The Rise Of A Dragon - Chapter 23: Newfound Madness

Everyone is in for a terrible and shocking surprise as Aerys Targaryen has a second dragon dream.

Cersei looked down at the square, brown pastry with a critical eye. “What is this supposed to be again?”

Aerea grinned, “It’s called gingerbread. They make it using breadcrumbs, cloves, honey, and cinnamon; it’s like a thick, sweet bread, but better.”

Once Cersei and her party had settled into the Keep, Aerea was adamant about showing off her favorite places in the city. So now they stood inside the shop of Aerea’s favorite baker, introducing the three Westerlands girls to foods they had never eaten before.

The shop had been empty when they arrived, and the guards that Aerea had taken with her immediately stood outside, keeping anyone else from entering.

The princess had always found this to be bothersome, especially because Barristan was here with her, standing in the corner nearby, and she felt that his protection was enough. But this was the only way Aerys would let Aerea leave the Red Keep, especially after what happened in Lannisport.

Cersei scoffed at the notion that this could be better than any of the cakes she had eaten, “And you expect me to eat this? Not only does it look like peasant food, but it was made by one.”

“Cersei, do you not realize that peasants have made every piece of food you have ever eaten?” Aerea asked, her eyes darting to the family who owned and worked in the shop, knowing that Cersei had not been speaking low enough for them not to have heard her.

“That’s different.” Cersei said dismissively, “Those chefs and bakers are properly appraised; these have not. And now you are expecting me to trust them and their food?”

From behind the younger girl, Aerea watched as the baker’s oldest son, Lawren, glared at Cersei from the corner of his eye as he swept the floor, making Aerea wince sympathetically.

“I think everything here is quite pleasant,” Melara said as she and Jeyne were happily eating a tray of cakes that had been brought out.

Of course, you two do. Cersei thought, watching as her ladies in waiting stuffed their faces.

“Cersei, the gingerbread and everything else here not only taste good but are not poisonous, I promise.” Aerea said before giving the other girl an exaggerated pout, “Please?”

Cersei rolled her eyes and looked back down at the pastry, her nose scrunching as she slowly lifted the gingerbread to her lips, taking a small nibble from one of the corners.

The bread had a rich, spicy ginger taste that was greatly complemented by other spices that were used along with a lingering sweetness, and with a chewy, dense, and somewhat gritty texture that gave it an interesting mouthfeel.

Cersei’s eyes widened, her low expectations having been thoroughly trampled over as she took another, larger bite of the gingerbread.

“So, I take it that you enjoy it?” Aerea asked, a smug smile slowly forming on her face.

Cersei glared at the older girl when she heard Jeyne and Melara giggling at Aerea’s teasing question. She crossed her arms and turned away with a huff. “It’s adequate. I suppose the peasants here are capable.”

Aerea’s smile grew, “I thank you for the high praise, my lady.”

Her face felt warm when Aerea referred to her as ‘her lady’, and Cersei could do nothing else but quietly eat the rest of her pastry.

“Is there anything else these ladies would wish to try, Your Grace?” A large man with a round stomach, long white hair, and kind eyes asked as he walked towards the four girls.

Aerea smiled at him, “No, Tobas, I think we’re done here, thank you.”

“There is no need to thank me, Your Grace. It is always a pleasure to be of service to you.” Tobas said.

For decades, Tobas had never been the most successful of bakers within the Street of Flour, but this did not bother him as his only true goal was to provide a good enough life for his family. To have something to leave his children so they would not have to struggle as he once did.

So, one could imagine his shock when one day, out of all the bakeries, a small princess had chosen his to walk into, a large smile gracing her lips as she looked at him with a wide-eyed innocence.

He had heard the rumors at the time of what the King had done to one man who had dared to call his daughter an abomination. He knew that even more so than any other noble, the consequences that would befall him and even his family if he did anything to offend the princess, and was unable to stop himself from glancing at the knights that had accompanied her.

And he once again found himself shocked when Aerea simply asked him for his best desserts, eating them gleefully, giving him enough coin to make his eyes widen, and leaving his shop with a promise to return soon.

It’s good to see that she has friends to bring here, even if they are a bit rude. Tobas thought, having never seen his best customer looking so happy.

Aerea gave the baker a generous payment before she and the others left the bakery, happy and with full stomachs.

“So, what else do you have for us, or was this it?” Cersei asked Aerea.

Aerea grinned, “Of course, this isn’t it. I still must show you all the best view in King’s Landing.”

“The best view in King’s Landing?” Melara questioned, looking slightly skeptical.

It was widely known that outside of the Red Keep and the Sept of Baelor, King’s Landing was not the most attractive city, what with its cramp, dirty streets, the shanty settlements that had been built by poorer smallfolk outside the city, and the stench of the city's waste that could be smelled far beyond its walls.

“I know what you’re thinking, but when you see it as I have, you will understand,” Aerea said.

Seeing that the princess was not going to further explain herself, the three girls could only look at each other, confused as they climbed into the carriage.

Aerea told the carriage’s driver to take them to the Iron Gate, knowing that the sight of the Blackwater from atop the gate had to be seen to be believed.

~X~

The Next Day

“Myles needs to spend more time in the yard, this is just getting embarrassing,” Jon muttered, watching as Aerea danced around Myles’ swing.

“Myles is doing just…” Richard paused as they watched Aerea kick the back of Myles’ leg, causing him to fall to one knee. “Fine... you may be right about that.”

The group was sitting in the far corner of the Great Yard, watching as Aerea and Myles sparred against each other. The match had come about when Aerea had asked her brother to spar with her, only to be disappointed when Rhaegar refused.

Rhaegar had no desire to train, as it was reported that Steffon Baratheon’s wife, Lady Cassana, was going to arrive in a few hours along with a few of their house’s ships. But seeing Aerea’s dejected face, Myles immediately jumped to offer himself as a substitute for Rhaegar.

“I think this has less to do with Myles’ own skill and more to do with Princess Aerea having improved so much,” Arthur said from his place behind their prince’s seat.

Rhaegar agreed with the Kingsguard. Aerea had always been obsessed with learning the sword, and with their father’s expectations, she felt the need to prove herself greatly.

Well, Aerea should be glad to know that over two years of continuously training until her callouses had callouses has paid off. Rhaegar thought.

Aerea brought her sword down, forcing Myles to block the blow that had been aimed at his side, and nearly tripping over his own feet when the princess started to push him back.

Although Jon may be right about Myles also needing to improve. Myles and Richard were his squires after all; it would be a poor reflection on himself as a knight and teacher if either of them were to falter.

As Rhaegar looked away from the match and towards the castle gates, he caught sight of his sister’s newest group of friends.

The yard was decently occupied, but these three stood out with their ordinate and brightly colored clothing. Two of the girls, whose names Rhaegar did not remember, only occasionally watched the match and seemed to be interested in the book they were sharing, but the Hand’s daughter was visibly enthralled by the match.

It had been about three weeks since Aerys had decided that Steffon and Cassana would travel to Volantis in search of a Valyrian bride for him.

And at this time, he has had to deal with a few attempts from some brazen members of the court trying to seduce him. Whether with promises of large dowries, plenty of heirs, or even trying to appeal to his carnal desires by showing off just how attractive they or their women were.

It would have been somewhat amusing if it were not so irritating and excessive.

Why do these people never seem to learn that I am not the person they should be going to if they wish for my hand?

While Tywin was not as blatant as the others, Rhaegar could see the hunger in his eyes whenever the older man looked his way. Rhaegar was sure that Tywin had commanded his daughter to spend as much time around him as possible due to how often she would find herself in his presence nowadays.

The only things that made this bearable were the fact that Aerea was usually there and would take up all of Cersei’s attention and that even when Aerea was nowhere to be found, Cersei seemed content with ignoring him, only giving him a cold greeting before pretending that he did not exist.

Seeing one of his more annoying admirers finally getting it through their head that he had no interest in them and leaving him be should have made Rhaegar ecstatic.

It feels as if Cersei Lannister has taken her affection for me and has thrown it onto my sister. Rhaegar was sure that Cersei had decided to endear herself to Aerea once she realized that he was no longer a viable option.

And it made sense to him, Aerea never had female friends, she never fit in with other girls, and would likely not see if she was being used by a power-hungry and ambitious noble. And before coming to King’s Landing, from what he had seen, Cersei did not see Aerea as anything more than an acquaintance, as Jaime’s friend.

What is her goal? Does she wish to become Aerea’s best friend and what? Use her for favors? Try to endear herself to our family and use her new bond with Aerea to secure a betrothal between herself and Viserys?

“Rhaegar, why are you staring at the Lannister girl so hard?” Richard asked, leaning over, loudly whispering in Rhaegar’s ear.

The prince did not look away from Cersei, “Do you find her friendship with my sister strange?”

“Strange?” Richard asked, “No, although I haven’t paid it much attention.”

Jon huffed, looking at Cersei with disgust and irritation, “She has certainly learned to keep her distance from you, my prince. But this and her becoming closer to Aerea could be an act of hers to win your favor.”

Richard snorted, “She must be quite the actor then because she practically looks through Rhaegar as if he is made from glass.”

“Are you worried that Lord Lannister may be pushing for this?” Arthur asked the prince.

“I doubt it,” Rhaegar said, knowing how adamant Tywin was about Cersei getting closer to him despite her doing the opposite. “But you can never be too careful around that lot, especially not after Duskendale.”

Rhaegar only looked away from Cersei when he heard his sister laughing, just barely turning away quick enough to watch the moment when Aerea broke through Myles’ defenses and knocked the man to the ground, standing over him with the end of her blade pointed at his neck.

Aerea sheathed her sword and held out a hand to Myles, “Sorry about that.”

Myles laughed, “You have nothing to apologize for, Aerea. I’ve survived worse than a bruised ego.”

“Are you sure? Because Jon looks quite upset from where I am standing.” Aerea said, looking past Myles and seeing Jon’s disapproval clearly.

“When is he not upset?” Myles muttered as he allowed Aerea to pull him to his feet, “He is only being so pouty because he believes that I have disgraced our magnificent Prince Rhaegar by losing so handily.”

Aerea snickered at this, aware of how much Jon worshiped her brother, “Then I should apologize for any beratement you shall receive from them both.”

Myles let out a boisterous laugh, and before he could say anything else, a commotion erupted as the doors to the Red Keep swung open and the Queen, the Lord of Storm’s End, and his household stepped outside.

Someone must have sent word that Lady Cassana would soon arrive. Aerea thought as she moved to stand next to her mother.

Rhaegar stood and joined the others, standing on Rhaella’s other side, his arms crossed, and his gaze firmly locked on the gate.

“Open the gate!” One of the men shouted after a few minutes of waiting, seeing the Baratheon part approaching the Red Keep.

The guards standing before the gate quickly moved, allowing the gate to be slowly wrenched open. Soon enough, the party arrived through the gate in a wave of black and gold.

Stepping out of the first carriage, Cassana fell into a graceful curtsey before the royals, “Your Grace, my prince, my princess. I must thank you for bestowing upon me such a welcome.”

“There is nothing to thank us for, Cassana.” Rhaella said warmly, “Come, let us break bread.”

Aerea moved next to her brother once she greeted Cassana, and the woman began to speak to Rhaella and Steffon about her journey. She leaned her head closer to Rhaegar, speaking to him lowly so that no one else could hear them. “So, now that Cousin Cassana is here, what kind of wife do you think she and Cousin Steffon will find you?”

“That’s if they can find me a suitable bride; this could all be for naught,” Rhaegar said, glancing at the couple.

“Why wouldn’t they be able to?” Aerea asked, “Volantis has plenty of families who can trace their lineages back to the Freehold. And did Steffon not ask father for his wife to accompany him there so that she would help him find and teach the right woman how to properly conduct herself as both a noble lady and future Queen consort of Westeros?”

Shortly after he had been given his task, Steffon had rightly pointed out to Aerys that, given the culture of Essos, any bride chosen from there would most likely not know how to act in Westerosi court. And that, while he would do his best to find the most auspicious match for Aerys’ son, with how differently men and women were raised in Westeros, that having a woman’s opinion during this selection process would be optimal.

“You are underestimating the cultural differences between Westeros and Essos; each still considers the other to be a bunch of uncivilized, backwards fools whose only worth is what materials they can trade.” Rhaegar replied, “Not to mention that things are still tense between the realm and Volantis due to father refusing to lend the Free City our support during their proxy war.”

“I think you’re being too cynical, yes, we may not think kindly of each other, but there should be those in Volantis who would view you as a good match. You are the heir of the Seven Kingdoms, and whichever woman is chosen would have the position of Queen consort and her son a future King. And that says nothing about how our house is richer than it has been in decades, and how a marriage pact would give this woman’s family a better foothold in trade here than their rival families in Volantis would be lacking due to the tension caused by the father’s lack of support.”

Rhaegar could not deny that his sister’s reasoning was sound, but he could not shake the feeling that this was a terrible decision that their father was making.

“I thought you didn’t care about who your wife was going to be or where she would come from?” Aerea asked, looking at Rhaegar thoughtfully. “You’ve never been this opinionated about it before.”

Aerea was right, before now, Rhaegar truly could not muster much emotion about his future marriage, always seeing it as something that was out of his control and a duty that would be expected of him to meet resolutely.

I guess before now, marriage had always been something distant for me, a nebulous inevitability. But now it’s real, it's so close I can taste it, now I am going to be shackled to some woman I have never met before and expected to be her husband, to father her children, and I will not get a say in any of it. Would we be just like father and mother? Can I even tell her about the prophecy? Would she be understanding of what will be expected of me once the world is in need of me? A pit started to form in Rhaegar’s stomach the more he thought about his future.

It was a foreign feeling for him, and he wished for nothing more than for this newfound anxiety to leave him. The world had no need for a savior who could be so easily scared by the prospect of doing his duty to his house and the realm.

“I simply don't want a wife that I will not be able to reach an understanding with,” Rhaegar said, this being the closest he could come to saying how he truly felt.

Aerea took a moment to respond, knowing that her brother was still hiding something, “If you say so, Rhaegar.”

As they followed their mother and cousins into the Keep, Rhaegar clenched his fists, still feeling a large bubble of dread within himself.

~X~

Hours Later

Aerys had been adamant that a feast be held for the arrival of his cousin’s wife, a celebration before the two would begin their journey to Volantis.

Tywin sat at the high table, a stony frown marring his face as he observed everything going on around him.

For years, he had been relegated to the end of the high table whenever a feast was held, no longer given the Hand’s traditional seat to the right of the King as Aerys placed the other councilors between them. It was an obvious slight against him, but Tywin had long since stopped caring about it, having long since grown accustomed to it, even seeing it as a reprieve from having Aerys’ disdain targeted towards him as he focused on others.

But now, Tywin could not stop the rage that filled him as sitting to the right of Aerys was Steffon, the two men laughing heartily as they spoke to each other.

He knew that this was fueling the rumors that the courtiers spoke of Aerys intending to replace Tywin with Steffon as his Hand of the King should the Baratheon succeed in his quest.

Everything about this is madness! How can Aerys believe that any chit descended from dirty-blooded slaves would make a better match for Rhaegar than my Cersei? And now he toys with the idea of making Steffon his Hand just to further torment me? His insults truly know no bounds! Tywin thought, gripping his chalice tightly.

At the thought of his daughter, Tywin’s eyes flickered towards Cersei, watching her as she sat at a nearby table, laughing at something the princess was saying to her.

Any other time, such a sight would not have brought out much emotion within him, but now it only compounded the anger he was already feeling.

Tywin stood from his seat and made his way over to his daughter’s table with purpose, ignoring the stares and whispers that followed him.

“I’m still jealous that Jaime gets to be a squire for Lord Crakehall.” Tywin heard Aerea say to Cersei as he drew closer.

Cersei scoffed, “Are you not essentially Ser Barristan’s squire?”

“Essentially, it doesn’t make me an official one.” Aerea said with a pout, “And with my father always giving his input in my lessons and the letters I’ve gotten from Jaime, I am certain that I am not being allowed to learn half what Jaime is. Not only has the gap between us most likely grown larger, but he will surely be knighted in a few short years.”

“Aerea, you infiltrated Duskendale alongside a Kingsguard to rescue the King from his imprisonment. I don’t think my brother is doing anything nearly as important or impressive beneath the tutelage of an elderly man such as Sumner Crakehall.” Cersei said pointedly.

Lord Sumner had a reputation in his youth for being a strong knight, but Cersei knew that the only reason her father had chosen Sumner for Jaime to squire under was because Aerys had refused Tywin when the man asked for Jaime to be made one of Rhaegar’s squires when Rhaegar was first knighted.

And with this secondary choice, the distance between Crakehall and Casterly Rock would also allow Jaime to stay in the Westerlands and in the protection of a lord who was deeply loyal to Tywin and House Lannister.

Aerea blushed, scratching her cheek as she looked away from Cersei, “That’s different. I didn’t do that because I wanted glory. And even if I was, I’m not a squire nor a man, I wouldn’t be knighted for any great action I do.”

Before Cersei could say anything else, she finally noticed Tywin standing nearby, “Father.”

Aerea turned, nodding to the man, “Lord Tywin. Are you enjoying the feast?”

She still found it awkward to be in the man’s presence, especially with how Tywin never faltered in maintaining his usual demeanor whenever they crossed paths, as if she had not told him that she and her brother thought him capable of committing treason.

A part of Aerea would have respected just how easily the man could hide his emotions if she were not so unnerved by how singularly focused he seemed to be towards pushing himself to the top of the hierarchy.

“Princess.” Tywin said calmly, bowing his head, “I apologize for the interruption, but I have a pressing matter that I must discuss with my daughter.”

Aerea looked between the two Lannisters, “I understand.”

Cersei slowly stood, glanced at Aerea one last time before following her father out of the hall. The two walked in silence until they reached the castle’s Godswood.

“Cersei,” Tywin said, his back facing the girl as he stared at the large weirwood tree in the center of the Godswood. “I thought I had told you that you must spend as much time as possible endearing yourself to Prince Rhaegar? So why is it that you can muster the care to speak ill of your brother to the princess but not the task I have given you?”

Cersei flinched, looking down at the ground, “I wasn’t speaking ill of Jaime.”

Tywin said nothing; his silence was palpable, only adding to the anxiousness Cersei felt as she knew her father’s anger was growing.

“I, I just do not see the point, father. The King made it clear during the tournament that he does not want me to be the prince’s wife.” Cersei finally said in a low whisper.

Tywin exhaled sharply through his nose, turning around to face Cersei, “The King has refused to see reason about a match when I asked, but if he sees his son taken with you or if Rhaegar goes to him demanding you as a bride-”

“He won’t!” Cersei exclaimed, yelling at her father for the first time in her life, wanting him to understand. “He won’t, father. Rhaegar is not interested in me; he doesn’t even like me, and he would not ask the King for my hand. And I... I do not wish to be embarrassed again.”

Tywin held his daughter by the chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes, “Once this foolish quest that Aerys is sending Steffon on fails, Aerys will have no other choice but to acknowledge that you are the best candidate possible for the realm’s next Queen.”

The look Cersei gave him when he said this reminded Tywin of the look Joanna would give him when she believed that he was reaching too high, and that the promises he was giving her were nothing but sweet words lost on the wind.

“You will be Queen, Cersei, and your son will one day be the King of Westeros, I can assure you of this. But I need you to do as you have been told and make yourself impossible for the royal family to ignore.”

“Yes, father,” Cersei muttered.

Tywin let go of Cersei’s chin, “Good.”

“Can I return to the Great Hall now, father?” Cersei asked, resisting the desire to scowl at Tywin and yell at him again.

Tywin nodded his head and watched her leave, still feeling a deep sense of anger within himself at the entire situation.

Anyone with sense would have chosen Cersei, would have chosen their family, and this continued humiliation only made Tywin wish that his plan for Aerys’ demise had succeeded. But now Aerys was far too suspicious of him to attempt such again, not with the new and rigorous precautions Aerys now took to ensure his safety.

For the first time in years, he felt less like the Lord of Casterly Rock and the Hand of the King, and more like the late Toothless Lion. As if he were a joke to be laughed at and not taken seriously as Tytos once was, only this time it felt as if there was nothing he could do to stop the mockery that was being made of him by the King.

~X~

Sleep had not come easily to Aerys Targaryen since Duskendale, and when it did, it brought with it a host of fevered visions and nightmares.

So, when Aerys found himself standing within a large open field that was covered in long green grass, he thought that tonight would be no different.

The sun was beating down mercilessly upon him from above, and the wind blew long grass, making it ripple in great waves across an endless horizon.

Before he knew it, Aerys saw a young girl astride a horse. Her dark silver hair was cut short, falling just below her ears, the sharpness of her cheekbones and jaw, her skin was tanned, and she had purple eyes with a bluish tint that shone as she moved closer to him.

Sweat glistened on her brow as she raised a hand to wipe it away, reins clutched in the other, her eyes turned down to a yellowed map spread across her saddle.

“Aerea,” Aerys whispered reverently, drinking in her visage once he realized who he was looking at.

She almost looked like the version of her that he had seen in the dream he had all those years ago after her birth, but was still notably younger. If Aerys had to guess, he would say that his daughter was about fourteen or fifteen names day old.

“Just a little while longer.” Aerea whispered, her voice soft and tired, though determined, “And I shall get there. And I can finally get this stupid fucking sword and return home already.”

Sword? Aerys thought. Why does she need to find a sword, and why is she here, without protection?

As Aerea slowly rode past him, Aerys was briefly able to see the map that Aerea had, seeing that it was a map of Essos.

The dream then shifted suddenly and violently, and now he was watching as Aerea ran through the narrow, twisting streets of a city he did not recognize. And as she moved through cobbled alleys, Aerys finally took note of the sword he was carrying in her hands, and his breath caught.

This was no ordinary blade, but a great Valyrian Steel hand-and-a-half longsword, with a carved hilt that resembled two dragons and had a red ruby on the top of its pummel.

Blackfyre, the sword of Kings, the blade of Aegon the Conqueror, one that had been lost since the death of Bittersteel in the Disputed Lands, and it was in her hands, in his daughter’s hands.

Aerys gripped the sides of his head, covering his ears when he was suddenly met with the clangor of steel and the outcry of dozens of incoherent voices howling all around him.

Aerea’s hair flew wild about her face as she turned a corner, clutching the sword tighter, her breath ragged but her eyes alight.

Aerys woke with a shriek, clawing at his sheets, his long nails tearing the linen to ribbons, sweat pouring down his gaunt face as his breath came in quick and shallow bursts. He stumbled from his bed, his hair wild, beard tangled, and his heart pounding in his chest like a drum.

“Pycelle!” Aerys cried hoarsely into the darkness, startling the servants and the two Kingsguard outside his chamber. “Fetch me the Grand Maester at once! At once, damn you!”

It took some time, but eventually the wheezing form of Pycelle appeared, blinking away the remnants of sleep from his eyes, his clothes roughly thrown together and askew. He bowed low, though his joints creaked as he did. “Your Grace… what troubles you?”

“Dreams.” Aerys rasped, pacing before the hearth, his nails scratching at his palms until they bled. “Dreams of… of Aerea, my Aerea. I saw him-her… riding through an endless plain. Grass, Pycelle, as far as the eye could see. A sea of grass! In Essos! It had to be in Essos; she had a map of it in her hands!”

Pycelle frowned, tugging at his beard, “You would be describing the Dothraki Sea, or the Great Grass Sea, if I do not mistake myself, Your Grace. The grasslands are filled with steppes and plains in central Essos, where the horselords ride. None travel there lightly, for it is a perilous land.”

“Yes… " Yes,” Aerys whispered, “And then… a city. She was running through a city. The city was large, with a port and brick walls and towers! Do you know this city?"

Pycelle tried to think of what city it could possibly be, but found himself lacking an answer, “I-I must apologize, Your Grace, for I don't know. There are far too many cities in Essos that have those qualities, to accurately choose between them all would be-”

Aerys growled, spittle flying out of his mouth, “Then what good are you?!”

Pycelle flinched, lowering his head further to no longer make eye contact with the man, afraid that anything else would only make the King angrier.

“She had a sword in her hand. Not just any sword; Blackfyre!” Aerys’ eyes shone with a fevered light, his voice rising to a shrill pitch as he quickly moved past his anger and focused on his dream once more. “Our sword, the sword of Kings! In her hands, Pycelle, in hers! Not Daemon’s brood, not Bittersteel, not any of those bastard pretenders, but my daughter, the true heir of my line!”

Blackfyre? The true heir? Pycelle thought, his voice heavy with caution as he spoke to the King. “Dreams are but dreams, Your Grace. Many a man has been led astray by shadows on the wall whilst asleep.”

“Shadows?” Aerys hissed, stalking towards the Grand Maester, “Do you think me blind? Do you think I cannot see the truth the gods lay before me? This is no common dream, you withered fool. This is prophecy! Aerea is meant to find it, meant to bring Blackfyre back to House Targaryen. She will not be mocked; she will not be denied!” He seized Pycelle by the arm, his grip surprisingly strong for his wasted frame, nails digging through the maester’s sleeve. “She will bring it home. Do you hear me? Home!”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Pycelle murmured, his eyes flicking nervously to the chamber doors, wanting nothing more than for something, someone to interrupt them and allow him to escape Aerys’ presence.

Aerys released Pycelle, striding toward the window, his silhouette a gaunt shadow in the moonlight. His voice softened, almost reverent now. “The Blackfyres thought to steal it, to wield it against us, to use it to claim a throne that was never theirs, but the sword was never theirs. It was always waiting for her. For my daughter, my flame, my light.”  

Aerys’ long nails scraped the stone sill as he whispered into the night, a mad smile curving his lips as he stared off into the distance.  

“Aerea should have been born first; she should have been my eldest son, not Rhaegar, my fool of a son who thought he could supplant me. She is the one from my blood, for whom all of this was for.” Aerys whispered, lamenting the birth order of his children.

“W-would.... D-do you w-wish to make Princess Aerea your heir, Your Grace?” Pycelle found the strength to ask.

Aerys did not respond immediately, slowly turning and looking at the Grand Maester from the corner of his eye. “No, no, I do not. Aerea would have been a great King, but she is still too soft; her womanly nature does not allow her to do what is necessary, to command strength and ruthlessness, and not mercy. Just as she did at Duskendale. For however foolish my eldest son may be, at least Rhaegar will take what he wants and does not believe himself to be equal to the mud of Westeros. Aerea would give away everything if it meant helping others.”

Aerys had always known that his daughter was special, and if he had raised her properly instead of indulging her, she would have been far greater. He supposed he could not fault her for the weakness of her sex, but it could still be grating.

But perhaps, this will be what she needs to lose her childish immaturity, to be what I have always dreamed of her being. Aerys thought, a low chuckle escaping his lips.

I will need to tell Lord Tywin about this at once! Pycelle thought, resisting the urge to shudder as Aerys started to laugh.

“In a few days, Steffon will be.... Pycelle.” Aerys looked at the maester, his eyes wild and firm, “Where in Essos will allow a man to reach the Dothraki Sea the quickest?”

~X~

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was heavy with anticipation that morning, courtiers whispered in hushed tones, shuffling their feet and stealing anxious glances toward the towering doors at the far end of the chamber. No one had expected to be summoned so suddenly, and certainly not the full court, as speculation spilled between clusters of lords and ladies as to what matter could have stirred the King.

At the base of the Iron Throne stood the royal family. Rhaella shifted uncomfortably, Viserys fussing in her arms as she bounced him gently. Rhaegar stood on her right side, a hand resting lightly on his sword belt, his violet eyes scanning the chamber with quiet calculation, and beside him stood Aerea, her posture upright yet betraying a restless nervousness.

Aerea looked first to her brother, then to her mother, her voice pitched low so as not to draw attention. “Do either of you know why father has called us here so suddenly?”

Rhaegar shook his head once, lips pressed thin. “No, he has spoken nothing to me of it.”  

Rhaella sighed, looking wearier than ever, “I know no more than you, child. Your father’s mind… it is his own these days.”

You mean these years. Rhaegar thought, barely keeping himself from rolling his eyes.

Aerea’s unease deepened; she turned her gaze across the hall to where the members of the small council were gathered. None of them seemed to know based on their expressions, but her gaze focused on two of the men in particular.

Tywin stood with arms folded across his chest, face inscrutable, with a faint tightening of his jaw that betrayed his impatience. Steffon exchanged uncertain glances with his lady wife, who was standing at the front of the crowd.

If the council, Rhaegar, and mother don’t know, just what is father planning? Aerea thought, but before she could think about this further, the doors of the hall slammed open and then against the walls as the Kingsguard filed in.  

Their presence alone was enough to silence the entire hall, especially as glimpses of their King could be seen as he walked inside the circle that the knight was walking in.

The King walked with deliberate steps, his eyes wide, and his gaze fixed upon his daughter. Aerea stiffened, her breath catching in her throat as his stare did not waver, manic and unblinking. It was the look she remembered from Duskendale, the look of a man half in this world and half in another.

No one dared to break the silence as Aerys climbed the steps to the Iron Throne, and when he lowered himself onto the cruel seat, no one said anything as they watched the steel points of the chair biting into his flesh, even as he did not flinch. For a long moment, he surveyed the court, his lips curling into something between a sneer and a smile.

When Aerys finally spoke, his voice carried clear and sharp across the chamber, more lucid than many had heard it be in many moons. “It is time for my house to reclaim one of its sacred treasures. Blackfyre, the sword of Kings, the proof of the truest rule in this world, that which has been lost these forty years since the traitor, Aegor Rivers, carried it east. This journey that I am sending my dear cousin, Steffon, has provided us a great opportunity to see the sword’s return, and it shall be ours again.”

The hall erupted in astonishment; whispers broke out in every corner, and they wondered if Aerys had received information about the sword’s location or if he was simply sending his cousin on a wild and ill-fated chase.

Tywin’s golden brows furrowed ever so slightly, the rest of his face betraying nothing else. Steffon blinked, clearly taken aback by the proclamation.

Just how am I supposed to find Blackfyre? Steffon thought, privately questioning his cousin’s sanity.

Aerys lifted his hand for silence, forcing his citizens to quiet themselves once more, “Lord Steffon shall yet sail to Volantis, as planned. But his journey will serve a higher purpose still, the person I shall be sending to retrieve Blackfyre and who I shall entrust Steffon to take to Essos will be my daughter.”

Aerea’s heart plummeted, desperately hoping that she had simply misheard her father, but as Aerys continued to speak, she wanted nothing more than to wake up from this terrible nightmare she had found herself in.

“She will begin her search in the Dothraki Sea, Steffon shall put her ashore in Mantarys on his way to Volantis. From there, she shall find the sword and return it to her King, or she will not return at all.” Aerys fixed his sharp and unyielding gaze upon Aerea again, freezing her in place.

Rhaella gasped, clutching Viserys tightly to her chest, “Your Grace, Aerys, no! She is but a girl, our daughter-”

“Father, you cannot!” Rhaegar stepped forward, his usual composure cracking, shocking almost everyone in the hall. “You would be sending her to her death! This is madness-”

“Quiet yourselves.” Aerys hissed, glaring at his wife and son.

Rhaegar stood his ground, fury flashing across his face, “I will not. How can you expect a child to go to another continent on a fool’s errand?!”

“Silence!” Aerys shot up from the throne with such force that he cut his leg on a jagged blade, a thin line of blood trickled down, but the injury was ignored as he thrust a trembling finger toward his son. “Silence, or I will have my Kingsguard hold you down, and your tongue ripped from your throat for your insolence! Do not defy your King, boy!”

The hall watched with bated breath as Rhaegar took a step closer to the throne, only for Barristan and Gerold to step forward. Both men looked at their prince with warning, not wanting to have to hurt him, but would be forced to if he made another move towards their liege.

Rhaegar gritted his teeth, scowling at the knights, and clenching his fists hard enough for his fingernails to dig into his palms. He wanted to further scream at his father, but with the look in Aerys' eyes, Rhaegar was sure that he would truly have him punished for calling out his madness.

Aerys turned his full gaze back to Aerea; her knees were shaking so much that they looked as if they were moments away from buckling beneath her. Her eyes were bright and wild, and she looked to be struggling for breath.

As Aerys remembered what he had told Pycelle earlier, seeing Aerea like this made him angry, and he looked at her with a cruelness that he had never directed at her.

Aerea felt small beneath the weight of his stare, fear gripping her heart tightly.

“Daughter,” Aerys said, spitting out the word like a curse, “You will find Blackfyre, or you will carve out a new existence for yourself across the Narrow Sea. For if ever I catch sight of you in Westeros without the sword, I shall have you tried for treason, as befits a false Targaryen.”

Gasps rippled across the chamber, but no one dared speak as they watched transfixed.

Aerea’s chest tightened, her breath coming out far too quickly as she started to panic, never had he spoken to her with such disgust, such disappointment.

In the silence that followed, she could only stand trembling, feeling every eye in the Great Hall upon her. Some started at her with pity, some with horror, and others with cold detachment, and even glee at the thought of the abomination they had always stuck their noses up at losing the King’s favor.

To everyone, finding Blackfyre was an impossible task to fulfil, and their King was essentially banishing Aerea from Westeros.

Why? Why is this happening? Aerea thought, but aloud she said nothing, her voice failing her as her throat tightened and her eyes burned with tears that threatened to fall.

Aerys sat back upon the Iron Throne, bleeding and grinning, as though his decree had been the most natural and logical thing in the world.

Soon, Blackfyre will be returned to my house, Rhaegar will have a pure Valyrian bride, and Aerea will grow and shed her weakness. Aerys thought, his smile growing larger as he looked at his family, unbothered by the devastated expressions on their faces.

~X~

The King’s bedchamber was dim when Rhaella entered, lit only by a few scattered candles, the air smelled of smoke and sour wine, and beneath it all, the faint tang of iron from where the Iron Throne’s barbs had pierced her husband a short time ago.

Aerys had just ended court; he had not even looked his family’s way as he descended the Iron Throne and left the hall, as if he did not just implode their lives and condemn their daughter to a lifelong banishment.

Aerys stood by the window, staring out into the night over the city, his hands clasped behind his back. He did not turn when the Kingsguard announced her presence nor when she entered, but she could see the reflection of his wild, wide eyes in the glass.  

“You should be with Viserys or your insipid ladies, Rhaella,” Aerys muttered, voice low but sharp.

Rhaella forced her trembling hands to still and crossed the chamber, her silks whispering along the stone floor. “I came to speak with you, husband, about Aerea.”

At the name, Aerys stiffened, then turned slowly, the firelight caught his gaunt features, casting deep hollows across his face. He smiled at her, but there was no warmth in it, “Ah, yes. Our precious jewel. Do you see now, wife? The dreams were true; she is chosen.”

Rhaella’s chest ached as she drew a deep breath, “Chosen? Aerys, you are sending her alone, a girl of three and ten, across the sea to a foreign land. With the Dothraki, the slavers, the sellswords… she could die a thousand deaths before ever finding this sword you dream of. Please. I beg you, do not do this.”

Aerys’s smile vanished, his eyes narrowing into slits, “It must be so, the dream showed me her path. Blackfyre will be ours again, and it will be her hand that carries it back. This is necessary.”  

“Necessary?” Rhaella felt a rare flare of fury snapping the chains she had worn for years, her voice cracking, speaking louder than she intended. “You would banish your own daughter because of a dream? A dream, Aerys? Would you risk her life for this nonsense? Have you no shame? Do you care so little for Aerea that you would throw her away like this?!”

The slap cracked across her face with such brutal force that the copper taste of blood immediately filled her mouth as her lip split open. She stumbled back, crashing to the floor, stars exploding behind her eyes as she held the side of her face.

Aerys loomed over her, breathing ragged, his fingernails clawing into her chin as he forced her head up, his nails digging into her flesh. “Never question me again, or I will do far worse than this. You think me mad, Rhaella? Perhaps I am, but I am still your King. And Aerea will go, she will find Blackfyre, or she will die far from my sight. Better that than she remains a soft and weakling beneath my roof.”

He then shoved her back, straightening his robes as though nothing had happened.

Rhaella’s breath caught in her throat,  

“Now go, see to our daughter. Give her your goodbyes before she sails east with Steffon, and do not waste my time again with your whining, you are a Queen, not some wailing fishwife.”

Rhaella gathered herself from the floor, blood trickling down her chin, her body shaking from head to toe. She turned and walked toward the doors, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Outside, Prince Lewyn and Ser Harlan allowed the Queen to exit the chamber; both looked at her, their eyes lingering on the swelling cheek and bloodied lip. But neither spoke, nor moved, their white cloaks might as well have been shrouds.

Their duty, just their sworn brothers, was to their King, and no one else, not even her. It did not matter that they were knights as well, that they were supposed to be honorable men who protected all innocence, for what were such things to the Crown?

She did not meet their eyes again. Nor did she meet the horrified stares of the servants she passed as she made her way through the silent halls. She walked swiftly, as though distance alone could shield her from the weight of their pity.

When at last she reached her own chamber, she shut the door behind her and sagged against it, her legs giving way. She slid down to the floor, burying her face in her hands as sobs tore free from her chest.

Would he kill me? Rhaella thought as she cried.

Her tears soaked her hands as her thoughts drifted, unbidden, to Ser Bonifer Hasty.

Her dear, gentle Bonifer, with his shy smile and soft eyes. For a fleeting moment, she let herself imagine another life, one where he was of a higher status, or she had not been born a princess, and she had been allowed to wed him, where her children were his and not Aerys’. Where she would have a husband who would never have raised a hand to her, never cursed her womb, never belittled their eldest son and all his being, and never banished their daughter to die in a foreign land. Her heart ached with longing, but shame followed swiftly after.

Foolish woman, he is gone, and you are the Queen; this is your lot. And so, she did what she had not done in many years, she prayed.

Her voice was broken, trembling, as she whispered, “Seven above, hear me. Though I have long been silent, I beg of you now, change his mind. Or if that cannot be, watch over her, watch over my child. Bring her home to me, whole and safe, please… do not let her die.”

Her tears fell faster, falling onto the cold stone beneath her as she continued to pray, clutching at the memory of Bonifer and the faces of her children, the only fragile anchors holding her afloat against the storm that was her husband.