In a smaller hall inside Harrenhal, candlelight and the crackling of a fire filled the room with warmth and sound alike.
A long table held the royal family as well as the Velaryons seated among them.
“More wine!” Daemon called out to a nearby attendant.
The cheerful music nearly drowned his words.
The attendant walked over anyway, filling his cup again.
Maekar, meanwhile, balanced a silver knife on the tip of his finger, full from the meal and bored of the noise around him.
“Have you heard, brother?
The Triarchy has finally acted.
They have taken the Stepstones for themselves.
It worries me,” Viserys said, glancing at Daemon, who clapped his hands once.
“If they become a threat to the realm, then do not hesitate to call upon me, brother,”
Daemon said loudly, and Viserys nodded.
Their relationship seemed good.
Better than his own with Viserys, Maekar thought, as he met the eyes of the old king, who had been watching him for some time now.
The room grew quieter.
Everyone could feel it, the tension gathering in the air.
Then came a creak.
It was Corlys’ chair.
“Your grace.” The words were spoken rather forcefully.
“I wish to ask something of you.”
Jaehaerys narrowed his eyes.
“Continue.”
Corlys cleared his throat, his eyes meeting Maekar’s.
But Maekar did not move at all.
He would play the surprised part, tonight.
“I wish for my daughter Laena…”
He gestured for her to stand up.
She did, although appearing somewhat flustered.
“…to be betrothed to the young Prince Maekar!”
Outside, the wind howled, clawing at the ruins of Harren’s old fort.
The room froze and Maekar rejoiced.
Watching the understanding form, slow and ugly, on his grandfather’s face filled him with endless satisfaction.
Jaehaerys, whose head had been lowered for some time now, raised it abruptly.
Not directed at Corlys.
No.
Directed at Maekar, whose knife finally lost its balance, landing on the wooden table with a dull sound.
The king understood the danger of it.
And he understood who the true actor was.
Maekar smiled, innocent, as Jaehaerys clutched his own knife.
Either he would agree, and the Velaryons grew stronger than any house had a right to be, Maekar’s own power rising right along with them.
Or he refused, and cut the last thread of what men still called Lord Corlys Velaryon’s pride.
He would make an enemy either way.
Either decision would hurt, and not only him.
Viserys most of all, who would have to answer for whatever faction it left behind.
While the fire crackled, they waited for an answer from the king.
Meanwhile Maekar’s shadow seemed to grow bigger on the wall behind him.
Jaehaerys was looking at it with a distant gaze.
Far from Harrenhal, and all its wealth and luxury, footsteps splashed through the mud.
One by one.
A torch burned low, and the man’s shadow moved quickly over the wall behind him, gone as soon as it came.
He walked alone until the light in his hand stopped moving.
The hood came down and the torch rose.
Silver hair caught the flame, while purple eyes moved over the paper in his hands.
Aerys had arrived in Maidenpool.
Maekar had given him precise instructions, how to reach Westeros, and what to do once he was there.
“Kill them.
All seeds.
All those that could grow into…something.”
Those had been the prince’s words.
Aerys hadn’t understood, not until a piece of paper was pressed into his hand, a name and a place written on it.
Seeds meant blood.
Valyrian blood, scattered through bastards across the realm.
The prince had given him the first name.
The rest he would have to find himself.
He glanced around once, then hammered on the wooden door.
For a long moment nothing moved, only the sound of rats squeaking somewhere to his right.
Aerys cursed.
He truly had become the prince’s dog.
Then the door moved.
“Who is it, Sarra?” A hoarse female voice came from somewhere deeper in the house.
The door opened and a delicate hand appeared first.
Aerys placed his hand on his sword.
The torchlight showed more.
Dark clothes.
Holes in the shoes.
Then a strand of silver hair.
Aerys moved almost inhumanly fast, drawing his sword and swinging it forward.
A few strands of silver hair drifted to the floor as he stood there, panting, eyes wide.
“What are you doing?” a scared voice whispered.
It was a girl.
A young girl.
Aerys would kill anyone if it served his purpose.
But now, meeting a pair of wide, terrified, yet beautiful purple eyes, he found himself asking a question of his own.
What was his purpose?
A grin slowly formed on Aerys’ lips as he lowered the sword.
Before the girl could shout, a hand covered her mouth.
Aerys glanced past her, into the dark house.
Then he looked at the girl properly.
Fourteen namedays, maybe.
Already beautiful, with sharp, striking features.
“Sarra,” Aerys began.
“You don’t need to fear me.
I’m here to help you.”
Slowly, carefully, he led her out through the doorway and onto the street.
When he felt her resistance ease, he lifted his hand from her mouth.
“You will help me?!” she called out, crossing her arms.
“You nearly killed me!”
Aerys didn’t answer.
He just stood there, hooded, though his own silver hair peeked out nonetheless.
“You are…like me…” she said, understanding dawning on her.
Aerys’ smile widened.
“Yes…
yes, I am,” he answered, his voice sweet.
“Us who were discarded.
Us they fear, because we are different, Sarra.”
He stepped closer, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder.
“You know of your origin, do you not?”
Sarra nodded slowly.
“My mother never speaks of it, but I recognize the looks.
The whispers.”
“They fear us because they don’t understand us.
I understand you, Sarra.
Join me.”
Aerys studied her.
It seemed he had been convincing enough.
In that short time, he had found an answer to his own question.
If the prince wanted all these bastards dead, they had to possess a certain kind of power.
There was only one explanation.
The ultimate power.
And, at last, his own purpose.
He too carried the blood of old Valyria.
He too could claim a beast that ruled the sky and everything beneath it.
“Dragon,” he whispered, his eyes intoxicated with power.
Sarra nodded, a different kind of gaze in her eyes.
One Aerys failed to notice.
It was ridicule.
“We were not born into wealth or power.
We take it.”
Aerys formed a fist.
“And grasp it tightly.
Never let go, Sarra.
Never give up.”
Sarra listened.
“And you too will reach it.
The skies.” Aerys tilted his head back, one hand stretching toward the sky.
“You will ride a dragon, Sarra.
I will help you.”
Maekar looked into the crackling fire as Jaehaerys cleared his throat.
“I will have to politely refuse your offer, Lord Corlys.”
He said it slowly.
His cup sitting untouched in front of him.
“It is simply too early to discuss the prince’s marriage.
But rest easy, your offer will be considered.”
Maekar scoffed quietly, and let his eyes wander around the table instead of watching Corlys.
Viserys shifted in his seat, quiet, his jaw tight.
He understood exactly what had just happened.
Daemon looked between them, confused for a moment, before giving Maekar a teasing grin anyway.
Gael sat still on Maekar’s left, staring at some point past the table, turning a ring on her finger over and over.
Maekar watched her a moment too long.
“My daughter Gael is still without a husband,” Jaehaerys said suddenly.
“Why not consider a match with her instead, Lord Corlys?”
Gael’s fingers stopped moving.
For a second, no one at the table breathed.
Even Maekar was surprised.
“So this is the consideration your house has for mine?!
Even after everything we gave up?” He pointed a finger at Gael, his head tilting toward her, before he caught himself and said nothing more.
“Lord Corlys!
You will not insult my daughter!” Jaehaerys was already on his feet, his own finger raised.
The fire popped once in the silence that followed.
Corlys said nothing more.
After a few moments of silence, the musicians started playing again, very carefully.
Maekar, meanwhile, looked toward Gael.
“What a petty fight.”he said.
“And It won’t change anything.
The outcome will be the same,” Gael added, almost absentmindedly.
He nodded, already turning back to the table, before he froze.
“What do you mean?”
Gael only smiled, easy and bright.
“Oh, just my usual rambling.
Mother is always scolding me for it.
She says no lord likes my manner.”
Maekar tilted his head, studying her.
While the music echoed in his ears, a slow realization unfolded on that fateful night.
But before he could ask anything more, movement caught his eye.
Alysanne had risen from her seat.
Two attendants hurried to her side as the old queen seemed to sway, one hand reaching for the table’s edge.
“Alysanne!” Jaehaerys was already moving toward her.
The rest of the table rose as well, Maekar among them.
Alysanne waved a trembling hand, murmuring.
“Do not worry.
It is just the age catching up to me.”
Indeed, it was the age.
But not only that…
Queen Alysanne’s complexion grew worse and worse over the span of a few days.
It was the age and sudden illness gnawing at her.
And while many lords had already left the fort and the riverlands entirely, the royal family stayed.
So did the Velaryons, who had originally decided to leave, yet Rhaenys had persuaded Corlys otherwise.
And so time passed.
Rhea looked down, her hands caressing the bulge that was her belly.
She would give birth soon.
Very soon, or so the Grand Maester had said.
The man had traveled specifically from King’s Landing, not for her, but for the queen, who seemed to be cursed by an agonizingly slow death.
She had spent most of the last weeks and months in bed, growing frailer and weaker by the day.
Meanwhile, Rhea walked down the hallway, two maids assisting her.
As they passed the queen’s chamber, the door opened quietly.
A boy stepped out behind them.
Prince Maekar.
“All life is nourished by death…” Rhea could hear him murmur, his eyes landing on her growing belly.
“My prince?” she asked, trying to greet him with the usual courtesy.
“I said,” he began, but before he could finish, a gasp escaped Rhea’s mouth as a wet sensation moved down her legs toward the ground.
“The water broke,” a maid beside her whispered, her eyes wide, as Maekar’s demeanor turned grimmer.
“So, it will be over soon…”
Rhea had no time to dwell on the prince’s strange words, as she was quickly directed toward her chambers, while the Grand Maester was fetched.
Maekar watched her walk down the hallway, drops trailing behind her on the stone.
Then he turned away.
For a moment he thought about going back inside, but he had already said everything he wished to say.
He had seen countless people die.
Tonight, he would pass on that.
Instead he went to the training yard.
It was where he always went when his anger rose again.
It did tonight.
“Come at me, Cole,” Maekar said, raising his sword.
And so the knight moved.
Maekar knew Cole was holding back.
It was still hard enough.
He also knew it was necessary.
Only through blood and suffering could greatness be born.
They fought until the clouds grew darker, until they finally broke over Harrenhal.
Rain poured down endlessly, soaking them and the massive castle walls alike.
Lights still burned bright inside and somewhere within its halls, screams echoed.
“One Targaryen dies.
Another steps into the world,” Maekar murmured, parrying a strike from Cole, whose hair was soaked through as well.
His body had long grown tired, but his mind kept it moving.
Thunder rolled across the sky, drowning the clash of steel.
And so…While the sweet cries of a newborn filled the halls of Harrenhal, Queen Alysanne took her last breath, in a world so different from the one she had been born into.
How would this new child come to know it?
Maekar wondered, and let himself finally collapse onto the ground.
His eyes stayed on the grey sky as a Dragon’s roar echoed from somewhere beyond the walls, confirming what he had already suspected.
“Goodbye, grandmother.
Your purpose in this life has been fulfilled.”
He rose slowly, turning toward Cole.
“Find Laena.
Bring her to me.”
Cole looked surprised, but nodded nonetheless, striding toward the keep.
Maekar sighed, and with that breath let go of whatever melancholy remained.
“Ñuha pōja ābrar iā morghon sȳz bantis…”
We will be the first to pick at the corpse…
“And its possessions,” Maekar added, as the raindrops washed the mud from his face.
Wrote this whole thing on my phone.
Complete pain in the ass, but I am doing it for the love of the game.
Forgive any weird typos or mistakes.
I will be back next week