"What kind of man was my father? Now that's a complicated question. Put simply, he was peerless; he was a man who walked into the house of the Gods in the morning and walked out recognised as their equal that evening. That was King Aemon Targaryen, the great sage, equal to heaven—Queen Visenya Targaryen II (the Iron Angel).
The Northern Times: Wednesday 18th August 666 AC.
Women's suffrage: Is it our duty to finally give in and complete what the Adella accords started in 145AC? The debate between Prime Minister Silius Marbrand and Opposition Leader Typhone Mikealson by Charlie Shapiero.
PM Silius and Ser Typhone exchanged heated words based on the idea of women's liberation due to the recent suffrage movement that is headed by Lady Genna Lannister, the former queen of the modelling industry, who kick-started her career with rather risque photos of herself and her ancient, powerful family name. This silver-spoon Sally has suddenly called herself a champion of the common woman.
As if she could ever relate to the well-off man, let alone the common woman. Dear readers, do remember this woman comes from wealth so extreme that her family has been one of the richest in the world since their inception and still are, even when other ancient names have turned to dust and blown away into the sands of time. The Lannisters have maintained their iron grip on power, and now they seek to push this new agenda of "liberation" with their stooge PM Marbrand.
During the question time, when PM Marbrand was asked if he supported the recent domestic terrorists in all but name, the Ladies of Adella, he unequivocally voiced his support. Thankfully, he has a minority government and so can't ruin our great kingdom right now, but Ser Typhone responded correctly that he stood up for family values and supported our brave boys in gold who walk the thin line of the law against these hooligans in the skin of women. He was quoted as stating: "Of course I don't support them, nor do I support the historic ladies they claim to represent, like Queen Visenya (the Conqueror), Queen Adella Lannister (the queen of hearts), and Queen Visenya II (the iron angel). All they strive for is to push a warped narrative and force their anarchical ideology upon us.
Each of those women trampled on peace: one helped her brother-husband invade a sovereign land and burn millions, the other was the beloved wife of the Great Evil, and the last one was the daughter of the Great Evil who deposed her own brother and destroyed the peace of the post-dance era and was responsible for the events that led to the end of the dragons. These are their heroes. I won't support them or respect them; they are terrorists and criminals."
PM Marbrand reportedly stated, "Of course I support them; these great women have supported our country in the homes and are constantly proving that they can do what men do. I won't sit here and say I don't support them; they can't be second-class citizens in their own country. This isn't the backwards land of Volantis or Lys; we must protect our women and young girls by giving them the same rights as any man, and if my opposition has a problem with it, I can tell you exactly why. Just look at whose private residences he frequented in his early years, and look at what happened to that man, and look at whose party is constantly attempting to block our declassification of the files of Lys.
I am for women because women have carried our hopes, dreams, and legacies through millennia. They finally deserve equality; they finally deserve the full Adella Accords to be implemented, and I won't be cowed by fearmongering, nor would I hope anyone else would be. If you're so proud of being a man, then protect women. That's your duty as a man. Carry their hopes for once, and for once in my mother's house, the motto is "We light the way." We will do so together, let our unity burn bright, and let us walk into the next decade as the liberators and champions of light. "
Dear reader, be prepared; this will be the era of change. Stand by our values by the seven by family; do not let the devil and the vixens corrupt you. Be the knights and protect the realm; that is our duty as men.
112 AC
Thunder roared in the sky as the rain hammered against the ancient high tower, bouncing off the solid stone and dripping into the sea, cascading down the tower, their efforts futile, for nature has long been a victim of the power of man. The world belongs to man and his vision for it.
The modest-sized chamber was the solar of Lord Hightower; it was fitted with expensive furniture of all makes and sizes that seemed to blend into a perfect kaleidoscope of opulence, from the Lysian silk curtains to the Yitish chairs fitted with cushions, the velvet seats perfectly fitted into the sturdy wood. It was delicately engraved and sculpted with such precision that even a novice could surmise the maker was a true master carpenter.
The hearth blazed as the fire crackled in the dark room where two men sat opposite each other, the only noise was the sizzling of the wood. Even if all it did was provide some light, warmth was a concept that had become foreign to them. Only fear and despair echoed within their minds, gnawing at their hearts.
"We just committed treason; we took a boy of 10 as our king. You let him have too much free rein, Otto, and now the dog thinks himself the master." Ormund's weary voice echoed in the room, shattering the tension and silence. His body was tightly bound, his arms crossed as he leaned forward, looking directly into the eyes of his younger brother.
"Perhaps you are right. I may have been blinded by love and pride for the seemingly perfect heir provided to us, a scholar who was also a champion warrior. I thought the old king had risen again. I should have been more attentive; I should have made sure we were getting a Jaehaerys and not a second Maegor," Otto responded with a weary sigh.
"Then we should rein him in, bind him to the tower, and force him to give up this foolish idea of becoming king and trying to throw us into a war right now. We don't have nearly the political capital or the military power to fight the king. Seven hells, we will probably have to face many reach lords as well. We are in too perilous a position. Add to that Rheanyes; she's blind. He blinded her, the idiot.
That's not the custom for noble hostages; they have his mother, sister, and brothers. What is he thinking? Does he have nothing in his head other than pride and bloodlust? Is this what our noble blood is reduced to, a mad dog barking wildly?" Ormund growled as he slammed his hand against the armrest of the chair, creaking from the force, and the thick vine throbbed on Ormund's forehead, becoming more and more pronounced.
"Hahaha, prevent war? Aren't you being purposefully ignorant? Brother King Viserys sent three dragons after Aemon. We are at war already, and rein in the mad dog to whom we just bowed. No, brother, we are in this war. We can either manage the fallout carefully or simply accept defeat ...give up Aemon to the king and court and accept that all our plans were meaningless, that I threw Alicent to the king for nothing, and that we will all be at the mercy of Rhaenyra and the dim-witted king. No, I say we follow the boy. We may be able to guide him. We are family. We have a much better shot with a mad king whose family than with a vindictive queen who hates us with a passion.
We can get ahead of this and try and present it so it seems the dragons died, but the three Volaryons live. Suppress their deaths to give us enough time to prepare an army and strike at the capital fast and hard. That is our only option to strike before Daemon can come back, before they can gather a large enough army to oppose us, before Viserys calls the banners. He will hesitate; I know him that much."
"What about Alicent and the children? Who's the fool, a madman or those who try to reason with a madman? Brother, there must be another way. You've always found another way. Since we were children, you've managed to outmanoeuvre every disaster. Why not this? Ormund pleaded, leaning in more intensely now, almost standing as he hovered over the chair, barely keeping his composure.
"Not this time, brother. Sometimes things are too wild to control; we have to sail through the storm. Now, as for Alicent and the children, I've made peace with their loss and resolved to avenge them, as I'm sure Aemon has as well. He chose to live and fight; I'm sure he knew he was signing them over to the stranger when he declared war.
As for the fool, I'm the biggest fool. I let this all happen. I didn't curb the boy's pride when I should have. I didn't question or challenge him enough. I was too bloody familiar. I was soft on the boy, and I let him develop into this—this man who doesn't think before he acts. The self-defence I could have managed or even gained from, but the declaration of kingship... simply put, throws Aemon into the mud and destroys credibility," Otto said quietly as he found himself gazing wearily out of the window, watching the queen of dragons circle wildly around in the sky, roaring occasionally.
"How could he become this? He went from cold and reserved to wild and mad. I had such high hopes for him, brother." Ormund sighed, sinking back into his chair.
"I don't think he became this; this was who he always was. He just hid it well... I once had a conversation with the old king about dragons and their influence on the rider. He once told me the dragons heavily influence the rider and who they become, drawing out personality traits similar to their own. I thought it was poppycock, but now I think I know why Cannibal chose Aemon; the two had similar natures, both wanting to feast on their kin for power.
Jaehaerys once told me how Vermithor influenced him; he spoke of how the dragon made him more bold, more stubborn, and more likely to focus too much on the wider picture of the realm than small matters he thought beneath him. The more I think of this, the more it makes sense. Baelon and Queen Visenya were both warriors, fearless and headstrong. The two riders of Vhagar, Maegor and Aegon, were both machines of death like Balerion, so what is Aemon but the Cannibal, now a ruthless, prideful beast?"
I should have figured as much when his maid didn't return with him. Even though her husband said she went off after him when he warned Alicent, I should have seen that she couldn't just vanish or fall into the sea. I should have known why she didn't come back and why Aemon didn't seem to even care a bit about losing someone who'd been with him since he was born. He truly is too ruthless, and his disregard for human life is almost comical, as if the boy were specifically placed here to cause chaos." Otto said, standing up to look out of the window as the storm worsened.
"You're not insinuating ..." Ormund cut himself off, his palms becoming wet as a shiver ran up his spine. Did Aemon have it in himself to kill someone who was almost a second mother to him, and if he did, what standing did he have? How was he safe, an uncle he had known for a few weeks?
"Who's insinuating? I'm merely stating what I know for a fact, or rather, believe vehemently: ruthless, prideful, and competent qualities many think a king should have, which they aren't wrong about, but most of all, a king should have restraint, yet he has none. Ultimate power brings ultimate responsibility.
Will they write my name in the history books as an accomplice or an idiot led by a boy? I wonder. Legacy is truly messy. Were you right, Corlys? Was my ambition too grand with too little grounding? Am I doomed to follow a Maegor to the throne when I spent so much time keeping one off it? What cruel irony fate weaves into my life." Otto pinched his nose as he stared at the storm, his melancholy almost palpable.
"So we are to be governed by the will of an egotistical, bloodthirsty boy; we can't control how promising the future looks," Ormund said, putting down his chalice, the arbour gold still wetting his lips, the sweet taste failed to wash away the bitter taste of subjection.
95 AC
Within the ebony marble walls of the starry sept that arched into a dome held the voice of the seven, the man who held the souls of the devout in his palms as he guided the lost sheep to the seven heavens, yet the usually peaceful palace of the pious' calm ambience was severed, the air pregnant.
In the Hall of the Seven, an old man stood, his weathered face beaten and battered by the ravages of time. Only a few wisps of white hair decorated the wrinkled, prune-ish head of the man who was High Septon William, the man who had taken the office from High Septon Loras Hightower.
He looked so tired, his old frame barely hanging onto life, his milky white eyes barely focusing on the young man standing before him, defiant and haughty, the young man with fiery red hair, the length of which was cut off at the shoulders. He was strikingly beautiful, his steel blue eyes shining with righteous resolve, drawing attention away from his narrow ridge nose and sharp cheekbones, the deep dimples adding to the softness of his features.
"Cardinal Elmen, I've been hearing frightful tales of your preachings; such righteous conviction, though admirable, is dangerous if left unchecked. We must live in peace with the believer and non-believer alike, for the mother teaches to 'extend the hand to the friend and to the stranger', Book of the Mother 43: 69." Perhaps some rereading of the book of the mother in the seven-pointed star is due, young man." The grizzled tone of the high septon broke through the silence, his wrinkled hand lighting candles slowly and carefully as he lectured the young man behind him.
"The warrior teaches to butcher the heretics and stone their sons and take their daughters and wives so that they may bear believing sons, Book of the warrior 34:16 " Elmen responded softly, his features never changing as he stared a hole through the high septon with thinly veiled disgust.
"The crone commands wisdom...for the stability of the realm, we must not stir conflicts with the believers of the old gods or the downed god. We cannot stir trouble lest we welcome another era of persecution; we must salvage peace even if reality seems to insist we must be at war. Having a sword is not what makes one a warrior; rather, knowing when to use it is what defines a warrior, only using it to protect others like a knight should." The high septon said, his chest rising as he met the challenge Elem put forward.
"A man so afraid of heretics he subdues his own beliefs is defending nothing but a system of submission, but what can I expect from someone from the camp of Lord Lickspittle, the doctrine of exceptionalism, and defending heretical worship? What's next? Will a woman wear your robes? 'Any man who follows me, let him bring my enemies to my bound or slain, for I command my sons to spread the worship of their father.' Book of the Father 19:27. I refuse to muzzle myself for a peace built upon the suffering of my own people." Elmen said sharply, his fist clenched.
"A fanatical crusade will bring nothing but havoc. Choose mercy over war, my child. This indignation will bring about nothing but chaos. Soothe yourself if you ever wish to wear my robes. We are no longer in the era of the faith militant. Dynamics change, I hope that with age will come wisdom.
Allow me to teach you a lesson. Lord Alfy once told me the devil is not some funny, horned and cloven-footed monster; he is a man. He is a man who wears a beautiful smile and an expensive silk tunic. He doesn't force you to sin; he merely shows you the desires you have and lets you make your own choices.
The more one is ruled by emotions, the more likely he is to fall to these urges. Practice mercy and patience, for one can not lead if he is easily led as you are now. You can't see past this fanatical dream of one dominant religion over the seven kingdoms. Learn peace, not war, and you may become truly great. Do not let pride and prejudice limit you, my son; it is and always has been your one true weakness." The high septon said calmly as he turned around to go to the statue of the mother to light the final candles, ending the conversation.
Third Pov: 112 AC
The rain bounded off the cobblestone of the starry sept, the giant marble walls stretching and blending into the night sky, and the dozens of stairs leading to the holy house invited Aemon forward. He slowly walked towards the land, his leathery boots grating against the cobblestone as rain soaked into his clothes, washing away the scent of brimstone and blood that surrounded him, almost as if his sins were being washed from his body.
Inside, men in humble white robes knelt before a statue, a giant marble statue that stretched to the apex of the structure, the face barely visible. The statues were so grand that mere humans could not even dream of seeing the faces of the seven. Candles light up on the podium before each of the statues, apart from one, apart from the stranger. The darkness enveloped him; only flickers of light from the others verified his existence, verified he was there, and verified that he always would be. Even if many tried to forget him, the stranger would never forget them.
*creak*
The doors were hurled open as the dark figure was highlighted with the flash of lightning and the crackling of thunder. A boy stood alone, the heavens weeping as the earth drowned in those very tears. A lone boy walked forward, unhindered and unrepentant, walking with his head held high, each stretch of the leg made with the utmost confidence and conviction, his dirty boots staining the clean floor as he engraved his muddy footprints onto the polished marble floor, the dim candlelightslowly illuminating his face as he trespassed further and further into the house of the gods. His violet eyes shimmered as he studied the man kneeling alone before the statue of the warrior.
He walked forward past the man silently, grabbing the seven spare candles in his hands. His calloused skin ground against the wax as flakes wafted through the air, and he glided towards the seventh statue, slowly lining up the candles in a fashion similar to every other statue. He then started to light them.
Each candle that was lit made the statue more and more visible; first came the robe, then the pommel of the scythe, then the skeletal hands and the hood, and lastly, the candle shone so bright the fleshless face came into full view, the hollow eyes visible, and the truth drawn into light.
Aemon Pov:
The high septon wore plain white robes that flowed freely down to his ankles. He was a gaunt man with hollowed, tile-blue eyes and red cascading hair. He would have looked handsome as a younger man, yet now he looked aged and withered like a remnant clinging to a bygone era.
Not the fat man decked out in opulence that I had envisaged when I first thought to come here to gain legitimacy, he looked more like the high sparrow than the high septon.
"The Book of the Father, chapter 13, passage 97, states 'the father must honour the son, for the son is to be a father, so only the son may inherit the father's burdens and boons'," I said casually as I walked closer and closer to him to close the distance. We were of the same height, so we could look each other in the eyes, and I saw his resolute, unimpressed, and annoyed.
"The Book of the Mother 12:12 also states 'to be humble in the presence of the highmen and pious men,' yet you don't seem to be following that lesson, Prince Aemon. Are you here because of those three beasts that flew overhead a while ago? Did you have a scuffle?" The high septon stated as he moved past me, walking towards the statue of the maiden, as he picked up a cloth and started to wipe away dust from the podium.
"It did. It seems my father has decided he no longer wishes for my existence to be a threat to his daughter any longer, so he opted to eliminate me. He failed, and I now name myself king to remove the would-be kinslayer from the throne," I said as I crossed my hands behind my back and followed to meet him at the statue. The information forced him to stop for a moment as he glanced back towards my impending form.
"So you wish for me to crown you to give you the legitimacy of the faith? That's presumptuous of you, my prince," he said, turning to look directly at me.
"Not at all.' Accursed is the Kinslayer. 'Wouldn't it be more inline with the faith to name me King, the one blessed by the seven, a man who has memorised the seven-pointed star? Why give any legitimacy to a man who dreams of a land long gone, who worships nought but fire and rock rather than a member of your flock?" I said calmly, leaning on the podium as I gazed at him
"You are no believer, prince; you are a charlatan singing sweet songs and false rumours of the seven, and blessings started by your grandfather have no bearing upon me. You are no more a member of my flock than an Ironborn or Stark. Anyone can memorise the words; only a true man can understand them," he spoke with thinly veiled disgust as he moved to put distance between us.
"Oh, then why do I know the scripture better than most septons?" I said, moving closer.
"Because my predecessors allowed much rot into this holy order, and because, like all Targs, you're a master at deception and deceit, you'll use the words and prayers but never believe them. You could never acknowledge a greater power than yourselves because you all think those lizards make you gods… they don't." He said, moving to meet me face-to-face.
"The doctrine of exceptionalism would beg to differ," I said snidely.
"Tsk, a hierarchy planted by weak men. I'd never have allowed it; a man should die before he falters in his beliefs," he said, his chest rising as he refused to be cowed.
"On that much we agree, so septon, what is your belief?" I spoke softly as I circled the man, but kept my gaze fixed on him.
"I believe the seven are the only real gods, and all should be united under their mercy." He spoke unapologetically in his fanaticism.
"So a fanatic," I spoke in a bored tone. This man seemed to actually believe the drivel he was spewing, but I needed him; without legitimacy from the faith, my ship was sunk before it would even be able to set sail.
"No, merely a true believer," he said calmly.
"Well, I have just the offer for you, my dear Speton: a seat on the small council, a place at my hand to help further your wish of expansion," I said calmly as I edged closer and closer to him.
"And in return, you'd like?" he said unimpressed; he didn't seem the least bit tempted by the offer.
"You name me king and support my deposition of my father and his accident that is to come," I said honestly. I needed support. You can't depose your father without the whole realm rebelling, without clear legitimacy from the faith to give lords an out via special circumstances, or with the faith's soft power. Without it, I'd be Maegor fighting everyone all over for my whole reign.
"You want me to support kinslaying, kingslaying, and defying the divine appointment for a mere seat on a council of your sycophants? Do I look green to you? I want a unified realm under the seven, adopt the seven as the only religion in Westeros, and I shall promote you as the king's regent. You take the throne, and Vis is captured alive and unharmed, he said, crossing his arms, his posture becoming more rigid.
"Now, do I look stupid? You want me to possibly incite a religious war and not even be able to wear a crown? No way," I said, stepping forward, my face inches away from his.
"Then we are at an impasse," he said softly. We weren't. I had planned to do this when I fulfilled my victory over Rhaenyra and was trying to get support to invade Essos, but now seems as good a time as any.
"Not necessarily. I shall give you your dream and more, but you'll give me something bigger. You will not only name me king and the avatar of the seven, the great sage equal to heaven, but also the de facto head of the religion, a ceremonial position, but I would be the head of it, as would all kings to come from my lineage, and you shall get a permanent role on the small council and the relgiously hamogenious realm and the crusade you crave," I said, my voice booming with energy.
"You ask too much; you'd basically take my position as the figurehead. I already control the south, bearing three kingdoms; the seven control this continent. Eventually, one septon shall convert all; even if it is not me, my legacy will live on through countless successors," he said, sounding almost appalled.
"Seven realms united under one religion—you think too small. I can give you the world united under the banner of the seven. I've got dragons. I will have the greatest fighting force in the world, and I will, above all, have the dream because I know death is better than bondage to a world that you failed to dominate. So, steward of the seven who are one, will you join me, or will you live knowing you could have achieved your dream but chose to cling to the lessons of lickspittles and dead men?
The Andal invaders would have thought the same war of attrition you did when they failed to take the North and Iron Islands. The longer you let the ideas subsist, the less likely a successor will be to remove them. You defied your predecessors. What if the ones after you aren't half as devout as you? If you want something done right, do it yourself," I boomed, my hands waving in the air as I spoke with fervent passion.
"The world", he repeated —I could see the wheels in his head turning as he contemplated, so I decided to add more.
"Essos, the Dothraki Sea, Yiti, Dorne, the Iron Islands, the North, and beyond—how's that for a legacy for standing on your beliefs?" I said my honey-coated words were music to his ears.
"You'd launch a crusade for the gods against the world. Perhaps I misjudged you; you have the bearing of a believer. Allow me time to fast and think." I could see he had accepted coming to my side; he just needed to show the theatrics to the common folk. I'd let him do it; my mission was complete.
"Of course, high septon", I spoke softly, leaving the starry sept.
Third Pov:
2 weeks later
Stormlands:
Lord Borros sat on his seat as the heavens raged outside Storm's End. He'd just been informed by his master that the prince had declared himself king and rebelled against his father after defeating all the Volaryon dragons, or so the letter said.
"We must raise our banners to help the king."
"We must fortify our own borders."
"We should try diplomacy, reach out, and try to broker peace."
"We must kill the prince. Princess Rheanyes has the blood of House Baratheon; this is an insult to us all."
"Have you lost your mind? He has killed three dragons and has defeated four in battle. Do you want to burn to ash?"
"ENOUGH—we stay neutral. Let the dragons kill themselves. No stormlander will die for petty grievances between inbred fucks. We fortify our borders, and that is it. We stay neutral." Lord Baratheon's voice boomed through the war council, cutting through the chaos and silencing every warhawk.
Casterly Rock :
"Allow me to state the situation: so our daughter's future husband has presumably killed all the Volaryons and the dragons and is now marching towards Highgarden and rebelling against the king, and you've kidnapped the queen and the royal children. What were you thinking, Tyland? Are you a complete fool?" The lady of Casterly Rock's voice echoed through the room, her anger evident
"I had no choice; regardless, we'd be drawn into this anyway. Rheanyra isn't likely to forget who helped her dragon die. If she is made queen, we would only suffer. We should tie ourselves to Aemon and the Hightowers right now; it would only make us look all the better." Tyland spoke calmly, fiddling with a golden dragon in his hand.
"Don't be stupid; we shall stay neutral and hold the queen and her children as leverage to bargain with whoever wins." Lady Johanna's voice was resolute.
"Adella, you've spent the most time with the boy. How likely is he to win, and what will he do if he does win?" Jason Lannister's voice echoed through the solar, drawing all gazes towards Adella.
"He may very well win, Father. He is reckless and dangerous, but he's very competent. As for his attitude towards us, if we do what Mother is suggesting, it will be cruel. He's unyielding. He may like to pretend he's all for family and love above all, but in reality, it's his pride that is above all, and when that hurts, he chooses to go the bloodiest route. He will be fine losing his mother and siblings if he can unleash hell on us after he shall build statues for them later in their honour, but won't kneel or compromise for them.
It's always his way or death. He will treat us as traitors, burn our lands, kill all the men, and rape all the women, including me, though he may keep me around as a trophy of some sort." Adella spoke calmly, laying out all the facts.
"WHAT- Tyland said you seemed in love, is this how he'd treat someone he loves?" Jason's voice seemed wroth as he glared at his brother.
"Father, you misunderstand. We are in love with each other, but Aemon, like me, is twisted. I am greedy and fell in love because I want the crown and to be queen and to have all that power, so I love him for what he can give me: the power and stability.
Aemon is controlled by his pride in being infallible and a source of fear to protect his family, and make all obey; if that pride is threatened, he will eradicate everything.
It's more like he loves the idea of family more than his actual family, just as he likes the idea of a partner in crime and lover more than he actually does, who I am.
That's why I always went along with his recklessness to fit into his mould of the follower. I may rebel from time to time, but never when he deems it important. When he's absolute, he's absolute. Right now, he will treat this as a betrayal. Adella said, perfectly dissecting Aemon and his character.
"I see we shall join the Hightowers, but demand Aemon marries you outright now, so he can't deem that as the reward for us joining. Brother, call the banners," Jason said firmly as the course was set.
The Vale :
"So that little boy thinks I'll believe this nonsense? Summon the banners! We shall aid our king and my kin, Rhaenyra. Using the boy's mother as a hostage should take the wind out of his sails. Gather all the men immediately!" Lady Arryn bellowed as men ran frantically around her.
High Garden :
"I just don't think it's prudent to declare to any side we should stay back and let a winner become apparent before we pick a side, husband." Lady Tyrell's voice echoed softly as she trailed behind her husband, who was already in armour.
"Nonsense, House Hightower grows too strong; we shall curb this nonsense at once. Ormund needs to be taught his place. As for the boy, even if he won the battle, his dragon must be at death's door facing three others. Well, we won't worry about it; perhaps we might even get a royal marriage with the princess's future son if we prove our loyalty."
Oldtown
"We are first heading to High Garden, are we?" Ormund asked as he stepped off his horse, his armour echoing with clinks and clanks.
"Indeed, Aemon seems to think he can convince Lord Tyrell to our side to have all the Reach united," Otto spoke calmly, placing his arm around his brother's shoulder.
"So where is he?" Ormund asked, even if he likely knew the answer.
"Erm, still in his chambers," Otto said with a slight blush on his cheeks.
"Oh, he's been spending too much time in their " Ormond said through gritted teeth.
"He has, but what can you expect? The boy looks 16, and Princess Rheanyes is as beautiful as ever. I should have known what he would do when he commanded that she be moved to his chamber," Otto said, letting out a quiet sigh.
"That is not how we treat noble hostages," Ormund said, pushing Otto's arm off his shoulder.
"Argue with the two flying lizards in the sky," Otto said with a quiet sigh as he walked away from his brother.
Pentos :
A tall, athletic man with chiselled features and flowing silver hair sat reading a small piece of parchment in his hand. The room was dark; only the small glow of the candle illuminated the letters on the parchment. Yet the parchment grew closer and closer to the candle until it touched the burning flame and began to burn. The smoke rose softly as a humourless laugh escaped the lips of the tall man, whose face had been drawn into the light; his eyes were shining with sadistic glee. "So the half-breed fancies himself a king. How fortuitous," Prince Daemon's voice echoed through the empty chamber.
-The end-
PLEASE READ FOR THE LOVE OF GOD
6000 words i told you guys this would be a long ass chapter hoped you liked it took me three days to write. Anyway comment please .
Also a while back I got a comment about starting a Patreon for my fics. I could do it; don't worry, I'd never hide my work behind a paywall. It would still be uploaded here and all the other sites. However, if people want it, I could make it. I would fill it with extra content like omakes, and the chapters would be much further ahead, and I would also do more polls so there would be more reader input on the story. If you want a Patreon, let me know. I'm not bothered anyway; I do this for fun, but I am a uni student, so you know, kind of broke.
Also I really wanna write an asoiaf fic in the main time line i already have an idea and the first volume planned. It would be about Steffon Baratheon firstborn son of Cersei and Robert and would start 2 years before the trip to winterfell . How would you like to read that .
Also i watched superman amazing movie go watch it .