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Oberyn Martell
Oberyn worshipped his sister. Despite being less than two years her junior, there was something about Elia's quiet determination, her grace, that made her seem so much older and wiser than he. Even when he grew taller and became broad of shoulder, his voice deepening, and thick black hair beginning to grow on his chin, she always made him feel like a little brother.
Though he enjoyed his mother's songs and his lessons with Doran, it was Elia's stories that he craved. Many a night, he would steal into her bed, despite the heat, to hear her soft voice weave worlds around them and feel the soothing motion of her delicate fingers combing through his hair. His favorite stories were the embroidered ones. Every so often, Elia would emerge from her lesson and press a scrap of linen into Oberyn's hands; the first piece had a simple illustration of a castle and the words, "Once, long ago, there was a Queen and a Knight. They were noble and beautiful, and they loved each other."
He hadn't understood at first, but the following week Elia had given him another scrap and then another, and the story began to unfold. After a few moons, he began to wait outside her chambers on days he thought she might bring him a new piece of the tale, so eager was he to see what the wise queen and the gallant knight would do next. On his eleventh name day, Elia brought him a roll of silk, richly embroidered in vividly colored thread, telling how the Queen and the Knight befriended a young dragon. Oberyn had cried as the light began to fail, and the flickering flame of a candle failed to do justice to the beautiful images he had already committed to memory.
It was still mounted above his bed the night before they left to deliver Elia to King's Landing, and Elia smiled Oberyn's favorite smile as she ran her fingers over the raised patterns the thread made.
"I still have the rest," Oberyn said, reaching into the small set of drawers at his bedside and pulling out a pile of linen scraps. "I read them when I cannot sleep."
He handed the pile to her, and she sat on the edge of his bed to flick through them. She sighed and held out her hand, beckoning him to sit beside her so that she could rest her head on his shoulder.
"Remember this, little brother," she told him. "The world has many wonderful things to teach you, but be careful what you learn. Very few places treat their girls as Dorne does, but our ways are the right ones."
Elia pressed the little handful of embroidered rags into his hand, encasing his calloused hand in her tiny, delicate ones. "When you take lovers and have daughters, remember these. And if you have sons, remember to teach them as you have been taught."
Her dark eyes shone, and Oberyn felt a pang of loss; to miss her before she had gone was ludicrous, yet the ache in him at the thought of her going to King's Landing, of possibly never returning to Sunspear, to her family, to him, was already beginning to press upon his chest.
"You have my word, Elia, and if I ever forget, you will be there to remind me."
"I will, Oberyn, always."
Years Later
As Oberyn reminisced about the past, he couldn't help but recall the day that forever altered the course of his life. The day Rhaegar Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone, had ridden past his sister, Elia Martell, and crowned Lady Lyanna Stark as the Queen of Love and Beauty, Oberyn could feel the tension in the air, and the joyous smiles of the crowd had died down to whispers and murmurs. At that moment, Oberyn had felt an overwhelming sense of fury and betrayal; his sister had been publicly shamed and humiliated in front of the entire Realm.
.
Oberyn's fury boiled over as he bellowed out, "How dare he disrespects you in front of the whole Realm?" His voice echoed off the walls of the room, shaking the very foundation of the building. As he spoke, his eyes burned with a fierce intensity that seemed to set the air around him ablaze. Without a moment's hesitation, he lunged towards a nearby vase and snatched it up, his grip so tight that it threatened to shatter the fragile object. With all his strength, he hurled the vase towards the wall, its trajectory like an arrow aimed at its target. The sound of shattering glass filled the air as the vase exploded into a million pieces, the red wine inside spilling out like blood splattered against the wall. The room fell silent as Oberyn stood there, his chest heaving with the force of his rage, his eyes still blazing with an intensity that seemed to defy all reason.
Oberyn didn't care if the entire Westeros heard him. He knew that his sister, Elia, had been wronged - and the perpetrator, the haughty and arrogant Rhaegar, would not go unpunished. With a determined glint in his eye, Oberyn vowed to make Rhaegar pay a heavy price for his actions, using every ounce of his cunning and strength to achieve justice for his beloved sibling.
Elia could feel the tension in the air as her brother Oberyn's anger grew in response to Rhaegar's decision to crown Lady Lyanna. She knew that her brother's fiery temper could quickly spiral out of control, especially when it came to defending their family's honor.
With a gentle touch on his shoulder, she tried to calm him down and bring his attention back to her. "Oberyn, please be quiet," she pleaded, "don't make this more difficult than it needs to be." Despite feeling frustrated and angry herself, Elia knew that adding more fuel to the fire would only make things worse.
She needed to find a way to control her brother's temper before he did something rash that could endanger himself or their family. As she looked into his eyes, she could see the anger burning within him, and she knew that she needed to tread carefully. Although she, too, was furious with Rhaegar's gesture, she knew that reacting impulsively would only cause more problems.
She needed to think of a way to channel her brother's anger in a more productive direction. Taking a deep breath, Elia tried to reason with him. "I know you're angry, Oberyn, and I am too. But we need to stay calm and think this through." She hoped that her words would sink in and that her brother would listen to her. She couldn't afford to lose him.
Elia's calming words, intended to soothe Oberyn's fury, seemed to have the opposite effect on him. Instead of calming down, he became even more enraged and shouted at the wall in frustration. "Make what more difficult?" he yelled, his voice echoing through the room.
"He shamed You!" he yelled, his eyes blazing with fury. "He shamed House Martell!" His anger was palpable, and his voice grew louder with every word. "He thinks that because he's a Fancy Dragon Prince, He can do whatever He Wants!" The venom in his words was evident, each syllable dripping with disdain and contempt. It was as if he was trying to channel the rage of all the Dornish people into his voice, to make himself heard above the clamor of the courtiers and the clanging of swords. Oberyn's body trembled with anger; his fists clenched tightly at his sides. He was a man possessed, consumed by his desire for justice and revenge.
Oberyn knew he could use the same poison he used with the fool Edgar.
As Elia looked at Oberyn, her heart felt heavy, and her eyes began to well up with tears. She knew he was a passionate man, but sometimes his passion could lead him to do foolish things. She placed both of her hands on his strong shoulders from behind, trying to steady him and force him to look at her. "Please, Oberyn," she pleaded, "don't do anything foolish and don't say such words. Walls have ears," she repeated to him what he had once told her before she had arrived in King's Landing. But Oberyn was not in the mood to listen. He forcefully shrugged her hands off his shoulder, and his eyes showed fury, almost red with anger. Elia knew he needed time to cool off, but it pained her to see him so upset. She hoped that he would eventually see reason and not act rashly.
"No. I won't stay put. I don't care if the Entire Westeros hears me. He will Pay." The sound of his words reverberated off the walls, and his anger was palpable as if it were a tangible force that filled the room with an intense heat. Despite Elia's desperate pleas for him to listen, Oberyn was far too consumed by his rage to hear her words. He could feel his blood boiling, his heart pounding, and his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. With a final, resounding slam of the door, Oberyn stormed out of the chamber, leaving behind a trail of fury and righteous indignation in his wake.
After that day, Oberyn made a plan to get his revenge, one day, Elia pleaded for him to stand down once again; Oberyn had not wanted to listen; he wouldn't allow anyone to walk away without a scratch after shaming his sister in front of everyone.
Sadly, the Rebellion started, and Oberyn was unable to do anything. Throughout the Rebellion, he had hoped Rhaegar would die during it, that his corpse would rot; after his death, Oberyn would kill Robert Baratheon himself and end the rebellion and then declare Aegon Targaryen as the ruler of Westeros. Oberyn would use his armies to ensure that Elia was the one in charge until Aegon was old enough to become King of The Seven Kingdoms.
During the Battle in the Trident, Arthur had defeated Robert Baratheon, and Rhaegar had come out victorious; at that point, Oberyn had been relieved to know that the Targaryens had won; a part of him had feared they would have lost; Elia and her children would have perished if Rhaegar had lost.
After hearing the Mad King had fallen from Ser Jaime's sword, Oberyn had been overjoyed; the man responsible for tormenting his sister and for insulting her and Rhaenys was gone, but when Oberyn heard that Lyanna Stark was married to Rhaegar, and she was heavy with a baby, that had made things difficult once again.
Oberyn's remark was met with a fierce glare from Elia, who was clearly offended by his words. "You love her," he had said, his head shaking in disbelief at what he was hearing. Despite the tension in the air, Oberyn stood his ground, neither backing away nor attempting to apologize for his statement. It was clear that he believed he had hit a nerve with Elia, and he was not about to back down from a fight.
Elia's voice was firm and laced with frustration as she addressed her brother, Oberyn. "Yes, I do love Lyanna and Rhaegar. But you, Oberyn, of all people, should not have a problem with this," she said, her eyes flashing with a hint of anger. Elia couldn't fathom why her brother couldn't accept her love for two people at once, especially when he himself had always been so open-minded and accepting. She had hoped that Oberyn, with his reputation for being a libertine, would be the first person to understand her unconventional love.
Oberyn's expression twisted into a look of disdain as he scoffed, his eyes appearing to convey that the words spoken by Elia in front of him were meaningless and nonsensical. He responded with a mixture of frustration and incredulity, "It is not the same, and you know it. Yes, I have children, but all of them are bastards with no rights to the throne of Sunspear. If Lyanna's child had been a bastard, I wouldn't have much of a problem, but you're allowing this woman to destroy your life in front of your eyes. You're doing nothing," Oberyn spoke with suppressed anger; he could feel the frustration boiling inside him, threatening to spill over, but he fought to keep his voice level. There was so much more that he wanted to say, so much more that he needed to say, but he held his tongue in front of his sister, whose face turned redder with anger with each word he spoke.
The atmosphere in the room was tense as Elia Martell, the Princess of Dorne, stood up from her seat with a fiery look in her eyes and her voice ringing out in anger. With a stern expression, she fixed her gaze on her sibling, who seemed unfazed by her reaction. "I won't have you insult Lyanna in front of me," she exclaimed, her voice laced with emotion and conviction. Her words echoed through the room.
Oberyn spoke with a confident tone, his words dripping with conviction, "Whatever you like it or not, dear sister, this is the world we live in, a world where even the most innocent-looking child can become a potential threat to the established order of things, just like Aegon II and the Blackfyres proved time and time again."
He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in, before continuing, "Even if Lyanna's firstborn is a daughter, the second, the third, who knows what they will become or what they will do. It is our duty to be prepared for any eventuality." Elia's eyes narrowed as she shot a sharp glance toward her brother, "Watch your tone, Oberyn," she interrupted, her voice laced with irritation.
Elia's voice was firm and unwavering as she spoke, her eyes fixed on Oberyn's incredulous expression. "I won't have you speak ill of Lyanna and her child," she repeated, emphasizing each word. "You speak as if it is already set in stone, but Lyanna's child is not an usurper." Her conviction was palpable, radiating off her in waves. Oberyn, however, remained unconvinced and continued to stare at her with a mixture of disbelief and anger. Despite his skepticism, Elia remained resolute in her beliefs.
Oberyn's mind was racing as he listened to his sister's words. He felt the urge to retort with a biting remark, but he knew it wouldn't solve anything. Instead, he rose from his chair, his movements deliberate and measured. He fixed his sister with a steady gaze, his eyes boring into hers with a fierce intensity. "Then you are a naive fool," he wanted to say, the words on the tip of his tongue, but he held his tongue. He knew that his sister was not one to be trifled with, and he didn't want to risk causing a scene.
Instead, he took a deep breath and spoke in a measured tone. "Who do you love more?" he asked, his voice low and steady. "Lyanna and her children, or your own children, because one day you will have to choose." He turned to leave, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room. He didn't look back at his sister. He didn't want to see the anger or hurt on her face. He knew that their relationship was strained, but he hoped that they could find a way to mend it someday. For now, he had other things on his mind, other battles to fight.
After that day, his sister had not allowed him anywhere near her for many months.
When Oberyn received the news that Lyanna Stark and her daughter had died, he knew his sister had grieved that night and many other nights. Oberyn had been there and told her to stay with her children; they were still young and needed their mother in these hard times.
As Oberyn pondered upon the news of Lyanna's child's death, he found himself in a state of neither celebration nor grief. He couldn't bring himself to celebrate the loss of a child's life, but at the same time, he couldn't help but feel relieved. The potential threat to his nephew's reign was gone, and his nephew's position on the throne was now secure.
Whether or not Lyanna's child was truly a threat didn't matter anymore, for it was the safety of his family that ultimately mattered to him. As he sat there, lost in thought, he couldn't help but think about his sister. He knew that it would take time for her to heal from the loss of Lyanna's child, but he also knew that she was a strong woman.
She would eventually move on from this tragedy, and life would return to normal. His nephew would grow and become the King of Westeros, and he would be there to guide him every step of the way. For Oberyn, the family was everything, and he would do whatever it took to ensure their safety and happiness.
Now
As the news of the upcoming meeting in the Great Hall of Harrenhal had spread to every lord, everyone was speculating about the reason behind King Rhaegar's call for such an assembly. The air was thick with anticipation, and even the most seasoned courtiers couldn't guess what the meeting was about. Amidst all the confusion and mystery, Oberyn Martell, the Prince of Dorne, was also left bewildered, wondering about the purpose of the gathering. However, Oberyn's sharp eyes had noticed that somebody seemed to know what the meeting was about. It was none other than his niece, Arianne, who gave a subtle yet confident nod when he asked her about it. But despite his repeated attempts to extract the information, Arianne remained tight-lipped. Her silence only added to the intrigue surrounding the meeting. Eventually, Oberyn decided to simply wait for the King to arrive.
The anticipation was palpable as Oberyn sat at the entrance of the great hall, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for an entire hour, his mind thinking of leaving and heading towards the King's chambers. However, just as he was about to make his move, the sound of creaking hinges echoed through the chamber, and the magnificent doors opened to reveal the regal figures of the King and Queen, their royal presence commanding everyone's attention.
Oberyn Martell watched Jon Snow take a seat next to Rhaenys Targaryen, and a sudden feeling of unease twisted in his gut, causing him to feel as if he had been punched. The Dornish prince had always been skilled at reading people, and as he observed the interaction between the two young adults, he knew that something was not quite right. Perhaps it was the way Rhaenys leaned in too closely or the knowing glint in Jon's eye - whatever it was, Oberyn sensed danger lurking just beneath the surface.
As Lord Eddard Stark stood before the hall and confessed his supposed crimes, Oberyn's heart thumped faster with nervousness and anxiety. His keen eyes scanned the room, taking note of the expressions etched on the spectators' faces, especially those of his niece, Rhaenys. The young girl's gaze shifted from her alleged half-brother to the man who confessed his guilt. He didn't like the way Rhaenys looked at her half-brother.
As Oberyn sat there, watching her niece, Rhaenys, gaze at her brother with a look that was far from the typical sibling affection, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease wash over him. It was a look that he had seen many times before, a look that spoke of pure, unadulterated lust and love, a look that left no doubt in his mind that Rhaenys loved her half-brother as more than just a brother. The way she gazed at him, with a hunger in her eyes, made Oberyn wonder just how deep her feelings ran. Was it just a passing infatuation, or was it something more profound?
As Oberyn sat in his seat, his mind raced with thoughts of the impending danger that his entire family was in. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he pressed his lips into a thin line, forcing himself to stay put despite his growing anxiety. It was clear to him that he needed to have a serious talk with his family, especially with Rhaenys, who seemed oblivious; Oberyn knew that he had to make his family understand that the danger they faced was real and imminent. But just when he thought the meeting would end.
Prince Aemon revealed that he has a dragon, but not a baby dragon, that could easily be dealt with, but one almost as large as Harrenhal, a Dragon that rivaled Balerion The Black Dread when it comes to his size.
This is the Worst; not only he's a legitimate Targaryen, but he had a Dragon, Oberyn thought; his hand trembled as he tried to steady himself, but his body was betraying him. His face was slick with sweat. All of his years of experience in combat suddenly felt meaningless in the face of this new threat, and for the first time in many years, he was scared of someone.
Oberyn stood frozen in fear, his heart beating so hard that he felt as if it would burst out of his chest at any moment. He tried to steady his breathing, inhaling and exhaling deeply, but the fear only seemed to grow with every passing second. He had never been afraid of anyone, not even the deadliest of foes, but the mere thought of facing Lyanna Stark's son, who had a Dragon by his side, made him feel like he was living a nightmare. The image of the beast's fiery breath and sharp claws flashed before his eyes, causing him to feel dizzy and disoriented.
Oberyn's heart was pounding so hard that he could hear it in his ears as he tried to calm himself by taking deep breaths, but seeing his family's equally shocked faces did little to ease his mind. As he scanned the crowd, his eyes finally settled on his sister, Elia, and he could tell from the look on her face that she had known about the Dragon and the Prince all along. A wave of betrayal washed over him as he remembered how close he and Elia used to be and how she had always confided in him about everything. But now, it seemed like she had deliberately kept this information from him.
Oberyn had paid attention during the entire meeting; Elia and her children had known beforehand that Jon Snow apparently was actually Aemon Targaryen, yet, none of them ever said anything. Oberyn didn't know for how long they had known the truth, but they must have had enough time to tell him the truth by now. Instead, they had kept quiet.
Oberyn felt betrayed that his sister hadn't seen him worthy enough to tell him the truth, and now, Aemon Targaryen had a Dragon, and from what Oberyn had heard, he also had an Eagle of the North, and a Direwolf on top of having a Dragon.
He won The Melee, displaying unparalleled swordsmanship, and defeated the Crown Prince in the Jousting, leaving the entire crowd stunned. It was evident that Aemon's story would inspire people and fill their hearts with admiration. But that wasn't all. As if his triumphs weren't impressive enough, Aemon had a dragon, a magnificent creature.
It quickly became clear that Aemon was not just another Prince. He was a force to be reckoned with, and it wouldn't be long before everyone in the kingdom wanted him to become their king. Oberyn felt a cold sweat roll down his cheek as he realized that, with a single tourney, Aemon had made the Crown Prince look like a Second Son. The people were already whispering about Aemon's greatness and potential to lead them to a brighter future, and the thought of him ruling the kingdom sent shivers down Oberyn's spine.
Oberyn looked back at the one who apparently was a Prince and not a bastard; he knew he needed to find a solution; Aemon being an actual Targaryen Prince was already bad enough, but having a Dragon, Oberyn knew Aemon Targaryen was the biggest threat to his family right now.
Oberyn's piercing gaze was drawn towards her. She had mentioned that she had spent some time with Jon Snow, but as he studied her closely, he realized that she was completely unaware of the fact that Jon Snow had a dragon, but she had known about him being a Prince. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning, and he felt a wave of frustration wash over him. He couldn't help but wonder why Arianne felt the need to keep such a crucial piece of information from him. "Why is everyone keeping secrets from me?" he thought, the annoyance palpable in his voice.
With a sharp tone in his voice, Oberyn turned to his niece Arianne. "Arianne, have you known Jon Snow was a Prince?" Even though his question was more like a simple statement of the obvious, he couldn't resist asking her anyway. Arianne, who was a smart and observant young woman, didn't try to deny it or play coy. Instead, she simply nodded in confirmation of what her uncle already suspected, knowing there was no point in hiding the truth from someone as perceptive as Oberyn.
"What is he like?" Oberyn questioned sharply, leaning closer to Arianne, his voice almost whispering, not wanting everyone in the hall to know what he was saying.
"He's an excellent singer, Uncle, much better than Aegon. He loves his companions and is very kind to everyone around him. He's fearless and is an excellent swordsman," Arianne explained; Arianne's heart was racing as she spoke, her voice betraying her deep admiration for Aemon. She wanted to tell her uncle everything about him, but she knew better than to push her luck. Despite her enthusiasm for Aemon, Arianne was aware that her uncle was not pleased with his existence, and everyone had kept his true identity a secret from him. Therefore, she held her tongue and did not say everything she wanted to about Aemon, knowing that it would upset her uncle further.
Nymeria's questioning eyes expressed a hint of betrayal towards Arianne for not sharing any information about Aemon, as she bluntly asked, "Do you think he's a danger to Aegon?" The way Nymeria framed her inquiry demonstrated her intense concern for Aegon's safety and mistrust of Aemon.
"No," Arianne answered with unwavering confidence, her voice laced with a hint of defiance. Despite being aware of her shortcomings in politics, Arianne refused to back down from her stance. She knew all too well that compared to the cunning and scheming individuals that inhabited the realm of Westeros, she was far from being the sharpest tool in the shed. However, her experiences growing up in a world filled with greed and desperation had taught her to be cautious of those who sought to exploit her father's wealth or her hand in marriage. And Aemon, with his charming demeanor and persuasive words, did not strike her as one of them.
Arianne still remembered how Aemon had defended his sister or cousin Arya Stark from Joffrey Tully. She had seen how kind Aemon could be; it had made her heart beat faster, she had wanted to help him during the trial, but sadly Aemon had demanded a Trial by Combat before she could say something to support him.
Arianne's mind was still reeling from the unbelievable sight of a mighty dragon with Prince Aemon as its rider. Although her initial reaction should have been fear, she found herself surprisingly calm and collected. In fact, to her own surprise, she felt a strange sense of arousal deep within her, as if her body was betraying her own sense of logic and reason. She almost hated herself for finding Prince Aemon even more attractive than before and realizing this only served to further fuel her internal conflict. Despite her feelings, however, she knew deep down that she had no place in his heart. Prince Aemon's heart already belonged to two others - Rhaenys and Val
As Arianne gazed into Aemon's eyes, she felt her heart twist a little, a feeling she had never experienced before. Although they had shared some harmless fun, she couldn't shake the feeling that their relationship would never progress beyond that point. In another world, perhaps they would have been married already, with beautiful children playing at their feet and laughter filling their home. But in this world, it seemed that fate had other plans for them, plans that did not involve a future together. Despite the sadness that filled her heart, Arianne knew she had to let go of the idea of a life with Aemon and move on.
"Arianne, after this meeting, we will have a discussion," Oberyn told his niece with a tone that left no room for arguments; Arianne simply nodded without caring what he had to say; however, her body language betrayed her true emotions; and it was clear that she was displeased but reluctantly agreed to comply with her uncle's demand. Arianne knew better than to argue with Oberyn; she knew her uncle wasn't asking; she was demanding it.
I need to speak with Elia as soon as possible, Oberyn thought; he was forcing himself not to simply go to his sister right now and discuss how they would deal with Aemon. If Arianne has slept with him, then perhaps there's a chance of marriage between her and Aemon; he will live in Dorne, far away from any potential supporters, Oberyn thought, knowing he needed to find a solution as soon as possible.
Tywin Lannister
As he gazed upon the colossal Dragon, its scales shimmering in the bright sunlight, Tywin's mind raced with disbelief and wonder. He had always prided himself on being unshakeable, a man who could never be caught off guard, but this magnificent creature had shattered his confidence.
Tywin knew this Aemon Targaryen was a new player in the game, a very big player—someone who held power.
Aerys, this is what you always wanted, a Dragon; I wonder what you would have said if you could see this, Tywin couldn't help wondering what his reaction would have been if he were still alive to witness this spectacle. The bitter taste in his mouth was a constant reminder of the betrayal that led to Aerys' downfall, and the sight of the dragon only added fuel to the fire. Despite its gargantuan size, Tywin managed to maintain a stoic expression, refusing to allow any emotions to surface lest they betray his true feelings of fear and uncertainty.
As Tywin mulled over the memory of his father, he couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions bubbling up inside him. His thoughts were dominated by the recollection of a time when his father was the only one to show fear. It was a moment that had stayed with Tywin for years, and now, as he reflected on it once again, he could feel the familiar sensation of loathing begin to rise up inside him. How could his father, a supposed Lion, be so weak and cowardly?
It was a bitter taste to swallow, but Tywin knew the truth had to be faced. His father had been a fool, a man who lacked the courage to face his fears head-on. He had been a Lion without claws or teeth, a creature that was all bark and no bite. Only my father would have felt fear, Tywin repeated in his head.
As Tywin cast his steely gaze around the great hall, his eyes fell upon his family seated before him. It was plain to see from the expressions etched on their faces that they were all equally disturbed by the news that had just been delivered. But it was Cersei, his eldest daughter, who seemed to be taking it the hardest. Her normally beautiful features were contorted into a fierce scowl, and she looked as if someone had forced a sour lemon into her mouth. Tywin couldn't help but sympathize with her; after all, the shocking revelation that a Targaryen had managed to acquire a dragon was something that should have never come to pass.
As Tywin's sharp gaze fell upon Prince Aemon, he couldn't help but notice the unmistakable glint of satisfaction that shone in the young man's eyes. It was a look that Tywin knew all too well, one that spoke of triumph over a powerful foe.
Yet, as he watched Aemon bask in his glory, Tywin couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding wash over him, for he knew all too well the dangers that came with such power and the temptations that lay in wait for those who wielded it. As Aemon continued to revel in his success, Tywin's mind wandered to a darker place.
He wondered how long it would take for the prince's eyes to become like those of the Mad King, consumed by a thirst for power that could never be sated. It was a fate that had befallen many before him, and Tywin did not doubt it would happen to all of them eventually. Tywin looked around at the others gathered there, searching for any signs of the madness that had plagued their ancestors. And as his gaze fell upon Viserys Targaryen, he knew his fears were not unfounded. For there, in the young man's eyes, he could already see the telltale signs of the same madness that had once consumed his forebears.
Tywin's eyes darted toward his granddaughter, Myrcella, who was sitting gracefully beside her mother. She was a striking beauty, with her golden locks cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall and her porcelain skin glowing under the flickering light of the candles.
Tywin couldn't help but admire her, thinking of the vast possibilities that lay ahead for House Lannister if he could secure a powerful alliance with the right people. Myrcella was a beauty who thankfully took after her mother only her appearance and not much else. A Dragon on their army would make them invincible, and Tywin knew this too well. He was a master of the Game of Thrones, and he knew that the chances of securing such an alliance were slim but not impossible.
Tywin's gaze quickly shifted towards the Northern lords. An overwhelming sense of tension and anger hung heavily in the air, thick like a dense fog that refused to dissipate. From the way the Northern lords stood with their arms crossed, their faces twisted with disdain and contempt, Tywin could tell that they were not allies of Prince Aemon. The realization dawned on him like a sudden wave of relief that Prince Aemon had no friends, no armies, no authority, and nothing to rely on except for his mighty dragon.
Tywin almost scoffed at the thought that the prince believed himself invincible simply because he had a dragon by his side. Tywin knew all too well that one spoonful of poison could easily take down even the Mighty Dragon Prince, leaving him as vulnerable as the rest of them. As his thoughts swirled, Tywin's gaze shifted to the young girl Prince Aemon had crowned during the Jousting.
Tywin could tell from her stern face that she was no lady of a big house, he didn't know who she was, but she wasn't anyone important, but Tywin could see the way she was looking at the prince, and Prince Aemon crowned her in front of the entire realm, it was obvious, they were lovers or husband and wife.
Tywin still kept a passive face; he needed to talk with his entire family as soon as the meeting ended and discuss how they would proceed.
Olenna Tyrell
Olenna's heart sank as she gazed upon the magnificent creature, its scales glistening in the sunlight. She had been waiting for so long for House Tyrell to finally gain the respect and political power they had always deserved, and it seemed as though they were finally making progress. But now, with the arrival of this new player, everything has changed. The Dragon had completely flipped over the Cyvasse Table, leaving Olenna feeling frustrated and powerless. She couldn't help but feel as though all of her hard work and strategic planning had been for nothing.
Olenna didn't know who this prince was; having a Dragon made him a threat to Margaery and Prince Aegon.
Olenna knew the betrothal between Margaery and Aegon was already announced by the king himself, leaving her powerless to stop it. Frustration etched across her face, she let out a gruff grunt, but quickly regained her composure, keeping a passive expression.
Olenna's gaze shifted to her son, who was staring at the prince with wide-eyed adoration as if he was a deity among them. She scoffed inwardly, realizing that her foolish son was looking at the new prince as if they all needed to bow before him and kissing his toes as if he was some sort of divine being.
Olenna let out an exasperated sigh and rolled her eyes in annoyance. She couldn't help but wonder if someone had switched the babies when she wasn't looking; her son was too foolish. Glancing over at her granddaughter Margaery, Olenna was pleased to see that the younger woman had maintained her composure, keeping her emotions hidden from the prying eyes of the court. Olenna pursed her lips into a thin line, deep in thought, as she contemplated the best course of action. She knew that a meeting with her family was necessary after this grand meeting, as there were pressing matters that needed to be discussed and resolved.
My little bird will get the information across; I hope this new prince visits the brothels; it will make this easier, Olenna thought; as she nervously tapped her index finger on the table, she couldn't shake the growing headache that threatened to cloud her judgment.
Stannis Baratheon
He always believed that he had seen many things in his life, but seeing a Dragon was something even someone like Stannis didn't expect. Even someone as stoic as Stannis, who was known for his unflinching resolve and unwavering composure, couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation at the sight of such a magnificent creature. For a fleeting moment, his steely facade cracked, and a hint of fear flickered across his usually impassive features.
His eyes went to the King; he could tell the king had known about this beforehand, which was a little relief, it meant this new prince had trusted the King with the truth, but the same couldn't be said for Prince Aegon Targaryen. Stannis could tell at first glance the Prince hadn't known about this, which didn't sit well with Stannis.
Is he another Aegon II, or is he like Daemon Targaryen, or like Aemon Targaryen? Stannis questioned himself; he didn't know the answer yet; he just hoped this new prince was loyal to The Crown Prince and the King; Stannis didn't want to fight another bloody War.
As Stannis sat with his arms crossed, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease as he watched his little brother, Renly, shoot daggers with his eyes at Prince Aemon. Stannis knew all too well that Renly's hatred for House Targaryen had festered and grown ever since the tragic death of their older brother, Robert. It was a deep-seated anger that Stannis hoped his brother would never act upon, for he knew the consequences of such rash and impulsive actions.
Despite the tension in the air, Stannis sighed deeply, trying to remain composed and hoping Renly wouldn't do anything foolish. His way of thinking was shared by quite a few houses in Stormlands since losing the Rebellion had forced the Houses in Stormlands to pay extra gold for an entire decade.
Stannis prayed to the Seven that his little brother wouldn't rebel like Robert and make Stannis choose between his brother and the crown again.
Aemon Targaryen
As Aemon's magnificent dragon let out a deafening roar, the Castle was thrown into a state of chaos and fear. The once peaceful atmosphere was now replaced with panicked faces. Aemon stood in the midst of it all, his eyes scanning the crowd until they locked onto Lady Catelyn's face, which was as white as snow.
Despite her high status and noble demeanor, she was just as frightened as everyone else in the vicinity. For Aemon, this moment was more than just a display of his dragon's power. It was a moment of realization that he held a tremendous amount of power over all of these people.
He had spent the majority of his life as a bastard, constantly feeling powerless and insignificant. But now, with his dragon and the fear it had instilled in the Castle, he felt a newfound sense of control. As he took in the sight before him, Aemon couldn't help but relish the feeling of having power over so many people. It was a rush that he had never experienced before and one that he knew he would never forget.
For Aemon, this moment marked a turning point in his life, where he went from feeling like a powerless bastard to a powerful dragon rider who commanded respect and fear from all those around him.
Ever since Aemon had claimed his dragon, the sense of power coursing through his veins was a feeling he had never experienced before. As he stood there, he knew that he only needed to utter a single word to prove his strength. Catelyn's piercing glare did nothing to faze him; in fact, he almost smirked at the way she looked at him with contempt. Although a part of him yearned to unleash his dragon's fiery breath, to have her feel...Aemon mentally shook his head to rid himself of such dark thoughts. I'm not like that, Aemon repeated in his head.
As Aemon turned his head, his eyes met those of his siblings, and he could sense the disbelief and amazement in their gaze. He could see the shock on Rhaenys's face, and he knew precisely what was running through her mind. To witness a dragon in person was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and to comprehend that her brother was the one who rode it was a surreal experience for her. Aemon could not blame her for her astonishment because he himself was still coming to terms with the fact that the dragon had chosen him to be its rider.
As Aemon glanced toward his sister, he noticed that her gaze was fixated on him with an unmistakable expression of both envy and pure uncontrollable lust. It was the same intense look that she had given him when they had first given in to their forbidden desires, a memory that still lingered in his mind. Aemon was certain Rhaenys would jump him if it weren't for all the lords in the Great Hall.
As Aemon gazed upon his brother, Aegon's eyes bore into him with a glint of uncertainty, a calculating look that seemed to suggest he was seeing Aemon for the very first time. Aemon hoped his brother wouldn't think of him as someone who wanted what he had. Never, Aemon repeated in his head.
Viserys sat seething in his seat, his eyes darting furiously as he watched the entire realm basking in the glory of his nephew, who he believed was nothing more than a glorified bastard. His chest heaved with heavy breaths as he struggled to control his anger, but the more he tried, the harder it became. He couldn't understand how everyone could be so blind to the truth and ignore the fact that his own bloodline, his rightful claim to the throne, was being overlooked. Again, he heard the cry of a crow in his head, but Viserys didn't try to ignore it this time.
Ever since Viserys was a child, he had been fascinated with the magnificent creatures known as dragons. He would often spend hours daydreaming about what it would be like to soar high above the clouds on the back of one, just like the legendary Maegor Targaryen. Viserys was convinced that it was his destiny to have a dragon of his own and that fate itself had chosen him for this great honor. Instead, it was his nephew who had been blessed with the gift of a dragon - a fact that filled Viserys with bitterness and anger. He could feel his frustration rising to the surface like a volcano about to erupt.
As Aegon gazed upon his younger brother, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy. From the beginning, he had always been a little envious of his brother's good fortune. After all, having a loyal Direwolf by your side and a majestic Northern Eagle soaring above you was quite a boon. However, despite his own long-held desire to possess such magnificent companions, Aegon refused to allow envy to cloud his vision.
But now that Aegon knew Aemon had a dragon, the first dragon House Targaryen had in 150 years since the end of the Dance of The Dragons.
Aegon knew what his brother having a dragon meant. To some, a Dragon was a beautiful creature, but Aegon knew what Dragons were, they were powerful, and his brother currently was the most powerful man in Westeros.
Aegon knew this would sway the public opinions of people around Westeros; he knew many people out there would much rather follow Aemon, a dragon rider. A brother is worth more than gold and silver, Aegon thought, taking a deep breath.
We all are slaves to something, and my brother is no exception, Aegon thought.
Daenerys felt her heart skipped a beat. Heat rose to her cheeks, and her belly was overtaken by a swarm of butterflies, causing her to feel a sudden rush of excitement that she couldn't ignore. However, the sensations didn't end there as she felt a strange sensation in her thighs that she couldn't quite place. With a desperate attempt to calm her nerves, she crossed her legs, hoping to find some relief, but the feeling only intensified.
Memories of her dream came flooding back to her with vivid clarity. The vision of her beloved dragon, with its piercing green eyes, lingered in her mind's eye, making her heart race with excitement and anticipation.
As Daenerys sat there, her eyes fixated on the sight of the dragon; she couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement coursing through her veins. Her heart fluttered as she licked her lips, feeling the heat of arousal rising within her like a wild wave crashing onto the shore. As she looked over at her nephew, she felt an unexpected connection with him that she had never felt before. It was like they were two pieces of the same puzzle, finally coming together to create a perfect picture. And now she knew why. He was a dragon rider. And not only that, but he was handsome beyond belief, his chiseled features and rugged good looks setting her heart aflutter with every passing moment they spent together. Daenerys couldn't deny the attraction she felt towards him.
"To think that he possesses Aegarax," Dany thought to herself with a knowing look as she recalled the names Quaithe had whispered to her last night and countless other nights. Quaithe, the mysterious woman with the painted mask, had given her three names - Aegarax, Cannibal, and Shrykos - the largest and most powerful of all the dragons. As Daenerys reminisced about her dream, the memory of the shadow engulfing King's Landing sent a shiver down her spine.
All Crows are Liars, Dany repeated in her head, the same sentence Quaithe had told her to remember. Dany's eyes were drawn to her nephew once again. She couldn't help but feel a tingle of excitement as she looked at him, her gaze lingering on his piercing grey eyes before trailing down to his lips. She imagined what it would be like to taste those lips, to feel his body pressed against hers.
The desire burned inside her like a flame that couldn't be extinguished, and she longed for the day when she could have him for herself. The phrase "All Crows are Liars" continued to haunt her, but she pushed it to the back of her mind. For now, all she could think about was her nephew and the passion she felt.
The Lord, with beads of sweat forming on his forehead, frantically shouted to the King, "Your Grace, that Dragon is Not Chained. What if it burns all of us to ashes? We must take immediate action to protect ourselves!" His eyes were transfixed on the massive creature, its scales glistening in the sun, as it stood close to the towering Harrenhal castle, its piercing gaze sweeping across the castle before him. The dragon's eyes seemed to be searching for something or someone, and it was glaring at everyone who wasn't its Rider as if warning them not to come any closer.
Aemon was tempted to tell the lord that the same dragon had been free for two whole months now and had yet to cause trouble for anyone, but his father spoke first.
"I assure you, Lord Hightower, that my son has assured me he has complete control over his dragon," Rhaegar announced to the whole hall; many were looking at Aemon with uncertainty, some with relief, but the majority with uncertainty.
"Now, let's return to the matter at hand," Rhaegar said regally, his voice echoing through the hall. The hall was silent, every eye fixed upon the King. "Lord Stark has confessed to the whole realm that he is guilty of stealing and raising my son as a bastard." Rhaegar paused, studying the faces of those gathered before him.
He could see the rage in the eyes of the Northmen, their fury bubbling just beneath the surface, ready to boil over at any moment. But he knew that he had made the right decision, even if it was an unpopular one. Aemon walked back to his seat and sat down next to Rhaenys, who was fidgeting nervously in her chair. She was trying very hard not to start asking questions about the Dragon.
"What is His Punishment?" Lord GreatJon's voice boomed across the hall, echoing off the stone walls as he stood tall and imposing, his eyes flitting back and forth between Lord Stark and the King. The tension in the room was palpable, and GreatJon's fists were clenched tightly at his sides, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice in order to save his friend.
King Rhaegar stood at the head of the long wooden table, his eyes scanning the room as he cleared his throat. The murmurs and whispers that had filled the hall moments before died down as the king spoke, his voice ringing clear and commanding. "The Wall," he declared, his tone brooking no argument. Almost immediately, the Northern lords rose to their feet in unison, their faces flushed with anger as they glared at their king. With a chorus of protests on the tip of their tongues, they prepared to defend their liege lord at all costs. They had no intention of standing idly by while he rotted away at the mercy of the Night's Watch. ROAR
Their protests were silenced in an instant when Aegarax, the powerful white dragon, made his presence known once again. With a deafening roar that echoed throughout the land like a massive horn of War, he sent a clear warning to the Northern Lords to know their place. With a flick of his tail, he turned his massive head towards the sky and opened his jaws wide, unleashing a burst of blue flames that lit up the sky. The flames flew into the air, illuminating the landscape below with their brilliant glow before disappearing.
As the Dragon let out a deafening roar, it echoed throughout the Great Hall of Harrenhal, causing an eerie silence to fall upon the room. The Northern Lords were abruptly cut off and rendered speechless by the sheer power of the Dragon's voice. The silence was so profound that it seemed as though the entire room was devoid of any life. Every person in the hall turned their attention to the source of the noise.
Silence fell over the hall; no one said anything until the King cleared his throat, grabbing everyone's attention. "My decision is final," he declared, his voice ringing out with authority. "Lord Stark will be sent to the Wall for his crimes against the Crown two days from now." The pronouncement hung in the air like a heavy cloak, the weight of the King's judgment palpable throughout the hall. Despite the gravity of his words, the King's tone remained measured and controlled, his voice carrying the weight of his authority without any hint of wavering. "Tomorrow, we will have another meeting, my lords," he continued. "This meeting has ended." With that, he rose from his seat, his gaze sweeping over the assembled nobility one final time before he departed the hall.
The Northern Lords glared furiously, their faces twisted with anger and fury, their eyes fixated on the King and Aemon. The tension in the room was palpable, and it was especially evident in the visage of Robb Stark, who glared at the two men before him with a look of deep betrayal and unbridled rage burning in his eyes. The room was filled with murmurs of discontent as the Lords expressed their displeasure at the King's decision, and the air was thick. Amidst the chaos, Arya Stark stood alone, her eyes darting from one face to another, her expression one of confusion and despair. For a moment, she looked as though she had lost her way.
As Arya stood there, her heart was heavy with emotions that threatened to spill out in the form of tears. Her eyes were turning red with unshed tears, and her mind and legs were consumed with the desire to follow her father. She felt the overwhelming need to be close to her father, to feel his presence. However, just as she was about to take a step forward, her brother Robb grabbed her shoulder and forced her to stay put. Despite her protests, he held her firmly, his grip unwavering, as he tried to console her and make her understand.
As Jon's name escaped her lips, it felt like a heavyweight lodged in her throat, and she couldn't help but swallow back a sob that threatened to break through her façade of strength. The crushing weight of Arya's despair left her legs trembling uncontrollably, threatening to give out beneath her at any moment. Thankfully, Robb was there to lift her up into his arms, cradling her gently and carrying her with ease, knowing that she didn't have the strength to walk on her own right now.
Lord Hightower was the first to leave the Grand Hall, something Rhaella, Aemon, and Aegon immediately noticed. Aemon frowned deeply, wondering what could possibly urge the lord of House Hightower to leave in such haste.
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