The view from the Golden Tooth was stunning, Aelor had to admit. It made him all the gladder he hadn't had to burn it.
Lord Leo had arranged a quick feast for the officers the night after he had ridden to the loyalist camp, his men barracking around the stout Golden Tooth castle. Aelor and his cavalry lost three quarters a day of riding by remaining here, but it would be no more than they would have lost if they had been forced to take the Tooth by force. Besides, this way was much less bloody.
Aelor wanted blood of course, but only that of Lannisters. All of the Lannisters.
Lord Lefford had given Aelor quarters in one of the corner towers, overlooking the foothills they had climbed that very day. They were simple but comfy, and a thousand times better than the tent he'd grown used to over the last months. While Aelor had grown as comfortable in the middle of a war camp as he was in his grand chambers at Duskendale, he certainly appreciated the forgotten feel of a featherbed after nearly a year on a cot.
The Seven must know how his levies and men-at-arms managed on the ground, because Aelor certainly didn't. Always being offered the best sleeping arraignments was probably his favorite privilege as a Prince, odd as that may be.
Not that he was using the four-poster bed, however. It was closer to dawn than dusk, the feast below having been over for hours, but Aelor Targaryen sat awake on the simple balcony of his room, a chalice of barely touched wine in his hand. He didn't really understand it, this inability to sleep. Throughout the war, no matter who he killed that day or which of his friends died, he had never struggled to rest at night. When he cut down his first man years ago, the pig looking outlaw of the Kingswood Brotherhood, he'd slept fine that night, even after having to heave his breakfast all over his boots. When he'd cut the throat of the squire in the Stormalnds, a lad barely old enough to shave the peach fuzz on his face, he'd gotten a full night of rest afterwards. Even after his brother the King, Renfred and damn near everyone else had died all around him at the Trident, his sleep hadn't been disturbed.
But ever since his return to King's Landing weeks ago, when he'd learned of the murder of Elia, the night had become no friend of Aelor Targaryen's.
He rarely got more than three hours sleep anymore, and that only coming in spurts. Alaric had noticed his liege lord's twisting and turning from his own cot, asking more than once after the Prince, but Aelor assured him every time that he was more than fine.
Only he wasn't fine. Barristan could see it—had seen it—and that was why Aelor had left him in King's Landing. He didn't want to be fine, not when he had so much to do. Not when there were so many lives to take. Barristan had seen him for what he was, and taken the first of his revenge from him.
Barristan had seen Aelor as the Targaryen he was.
Forsaking sleep gave a man all the time in the world to think, and it was only then that the Prince of the Iron Throne let himself lose control. Aelor knew he wasn't himself anymore, not truly, but he didn't want to be himself. This being he was now, whoever or whatever it was, liked to think that Aelor Targaryen wasn't capable of what it planned on doing. It liked to think that Aelor Targaryen was a good man, not the type of man who planned the wholesale slaughter of a family, most of whom were just as innocent in Elia's death as he himself.
Somewhere inside him Aelor—the true Aelor—knew that as the fallacy it was, but he allowed this other being its fantasies.
His father was a madman wholly and completely, his brother another though to a lesser degree, and so was Aelor in his own way. He was as much a Targaryen as they, and Targaryen was just a synonym for lunatic after all. He was going to kill every Lannister high or low, as Aegon had the Iron Kings of House Hoare, as Maegor had the House of Harroway, as Aerys had the Darklyns and Hollards. The propensity to undergo the utter destruction of those who angered him ran in his blood as strongly as madness, and Aelor was fully content with using one to achieve the other.
The Lannisters were going to die. If it caused Aelor every last shred of sanity he had, so be it.
With a sigh the Dragon of Duskendale stood, downing the remaining wine in a few gulps. The full moon and it's thousands of stars made for a beautiful sight, but most beautiful things only reminded him of Elia, further empowering the dark abyss that overtook his mind. With one last glance at the hundreds of campfires dotting the hills around the Golden Tooth, the dragonlord turned to reenter his chamber, intent on trying to salvage a few slivers of sleep from amidst the endless tossing and turning to come.
With a surprised grunt he pulled to a sudden stop. There was a woman in his bed, and he couldn't for the life of him remember leaving one there.
Aelor didn't quite know what to make of that situation, even as the being he became at night fled and was replaced by the true Dragon of Duskendale. While he knew in his heart that his erratic thoughts were only growing in madness, Aelor was still fairly certain he would remember a woman if he'd been with her.
Especially one as pretty as this. His mind may be slipping, but the rest of him most assuredly wasn't.
He knew who she was of course. Alysanne Lefford, only child and heir to the man whose castle he currently stood in. Seven and ten, her skin was tan from hours riding in the sun, figure long, slender and undeniably attractive. Golden brown hair cascaded to frame the pillow she was laying against, and Aelor didn't need to be in his right mind to see just how much the thin shift she wore left to the imagination.
Months ago Aelor wouldn't have needed any more invitation than that. Renfred had been the true philanderer in their youth, Aelor much more in control of his body than his closest friend, but the Prince was a male gifted with the physical appearance his bloodline was known for, and he had used it in the past.
Now though, even as his body started to react as it always did, his mind leapt to Elia, and the wave of lust that washed through him was purged of his bloodstream almost as soon as it arrived. The woman on the bed, fair and willing as she might be, was not the one he longed for. While the practical, logical part of his brain argued that the one he longed for was dead and gone and reminded him that it had been over a year since he'd felt a woman's touch, any spark of passion the sultry figure on his pillow would normally bring forth was extinguished.
He loved Elia, gone though she may be, and this woman wasn't her.
Aelor grunted, now firmly back in his right mind, his body rid of the potent influences of both madness and lust. His voice came out firm and cold. "Let me guess; you're here to soothe the battle worn Prince amidst this brutal war, working your way into his good graces and bed, hoping that he'll be tempted by your feminine charms and marry you in a tizzy of passion."
Alysanne's voice was clear and confident, and not the least bit ashamed as she shrugged. "Sure, if that is what suits your fancy."
Aelor raised an eyebrow in mild curiosity. "What suits yours?"
"I was thinking more along the lines of fucking your brains out, but I suppose the whole 'soothe and seduce' thing will work if it must."
Despite himself Aelor snorted a laugh at her bluntness. "You're not a bit shy, are you."
Alysanne cocked her brow. "Should I be?"
Aelor shook his head ever so slightly, instinctively looking her over once more. "No, I suppose you shouldn't." With another shake of his head, he put firmness back into his voice. "But I'm afraid you're looking in the wrong chambers, my lady."
Alysanne Lefford leaned forward, dark eyes meeting the Prince's violet ones as her lips smirked seductively. "Am I really? Because I could have sworn you looked just like Aelor Targaryen, Prince Regent of the Iron Throne. Tell me, my apparently non-royal friend, where might I find him?"
Aelor scowled ever so slightly. I hold nothing against her for being willing to take what she wants, but you'd think the lady would take the hint. "Funny, but I'm not interested, girl."
The heir to the Golden Tooth eyed the Lord of Duskendale for a moment, sultry smile still on her face, before she suddenly exhaled quickly, shoulders slumping in relief. "Thank the Seven for that."
Aelor had never been more confused than in that moment as Alysanne Lefford slid off of the bed, thrown off not only by the abrupt change in the Lady's intentions but also her demeanor. As the Lady of the Tooth stood on her bare feet she hugged her arms to herself, the sheer brazen confidence she'd displayed mere moments before nowhere to be found. In place of the seductress there now stood a shy, uncomfortable looking girl who couldn't meet the Prince's eyes.
He supposed he looked like an idiot standing there with his mouth slightly agape in his confusion. "What the hell?"
Alysanne didn't look up, staring a hole in the warring white dragons stitched on the shirt covering the Prince's broad chest. "I…I'm sorry, your Grace. I'll…I'll go."
"Wait a damn minute," he blurted out as she turned to flee, his words stopping her dead in her tracks. In hindsight he wasn't sure why he even said the first ones but he soon found himself saying more. "I'm fairly certain you're not the same person you were half a minute ago. I'd like you to explain that to me."
Alysanne turned slowly, eyes still downcast, face blushing in the light the full moon cast through the windows and balcony doors Aelor had left open. "I'm sorry, Your Grace."
"You've said that, but you most certainly weren't sorry a moment ago." The woman said nothing, continuing to stare at his chest, when something clicked in Aelor's head. He shifted back slightly as realization hit him. "Lord Leo commanded this, didn't he."
Alysanne could suddenly meet his eyes again, concern for her father dripping from each syllable. "Please, Your Grace, he only…"
Aelor held his hand up to cut her off. "Easy, my lady. If you truly think you are the first lady commanded by their father to try and seduce an unmarried—or even married—Prince, you are gravely mistaken. Some 'noble' ladies didn't even need their father's command." He stared at her a moment, cocking his head slightly to the side. "I'm just surprised you agreed to it. It's clear to me you had no desire for this."
A fire lit in her black eyes, visible even in only moonlight. This girl has as many personalities as I do soldiers. "It's not like I had much choice." She spit the words out like venom, momentarily taking the Prince of the Iron Throne aback. Her hands, while still hugging her arms to her chest, clenched into fists as she spoke, betraying just how adamant
Aelor eyed her warily, wondering if there was a murderous personality amongst her others and debating whether he should make a move for his dagger on the table beside the bed. "Why wouldn't you?"
Alysanne Lefford sorted shortly. "You must not know much about the life of noble ladies, Prince Aelor." She blushed when she realized her tone, concernedly looking to the Prince again and blurting out an apology. "I'm sorry, Your Grace."
Aelor waved it away, intrigued. "You're right, I don't have a bloody clue." When she didn't speak again, he prompted her further. "Why don't you tell me."
Alysanne Lefford twisted her brow in confusion. "Why do you care, Your Grace?"
Aelor shrugged, crouching to open his chest of belongings that Edmure had dutifully placed in the Prince's room before making his way to the tent of his uncle Brynden, where he was to bunk. That was all well and good, because the Seven knew what the boy would have done had he seen Alysanne Lefford in that moment. "I normally wouldn't, but as you might have noticed I'm not exactly getting much sleep." Pulling out another of his shirts he tossed it to the confused looking young woman. Good, at least I'm not the only one rattled by this encounter. He gestured for her to cover herself with it, something she hesitantly did. "Your father is expecting you to be here for the night, and while I'm not interested in what he had in mind for us to be doing in that amount of time, I'd hate for you to suffer his wraith for 'failing' in that regard."
It took a few more minutes of prompting and nudging, but before too long Aelor Targaryen had a candle lit and a glass of wine in his hand, Alysanne Lefford seated across from him at the small table in the chambers.
She was certainly her father's daughter, blunt in speech and—after he'd finally convinced her he wasn't going to execute her—uncaring for what offences might be taken. A high-spirited woman, she complained bitterly of how her father hadn't allowed her to train with sword and shield, how she detested the fact that a woman was seen as inferior to a man, and most of all about how much she hated needlework.
And she truly hated needlework. Alysanne Lefford could give Manfred Darke a few pointers on how to properly express revulsion.
She did most of the talking, especially after she grew comfortable with the Prince, allowing Aelor to sit back. Her conversation, as well as being interesting and entertaining, helped keep the other being that slipped into his mind at bay. He focused on her words, not allowing his mind to wander to the unsavory thoughts they always found, replying when necessary and sometimes when not. Time passed, unheeded by the Targaryen Prince or his companion, so much so that the full moon disappeared to be replaced by the lightening of dawn.
Aelor was actually doing the talking when he first noticed the signs that light was nearing, answering the thousandth question Lady Lefford had had about Warrior. "It looks as if dawn is near, my lady. I suppose I should escort you back to your chambers. We wouldn't want your honor to be questioned, even if your father is seemingly uncaring for it."
"What of your honor, Prince Aelor?" She asked, the Prince's shirt still draped over her smaller frame.
Aelor laughed lightly. "You need not worry, Lady Lefford. No one has any thoughts of my honor. I'm a Targaryen, and such I'm expected to take what I want, honor be damned." Aelor snorted. "I suppose they're right."
It had been meant in jest, but Alysanne clearly hadn't taken it that way. The girl had proven sharp of wit and tongue but also disturbingly perceptive of what the Prince actually thought, not just what he was saying. "Nonsense. You didn't take what you wanted a few hours ago, even though as a Prince many would feel you almost entitled. That was an honorable action."
Aelor waved her off. "Perhaps, if one wishes to take it as such. But trust me, my lady, I've done too much to be a man of honor anymore."
Alysanne's eyes bored into his own. "Like what?"
Aelor shook his head with another snort. It took him a moment to realize she was serious. "You don't want to get into this, my lady."
"Yes, I do." She didn't look away, clearly intent on an explanation.
The Prince was taken aback by her stubbornness, though he supposed he shouldn't be after their conversation during the night. "Alright," Aelor said slowly, violet eyes daring her to hold them as he spoke. She did. "I've killed more men than I daresay you've met. I wanted a handmaiden of my brother's wife, so I took her. Eventually I wanted my brother's wife herself, and were it not for Tywin Lannister I would have taken her too."
His voice rose slightly as his eyes began to burn. "I wanted Robert Baratheon's life. I took it. And now I want Tywin Lannister's and every other Lannister's be they innocent or not. And all the knights of Westeros won't stop me from taking those too." Aelor abruptly stood. "I have enjoyed our conversation, Lady Lefford, but don't think for a moment I am the honorable Prince I'm sure your father talked me up to be."
Alysanne said nothing as she stood, Aelor escorting her to the door. He opened it, checking the hall outside for any wandering eye of a servant who may give the pleasant if nosy young lady beside him trouble she didn't deserve, and stepped aside to allow her to exit.
She turned in the midst of the doorway, young face looking up into the Prince's sagely. "One more thing, Prince Aelor. You said you weren't a man of honor, going on about all the things you wanted that you took. You forgot the one thing you didn't want, the one thing that proves you are not as bad a man as you think yourself to be."
Alysanne Lefford gently prodded him in the chest, face deadly serious. "You didn't want the crown. You didn't take it, even when you so easily could have. How many men, Targaryen or not, can say that?"
As his young friend left him standing in shocked silence in the door to his chambers, Aelor Targaryen couldn't help but think that Elia would have liked her.
The next morning, as Prince Aelor Targaryen rode out of the Golden Tooth at the head of the column, he had Leo Lefford ride beside him. "You have a lovely daughter," Aelor said to him, looking over at the only bannerman to defy Tywin Lannister.
Leo smiled smugly. "Thank you, Your Grace."
The smug smile disappeared with the Dragon of Duskendale's next words. "If you ever make her attempt something she so clearly doesn't want to do again, I'll kill you."
The rest of the morning ride passed in silence.