The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Sixteen
Rating: Explicit
Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen
Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larysâ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.
Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm
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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen
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Author's Note: And we're back! Thank you all for being so patient with me as I took some time away. I'm honestly glad I did. TL;DR (or read the update in the previous chapter) I lost my job, things were rough. I'm feeling a lot better now and here we are with the final Aegon birthday chapter! As I stated as well, we'll be moving to something closer to a three week posting schedule for the last few chapters of this fic and continue on that posting schedule for the sequel.
PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)
All my eternal love to @vampire-exgirlfriend, whose been my rock. I love you. Please go join her as she finishes up her Aemond fic, They Say I Killed You (Haunt Me Then)!
Warnings: Larys Strong Jumpscare, and MURDER!
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - Flew Like a Moth to You
Aegon's birthday hunt includes some fantastic girl action and some murder! OH! And Some Jacelaena biting. You love to see it.
Floris Baratheon could not sit still, clutching her bow and quiver, peering out the carriage window as they approached the Kingswood. âA-hunting we shall go, a-hunting we shall go-â
âHi-Ho the derry-o, a-hunting we shall go,â Abby sang in turn, the song a familiar one from childhood. The Baratheon girl had been quite annoyed that she could not ride a horse the way the other men did, but with the promise that she would not have to sit with her sister in a carriage, she had been content enough.
Abby sat beside Lythene Ryger, who had been quite speechless at the invite to the carriage. Wylla would have normally been with them, but with her soon to be good-sister, Alys Bracken, coming along, she was off playing chaperone and overly curious and mischievous younger sister to Alys and Harrion. Abby was glad she had the opportunity to do so, for her dear friend was giving up much to stay in the south as her Mistress of Keys instead of returning home to the Karhold.
On the other side of Helaena, Margaery Crane of Red Lake sat. Her lush, light brown hair was braided in a crown around her head, and her face was square with large, unnervingly green eyes. Her head was bent towards Helaenaâs, threads of evergreen and butter yellow woven in her fingers as she taught the princess how to finger knit. It was an easier pastime during the long carriage ride to the camp than Helaenaâs embroidery. Her twin sister, Desmara, sat on Abbyâs other side. The only difference between the pair was her dark, chestnut hair and the scar across her full mouth.
âIâm sure if you ask Daeron when he goes out with the party, heâll retrieve the stag antlers for you,â Helaena said, her eyes focused on the thread between her fingers. âHeâll love the opportunity to prove himself.â Floris rolled her eyes in only the way a girl of one and ten could, her black braid wrapped around her head with stubborn tendrils escaping. She tugged on the ties of her raven black cloak.
âNay, Your Grace,â she said primly. âI would show my own mettle, and face the stag myself.â Her cheeks were pink all the same. Abby bit her lip to hold back her chuckle, not wanting to tease the girl. She caught Desmaraâs own amused look, the scar across her mouth pulling at her own smile.
âWell, I donât think theyâll let you go hunting the stag, Lady Floris,â she said. Floris looked pleased at the kind address from the elder girl. âBut weâll be going hawking and the spoils are certainly yours. Thatâs how I obtained the rabbit fur for my gloves.â
âThatâs true,â Abby chimed in. âAnd you are a child of Nightsong, are you not? Iâm sure falconry is in your blood.â Florisâ mother was a Caron, with a lineage of fierce warriors nestled in the Dornish Marches. Lady Ellyn Caron had songs sung of her, and how she, in part with other lords of the Stormlands, defeated the Vulture King. It was exactly the kind of family lineage Abby could see Floris idolizing.
Floris nodded seriously, running her fingers along her bow. âThis is true. I suppose I should practice.â
âPractice until you come back dragging the stag behind you,â Helaena continued. âMy elder sister is said to have taken down a boar with her own hands, only a dagger as a weapon. I think you have that same mettle in you.â
Floris preened, leaning into Helaenaâs side to watch the magical weaving of the yarn. Abbyâs heart ached with fondness for the girl, pleased that she had been taken on as Helaenaâs ward. The girl was not meant to be stuck behind her three eldest sisters. The Smallest Storm would blossom, she hoped, beneath Helaenaâs care and attention. It did not go past Abbyâs notice of Cassandraâs harsh attentions to her sister. It reminded her of her own sisterâs lack of understanding; always critical, always focused on some perception that her behavior would reflect poorly upon her. Floris was exuberant and curious, but she was not into reckless mischief or excessive rudeness.
Sheâd be good for Helaena. More importantly, had been good for Helaena, who had taken on Margaery Crane as one of her new ladies, and Abby would take Desmara. The Crane twins had endeared themselves quickly, Margaery introducing herself by way of teaching Helaena a new fiber art, and Desmara had gifted Abby a book on Asshai, a knowing wink in her verdant green eyes.
As the carriage pulled into the camp, cheers had already started from the other gathered lords and ladies. âWith all that noise, theyâre sure to scare away all their quarry,â Abby laughed, peering out the window to look on ahead.
The boys had ridden on horseback, Aegon in the lead on KostĹba, Aemond, Daeron, and Jace on their own horses beside him, with their own small retinue. Their cousin, Lyonel Hightower, was with them, as were a few other lordlings that Abby was unfamiliar with. She spied Alyn Hullâs silver braids from where he was on his own horse, smiling at the sight of the brash young man there within Aegonâs retinue. He had been a true friend to the prince over the years and it was good to see him brought into the fold officially.
Alyn would serve as steward when they departed for Harrenhal, taking on the household duties from Uncle Simon and learning under him. Aegon had been pleased that heâd agreed to the offer, brushing off his motherâs gape mouthed indignation about it. âHeâs the reason I still live, Mother,â Aegon had said, unusually mild in the face of Alicent Hightowerâs anger that morning as they broke their fast. Heâd brushed a kiss against her forehead, and Abby wondered if he had found strength in the security they were building between them, that not even his mother could shake.
Seeing Aegonâs confidence was intoxicating, so rarely did he come off so sure of himself, and she craved to see more of it. Her teeth scraped her lower lip, belly rolling with heat.
âGood tidings to Prince Aegon, second of his name!â came the booming voice of his Uncle Hobart, leading the call of cheers. âGood tidings to him on his nameday!â
âGood tidings!â came the call of the gathered crowd. âPrince Aegon!â
As Abby settled back in her seat to wait for the footmen, she caught Helaenaâs gaze. Anxiety crackled between them, mixed with the joy and love there for Aegonâs nameday. After the hunt, Abby was certain Helaena would cocoon in her chambers, barring the door should anyone try to get her into another crowd. Abby didnât blame her, and in fact, might even join her for a bit.
The cheers had begun to die down by the time Daeronâs smiling face helped them out of the carriage. Windswept, dark blonde hair fell across his forehead as he bowed. âAllow me, my sister, ladies.â
As he helped Floris from the carriage, their eyes met, both faces going pink at the cheeks, and Abby saw her future good-brotherâs hand tighten slightly around the girlâs fingers for the briefest of moments before her feet met the ground and she pulled away, her eyes on her shoes. It was not often that Floris fell quiet and blushed so red, and it did not appear that anyone else had noticed. Daeron clenched his hands to himself and his eyes met hers, his own flush deepening before he quickly hurried away.
The king had stayed behind in the Keep, as did several lords and their families. Lord Groverâs health had also kept him behind. Lord Otto had stayed to facilitate court, leaving the festivities that day in Aegon and the queenâs hands.
Her hands, Abby knew, as young ladies of the noble houses began to approach her and the princess, a few mothers in tow.
âBaelaâs a Targaryen too,â Helaena muttered. âWhy canât they flock to her?â
The lady in question had rode on horseback, her red leather jerkin fitted against her lithe form over a gray tunic and black breeches tucked into black polished boots. The rings in her hair glinted in the late morning sun, sparkling as she turned her head with a laugh and dismounted her mare by Jace. Abby shook her head.
âBecause theyâre afraid sheâll be a bad influence, Iâm sure. How are they supposed to get husbands if they dress comfortably?â Abby posited, smoothing her hands over her riding jacket. It was a warm evergreen color, deep azure and crimson soutache snaking over her shoulders like the red and blue forks of the riverlands. The crimson lined wool jacket fell just past her knees, and she wore a pair of warm trousers tucked into polished black boots. Helaena was dressed similarly, her jacket the same shade of deep azure as Abbyâs decoration, embroidered with silver dragons with black beaded buttons carved in the shape of dragon head clasps running down the front.
âHasnât Mother decided that you should remain here to entertain all those ladies?â Helaena asked, their arms linked as they headed to the main tent. Ahead of them, Alicent Hightower was resplendent in a warm cloak of the deepest verdant green lined in black fur, her gown not one for riding or hunting, but far more comfortable for the outdoors. It lacked excessive ornamentation, the black and green skirts swirling around the tops of her own boots. Her hair was much like Helaenaâs, wound in a braided crown about her head. Lady Fossoway was a half step behind her with Ser Criston as they always were, with the rest of the ladies trailing after like a gaggle of geese.
âWeâre doing the receiving line,â Abby said, the fingers of her free hand fidgeting against the fall of her jacket. âAegonâs receiving his gifts and then weâll have congratulations on the betrothal.â She flexed her fingers, the soft leather of her gloves creaking slightly with the movement. They were lined with soft fur, luxurious, indulgent, and while she was certainly never dressed in rags before, it was rare to accept and let herself have new things when they often felt so unnecessary.
It was a new feeling to be excited about the new clothes that she had, more sumptuous than what would normally be allowed at her station.
Wylla joined them as they passed into the pavilion, warm from the braziers placed strategically about the place, each guarded by a cage of decorative wrought iron to prevent unfortunate accidents. On one end of the great tent, a small dias with a simple, dark wood throne, crested with a dragon, wings spread in welcome.
It was the Kingâs chair, but the king was not here.
âAre we to accompany you while you receive them?â Wylla asked. Her long hair was bound tightly back and wrapped in a coiling knot along the back of her head. Her padded black jerkin clung to her over a long tunic of gray, black riding trousers tucked into a pair of matching boots. Like Baela, she was dressed for a day in the wilderness without the cumbersome dealing with skirts.
âYou look nice,â Abby told her with a small smile. âNot quite the Wildling I heard rumor of,â she teased and Wylla snorted.
âItâs a hunt and the opportunity to ride and get the fresh air. Weâll be going hawking while the men go to shove their pricky things intoâŚâ She trailed off with a twist of her mouth, the small scar along her top lip pulling at it. âMen waving around their big pointy things.â
âIn a far more acceptable manner than what it implies,â Abby added on, giggling at the silly implications of it all. âAnd yes, I think you should. Weâre receiving gifts, so you best take Desmara and Lythene with you to Lady Fossoway for instruction.â
âAnd then weâll go hawking,â Wylla said with a nod.
âI have to stay here,â Abby corrected with a shake of her head. âIt is my duty to entertain with her Grace.â
The northernerâs brow furrowed and both of them looked in the direction of the queen, her cloak handed off to a servant while she spoke with Lady Johanna. Wylla shifted beside her and Abby could feel the questions and arguments flitting beneath her friendâs skin. She rested a gloved hand on her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. âAs I told Aegon, these are some of our new duties, no matter how dull they seem to be. Hopefully thereâll be time for me to go exploring later.â Hopefully. Abby loved exploring the Kingswood, and sheâd been looking forward to going hawking, even if she did not particularly hawk herself. However, fun and indulgence could not be had in favor of duty and responsibility.
No matter how much she craved the freedom of it.
Wylla gave her a long look, teeth biting at her lip before she nodded and getured for Lythene and Desmara to follow her. Helaena had already left with Margaery and Floris and Abby was left standing alone, for the moment, amidst the steady flow of nobility pouring in for refreshment and talk. Alone, Abby was relatively unnoticed. Just a small girl in the midst of a crowd, no crown on her head to shout out who she was.
âAbrogail.â
Larys was taller than most people realized, for he did everything he could to make himself small. Few knew that Larys was as tall as Harwin had been, for her elder brother preferred to have such a small cane, to shrink himself into spaces where he could slip in. It was strange, Abby realized, that she had never noticed that it was a trait she shared with him. No desire to be the center of attention, no desire to be noticed, both for their own reasons.
The smile he gave her was an awkward twitch, but Abby noticed that it did reach his eyes, which was a rare thing, and she found herself returning it. Small and shy, perhaps, as if she were still the somewhat muddy little girl sheâd been who heâd look at curiously across the breakfast table in the family solar.
He was subdued in a quilted doublet of the same deep azure and brown leather, his cloak a dark green-blue to match, clasped at the shoulder with a firefly broach. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow of his free arm, languidly walking toward a clutch of plump seating not far from the currently empty dais. The smell of cooking food caught on the woodsmoke in the air, and Abbyâs stomach rumbled with hunger. Theyâd only had some fresh bread and cheese on the ride over, and the idea of warm, spiced pumpkin soup and a turkey leg the size of her own face was rather appealing.
âYouâve conducted yourself quite admirably under all the attention as of late, little sister,â Larys complimented, taking a seat on one of the padded benches. She perched beside him, smiling her thanks at the servant who came by with mugs of hot, mulled wine. She inhaled the scent of orange and lemon, the warmth of cinnamon before taking a sip. âEven with your, shall I say, antics at the tourney, they were quite well received.â
âAntics?â she asked lightly, feeling the curl of heat spread across her chest. There was no way for Larys to know what sort of other antics theyâd gotten up to. The bite Aegon had left along her shoulder had turned bruised and tender, the imprint of his teeth still deep in her soft flesh. That mark was quite well hidden beneath her jacket and shirt beneath.
Larys only hummed and took a sip of his drink. âThe other lords have expressed concern at my choice of husband for you, but I have assured them there is no reason to fret. I simply wanted my sister to be cared for and happy.â He gave her a sidelong look, placid expression barely shifting, his dark eyes large and innocent in his expression. âAnd everyone can clearly see how happy you two make one another. The queenâŚâ he trailed off with a sigh, âhas not quite been pleased butâŚâ
Abby looked down at the deep purple-red wine swirling in the silver goblet. Anxiety prickled through her, confusion at her brotherâs attempt, it seemed, to try to bond with her on something more personal. âHer Grace has been very indulgent,â she said softly, mouth twitching into an awkward smile that her brother returned. He inclined his head towards her only just.
âWe both understand how passionate the queenâs frustrations can run, little sister,â he said softly, the scent of him cold and clean, like a tomb. Abby blinked, the awkward smile falling from her face. Her throat bobbed, the sting of bile in the back of her throat was almost painful. Had the queen told him what had occurred? Or had Larys, with his strange talents, found out what happened himself. âYou will not be her ward for much longer. I imagine, like any mother, she is feeling the maternal ache over the loss of her son to his wife, and the loss of you, who is like a daughter to her.â
âPerhaps,â she allowed, busying herself with another sip of wine so she might find the words. They were receiving glances from the bustling court as they found their places, platters and great soup tureens being set out along the tables. Her stomach growled again. âShe was quite concerned about⌠the dishonor I would bring upon the royal family.â Her voice was little more than a shamed whisper and the insinuation was as painful as the day sheâd been accused when coupled with Ser Edmundâs harsh words in the gardens. She straightened her shoulders, trying to push past the hurt and shame that lingered still, tilting her chin up, refusing to be cowed. âApparently some of the other lords are quite concerned about your heir marrying into House Targaryen.â She smiled at the passing servant, plucking a small apple tart off the platter he held. âI have made my own assurances that our children will be raised in the customs of our people, that regardless of dragon blood, we are the Riverlands.â Whether or not Edmund Vance believed her, if he mocked her to those he could find for such statements, well, she could do nothing about that. She could only mind herself.
âIt will be a hard road, Abrogail, given that they do not see you as one of them. Lo, they barely see me as one of them, what with all my work here,â Larys said with a nod, looking at the cake heâd plucked for himself. âWhat matters is that you greatly impressed Lord Tully, and his son has been amenable and welcoming-â
âI may not have grown up in the Riverlands but even I know thereâs only so much influence they have,â Abby cut in, chewing her lip after the words tumbled from her, her voice a soft, biting thing. Larys said nothing to that while he chewed on a bite of cake, and she shifted slightly in her seat and took another sip of wine. âIt will not be a smooth transition, not for all. A prince? Becoming vassal to a mere lord?â
âPrince Daemon was Lord of Runestone through the dear, late Lady Rhea,â he reminded her after swallowing. âI donât recall any such problems between him and the Lady Arryn.â
âJeyne Arryn was kin to his goodsister,â she retorted. She had spent countless hours in the library with Aemond, taking meticulous notes of the lessons the boys had that her and Helaena did not. Part of that involved wiling away a week of stormy, frigid weather, tracing out the family trees of the Great Houses. The Targaryens rarely married out, even before King Jaehaerys, but there had been Aemon and Daella to houses Baratheon and Arryn, and Queen Aemmaâs siblings and half-siblings. Sheâd even traced her own tree: Harwinâs mother, Lysa, had been Lord Elmoâs sister. Larys and Corynnaâs mother had been a Frey. Abbyâs mother had been a Westerlander, already outside, already suspicious of the clannish houses of her homeland. âAnd if all the mutterings and murmurings are true, he cared as little and less for them as they did for him.â
Sheâd heard the rumors of Daemon being responsible for his first wifeâs death, and the occasional muttering that he was responsible for Laena Velaryon as well, but in the past few days being with the mercurial Baela, she did not think that was the case. Abby looked back at her brother again, briefly, before smiling in greeting as Lady Redwyne and her sister settled nearby. The queen had sat on the opposite end of the circle of seating, the corral of it split evenly between the pair of them. Her shoulders slumped minutely and she kept her genial smile as the older women settled in.
Laughter caught her attention, Helaena and Baela both with shaking shoulders near the pavilion entrance as other girls joined them. They would be going hawking soon. The sun caught upon Helaena and Baelaâs silver heads, giving them a golden shine. A sigh caught in her throat. How nice it would be to join them, to frolic in the lack of responsibility.
Larys shifted, still sitting at her right hand as the rest of the guests filtered in, and her attention drew back to him. âAh, yes, the princesses and the other ladies are going hawking. Did your grandfather not gift you a new hawk for your engagement?â
Lord Rodrik had indeed. Abby had hawked some when she was a little girl at one of the hunts for Princess Rhaenyraâs nameday, but had never had a one of her own. But Lord Rodrik and her Reyne family were prodigious hawkers and the beautiful Peregrine sheâd named Caelus was a little wonder. Heâd been trained by her cousin, Emrik, who had fancied himself a falconer, and had sent a kind letter that she was quick to return. Letters had been rare over the years, but thereâd always been well wishes and tidings on her nameday.
âHe did, and I know we brought him. The queenâŚâ Abby trailed off, her eyes darting to the other side of the tent where Queen Alicent was smiling at the younger Lady Redwyne. âShe said that it was our duty to host while Aegon goes hunting. That itâs my duty. To make friends, to comport myself as the future princess.â
âOh, did she?â Larys asked mildly, cocking his head to the side and leaning on his cane. âYes, I can see what she would want that. It was, after all, what has been expected of her when she was your age, already with two children. She had far more in common with the matrons of the court at that point. You are here when others who should be are not.â
Rhaenyra should be here. She was the Kingâs eldest, his heir. Discomfort prickled along Abbyâs spine, a latent spike of anger at the woman who had put her family in danger, hurt at how quickly Rhaenyra had moved to Daemon Targaryen after what happened to Harwin. Her fingers curled against her knees before she forced them to relax and stretch. The Crown Princess had always been kind to her, but could Abby even trust that? After what happened at Driftmark, and what happened to her family?
Alone now, save for Larys.
âNot alone anymoreâ, she immediately reminded herself, because Aegon was with her now; Helaena and Aemond cared for her too. They too were her family. Not alone, for she had her grandfather and he loved her truly. Yet, she had felt this loneliness for so long. Rhaenyra was not responsible for her loneliness, but in many ways she felt it keenly. It felt as if everything changed because of her.
This marriage, Alicentâs desire for control, Lord Ottoâs keen and watchful eye were because of Rhaenyra. Aegonâs pain was because of Rhaenyra.
Her father and brother were dead and gone because of Rhaenyra.
âI am here when others are not,â she said softly, eyes watching those who watched her, her smile flashing as she murmured her greetings as the ladies began to gossip. Larys was murmuring his own greetings to Lord Piperâs wife, complimenting her on the recent betrothal for her son. Abbyâs gaze darted towards the front of the tent, where the girls were still gathered as they prepared to go off for their own little adventures.
Alicent Hightower made sure she was there. She made sure that people saw her as queen, someone to be trusted and counted on, someone that could be reached. She was here, as Abby was here.
âIf the Targaryens mean to exercise power in our realm, they will be in for a rude awakening.â
Abby was not queen. She wasnât certain what that future held, but she did know, with certainty, that she was the future Lady of Harrenhal, and that Lythene Ryger, Melony Piper, even Sarra Frey who was lingering nervously with a goblet in hand, they too would be future ladies of houses that she needed to be friends with. Abby could not just rely on the fact that she held the title, not when she did not grow up in her home, not when people like Edmund Vance were so eager to tell her that it didnât matter, they would see what they wished.
âLady Sarra,â Abby called, rising with a smile and handing over her goblet. She could feel Alicentâs eyes on her, and that over the other ladies. âI did not have the opportunity to speak with you at the feast last night. Pray, will you join me and the others out hawking?â
Sarra Frey was a tall girl, broad shouldered with high cheekbones and dark hair bound in a twist of three braids down her back. She wore a simple but lovely jacket of deep blue and silver, the colors of her house. At being addressed, she straightened up, green eyes wide with surprise at being noticed. They narrowed slightly, mouth parting before closing. A flush crept across her cheeks.
âI donât have a hawk with me, Lady Abrogail,â she said softly. At her full height, she was as tall as Aemond, more softly spoken than her severe expression might have said. Abby smiled.
âThat is quite fine, there are plenty to go around.â Sarra nodded, handing off her goblet to one of the passing servants and Abby looped her arms through hers and tugged her towards the others. âMy legs are exhausted from that carriage ride, shall we go?â
Even Baelaâs mask of judgment faded as they walked towards the edge of camp where the Master of the Mews was minding the hawks and preparing to move out further from camp. She was stuck between Helaena and Wylla, the princessâ silver head shining beneath the sun. Lythene was laughing with the Crane twins and even Sarra was pulled into conversation with Zara Celitgar, who was eyeing the tall Frey girl appreciatively.
âAre we not taking a carriage?â Margaery Crane asked as Helaena led the way past the line of them set aside for their later return.
âIt is not a far walk,â Abby assured her. âAnd itâs nice to stretch our legs after all that sitting.â She nodded towards the Master of the Mews and his apprentices carting the hawks ahead of them. Margaery hummed in agreement, confusion placated, and Abby was set to continue onto another subject when there was a commotion from behind them. She looked over her shoulder to see Cassandra Baratheon striding behind them.
âYou all left so quickly!â she announced, censure and jovial all rolled into her crisp tone. A slight smirk crossed her sharp features as they approached. Among the three ladies that accompanied her, Lady Elinor kept close at her side. Cassandraâs dark eyes swept over Abby as they drew closer, and she felt picked apart by the gaze, something sharp stabbing between her ribs at the continued haughtiness of the eldest Storm. Abby straightened, offering her own wan smile. Like hell would Cassandra set foot into Harrenhal, but this?
This she needed to be easy with; this she could allow.
âOf course, Lady Cassandra,â she said. âWe would be happy to have you.â Helaena made a soft sound that Abby ignored but felt deeply. Her eyes flitted to Lady Elinor at Cassandraâs shoulder, giving her a warmer look. It was her familyâs strawberry wine that had been highly spoken about over the course of the festivities, and Elinorâs responding smile was kinder.
âCongratulations are in order, Lady Abrogail,â Lady Elinor murmured. Cassandraâs eyes tightened, her smile frozen on her face.
âYes, congratulations on your coming nuptials,â she parroted, smoothing her kidskin gloves over the fall of her woolen hunting jacket. âHow comforting it must be to wed oneâs childhood playmate. No surprises or excitement to worry about.â
The words were harmless enough, but the barb beneath them was clear. Abby tilted her head slightly, her own smile still on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was Baela who spoke, angling her head between Wylla and Helaena to peer at her cousin.
âNot to mention wedding a childhood playmate means thereâs no barrier to intimacy, and no secrets kept,â she said, then bit into the apple she had in hand. âNow letâs fucking move before I start hunting with my bare hands.â
Helaena was meant to be in bed but sleep eluded her. She waved away the maids and headed out into the night toward the great bonfire in the center of camp. There was no danger here, much like there was no need to fear in the Holdfast. Her slippers grew wet after only moments, the night dew soaking into the soft fabric and chilling her toes.
She wanted to dance around the fire, stare into the flames like she heard the Red Priestesses did, and wonder to herself if her dreams would make more sense then. Aemond said she was touched as Daenys was, a gift precious to their Targaryen line. It helped ease the fearful strangeness to know that her strange dreams were not simply the âodd workings of an overactive imagination.â That they did mean something, but what? Helaena was never certain. Sometimes she never knew the outcome, other times they became starkly clear.
âHeâll have to lose an eyeâ.
âWould you care for some company?â came a low, curious voice, a slight crack on the last word. She looked over to see Jace lingering at the edge of the firelight, his jerkin long discarded with just his gray linen shirt and trousers, a dark blue cape wrapped around him. The bright flames danced in his lavender eyes, giving them a shade of deep purple-red she found curious indeed. Did her own look the same?
âYouâre not gallivanting with the boys?â Helaena asked, not meaning anything by it until the words hung in the air, and Jaceâs gaze glanced to what he held in his hands. The only âboysâ for him to gallivant with were her brothers. Of course there were other lordlings about, but given that Jace was lingering around the bonfire caused her to wonder if he too liked the quiet.
Or if he were lonely.
âI didnât want toâŚâ Jace trailed off, rubbing his thumb over whatever he held in his hand. The motion of it reminded her so strongly of Abby, Helaena didnât know how she was supposed to process it. The curl of unease and her motherâs frustration and anger coated her insides. Her own frustrations, deeply buried but still there, like the ever smoking fires of the Dragonmont, bubbled and burbled in response. The king who loved Jace more, loved him like he loved Rhaenyra more. The blind man who ignored Aemondâs nameday even though it had just happened, who only thought of Aegonâs day because of everything that happened.
The dead look in Motherâs eyes that was more and more frequent, when she stared out the window of her solar, her hands twisted and knotted into her skirts. The things that Sire-Father had done to her for no reason except his own dragon feelings, Helaena thought. His need for more and more, consuming him the way the anger would consume Aemond, and the drink would consume Aegon.
All of them pinned to boards in the kingâs Freehold miniature; all of them frozen and set on display in his own gallery, for him to take down from time to time to play with.
The burst of a log in the fire startled her and Helaena realized, uncomfortably, that sheâd been staring, vacantly, at Jacaerys, who was watching her, still as water, quiet as an orb weaver. He watched her, the fire throwing orange and red across his fine features, catching at the warm red in his dark, dark hair. His right eye was a sheen of red from the fire, his left cast in shadow. Half fire.
Her right side was chilled, when her left was so warm, mirrors of each other.
Half fire.
Jace held out his hand, palm open, offering to her the smooth stone that he had been fiddling with. The ridges of the sea creature who died in it caught upon the light, throwing its own little shadow as it was unable to in life, living in the sea as it did. Only now, in his hand, had this creature found warmth and light.
Helaena reached for it, her hot fingers scraping against his as she took it, feeling his own hot skin beneath her touch.
Half fire.
âBut I am full flame,ââ Heleane thought, for she was dragonflame and lighthouse flame. Lighting the way with fire in her wake. Jace was fire, yes, but he was river water, the way it rippled through him. Still and steady, but crashing and flooding with the ferocity of a dragonâs power. âWould this be what her nieces and nephews be?â Is this what a union of fire and water entailed? Deadly and quiet, steady when they were full of heat and flame.
She rubbed her thumb over the fossilized creature and it felt pleasant against her skin. Soothing, tactile. Grounding. âThank you,â she said softly and Jace smiled at her. âPity itâs not another marchpane tentacle.â He laughed, a soft sound that sounded like water over stones and they came to sit on the bench. She shoved her feet closer to the flame and watched the steam rise from the fabric from how hot it was. There was a few inches between them, the warmth emanating, and they sat together, no words spoken. These were her favorite moments, ones she missed. It scraped at her insides, like pushing dirt away from the stone so she could find the worms beneath. They were the memories of the gardens in childhood, Jace beside her, mud and damp soaked into his knees, helping her push the rock up to find the pill bugs and the beetles and the centipedes in the dark, damp earth.
âIt was nice to dance with you at the feast,â he ventured, and Helaena looked at him, the shadow along his jaw where heâd wake up fuzzy and prickly in the morning. She reached up to rub the back of her fingers against his jaw, looking at the slight pout of his mouth, the dark fan of his eyelashes. Freckles faint against his skin.
âYou're a good dancer. I should know, Iâm a good dancer myself.â She smiled at him and he shook his head, a flush on his face and she felt her own spread across her cheeks. He scraped the toe of his boot in the dirt and she nudged her foot against his. He was familiar, in the way Aemond was, but he was new in the way Warren had been. Someone she knew, but didnât. He wasnât angry, and he wasnât pushing and probing at her, looking for a bruise to elicit feelings from, or the thrill of a princess. He didnât look at her like she was odd, or startle at her staring, her distant sight.
Jace was simply patient, and he waited, and did not seek to chatter. It was new, it was old, it was like pressing against the ground and the dirt giving way, a little tunnel inside that one didnât know was there, and Jace peered in and made his way inside. A dragon roosting in a cave.
His knee bumped against hers and she looked at him, their matching lavender eyes meeting. It was nice, Helaena thought, that they had this piece to share. Like two different butterflies, different colors and different patterns, but the markings were the same. The wings were the same. Simply⌠different.
âThe mint winds and chokes like ivy,â she said, instead of what she meant to say, which was asking him if he would come looking for stag beetles with her the next day. âThe children canât breathe, itâs bursting from their mouths.â She blinked, startled, but the words that she had not known, had not meant to utter, remained heavy between them. âI-.â
He blinked back at her, brow furrowed. âHelaena, are you-â
A horrible scream ripped through camp and for the briefest moment, Helaena thought it might have been a fox shriek. But this was too loud, too close. Another scream, this time two high pitched ones and then a guttural yell. Jaceâs hand gripped hers, pulling her to her feet and away from the fire. She tugged at his hold to move towards the commotion, but he tugged her back. âIâm taking you back to your tent, Helaena,â he said firmly. âWe donât know whatâs- Ow!â
She had lifted their hands, sinking her teeth into the plump flesh at the back of his thumb so heâd let go and hurried towards the tents without a second glance, knowing that heâd be following her. She gripped her skirts, grateful for the warmth of Jaceâs cloak around her shoulders and her heart sank, panic seizing her chest when she realized it was Abrogailâs tent that was the source of the screaming.
Three of the Kingsguard, including Ser Criston, were already there, as were the gold cloaks that had been patrolling around the outskirts of camp. Their cloaks reminded her of Sunfyreâs scales in all the torchlight, and half-dressed nobility coming out of their tents, bleary eyed in confusion.
On the ground lay a servant with a blade in his chest, blood burbling from his mouth. Helaena looked at him, wide-eyed, Jace trying to get her to look away, and her gaze went up to Wylla Karstark. The northerner was shaking, gray eyes wide as dinner plates, her hair bound for bed, her dressing gown haphazard and sprayed with blood from where the man must have coughed it at her.
âHe-he came in. He was on Abby so quickly-â
âI donât know where he came from!â Abbyâs trembling frame was right behind her, clutching one of the pokers from the tent brazier in her hands, still ready to strike. Her curls were twisted and wrapped around the crown of her head, shivering in the night air in just her own nightgown, sleep mussed and clearly straight from bed. âI donâtâŚâ She gulped. âI donât think he meant Wylla to b-be there.â Her free hand was gripping the back of Wyllaâs dressing gown, and Ser Criston laid a hand on Abbyâs shoulder.
âGive me the poker, Lady Abrogail,â he was saying in a calm, steady voice like he did when Helaena was younger, cowering in a corner and unable to flee the commotion. âThereâs a girl.â
Harrion Karstark was shouting his sisterâs name, just as Uncle Gwayne was calling hers. Helaena turned her head to see him coming up, half dressed with his sword belt slung over his shoulder. He reached for her shoulder, tugging her back. âWhat is the meaning of this?â he shouted, and Helaena stumbled back into Jace as the crowd parted.
Then, Aegonâs shout of, âAbby!â came crashing over the gathering crowd, pushing his way through with Aemond at his back. She caught her younger brotherâs frantic look, seeing the worry ease somewhat at the sight of her before going over to the girls. Abby surrendered the brazier poker as Aegon reached her, frantic over the state of her, pulling his cloak off to wrap around her, fear and fury warring on his flushed features. âWhat happened?â
The man on the ground was rasping, wheezing, but it was hard to tell if he was alive or not, or if this was how his body signaled death.
âThis man came to attack Lady Abrogail, Your Grace,â Ser Erryk said. âLady Wylla got him good.â His twin nudged the attacker with the tip of his boot as Aemond looked at the man, then at Wylla. His face was carved in hard lines, but his gaze was softened.
âDid you throw it?â he asked. âOr did you pounce on him?â
Wylla blinked, her brotherâs broad hands holding her shoulders. âI stabbed him.â Her voice was faint and she took the blade handle, clutching it to her. âHe⌠I was putting away our dresses and there was a commotion⌠I thoughtâŚâ Wyllaâs brow furrowed, shaking her head. âHe came in through the flap beside the bed and crawled o-on top of her. Abby screamed and I justâŚâ
Harrionâs hands tightened on his sisterâs shoulders and the girl fell silent with a soft squeak. Aemondâs mouth pursed and he knelt beside the man. His hair fell in a curtain, the band of his eye-patch not holding it back from the vantage that Helaena had. He reached down, and twisted the blade, a wet crack sounding in the sudden hushed anticipation. The wheezing sounds the man was making tapered off as Aemond pulled the blade from his body.
It squelched, a gout of blood spraying, and a strange, hissing sound like wind through a crack sounded. Aemond jerked back as some of the blood caught on the ends of his hair and he rose slowly, wiping the blade of the dagger. âWell heâs dead now, Lady Wylla. Your bravery and quick thinking is to be commended. House Karstark should be proud to have such a brave daughter.â He handed her the dagger, hilt towards her. âKeep this close, since you can be well trusted to use it.â
Wyllaâs brother held her tightly as the gold cloaks hoisted the dead man between the pair of them, dragging him somewhere.
âI was half asleep,â Abby said. Aegon clutched her to his chest as his gaze swept darkly around, hands rubbing her arms. âAt first I th-thought it was WyllaâŚâ Helaena watched Abbyâs hand clutch Aegonâs arm tighter, her voice falling silent. Her other hand reached towards Wylla again, the girls clinging tightly to one another.
âHow the fuck did that bastard manage to sneak into my ladyâs tent?â Aegon demanded, his voice not a shout like Uncle Gwayneâs had been, but more of a warning growl, like Sunfyre. âWhere were the patrols, Ser Criston?â
Their motherâs protector - and Helaena realized that Mother was not there and that Ser Criston must have commanded her to stay in her own tent - shifted only slightly. âThe patrols largely keep around the outside of camp to keep people from getting in, my Prince. The patrol that was walking through the tents had not made it back around yet.â
Aegonâs jaw ticked, assessing what Ser Criston had said and knowing it to be true. Helaena knew that Aegon and the others had been lingering in Aegon and Aemondâs tent for whatever gossip and giggling boys got up to in the middle of the night.
âLady Abrogail and Lady Wylla will share my tent,â Helaena broke in, for she was the princess, and her mother was not here. âAnd we will have extra guards stationed around our tents, so that our Kingsguard are not stretched thin.â She straightened her shoulders and closed the distance between her and the girls. âThis is enough horrible commotion for this night, and you should all be ashamed of yourselves for staring so,â she said, frowning at the crowd that had gathered. âThese ladies have been terrorized, and you gawk at them. To bed, everyone! Let us gather your things and get you cleaned up.â The last was said to Wylla, who needed a fresh gown and the blood cleaned from her face.
And like the princess she was, she did not wait to be obeyed, reaching for Abbyâs hand to pull her toward her tent.
Thank you for being here! If you loved this chapter, please give a reblog and I would adore hearing what you thought about the chapter! What did you think about the Larys and Abby convo? Baela Targaryen continues to be a force to be reckoned with. I for one love the ladies that Helaena and Abby have been gathering around them.
Man what was UP with that attack at the end? And also, Jace clearly doesn't mind Helaena biting him. Good.
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