless frown. This time, her cry was a sharp throaty sob. One that caused her knees to buckle and her shoulders to shake. Wordlessly, Aemond kept her steady. His hands released hers only to reach up and wipe her under eyes dry. He voiced no complaints or made any face of displeasure; his presence was nearly calming. He held her cheeks and petted her hair. Yet she wanted him gone. Needed him gone.

“You shouldn’t be here.” She croaked.

“It will not matter soon. Whispers will only hurry our nuptials along if we are found out.”

“You seem pleased.”

“I am.” A silence hung around them before he spoke again, “Although, I sense you are not.”

“Perhaps I would be happier had you not invited yourself into my bedroom in the middle of the night.”

“And what a pleasant night the Gods have given us. Next time, I swear to you I shall knock. I only wish to talk for a moment. May we sit, Princess?”

“No, you may not.”

“Very well.”

Quiet consumed them once more. Maetilda crossed her arms in front of her chest. The nightgown she was dressed in was not at all decent. As Aemond remained standing as instructed, the princess found herself unable to sit. Her legs felt like they were on fire, her whole body did. Like bolts of lighting were shooting through her veins. The prince kept his lilac eye locked on her frame like a target, although this time they seemed glazed over. Seemingly buried deep in his mind, the princess watched him shift his weight from one foot to the other as he both looked at her and beyond her at the same time. Her mind screamed for her to shout for her knight beyond the door, to do as her father would wish. But in that moment, she felt as if her mouth was sewn shut. She was completely transfixed. The prince’s weight shifted again as his mouth opened to speak. Her own breath hitched in anticipation.

“I hope you know I meant what I said when I told you that I was going to make it up to you.”

“What?”

“For the disrespect I showed you by not greeting you and your family when you arrived. I am going to right what I have done wrong.”

“Those are pretty words, Prince Aemond, but you did the opposite of that at dinner.”

“I was provoked.”

“Provoked? No one said a word against you.”

“‘Didn’t need to.”

“So you were goaded into treason without so much as being insulted yourself? Sounds to me that you were looking for a reason to be nasty.”

“You are not being fair.”

“How so?”

“I was provoked!”

“By what? By the laughter of a boy two years your junior?”

“Yes, I was. The same one to take this.” Aemond huffed as he defiantly ripped his eyepatch off.

The princess gasped at the surprise of his uncovered face. He stood like a fuming little boy awaiting retaliation. His chest rose and fell with his rapid breaths, smoke practically poured out of his nose. His eyes’ expression held a thousand different emotions. Anger, sadness, shame, embarrassment, vengeance, guilt, despair. She felt her own heart rip to shreds with guilt. How callous had she been? Had she not considered what it would feel to be physically maimed by one’s own kin all while being cast aside a majority of one’s life? Would she not lash out given the same circumstances? She felt like a hypocrite, overly critical and judgmental. He had stolen Vhagar, he had threatened to bash Jacaerys’s head in with a rock, that’s why he had lost his eye. Lucerys was merely acting like the boy he still was. And she knew better than anybody that speaking so boldly in front of her father was more times than not a mistake. She let her eyes close and took a deep breath before she answered him.

“His actions cut deep, I understand. There are years of malice between you, but he only wins when you allow him to pull such a reaction from you.”

“He wins when he thinks he can get away with behaving like a child.”

“You are no better when you behave like a child yourself.”

He snarled at her words like an animal. It was belittling to be called a child, and he seemed to be particularly sensitive to name calling. The torment that he could not seem to escape. She watched his face twist, his nose wrinkle, and his mouth curl downwards in disgust. He huffed and puffed like a dragon with a temper. The princess simply stared back at him, insinuating her lack of fear. Aemond blew air through his nose with enough force to cause a breeze. He spun around and moved away from her in order to take his aggression out on the small potted saffron plant that he proceeded to catapult off of the balcony.

“I shall make up for my disrespect to you, ñuha dōna, but I will not allow your family to disrespect me.”

It was a sentiment that made the princess freeze in her place and briefly contemplate everything she once thought. He had a point. He deserved to defend himself against disrespect. All those years, he had been more than disrespected. He had been maimed and bullied and excluded. Could she have been the one in the wrong? Was she the one out of line? Certainly not, her gut would not lie.

“That includes your father.” He added.

“I cannot control what my father does.”

Aemond reached forward and ran a timid hand through her hair, ��When I am your husband, it will be my job to put him in his place.”

Maetilda tried horribly to hold back her breathy, incredulous chuckle. His words felt weird as they drifted through her ears. She shook her head free of Aemond’s hand and huffed. It felt like she was a play toy being fought over. Her skin crawled as the feeling grew louder in her mind.

“If my father lets the marriage happen.”

Aemond’s face twisted with anger once more. His jaw clenched and fixed forward, “The King has already ordered it. He and his men will be executed for treason well before any of them can touch you. I will see to it.”

His steps toward her were so careful that they were nearly silent, but they were no less deliberate. The look on his face sent chills down her spine, internally screaming of the danger she was in. She had played too close to fire, and was about to be burnt. She should have listened to her father, and not entertained the prince’s words in the Godswood, not gotten up to dance with him. Her father was right. She did think herself to be clever. What had those thoughts gained her? More questions and uncertainty than ever, her peace and safety threatened. What was she after? What did she want? In that moment, she wanted to stand her ground, remain brave in the face of whatever Aemond was. She wanted to prove her dragon blood, she wanted her father to be wrong. Yet the prince before her also made her question that. He loomed over her, nearly resembling the figure in the black cloak. Every single hair on the princess’s body stood on edge. It could not have been him. The figure was a ghost, a spirit, an apparition; it had no face or hands.

“If I were to take you this evening, there would be no argument left by sunrise.”

“You sound just like him.”

“You insult me.” He chuckled, both knowing full well that he had quoted the man.

“No, you insult me.” Maetilda crossed her arms in front of her chest once more, “No one gets to have me. Not without first swearing vows to me in the sight of Gods and men.”

“Then I shall have the honors after all.” She smacked his chest once more as he smugly finished his sentence.

“And now you sound like your brother.”

“Take that back.”

“Then quit talking about that which resides between my legs as if it is some castle you wish to conquer. To think I suspected you were different.”

“Dōna dārilaros,” (Sweet princess) He breathed her in like a flower, reaching his hand up again to play with small strands of her hair before letting his hand drop downward. The breath hitched in the princess’s throat as his hand gently cupped her waist. His fingers lightly toyed with the soft silk of her nightgown. Carefully, his hand snaked into a tighter grip around her back that pulled her body closer into him. Unsure of what to do, the princess simply froze in overwhelming fear. She watched him with an empty stare, “No one sees you the way that I do. You shall be the perfect wife, divinely chosen. The perfect mother to my heirs. Steadfast, ferocious, intelligent. You are no castle. You are a dragon. An elusive one, just as the mount you claimed.”

That sounded more like Aemond, “What do you want from me?”

“A love as strong as Aegon the First and his precious Rhaenys.”

“Queen Rhaenys died fighting her husband’s battles.”

“A mistake I shall never make with you.”

“That’s quite the promise. And just how do you expect me to trust you?”

“I suppose I shall earn your trust with time.”

“Hmm,” She mimicked him. His gaze was intense and she could hold it no longer. Her eyes dropped down to the detailing on the collar of his shirt. Seven pointed stars embroidered in sneaky places. She gasped when the thought occurred to her, “Most men do not love the ladies they marry, but those they bed. You speak pretty words, but... I don’t—”

“We are more similar than you think, ñuha dōna.”

To punctuate his words, he descended upon her as quickly as she had launched herself at him earlier. His hands cupped her cheeks, running his thumbs across her cheek bones. His lips slowly massaged her own. His pink pout pressed into hers with passion, chasing her favor. The feeling was completely foreign, a wet mouth colliding with hers. There were muscles in his lips that she did not expect to feel, but they worked and toyed at her own mouth in such a way that felt oddly satisfying. Her heart fluttered and her skin tingled, but her body remained stiff and rigid. Unsure of what to do, terrified to do the wrong thing. But her lack of reaction did not stop him, his lips continued their dance as he pressed pressure against her through them. Her eyes remained cracked open, able to see the firelight in her chambers just beyond his shoulder. She could feel his movements spreading odd sensations throughout her body, she did not know how to describe them. They felt ticklish and almost slimy. Regardless, her heart fluttered and her cheeks filled with heat. Before she could rip her lips away from him, the Prince ceased his tirade in order to catch his breath. He pressed their foreheads together as his eye studied the minor details of her face. He had kissed her, and all she felt inside was conflict. A soft smile spread across his shiny, wet lips. Undoubtedly proud of himself. But it gave her the same feeling her father’s crocodile smile in the throne room had. Dread. One of his hands gently stroked at her darker pink cheek.

“Se Jaes vēttan nyke syt ao,” He whispered. (The Gods made me for you.)

“Se Jaes emagon dōrī gaomagon nyke mirre sȳz,” She muttered back. (The Gods have never done me any good.)

His pout moved to kiss her forehead that time. Wrapping his other arm around her and into a tight hug. His arms held her securely in place. She could not move even if she had wanted. Her father’s crocodile smile would not leave her mind as they stood. It was plastered all over her brain and onto the backs of her eyelids. The sound of Vaemond’s body splatting onto the ground echoed in her ears. It had only been the day before. She could still be next. Her body remained rigid. Tense with terror and fear that she desperately wanted to keep hidden. What would her father think? Would Aemond keep their actions to himself? Would she survive the fortnight? A big part of her doubted it. Not with her father and her betrothed under the same roof. She was shocked into taking another breath, unaware that she had been holding it, as cold fingers danced down her spine. The soothing chill could be felt even through her silk nightgown. The smooth, light scratch of his fingernails was enough alone to soothe her to sleep. Had she not been standing or utterly on edge.

“Of course they have, they made you a princess.”

“The King did that with a stroke of his quill, not any god.”

“This is true. But the Gods put the tenderness in his heart. They smile down upon us.”

“The Fourteen or the Seven?” She quizzed him, as if his belief in one or the other would reveal his true allegiance. She already knew.

“All one and twenty.”

“You keep both?”

“There is much for us to learn about each other. What gods do you pray to?”

“The ones that answer.”

“Hmm.”

Aemond loosened his grip, allowing Maetilda to pull away and look at him. Before she could get a good glimpse, he was planting small kisses all over her face. Her cheeks, her nose, her eyelids, the corners of her mouth. It felt like bugs crawling over her skin. As she squirmed away, she could feel the pull of her hair in his fist. It reminded her of the consequences that loomed over them.

“This is wrong. You should not be here. You should not have kissed me. You need to leave. We must pretend this never happened.” The princess fought against his firm, unwavering hold.

“Shhh, Gaomagon daor sȳngagon aōla. Mazeminna dohaeragon lēda mirre ra. Mazeminna marizzo toliot ao.” (Do not worry yourself. I will take care of everything. I will take care of you.)

She felt powerless as his hands grabbed her arms and turned the two of them. Positioning them so that the princess was pinned between him and the worn terra-cotta colored castle wall. Unable to run away yet again. As soon as she realized what was happening, it was already too late. He pressed his body harder against her as she squirmed.

“Please st—“

Before she could finish her words, the prince had parted her legs with his knee. Pushing his leg farther in between to divide them, only aided by the nightgown that trapped her lower limbs from kicking. She tried to push back against his arms and torso, only to be electrocuted by the brush of the prince’s thigh against her maidenhead. Tears welled in her eyes as she wondered if he had taken it, claimed it as his own. Just like that. But she knew that would have been too easy. Ladies’ matters were never that easy. Aemond dropped his head down to her neck. His breath tickled her skin as he inhaled against her. Breathing her in.

“You smell so pretty, ñuha dōna. Please. Allow me to—”

“Please, stop! Stop. I am a princess of virtue, and I wish to remain so.”

The prince’s face morphed into a more displeased expression as he pulled away from where he hovered over her collarbones. The warmth of him was enough to make her question her resolve. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how to say it. His mouth hung open slightly as his lips formed the beginnings of different words.

“Swear that you will tell me if your father makes any more of his threats.”

“I will not make two conflicting vows in one evening.”

The prince huffed through his nose, but the princess in his arms only dug her heels in and continued, “You said yourself that you heard every word he spoke. I have already committed enough punishable offenses.”

He did not answer. Only took another deep breath of the air against her neck before shoving her away from him in favor of storming off into her chambers. She was completely taken aback at first, unsure of what to do. He paced back and forth, and back and forth and back and forth, in front of her fireplace. Twisting his hands and fingers into knots as if he wanted to hurt himself. Her instincts took over as she followed after him back inside. Had her answer truly been that detrimental? What did he know that she did not? Wearily, she reached out to rub his shoulder. Wanting nothing more to see the prince calm once more.

“How would I tell you of my father’s plans without his knowledge?”

“Helaena.” He nodded as he agreed with his own answer more and more. “Tell Helaena, and she will tell me.”

Tears welled in the princess’s eyes again as she shook her head, she felt as if she were already trapped. “Aemond, I can’t—“

Tnk, tnk, tnk, tnk. The second knock to interrupt her evening. The prince furrowed his eyebrows before he sprinted over to the floor to ceiling tapestry of the tower. He stood in front of it, just as her father had not long ago. Aemond was taller than him. He looked less small next to the tower, but not by much. Maetilda panicked as she ran to her wardrobe for her housecoat. By the time she turned back around, her betrothed was gone. Disappeared while her back was turned to him. She found herself searching for him, checking behind her bookshelves, the tapestry, and under the rug for some sort of trap door. But there was not even a trace. No handle, no door hinge. Yet he had made it both in and out of her chambers somehow. Was he still listening? Just as he had listened to her and her father. Could he see her? Would he return? She wanted to bolt the door behind him, but she didn’t know where it was.

“Mi’lady, it’s your knight. I have what you asked for.”

His whisper was just quiet enough for her to hear. She opened the door to reveal Ser Eddrin and a rucksack. When she let him into her room, he rushed over to the sitting table. His armor creaked as usual, giving away his presence. Clearing the surface with one arm, he unceremoniously dumped the rucksack out into the empty space. A very old book, a black candle, red pepper, several empty vials, and salt.

A/N: Maetilda has finally been betrothed, but Daemon is not going to go down without a fight. The current escape route is one that will bring her father’s wrath, the other option is possible eternal loneliness under her father’s thumb. She won’t be able to escape him either way. It looks like even Aemond will not come to her rescue either. But Eddrin and Gunthor always pull through!! <3

I am so sorry for being MIA. I had someone who I thought was a friend steal a very big amount of money from me, and have been dealing with a lot of stress. Updates are still coming. I am currently writing chapter thirteen and plan on releasing twelve and thirteen together. If anyone knows any good ways to make side cash without exhausting yourself, please let me know lol 😅

TAGLIST: @snh96 @marvelescvpe

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § THE DIVINE

chapter ten: an old man’s guilt

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 9023

The velvet fabric of her large, brick red evening gown hung on her body with the weight of an entire castle gate. The dress could more accurately be described as a tent as the skirt flared out directly under her bust and was larger than her own wingspan. The bishop sleeves were fitted at the wrists, but were just as extravagantly large and drapey with the elbows cascading to her knees. It had a scooping round neckline that dipped just low enough to tease her cleavage and exposed the tops of her shoulders. The dragon embroidery and detailing was black, burlwood brown, and turtledove ivory. Her bronze jewelry contained eye-catching white selenite and pearls that brought out the ivory detailing. Rings, bracelets, necklaces, and the tiniest headpiece. She was undoubtedly regal. The clacking heels of her shoes echoed down the corridor along with the squeaking and clunking of her knight’s armor. Ser Gunthor had taken over watch from Ser Eddrin, and his footsteps were just as loud and heavy as ever. Though he tried his best. She was thankful for that much. Aside from the disruption from the two, the corridors were quiet. It made her feel like a bull in a ceramics market, despite the absence of actual destruction in her wake. Her thoughts were pandemonium in her head. They echoed and bounced between the inner walls of her mind as she wondered how angry her father would still be. She imagined his face and the witty insults he’d hurl. It was always better to expect the worst. If she were lucky, his mouth would remain shut, but she was never a lucky girl. Her legs were tired by the time she finally reached the doors to the Small Council chambers, their dining hall for the evening. The longer she walked, her gown only became more of an obstacle. So large, she had to hold up the front and kick out the skirt with each step in order to keep from tripping onto her face. The prettiest of dresses were always the least practical. There was not even an opening in the side for her to slip her hand into her waistpocket. Not that she would need to, she left the stones in Ser Eddrin’s care. At least she would not land on them if she fell.

Staring at the golden door knobs, the princess briefly contemplated running off in the opposite direction. If only she could actually run in her sea of a dress. The only thing that held her back was the knowledge that she would not make it far before she was caught and reprimanded. Much to her dismay, the doors opened before she had given the signal — revealing her to the room as she stood. There would be no turning back. She felt all their eyes snap over to her, but she could not meet them. She glanced about the table without meeting a single stare, despite the over abundance of attention she held. There were two empty chairs left. One in the center of the Northern side of the table, the King’s, and one to the left of her father at the lower head of the table, her’s. When she finally crossed the threshold, the princess realized that she was the last to arrive — aside from the King, who would always enter last. Her heart fluttered with fear, hoping that she had not kept them all waiting. She did not want something so trivial to be her father’s last straw. A possibility that felt far too likely. Much like in the corridor, her footsteps echoed as she moved to take her seat. She felt like a rabbit surrounded by foxes. One wrong movement and they would descend on her in droves of claws and teeth. She held back the flinch as her father pushed himself out of his chair in order to pull out hers. All of her muscles tensed. She sat slowly and carefully. With her back turned to her father, it would be so easy for him to reach forward and strangle her. It would be so sudden, perhaps the many guards would be too stunned to stop him. She would be on the floor, just like Lord Corlys’s nephew, before their swords would even be unsheathed. Yet he never moved to hurt her. He simply pushed in her chair. Her heart pounded as she was scooted closer and closer to the table. The feeling that something was off, was about to attack her, remained just as palpable as ever. The worry pumped through her veins quicker than a downhill river. The delirium of a hot flash began to make her feel clammy. It was only a family dinner, she had to remind herself. She should be safe. Yet her eyes scanned the table for more danger. Queen Alicent, Princess Rhaenyra, Ser Otto, and her father who retook his seat all avoided eye contact with each other. There was a tension between the four of them that couldn’t be cut with Valyrian steel. They sat in their chairs in a way that looked as if iron rods had been driven up their rear ends.

Ironically, the four were sat in line with each other. A forced proximity that would not allow them a moment of relief. Alicent sat right to the King’s empty chair with her father to the right of her. They looked so similar despite their lack of connection. Their owlish eyes judging the scene before them. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra sat left of the King’s chair with her husband to the left of her. The two leaned in towards each other. Almost conspiratorially. If one of them were to utter anything, they would be the only two to hear it. On the other side of the table, the three young couples of the family were sat in another line. Unfortunately, Prince Joffrey and the other young boys were absent as they had been deemed too young to join the rest of them. Prince Aegon and his wife Princess Helaena were located across from their mother and grandsire. The King’s oldest son had already been deep in his cups, and was clearly ignoring his sister wife beside him. She mostly kept her gaze down at the plate as she hunched over in her chair. The princess-by-title was shocked such posture had not been beaten out of her as a child as it had been for herself. Helaena briefly looked up to meet her cousin’s gaze, and the girls shared a quick greeting smile. But it did not last long before they returned to what they had been doing. The two eldest princes sat beside each other, Aegon and Jacaerys. They were turned away from each other as much as physically possible. The spitting image of the way their mothers treated each other. Lucerys got to sit in between the twins. He looked far more comfortable than his brother. Baela and Rhaena sat with perfect posture. The older twin idly talked with her betrothed who attentively listened while the younger kept her eye on a swivel, taking note of each and every attendee. Directly across from Maetilda, at the other head of the table, Aemond was already watching her closely. His expression was unreadable, but his posture alluded to an air of confidence. Sitting at the head of the table was an honor, undoubtedly boosting the second son’s ego. Just like the day prior, his eye was locked on her before she had even looked at him. He made the prey-like feeling bubble in her gut. She quickly looked away from him, and turned to Rhaena to the left of her. Her younger sister smiled at her encouragingly upon noticing her attention. Without saying a word, the girls reached out and grasped each other's hands. The younger one gave the older one a squeeze. Before anything else could happen, the creak of the doors echoed throughout the hall, pulling everyone’s focus back toward the entrance.

On the other side of the doors, the king was perched in a platformed chair. The platform had long handles on each corner where a member of the Kingsguard each gripped firmly. They held his Grace up evenly at the height of their chests. King Viserys looked just the same as he did before. Grey and covered with sores, thin and frail, breathing hard and bearing down so as not to show just how much pain he was truly in. He was finely dressed in evening robes, his crown, a golden mask over half of his face, and matching jewelry throughout his person. He was a regal man, no matter his state. All at the table stood in respect. Together, the knights marched in step over to the empty chair. A servant promptly removed it for them, and the Kingsguard carefully lowered the chair to the ground. It was not until the chair was settled that the rest of the table sat; the Queen being the first of them. Viserys’s deep breaths carried across the room. No one dared utter a sound. It was he who had called them all to dinner, it was he who would have the first word. The princess anxiously chewed at a spot on the inside of the corner of her lip. He cleared his throat of any phlegm before he spoke.

“How good it is to see you all tonight. Together.” The King greeted slowly between inhales for air.

“A prayer before we begin?” The Queen suggested.

“Yes,” His Grace nodded in reply.

The table joined hands, closing their eyes and bowing their heads together. It felt foreign to the Princess, almost like a staged event. Yet as the Queen rattled off her prayer, she glanced up from behind her brows to find the Hightower brood all piously crouched in prayer. Even Aemond. Instead of staring at her like some amateur spy, his eye was closed and his face was relaxed. Maetilda couldn’t help but feel a bit entranced with him. It was easier to observe him without his watchful eye on her. Without her having to worry about what he was thinking, if she was among those thoughts. If he hated her, he hadn’t necessarily shown it in the Godswood, but he could be plotting something. Perhaps that had been why both her father and her gut had been on edge the past three days. If Aemond had always been intelligent, perhaps he had grown calculating with the years apart. He could take after his owlish mother’s side in that regard. He seemed to already favor their religious fervere. The princess had never found herself to be religious. What sort of gods would seek out to create such a treacherous world? What gods would cause famine, drought, and suffering throughout its continents? What gods would take a mother away from her daughter of only one nameday? Why would she pray to those who have only brought her pain and turmoil? She wondered what Aemond could possibly be praying for in his own head. For enough food to satisfy his beast of a dragon. For land and a castle of his own. For a pretty, submissive, and ditzy lady wife with no trueborn brothers and lots of money. For the downfall of she and her brothers. It was harder for her to guess now. Before Driftmark, it would have been for a dragon of his own. That had been all he seemed to ever want, but he now had it. What would one wish for after they receive their deepest wish?

“And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

Her father scoffed as the hair on her neck and arms stood on edge. She felt her blood run cold at the mere mention of his name. Even Ser Otto shook his head almost unnoticeably as the table awkwardly unbowed their heads. Prince Aemond looked straight back up, and promptly caught Maetilda staring at him. In panic, she snapped her gaze over to the King. Embarrassment, shame, and fear pounded at her insides.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young princes and their betrothed…”

Goblets and glasses were raised all around. Maetilda tried to hold back the shaking in her hand from her overwhelm of emotions.

“Here, Here!” Aegon exclaimed with mock enthusiasm, although his sarcasm was muddied with his drink.

Each at the table took a gulp of their wine to seal the toast. At her uncle’s words of unity and celebration, her father only seemed to tense. His muscles grew hard and rigid. An icy warmth radiated off of him. It reminded her of his cold blooded actions the day prior, which did not help the princess’s already clammy hands. She tucked her hands under the table and rubbed them on the sides of her brick red skirt. The velvet was not very absorbent. Briefly, she wondered who her father would attack first, if it came to it. Certainly it wouldn’t be his brother, perhaps the King’s Hand. Though he would have to cross three whole people to get to him. Because of this, she thought the Kingsguard would be more likely to stop him. For once. Regardless, she found herself guiltily relieved to see someone else occupying her father’s stuck-in-his-warlord-days mind.

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman.” The King’s oldest son’s whisper was not much quieter than a shout. It was enough to indirectly pull the princess out of her mental spiral.

“Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys… the future Lord of the Tides.” The King continued his toasts.

“Here, Here!” Rhaenys echoed much more eloquently.

“You’ll be great.” Rhaena agreed, offering her future husband a gentle smile to calm the nerves that began to service at the mention of his name.

The room was silent as they all took another sip. From behind her cup, the princess smiled at her brother and sisters. They looked so content and peaceful in their pairings. It warmed her heart to see them so. While she was envious, they more than deserved it. They all did their best to be the best individuals they could be, all had a sound moral code, and were usually level headed. They had all faced hardship in their own right. They deserved a life of comfort and happiness. Before the princess could get too secure, Princes Aegon turned to the nephew on his right. Her heart pounded as she watched.

“You do know how the act is done. I assume?” Aegon continued his jeers at his not so silent volume, “At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that.”

“Let it be, cousin.” Baela warned.

“You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed.” Jacaerys pushed out his chest protectively.

Aegon giggled as he sat back in his chair. One of the servants refilled his goblet. Although they probably should not have. The King regained the table’s attention with the click of his walking stick upon the floor. After a few rings of his gavel, he slowly but surely rose from his chair. His knees shook beneath his weight. Just like in the Throne Room, he relied heavy upon his walking cane to keep him upright. He gave each person sitting a look of a thousand emotions before gathering his breath.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to these faces around the table.” The King began, “The faces most dear to me in all the world. You’ve grown so distant from each other in the years passed.”

He groaned with labored breaths as he reached up to unbuckle the clasp on his golden mask. Its powerful THUNK thundered throughout the Small Council chambers. The sound made the princess wince. Her royal uncle was missing both an eye and a piece of his cheek. Certainly not what she had expected to lay beneath his mask. Although she was not sure what she thought had lay beneath before. It was hard to imagine anything else after she studied him as he stood there. He almost looked like a skeleton with skin stretched over the bones. The edges of the hole in his cheek resembled the sores that littered his skin. Part of her wondered if the sores would all eventually progress to that state. Is that what had happened to his eye? She tried her best to focus on the one that remained and not the dark socket as he looked around at each person once more.

“My old face is no longer a handsome one. If it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a King, but your father, your brother, your husband, your cousin, your uncle, and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.”

The thought saddened her. Though it was always inevitable, she hoped his passing would never happen. So much of what she knew would change. She could not bare to imagine it. Rhaenyra would make a wonderful queen, that much she was certain. But the rest was enough to keep her up at night. Would Ser Otto riot after Rhaenyra did not name him Hand of the Queen? What would happen to Alicent? Would Princes Aegon and Aemond live in the castle forever? Would Rhaenyra allow it?

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances! If not for the sake of the Crown, than for the sake of this old man. Who loves you all. So dearly.”

He took a deep breath and rose his goblet of wine into the air. In his hands, it looked as heavy as a full carafe. “Which is why — despite the pushback at negotiations this morning — I have decided to officially tie the two halves of my family together. Once and for all. My second son, Prince Aemond, and my darling niece, Princess Maetilda, shall wed in three moons time. It is my hope that they shall have a long and fruitful marriage. May it inspire us all to cease the plotting and petty insults, and love each other as family should.”

He was haggard from his own words as he lowered himself to the table. Yet the echo from each syllable still rang about the room. Their power could be felt within the air. The entire table briefly froze. The princess-by-title’s eyes instinctually darted towards her father. His jaw was set. A thousand flames burned behind his eyes. Smoke poured from his ears. He was furious, but he was not surprised. Perhaps she had not heard His Grace clearly. But as she replayed the words in her mind she felt as if she would lose her meals from the day all over the table. Her ears rang like her head was inside a bell. Without any sort of warning her fate had been sealed. She would no longer be a spinster, but a second son’s wife. He would take charge of her castle and all of the banners swore to it. On her wedding night, both she and her keep would be conquered. The King had declared it so. It had been so many years since she had known her cousin; perhaps Aemond would be an honorable husband. He was always nice to her and his older sister in their youth. But he no longer radiated kindness and warmth. He was a man in his head, just as her father. He was calculating and intimidating. That’s what he was attempting to do with his stare. He was studying her and plotting. Perhaps he had known of the King’s plans since before their arrival to King’s Landing. With every interaction, he had more or less been sizing her up. How had she not seen it all coming? What else did he know that she hadn’t? Abruptly taking her goblet into her hand, the princess Rhaenyra swiftly stood. The legs of her chair groaned against the floor behind her.

“I wish to offer my congratulations to my brother and my stepdaughter. May you have a peaceful and happy matrimony. I could not think of a better match for the both of you. I am pleased that our family shall be reunited once more,” She cleared her through, clearly uncomfortable with her own words before she continued, “I would also like to raise my cup to her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. For that, she has my gratitude. And my apology.”

Silence screamed through the dining hall as the Realm’s Delight took her seat once again. Maetilda watched the line of adults with careful eyes. The Queen stared at her childhood friend with glazed eyes. Alicent glanced at her own goblet, she swayed in her chair as if she were possessed. The words were a shock, but clearly inspired by the King’s speech. He wanted love and unity amongst his family. So he should have it. Alicent glanced about the table in hesitation before she, too, opened her mouth.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess,” Her first sentence was whispered, but her next words were far more confident, “My love and well wishes to the new betrothed. All of the newly betrothed. It warms my heart to see the new generation of my husband’s dynasty blossom with such honor, pride, and strength. And to my husband’s first daughter… We are both mothers and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.”

The Queen’s chair dragged behind her as she too stood with her goblet raised, “I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine Queen, and an even finer grandmother to our future shared grandchildren. Congratulations, once again, to everyone.”

Alicent sat in her chair with a thud, scooting it back in. Starting with the King, all around the table drank from their goblets in toast. Maetilda looked at her family with wide eyes. As if they had not just heard the same words as she. They each sipped from the rims of their cups with the normalcy of any other dinner, albeit with much less tension sitting in their shoulders. Jace and Luke held back smiles as they exchanged looks from behind the rims of their cups. Baela and Rhaena each sipped politely. Ser Otto closed his owlish eyes as he joined in. Even her father choked back the wine from his own goblet in an attempt to drown out any outward protests. Her eyes moved about the table until they landed on her betrothed. She was not surprised to find his eye back on her again. The bright lilac held an air of confidence. He idly gripped the stem of his goblet in a pinch of his long fingers. She tried to hold back her look of pure shock and fear. It was the worst time for her to show any signs of weakness. She was a dragon, and she was to prove it. From Aemond’s end of the table, his older brother stirred. Prince Aegon dramatically finished the last of his wine and dropped the goblet onto the table. Almost like an actor in a theater show, he looked to his nephew on his right and formulated his next move forward. Maetilda could see the cogs turn in his head. The King’s eldest son swayed away onto his feet before he sauntered over to the wine carafe that sat in front of Baela. A smug smirk sat behind a mask of innocence. He was far more put together than the other night in the corridors when he was drunkenly running from the Cargyll twins. The lack of vomit down his front actually made him a bit intimidating. Like a wild animal who’s next move you could not predict.

In one fluid movement, Aegon reached for the golden carafe and leaned into her sister’s ear before whispering, “I, umm, I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

As the oldest prince finished his sentence, Jacaerys slammed his fist onto the dinner table, using the momentum to push him to his feet. Maetilda’s breath hitched in her chest, over aware of everything but not completely comprehending anything going on around her. Her oldest younger brother turned to Aegon, ready to attack. His features were shriveled around his scrunched nose. His chest rose and fell rapidly with fists clenched at his sides.

“Jace,” Princess Rhaenyra whispered, breaking the tension.

He cleared his throat, seemingly to cover up any insults he had remaining for his uncle. It was clear that Rhaenyra’s camp, including Maetilda, were to be taking the high road with the Hightowers no matter what. But as the princess-by-title watched Jacaerys linger, Aemond rose to his feet menacingly. The princess’s neck snapped over to her cousin. The way he stood, he loomed like a threat over their entire party. Much taller than anyone there, including her father. The mere sight of him would have sent a shiver down her spine even if she hadn’t already seen what damage he could do with a sword. She wondered how many knights and guards it would take to subdue him. Despite the guilt she felt for thinking so, she was relieved his stare was locked on Jace and not her. Yet the relief did not do much to make her feel better. Rather she was waiting for the dragon to blow his fire. She looked back and forth between her brother and her cousin in fear of what would happen next. Coming up with his excuse to stand on the spot, Jace grabbed his goblet to make his own toast.

He gave Aegon’s shoulder an awkward teasing punch and took a deep breath before he began, “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles. Both present and future. Prince Aemond… May you treat my sister with honor.”

“To you as well,” Aegon muttered.

Both Aemond and Jace slowly returned to their seats as the table drank from their goblets in toast again. All except for Helaena. She whispered what sounded like a poem or perhaps a hymn to herself as she played with her hands in her lap. Maetilda strained to hear what she said. The princess-by-title wondered if it had anything to do with what the King’s second daughter had said beneath the Weirwood Tree. Or if it were something entirely different. The side of Maetilda’s face began to burn with the all too familiar feeling as she detected a certain someone’s watch return to her. It was a different itch than that of her knights and the other guards. It was the difference between the hot sun warming one’s skin and a hot iron melting it. She wanted to wince and scream and jump away from the feeling, she wanted her pain to cease. Yet there was nothing she could do, utterly powerless. She had three knights sworn to protect her, yet she felt nothing but weak and helpless. He made her feel like that. He watched her carefully, like one watches over mindless sheep. It was like he was ready for anything, to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Like an overexcited guard dog, alert and hungry. And somehow, his exterior spoke nothing but composure and indifference. He looked calm and cool and collected. Not a hair or thread out of place. He confused her to no end. Was he the same man she spoke to in the Godswood? Who had escorted her to the training yards? Certainly not.

The King’s walking cane gavel pulled Maetilda out of her thoughts, “Well done, my boy.”

“I would like to toast Baela, Rhaena, and Maetilda,” Helaena announced as she too rose to her feet. She looked a bit hesitant in her place, but Maetilda only stared back with shock and curiosity, “You’ll all be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

The princess-by-title heard her father laugh a genuine laugh, but it almost sounded underwater as her ears began to ring again. She would be married soon. In three moons time. She would be married to a man that her father considered to be a Hightower spawn, her own cousin. How would her father ever look at her again? What would he do to level the playing field? The King had declared it so, yet the very thought of any consequences made her feel sick. While the table kept reiterating their praise, the words sounded like lies. Like an elaborate joke. In which case, her father’s laughter would be appropriate. They were all crafting some sort of practical joke that she would be the butt of. It would all unravel itself soon. It had to. She could not fathom otherwise. The princess felt like she was floating out of her chair. Like her spirit left the shell of her body to sit at the table as she escaped in the only way she knew how. She could have been one with the chandeliers. If the Gods favored her, they would have opened up the skies and welcomed her home. At least she would not so easily be called a spinster by the rest of Court with a husband on her arm. No matter who he was. Although words were only words. Without a husband, she would have something that most ladies did not — an ancient seat and her own inheritance. The names and insults could not take that away.

“Good,” Alicent whispered to Helaena in praise.

“Let us have some music!” The King declared.

The instruments sounded immediately. They served as a tune to her downward spiral. The melody was light and joyous. Notes in the key of C Major. The lutes, the pipes, the dulcimers. Normally, she would smile and sway in her chair. She would hum the lyrics to the songs and tap her foot beneath the table. Instead, she sat still and rigid. The music was a stark contrast to what lurked inside her mind, where she questioned everything she had once known. Had she truly wished to stay a spinster? Part of her screamed yes. A prospect that utterly terrified her. Becoming engaged had seemed to be everything she had ever wanted. Yet being promised to Aemond felt like a prison sentence, a ball-and-chain. He had stole Baela’s dragon and nearly bashed her brothers’ heads in with a rock. He openly mocked Rhaenyra and her children, alongside his mother. For a majority of her life, he was an enemy to her. Aligned with the wrong side. It felt wrong to then align herself with him, sacrilegious even. But it was not her choice, it was never her choice to be had. She would marry him regardless of whether she wanted to or not. The sound of chair scooting legs across the ground pulled her back into her body for a brief moment. It was Jacaerys’s chair. He leaned over and whispered words to his intended before he turned to his left. The entire table watched him approach his aunt with a sincere smile and politely ask her to dance. Maetilda did not realize she had smiled until she felt the pinch in her cheeks. Jacaerys and Helaena paced over away from the table and began to leisurely dance. Conversation began to sprinkle through the table. More smiles and laughter. A new air of relief breezed through them. As if the two representatives from the two different factions dancing together had made a bridge of peace. For all except her and her father. Prince Daemon tried to act normal, jovial even, but failed miserably as he nursed his cups almost like Aegon. Maetilda watched the table out of her peripheral vision as her gaze fell to the table itself. She still did not feel like her whole self, like she could get washed away by a river at any moment. But before the water could completely pull her under, there was a light tap on her shoulder. When she turned, her heart stopped. Above her stood Aemond. He lightly smiled down at her with his hand held out for her to take.

“Our siblings look as though they are in need of company. Princess Maetilda, may I have this dance?”

No thoughts had processed through her mind before she had nodded her head and took his head. Wordlessly and as stiff as boards, Aemond lead the two over to the space near Jacaerys and Helaena. Her cousin grinned to her midstep as she noticed their company. For the first time since they had started dancing, Jacaerys tripped over his feet. Being the graceful prince that he was, he had managed to recover relatively smoothly. He tried to hide the furrow of his brow, but Maetilda noticed the twitch nonetheless. The band soon ended their first song and started up another. The Maids that Bloom in Spring. Another one in C Major. Just as she had been trained for most of her life, she rose her arms up to meet his. Her left hand rested on his bicep while her right was soon cradled in his left. A lump grew in her throat as they started the first steps of the dance. A man always starts off on his right foot; Maetilda took the first step with her left to mirror him. They parallel chasséd in the shape of a seven pointed star before breaking away to perform the next 14-counts. This was the first time Maetilda stumbled. Forgetting to kick the skirt of her dress out before sidestepping, the yank on her gown would have pulled her directly onto her face had she not caught herself. In her ears, she could already hear the later rumors of how clumsy all of Rhaenyra’s children were. She was only roped in as one of her children whenever it was convenient for whoever was talking.

Trying to salvage whatever dignity she had left, she grabbed her skirts and lifted them just high enough to be out of the way so that she could finish out the more complicated footwork section. In doing so, she abandoned the arm movements, which were supposed to match up with Aemond’s. She glanced over at him in panic. His face was flat and stoic as he was already watching her. Although there was something in his eyes that gave her encouragement. She wondered if he had seen her near-crash. Regardless, he had certainly heard it, which was embarrassing enough. She could still barely wrap her mind around what was happening, and a part of her still felt like it was stuck in the chandeliers. As the next counts required the two of them to rejoin hands, she took a deep breath and dropped her skirts. Aemond took more care with his footing as they made another seven pointed star. His smell mixed into the air she breathed. Oud, sandalwood, and red clay. She wondered if she smelled just as strong, just as dumbfounding. Before she was quite ready, there was another turn. Aemond released her right hand as he spun her with her left. She had made it halfway through the turn before she faltered again, catching another corner of her dress under her shoe. Before she could stumble very hard, there was a hand on her waist to steady her. Maetilda cursed under her breath as she came face to face with Aemond again. There was a very light smile on his face now. It wasn’t mean or necessarily teasing. However, she would not look at him for long before the dance would require for her and Helaena to both spin and switch places.

The princess-by-title gritted her teeth before she kicked out her skirts and dove into the spin with gusto. With the dress kicked out before the spin, the skirts caught the air and glided through it gracefully. Much to her delight, she executed a flawless turn. As smooth as water on a windless day. Although as the power of her spinning skirts only grew, she struggled to stop herself due to the weight of all the fabric. Jacaerys caught her easily. Maetilda smiled up at her longtime practice partner, basking in the brief moment of his familiarity. She and her step brother performed the next turn in the choreography with relative ease. The princess remained cautious of her skirts and managed to avoid them. Jacaerys simply nudged them out of his way with his foot. Even as she and Helaena reversed their earlier movements by spinning and switching partners again, the skirts continued to cooperate. A sense of relief washed over her as she managed to make it back to Aemond without shaming herself. It was apparent that she had little faith in her capabilities, yet she did it anyway. The rest of the dance would only be more of the same until the big finish. She actually felt she could do it as long as she remained mindful. In the next section, the newly betrothed couple circled each other as their arms mimicked the wings of dragons. Diligently, the princess kicked her skirts out before each step. More spins followed more seven pointed stars. The dance continued on through the song. Their movements mimicked that of spring flowers with occasional flight of a dragon. It was an older dance that they had all started learning as children. She had always pictured her partner as a tall and brooding lord. Perhaps a Stark, a Baratheon, a Lannister, or a Tyrell. Maybe even one from Dorne. He would’ve come from money and had a castle in his own right if her father had anything to do with it. The more afraid of him the better. Yet she always wanted one who was the opposite. She would fantasize about him as the perfect portrait of a brave knight, afraid of nothing. He would have been fearless in his defense of her, but also know when to be gentle. He would have been a man who appreciated art. His skill in combat and with weapons would have provided him elegance in dance. He would have had hobbies like poetry or drawing, botany or animals. Anything that would allude to his patience and empathy. He would compliment her because he meant it and not because he wanted something from her. He would seek out her opinions and knowledge; he would honor her word. His presence would bring her both relief and ease. All that time she had spent thinking, yet she never thought he would be Aemond. Not even for a brief moment. Next to Aegon, he would have been the very last on her list of options. Facing him as a reality, she felt numb. Was she happy with the match? Sad or scared? She could not tell. Not in his face at least.

The emotions in the music swelled, encouraging quicker and stronger movements. Arms opened up like flowers before flapping away like dragon wings. The princess took deeper breaths as she felt herself tire. Yet there was one last lift she would have to power through still looming overhead. In the next section, the couple joined hands again before repeating many of the same steps from earlier — even switching partners back and forth once more. The couple seemed to ease as they fell into rhythm, and Maetilda mastered the perfect skirt-kicking technique. As the two carried on, the princess found herself wondering if her future would not be so awful. Perhaps the prince would make a suitable match. At the very least, they would be able to dance at their wedding feasts. The thought of such feasts in their favor caused a wave of nausea to roll up her throat. Not about to suffer the humiliation of getting sick at dinner, she started breathing through her nose in an attempt to shove it back down. Dramatically, the couple took seven paces away from each other before turning back around along with the dulcimer feature. As the instrument took to its solo, the choreography required the princess to symbolize the spring maiden. A low curtsy — the lower, the better. Another 7-counts of modest twirls. Then in time with the beat, Maetilda and Aemond paced toward the inside of the gap. As they met in the middle, the prince gripped his betrothed’s waist firmly and lifted her straight into the air with ease. Eliciting a shocked gasp from the princess. She used her arms to mimic a flower in the sun as she kept the rest of her body pin straight. Her tent of a skirt nearly swallowed him, and certainly obscured the entirety of his vision as he spun them in a slow circle. Whenever she had practiced the dance with Jacaerys in the past, his arms had always shook. But Aemond’s never once did. Not even as he slowly lowered her to the ground. A small smile of relief graced her face as soon as she was balanced on her feet once more. He had made it look effortless, like the extended hold was no more than a fly on his arm. Despite the numbness in her person, she could feel her heart flutter. Suddenly, she was more nervous than she ever had been that entire evening. The next steps to the choreography escaped her memory; her entire mind went blank. The chandeliers cursed in disappointment as they watched her. With his right hand, Aemond guided her into the next turn. Luckily, the next moves were partner movements. She allowed him to lead her, and took her first step after his. Forgetting to kick out her skirt, Maetilda slipped and did not catch herself. Instead, she crashed forward. Her head crashed hard into Aemond’s chest. He was quick to steady her with his own arms, lifting her back onto her feet. She felt her face heat to a temperature far hotter than it ever had before. It was absolutely inflamed. Without another thought, the princess dropped her dancing stance and curtsied to her partner.

“Pardon me, Prince Aemond. I must go sit back down.” She quickly muttered, not waiting to be excused before turning to do exactly as she said.

The pressure of watching eyes cut at her skin as she turned back toward the table. Just as before, she avoided all of them. Her chair was colder when she returned to it. The sound of her father’s stifled laughter was ever present. Pointedly, the princess grabbed the nearest carafe and topped off her goblet. She threw its contents back. Chugging the entire thing. Without hesitation, she filled her goblet again. No time was wasted before she was nursing her seconds. Only after she had taken a few more gulps did she have the courage to let her eyes search for her betrothed. Aemond had also returned to his chair and drank generously from his cup. For once, he was not looking at her. He looked anywhere but. An action that twisted her insides more than she thought it could. She had embarrassed herself more than she thought. After she finished her second serving of wine and had helped herself to a third, Maetilda took the chance to glance about the table. Alicent and Rhaenyra were smiling and chatting. Lucerys was practically lecturing his newly intended with the rate at which he spoke to her. His cheeks were pink with wine, and he swayed in his seat as he tried to sit upright. Rhaenyra had never allowed him to drink much wine at Dragonstone. He clearly had taken advantage of her relaxed watch over him. On the other end of the table, Aegon was drinking even more as he avoided the sight of his nephew and wife. Ser Otto attempted to engage his grandson in conversation, but he was simply ignored. Yet Ser Otto didn’t seem all too offended… or surprised.

A sharp cry left the middle chair on the Northern side of the table. After the cry came whimpers and moans, it was the sound of someone in deep pain. With the flick of the Queen’s wrist, the guards were lifting the ornate chair again and carrying it out of the chambers. All the while, sounds of helpless pain poured out of the King’s mouth. As the noises traveled down the table, each seated person turned to face him. To watch him shake and shiver as he was carried away. Jacaerys and Helaena moved out of the way to allow them to pass. Perhaps in an attempt to distract them all, the servants brought out the next course of dinner. The click of the doors closing behind him was cleverly disguised by the various clunks of large dishes being laid out on the table. Quail, shepherd’s pie, mushroom pasties, haddock in saffron sauce, and a fresh large hog with an apple in its mouth. Maetilda watched her younger brother as his eyes took in their newest course. He licked his lips until he spotted the hog. As soon as he saw it, his eyes darted to Aemond — who met his nephew’s gaze as if already anticipating what the boy had been thinking. The heir to Driftmark giggled under his breath. A smirk danced across his lips as he seemed to have a silent conversation with his uncle. A layered conversation, filled to the brim with a lifetime’s worth of history. Their faces twisted with emotion as the unspoken words passed between them. Lucerys wore a playful smirk. One that she certainly would have smacked him for had it been directed toward her. Aemond’s bore rage, resentment, and vindictivity. The passion only boiled and grew. His nose scrunched and top lip curled up to show his teeth like a growling dog. Maetilda felt as if someone had thrown a boulder into the lake inside her stomach. Aemond slammed his fist aggressively onto the table as he shot out from his chair. With his other hand, he extended his goblet out in front of him.

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews. Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise — hm — and strong.” He spoke proudly.

“Aemond.” The Queen warned.

“Come,” The King’s second son smirked as he rose his goblet up even higher, “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace spat out in defense from his place still on the dance floor.

“Why?” Aemond pressed further, “‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

The two moved in slow motion. Jace angrily marched toward Aemond, who confidently sauntered over to meet him. Goblet still held up in toast. The punch from Jace was quick. It landed clean across Aemond’s jaw. Yet the snap of his head served as the only indication that it had happened. Aemond hardly even flinched. His feet remained firmly planted. Not a drop of wine had spilled out from his cup. The princess gasped as Lucerys smacked the table. He launched away from the feast only to be intercepted by Aegon, who clotheslined him before throwing his entire torso onto the table. The older prince held him down firmly, one hand on Lucerys’s head.

“Jace!”Rhaenyra gasped, lagging behind the action as it moved so quickly.

“That is enough!” Alicent attempted.

The princess-by-title knew she had to do something, anything. Before a single thought had processed through her mind, Maetilda sprung to her feet and grabbed the closest freshly topped wine carafe. She did not so much as blink before she had launched its contents at the King’s eldest son. It was enough to stun Aegon into releasing his grip, yet the princess was not so confident he was done. Without so much as blinking, she launched the carafe itself at his head. Despite his normally slowed reactions from the amount of drink in his belly, Aegon ducked before the solid gold could hit him. The clank, skid, and screech across the floor stung her ear drums. All she saw was Aegon and the color red as she marched forward to personally confront him, pulling her skirts up and out of her way. Before she could do so much as take three steps, two white-armored white-cloaked guards had seized her by the arms. She fought desperately against them, but their combined strength was overbearing. Her knight stood back with his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, and calmly attempted to convince the men to release her to him. The kingsguard only told him that there would be deadly consequences if he attempted to interfere with their orders. With their rough and assertive hands, they clamped down on her shoulders and held her hands behind her back. Desperation in every word and movement, the princess called out to Ser Gunthor. Unable to release her without attacking the guards, he could only pace around them like a caged animal waiting to pounce. Maetilda thrashed against her restraints to no avail. She felt helpless. The walls closed in on her as her breathing quickened. Her eyes shot about the room wildly. Despite the aggression he carried himself with, the sworn knight called back words of comfort in an attempt to soothe the princess’s anxieties. Yet the hall only succumbed to more chaos. With a single hand, Aemond shoved Jacaerys onto the ground. As if the brunette were no more than a little boy. The Velaryon prince groaned angrily as he stood, only to be seized by white cloaks as well. Aemond laughed in triumph before taking a sip of his unharmed drink. The Queen was at her second son’s heel in an instant. Jacaerys was yanked over until he fell in line with his other siblings. Each of them springing to try and free themselves. Jace and Luke growled and grunted as they wrestled against the guards. From between the two of them, Maetilda could hear nothing else. The Queen gave her second son a pleading look as she spoke words the princess could not hear. Alicent’s mouth moved frantically, losing all sense of her stiff upper lip.

Aemond turned annoyed from his mother as he ripped his hand out of hers, “Though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

Ignited by another wave of fury, Jacaerys wiggled free from his guards and immediately darted toward his uncle. Not at all phased by the return of a challenge, Aemond pivoted to face him head on. The boys charged at each other in a foot-joust without lances. Before the two could gain too much momentum, Prince Daemon shot into the middle of them. Maetilda’s entire body tensed. She watched his movements carefully. Like a mouse in hiding would watch a hawk soaring up above. Her own guards loosened their grips as they turned to assess the situation. She immediately took the opportunity to slip from their grasp and launch herself toward her sworn knight. The bronze of his armor was cold to the touch, but the presence of it was more than welcoming as his arms shoved her body behind him. Her guards scrambled to recapture her.

“Wait, wait!” Her father’s voice cut through the chaos like a master-at-arms’ in a training yard.

The room froze at once. All waiting with baited breath to see what moves the Rogue Prince would take next. He had already killed a man, only a day prior. A man that committed treason, but had not yet been sentenced for his crimes. It did not sit well in the princess’s gut. Her father seemed too proud of himself. He had ended a life just the day before, and yet he smirked as he glanced back and forth between his nephew and his eldest stepson. He seemed to spend more time calculating his next moves in that moment than he ever had in the throne room prior to swinging his sword against Lord Corlys’s nephew. The princess-by-title chewed on the inside of her cheek and held onto her sworn knight with a death grip as she watched her father. First, he set his sights on Jace, gifting his stepson a firm wordless nod. But then he turned. Maetilda felt her heart drop into her stomach as her father began taking prideful steps toward Aemond.

“Go to your quarters. All of you go. Now.” Rhaenyra commanded the lot of them as always.

Maetilda stayed firm in her place, trying to hide the shaking in her body from behind her knight. Her eyes never wavered from her father as he came to a stop about a dueling’s distance away from her betrothed. Daemon sighed as if the whole situation was below him. Even from behind his back, she could tell that her father was staring down at Aemond from behind an upturned chin. The King’s second son was the first to break eye contact. He looked over her father’s shoulders and directly at her. Aemond held her gaze for a thunderously silent pause. Maetilda was too shell shocked to look away.

“Hm,” Without another word, he sauntered out of the hall.

As he passed her, the prince sent a single curt nod. A respectable enough farwell. Much like with the King, the doors clicked loudly closed behind him. The princess nearly breathed a sigh of relief before she caught the look on her father’s face.

A/N: AAAHHH!! I knew if I was going to do another scene from the show, that I had to put more of a twist on it. At the end of the day, Maetilda is not gonna let her brothers brawl without her. No one gets to pin Luke to the table on her watch. Wanted to post this diddy so we weren’t left on the note of the last chapter for too long. I’m going to try to write some more so I can post a few chapters at a time. Idk I’m still trying to find the right groove/writing schedule.

Thank you to @faesspace @imsoshygirl @aemondswifeisme @wxb-slingrr for your wonderful comments. As I have been returning to writing, I love to see the different reactions. Literally giggling and kicking my feet. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! I’m gonna figure out how to reply with this blog and then we’ll hopefully get some actual discourse going 😂 Big big big thank you to everyone reading in general!

TAGLIST: @snh96 @marvelescvpe

xoxo messy

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter nine: new leather boots

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 3819

The next morning had been like harsh laughter spitting in her face. Not long after the sun had entered the sky, clouds had rolled in from nowhere. Thunder cracked and rain poured down heavily from the skies. From the moment she had woken up, all through the breaking of her fast inside her chambers — just as she had taken her meal the evening before. The rain never so much as lessened. The day had been dreary from its very start. Oddly enough, such weather had always been the princess’s favorite. She loved the cool mist that chilled her hot skin and the cover of clouds that blocked out the sun. Life slowed down, creatures sought dry shelter. She felt like she could relax, like nothing debaucherous would seek her out while the sky cried. It was after the storm when she would worry. That morning’s rain had been different. It only brought bad news, as if the Gods themselves did not christen their trip. The three sisters would not go riding that day. While their father would encourage it, Princess Rhaenys would never allow them to do so in such conditions. Much like with their family dinner that evening, there would be no argument. Like she had decided to do with dinner the night before, the princess quietly finished her meal in solitude. She watched the rain out the window and stewed. All through the night, she tossed and turned, not getting a lick of sleep. She had even slept with one of her pillows on top of her head to try and block out any distractions. Yet nothing was more distracting than the fear and anticipation that overcame her with the very thought of seeing her father again. Hearing of the men he had slain had been entirely different from seeing him kill a man before her eyes. He had done so with no hesitation prior and no regret after. He did not even break a sweat. It was normal to him. In fact, he took pride in it. Alone in her chambers, she could not help but imagine the body on the floor to be her own. The picture in her mind tortured her. She hoped with all her heart that he would not truly be capable of such an atrocity. But she could not change what had already been done.

After eating, her handmaids came to ready her. They were very focused that morning, starting with a full body exfoliation by using a special technique from Volantis. Maetilda had immediately recognized the smell of the scrub. Noarysa guided Adelyn as the younger diligently followed instruction. Together, they moved onto the princess’s hair. Adelyn threw in helpful tips to Noarysa as they braided the long silver honey locks into the cascading updo they had come accustomed to styling since their first day. It was a style that the princess found herself almost emotionally attached to. Even if she had originally chosen to style it in such a manner to subconsciously flatter the Queen. Normally, she would wear her hair in Valyrian braids. Her handmaids at Dragonstone would spend an entire morning working her hair into intricate weaved styles. They would always comment on how fun her hair was to work with. It was long and full and had been cared for with the most expensive oils and potions money could buy for the entirety of her life. Many would comment how it resembled her grandmother Princess Alyssa’s hair in curl, texture, and bounce. It was the one thing that Maetilda had always liked about herself. Whenever she had ever felt less than her sisters because everyone around them had always seemed to love them more than her, she would always tell herself that her grandmother would have loved her if the woman were alive. They misted her face with rose water before dressing her only in her undergown and stays. It was late in the morning, yet they did not move to dress her in any gowns. Instead they slipped a big slate blue and dusty jade quilted housecoat over her shoulders. One that she had never seen before. The princess looked at Noarysa and Adelyn in confusion.

“Princess Rhaenyra should be here soon with a dressmaker. My husband and another shoemaker in town are coming to measure for shoes.” Noarysa informed.

“New gowns and new shoes?” Maetilda asked suspiciously.

“I knew of the shoes last night, the dressmaker was sent for after the Princess and your father had breakfast with the King and Queen this morning.” The handmaid continued.

Information. Without any bribe. She had either made a new friend or owed a new debt. Regardless, she bowed her head in gratitude, “Thank you, Noarysa. I am excited to finally meet this husband I have heard so much about.”

“Your family has honored mine greatly, Princess. Thank you.”

“If your husband does well, I shall be ordering more and telling everyone else I know.”

“T-T-That would be wonderful. Thank you.”

“Fine work deserves to be finely compensated for. Adelyn, if there is anything I may do for you. I would love to extend my gratitude for the wonderful styling you have continued to do with my hair.”

The blonde smiled and she glanced at the floor, but she did not move to ask for anything. Instead she twiddled her thumbs and shifted her weight back and forth. Before anything else could be said, there was a knock at the door. Ser Eddrin stepped in and announced Princess Rhaenyra and the tradesmen. Maetilda watched her handmaid beam at her husband proudly as he tried his best to hide his blush under her gaze, his name was Syresso Stassys. The shoemaker was an older man, Dennas Shoer, and the dressmaker was a woman around Rhaenyra’s age, Josey Flowers. They all bowed to her with big grins, while Rhaenyra radiated anxiety. The future Queen refused to meet her stepdaughter’s eye. Immediately, the younger princess knew that she was in trouble. Her father was angry with her and she could tell by her stepmother’s demeanor. It made the hair on her arms and neck stand on edge.

“Good morning, everyone.” Maetilda greeted unsurely, “Thank you for braving the rains to come here.”

“Our pleasure, Princess.” Dennas assured.

“Let me get you a chair so we may begin.” Syresso grinned.

Soon, a chair was placed behind her so she could sit down without so much as taking another step. Noarysa began to massage her shoulders while the shoemaker grabbed a stool for her foot. The leathersmith pulled out a tape measure, charcoal, and parchment. As if they were old friends, Dennas and Syresso spoke numbers and units of measurement and construction techniques back and forth to each other like it were their own language. All the while, Adelyn poured Princess Rhaenyra a goblet of Maetilda’s tea from that morning. The Realm’s Delight accepted it and continued to ignore her step daughter.

“Stepmother, I must say. I am surprised and pleased you remembered what I had told you of my handmaid’s husband. Is there a reason father is suddenly having new things made for me?” Maetilda cautiously poked.

Rhaenyra’s shoulders stiffened before she finally turned to face the younger princess, “You certainly needed new riding boots, new ballroom shoes. You will be in need of new formal wear as well.”

“Formal wear?”

“Yes, your stepbrothers’ weddings and other affairs.”

The knife twisted in her gut again. Of course. All of her siblings were being wed off except for her. All of their futures and fates luxuriously secured except for hers. The younger princess tried to remain composed, “Are they all to wed soon?”

“Lucerys and Rhaena will wed first. Sooner if Corlys passes as expected.” Rhaenyra spoke gravely.

Maetilda nodded, “May the Gods grant him good health.”

“Yes, they have favored him thus far.”

After the shoemaker and leathersmith finished with their measurements, they bowed and collected their things. The princess was allowed to take her foot off the stool and the men exchanged information with the dressmaker in order to assure seamless collaboration between the garments. Syresso smiled to Noarysa as the two men said their goodbyes and left. The dressmaker remained. She had a satchel full of charcoals, parchment, swatches of fabric and more. The handmaids removed her housecoat, leaving her in her undergown and stays. She was instructed to stand on the stool. Each handmaid held one of her hands to help keep her stable.

“It is an honor to be making dresses for you, Princess. As I have said, my name is Josey Flowers. I have been making dresses for ladies at High Garden since I was a little girl. I hope you will enjoy what I create for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Flowers.”

“To start, you are a soft autumn. I shall stick with fabrics within those shades.” The woman scribbled words with her charcoals onto the parchment, “And you have quite beautiful shoulders and collarbones.”

The princess raised her eyebrow at the woman’s words. She did not expect such blunt compliments or descriptions of her body.

“I want to showcase that with some flattering necklines,” She began to sketch out a few different gowns, “The third one will be the most captivating with a wide boat neck. Perhaps off-the-shoulder, although that would be a bit scandalous for the Sept.”

“Do not be afraid to be scandalous, Miss Flowers. I would like to see Queen Alicent squirm,” Rhaenyra interjected.

“Off-the-shoulder it is. It shall be big and have a long train too.” Josey smiled smugly.

“I have had big gowns, but I don’t think I have ever had a gown with much of a train before.” Maetilda smiled.

“I will make it your most special gown, I assure you.” The dressmaker’s grin only grew, “What color are you thinking, your Grace? Red, ivory, perhaps bronze for her mother’s house?”

Rhaenyra answered quickly, “Make it black. Large red statements, bronze detailing.”

“Forgive the pushback, Princess. Black will not be her most flattering color.”

“While I trust and appreciate your knowledge, it must be black.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

“I like it when my dresses are not too tight on my arms.” Maetilda perked up.

“How about the bust?” Josey inquired.

“Yes, it must be.” Rhaenyra answered, looking away.

Knots tied within the younger princess’s stomach. She had never seen her stepmother speak in such a way. Even when her father was mad. He must have been livid beyond reason. As soon as the dressmaker finished her measurements, she was permitted to leave. She curtsied with a lilted grin.

“Thank you again for the opportunity.”

The door clicked loudly behind her. Rhaenyra stood at her stepdaughter’s window with the goblet in hand. She sipped at it again before once again allowing herself to glance at Maetilda, “I shall see you at dinner tonight. Look your best.”

The future Queen left without sparing her another glance. The door clicking loudly behind her. The handmaids helped Maetilda down from the stool as they began to ready her for the day. She was tied into a soft coral dress, waist pocket secured underneath. The satin dress had a square neck and leg of mutton sleeves. She slipped on simple bronze and carnelian rings and necklaces. She reimagined her stepmother’s actions and movements over and over again in her head. Rhaenyra’s behavior had been downright unsettling. It had to have been Vaemond’s murder or the state of the King. Her stress wore on her face and shoulders. It was worrying to witness. Especially while the future Queen was expecting. After the princess-by-title was dressed, her handmaids left with a bow. Maetilda had been alone once again.

The rain continued to pour from the sky. In her solitude, the princess moved the chair she had gotten her feet measured in over to her balcony door. As she sat, she opened the doors to allow the humid air in. The wetness from outside misted in as well. Comfortably on her chair, she sat and watched it fall. She wondered if the Gods were sending a message. Such heavy rains after the death of a distinguished knight had to hold some sort of significance. Vaemond had fought alongside her father in the War for The Stepstones. As he said, he had dutifully looked after Driftmark for almost an entire decade as his uncle had continued to wage war at various sea ports. Perhaps the Gods were disagreeing with the King or voicing their discontent with her father. She couldn’t help the suspicion that nestled in the back of her head. Instead she thought of the stones in her waistpocket. She wondered if Ser Gunthor had filled Ser Eddrin in already. Certainly he had. Ser Eddrin would know their meaning and significance far better than either of them. She prayed the knight would have answers for her, but she found herself scared to ask him. It would make the whole scenario all the more real — a mystery person pursuing her through binding spells. In fact, a large part of her wondered if it had been the ghost of her nightmare attempting to bind her to the land she had crashed into. Ever since the Manderly son, not a single lord had gone out of their way to show interest in her. It was not about to start in the middle of the night. Not to mention, how difficult it would’ve been for the suspect to enter her chambers. Nothing added up.

Eventually her afternoon meal was served. Yet it served as no distraction. Shepherd’s pie, more fruits, and breads. All she could think of were the stones and who had put them under her pillow. Her left hand played with them idly in her lap as she ate. Who would truly think such a stunt would work? The leg of mutton sleeves on her gown itched at her underarms. She barely tasted the food as she tried to imagine someone sneaking in from over her balcony. They would have had to climb one of the Keep’s many towers in order to do so. A feat she had long considered impossible, but had increasingly begun to consider. Perhaps with an iron arrow, strong rope, and good aim, the climb would be more manageable. But there seemed to be nothing off about her balcony, no evidence of an iron arrow or other anchor. Surely, it would have made enough noise to wake her. Perhaps a sleeping potion in her knight’s dinner, and her knights were too afraid to admit their mistakes. But she had seen no symptoms. No grogginess, no fog inside the head. She was at a loss. After the servants took away her food, the princess decided to call her knight into her chambers. Ser Eddrin toed inside carefully before shutting the door behind him. The princess offered him a goblet of wine, which he dutifully declined. His eyes were narrow and focused. She could tell he knew why she called for him.

“Do you know anything more than Gunthor, Ser Eddrin?” She inquired bluntly.

He huffed frustratedly, “I know you carrying those damn rocks around with you has only made things worse, Princess. Ser Gunthor informed me last night. Should have gotten some spices, a bit of your hair and blood, and a black candle the minute you found them.”

Panicked by the thought of anything worsening, the princess dropped the stones on the ground and they scattered. The knight dove to the ground to collect them. Her breath quickened with anxiety as she thought about how much harm she had already unknowingly caused. If only she had known more about the magic of her mother’s home.

“Certainly it’s not too late. We can still gather all that!”

“I’ll collect them while you’re at dinner. We can try to unbind you this evening.” He conceded.

“Do you think it is too late?”

“Perhaps not.”

“Thank the Gods. We shall handle this ourselves. I do not want to cause a fuss. We are capable without the Crown, Ser Eddrin.”

“Whoever did this may try again. It was done with intention.”

“How do we find the culprit?”

“How precious of you, daughter, to be carrying out justice. Just as your father would. Perhaps I should be proud of you after all.” His voice was a distinct sneer, sounding from the other side of her chambers.

Her blood ran as cold as the Land of Always Winter. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. She had not heard the chamber doors click. Neither had her knight. They had not heard his footsteps approach or enter. They both jumped with a startle as they turned to see her father. He stood in front of the floor to ceiling tapestry. It depicted a very high tower along the coast that sat atop distinct black rocks. The Hightower of Oldtown of which the Queen got her surname. Despite the towering image behind him, Prince Daemon looked menacing in his place. The princess swallowed the lump in her throat before she spoke.

“Thank you for your service, Ser Eddrin. You may return to your post.”

“Yes, Princess.” He croaked.

His armor squeaked as he stepped. The door creaked before softly clicking closed. All the while, Maetilda and her father held intense eye contact. Her breath shook as she tried to calm her racing heart. Her body itched with anticipation of what would come next. Would she run? Would she stand and take it? Would she cry for help?

“Do you know what you have done?” Daemon spoke lowly.

She tried to hide the shiver that ran down her spine, “I am sor—“

“Save your apologies. They will not change the whispers. You disgraced me in front of Court yesterday. You continue to disgrace me today.”

“I had never seen—“

The slap was hard and quick across her cheek. The force of it threw her to the side. Her entire cheek stung like thousands of needles. She cradled it with her hands as her eyes welled with tears. She felt her bottom lip tremble. She choked back any cries. He would only make it worse if she showed weakness. Targaryens were not weak. Especially not the women. He had drilled it into her from the time she was learning to read and write.

“You’re a thick-skulled little cunt, just like your mother, Maetilda.”

She bit on her lip so hard she could immediately taste the iron. She had drawn blood. She prayed it was not something that would be visible at dinner.

“Ever since you came along, every fat fuck in the kingdom has tried to take that castle from me. Think because you're a damn girl that they can have what’s mine. They look for every fucking excuse.”

Her heart pounded even harder in her chest, not knowing where his rant was leading. She prayed his slap would be the last of it, but his words continued.

“And you make it no fucking better!”

His growl was one sent straight from the Stranger as he grabbed a fist full of her cascading waves. She could not help the yelp of pain that escaped as the sting in her cheek transferred to her scalp. By his fist full of hair, he led her onto her wet balcony. The rain sprinkled their cheeks not quite as strong as it would have been in the morning. Her father tightened the grip on her hair. He forced her to look out at the bay. She could feel him pressed up against her back. The feeling was anything but a comfort. His breaths were shallow in her ear as he barely held back his rage.

“You see all that water? Those crashing waves? How deep it goes down? All sorts of unspeakable, bastardly monsters lurk below. And to think, I almost threw you out there as a babe when we flew dragonback… but I didn’t.” He spat, “I want you to know that.”

The princess nearly gagged as her stomach dropped. All breath escaped her lungs. She could almost see herself being thrown from the balcony already. There was no need to ask herself if he was being truthful, she already knew he was. There would be no reason to lie about such dark thoughts.

“I have shown you nothing but mercy, and you have repaid me with humiliation.” He seethed.

All she could think to do was nod in agreement. Anything to get it to stop, to go inside and crawl under her bed covers. The raindrops did well to disguise the few tears that had escaped. Her entire body trembled. His chest against her back made her skin crawl. She fought the urge to visibly cringe away from him.

“Of course, so pathetic.” He laughed dryly.

“I try my best!” She choked out.

He chuckled harder before shoving her back into her room by her hair. The warmth of the room felt better on her skin than the rain, but she would not be able to relax. With a hard push, she was thrown on the chaise. She scrambled to turn onto her back so that she could see him. His demonic face. Just like the cloaked figure from her nightmares, he loomed over her — effectively paralyzing her. Except at that moment, unlike in her dreams, she could actually move her mouth. She could scream for help if she wanted to. If someone would actually come.

“Please, father. We have dinner soon.”

He glared down at her as he straightened his surcoat. Once he was perfectly manicured again, he scoffed, “Yes, you need time, ugly girl. Shame you don’t favor your sisters.”

“Yes, father. I am cursed to look like you.” The words slipped out as soon as they came to her mind.

“You are a leech.” He spat at her feet before promptly departing, “‘Best watch yourself.”

The door clicked behind him unceremoniously. If she had not already been sat in the chaise, she would have collapsed on the ground. Silent sobs beat through her body like a maid cleaning a rug. Suddenly, she had felt the same as all those insects Helaena would embroider for her — small and insignificant in comparison to any leather boot. All of her suspicions had been confirmed, he was going to hold her hostage forever. She would be known to history as the Spinster of Runestone or the Rogue Prince’s Mad Daughter. They would laugh at her across the Realm as the bards wrote songs of her ignominy. The shame and despair tightened her chest like a manual crank. As she fought to breathe, an odd numbness began to spread throughout her organs. The realization that she was doomed either way, forcing her to resign to defeat. There was no one that could save her from her own father.

A/N: some more toxic daemon to stir the pot, he is not done throwing his tantrums yet. but i promise there will be an outcome to it all.

thank you to @imsoshygirl for your comment!! i’m so glad you like my series, it literally means the world to me.

i would like to apologize to @snh96 i just recently saw that you had commented and asked me to tag you. i will tag you moving forward!! i promise i’m not a boomer, i just haven’t used tumblr in years <3

xoxo messy