"That… that ass!"
Rhaena Targaryen had plenty of female favorites - ironic for anyone that knew her prior to her bonding with Dreamfyre, a shyer, more reclusive girl no one could know. Only connections forged through battle were stronger than that which bonded Rhaena and her friends. Alayne, Larissa, Elissa, Melony, Alys, Samantha… based on the spate of letters from the latter even being separated by thousands of miles didn't even dampen the close-knit friendships.
But out of all of them, only Tyanna had the patience or desire to listen to the Princess rant and rave over her uncle's… broken embrace. "Rhaena… please calm yourself…"
She wasn't listening. "I thought him the sweetest, most loving man! He was nothing but good to me, yet here he shoves me away without a care for my feelings!" Her violet eyes blazed anger, a fire stoked since she arrived fuming at Tyanna's door, yet now there was also a significant pain. "I thought he cared about me…"
The poor girl had been hoping for another of their… assignations that night and was dolled up in her most revealing outfit, but now a robe was tossed over it and she listened patiently. "I can't say I truly hold affections for the man, Rhae, but I know you do. My eye is always trained towards him, and it's allowed me to pick up things."
"What things?" For once she was starting to calm and Tyanna hoped not to lose that.
"Rhae, he loves his wife. That is critical to know… that doesn't mean anything in preventing anything from forming with you, but there's something else." She shrugged. "Perhaps it's your mother in some capacity."
She groaned. "I don't want to hear this right now!" Her hands going to her hair, she tugged at it in frustration. "I hate him! I don't ever want to see or talk to him ever again!" Rhaena's hands dropped to her chest, wrapping around it protectively.
Tyanna stood and went to her, placing her hands on her forearms. "No you don't… you love him. The only person you'll ever truly love it seems."
Blinking, the Princess quickly knew where this was going. "Ty…"
But Tyanna silenced her with a kiss, one that deepened but didn't have the spark of their usual kisses. More as if Tyanna was pouring in all her feelings and Rhaena simply had nothing to say to it. That was enough for her as she pulled back, a sad smile on her face. "I love you, Rhaena. Wasn't simply desire with me, though desire was a part of it."
"You don't have to say this to make me feel better…"
"No… you do not get to dismiss this. I love you and only you, Rhaena." Tyanna shook, tears pricking at her eyes. "I fought it for a long time, especially after you fell for your uncle. We were never destined to be and I can only hold on to these memories for as long as I live to bring me comfort."
"My uncle will never have me… we can remain together…"
Now it was Tyanna's turn to grow furious. "I will not be your second choice, Rhaena! Not even for a Princess or Queen!" Seeing her love shrink back, Tyanna forced herself to calm down. "Apologies…" She covered her face in her hands. "I know you… you will love Maegor forever. Realizing it was hard for me, but your only path is to find a way for him to love you back… because I think he already does."
Shaking her head, Rhaena sighed. "He doesn't…"
"No one can not love you, Rhaena." Tyanna caressed her cheek with her palm. "Find a way, and be happy. That's all you need to do for me to be content with my lot." Smiling once more, the Pentoshi bastard sat on her bed, hands on her lap. "Please… just go." Without a word, biting her lip, Rhaena did as bidded - noticing the soft sobs through the door as she left.
Ones that broke her heart as much as Maegor's words did.
Where was she to go if not where the dragons dwelled. Dreamfyre's head perked up as soon as she arrived, only to whine in worry. 'Muna, what's wrong?'
"Do not ask, girl. Just come here." Sitting, Rhaena let Dreamfyre place her head in her lap. It was large, but she managed to hug the snout, idly gliding her hands along the soft, warm scales. It always calmed her down, giving her peace.
I love my uncle… Tyanna loves me… he can't love me and can I love her?
Perhaps I could, but I cannot live without the man I love. She felt it… as close a bond to him as she had to Dreamfyre or him to Balerion. There was no avoiding it. The love felt as strong as the relationships of her grandparents… or her kepa and muna . What am I gonna do… what can I do…?
Rhaena didn't know how long she had just sat there, stroking Dreamfyre's snout, until a throat cleared behind her. "Rhaena?"
Swiveling around, she was greeted by her grandmother, concern in the Dowager Queen's face. Seeing the caring expression and worried glint in her eyes that only those close to her knee Visenya Targaryen was capable of expressing, tears welled in Rhaena's eyes as she let out her grief over everything. "Grandmother," she sobbed out just as Visenya scooped her up in her arms, holding tight.
"Oh, sweetling," she cooed. Her arms squeezed Rhaena, lips kissing her brow. "What is the matter?" She was just like her, responding to a stressor by racing to her dragon. She is both me and Rhae. Such was why Rhaena was Visenya's favorite. "Please talk to me."
"I did something bad, grandmother… something that I now have to face completely thanks to kepa."
"What did my son do?" Aenys, so desperate to please everyone, sometimes was quite insensitive to the moment at hand.
Rhaena shook her head. "It wasn't kepa … he has no idea. It's uncle."
Uncle? What could Maegor have done to truly cause Rhaena this much pain…
Visenya suddenly understood. 'Perhaps he made a move,' she could hear Vhagar tell her. 'Oh yeah, he did. Dreamfyre's telling me all the juicy secrets.'
Stop gossiping with her. She's still sweet, don't give her your bad habits. Vhagar's snort of hot air from her nostrils was something Visenya ignored. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Lips pressed together, Rhaena hesitated… and then shook her head. "Just hold me."
"Of course I will, grandaughter." Sighing internally, Visenya let her rest her head on her shoulder. Oh, son. She didn't blame either him or Ceryse for the miscarriages, but it was clear to her that Rhaena would've been a better match for him. Rhae… Egg… if you're listening, can you pull some strings to save this?
She felt pretty powerless in the moment.
Another important patron… another bag of gold dropped into Sarai's hands. No one cared about poor Jeyne Poore's feelings as the bruiser acting as a guard for the brothel hustled her into the bedchamber and shut the door behind her. For a moment, Jeyne tensed in fear as she thought she was left on her own without a guard to make sure her maidenhead was intact - at least until she caught a glimpse of the patron.
"Good evening, my dear," Barth said, his youthful visage curled into a rather warm, handsome smile.
No, he heralded a whole new sort of terror inside of her. "Good evening, your eminence," she said, curtseying in her rather… provocative dress. It fell to her ankles, though that wasn't worth a whole lot considering the slit rose to mid-thigh. The high neckline was similarly worthless with a large oval cut from the top of the chest down to her navel.
She looked the part of a high-class courtesan. Probably why so many desired her and yet all were denied what they truly wanted. Saving me for someone special, I assume. Like a pig to the slaughter.
Unlike those that paid for her services, instead of pawing at her with teeth and tongue and fingers Bart merely patted the side of the bed, bidding her to sit. Which Jeyne did, keeping her hands folded on her lap. "You look well," Barth commented, patting her knee exposed by the slit in the dress. Skin shuddering, Jeyne nevertheless allowed a smile on her face. "Fit and slender, yet with a healthy glow in your skin - and it is my understanding that your skills in pleasing a man have grown in your… activities at this house of ill repute."
Jeyne's smile more resembled a hyena than anything delightful… though the dimples on her cheeks likely dampened from the effect. "I have yet to perfect the proper skill of this trade. The guards here do a good job of keeping the men… and some women, oddly enough, of harming my maidenhead."
"Tis' a good thing, lest they incur my wrath." Barth was normally quite soft-spoken, though his voice could grow hard when called for. Now it did, like ice.
"Presumably you wouldn't do it yourself, Eminence?" She was playing with fire, but the bruises her father often inflicted on her was a herald of a very willful personality.
But Barth only chuckled. "I am but a humble holy man… there are more unsavory sorts in my employ that carry out such functions. But alas, I didn't seek you out to converse about me. Tell me of your exploits."
"Here to give me absolution?"
"I can give that, but I'd give that anyway. However, we both know that you are no ordinary person in my employ - and are only that if you continue to be useful to me."
This man… unfortunately the normally astute Jeyne Poore didn't see Barth for what he was until long after she had taken up the habit of a septa and it was too late. He was a dashing, kindly young man with handsome features, but behind those friendly eyes was a snake. Someone absolutely ruthless and dangerous. One crossed him at their own peril, and Jeyne didn't wish to cross him. She wouldn't survive. "I cannot begin to tell you what these knights and Lords confess after they spill, especially after dipping into their cups."
Barth smirked. "You're only just now learning this?"
"You have been very… enlightening for me, eminence." She shuffled her feet. "Lord Florent's second son thinks his elder brother is a secret worshipper of the Red God."
"Hmmmm… and he?"
"As devout as a man in a brothel looking for a woman to bugger him would be."
A snort. "Those sorts of people tend to overcompensate… and be pliable. Good work, anything else?"
Jeyne took a deep breath. "There's a knight in the service of House Hightower…" The man was nice, not treating her as a piece of meat as most did. She didn't wish to betray him, but had no choice. "He's seeking to move to the capitol and give his sword to House Targaryen."
"We can't have that, can we? Anything else?"
She thought and thought. The really chatty ones in her bed hadn't said anything too juicy. "I'm not sure if this helps your cause, but Ser Morgan Hightower insists on having me in his bed."
"Why?" Being a senior member of the Warrior's Sons, Ser Morgan drew Barth's interest.
"Well… I seem to bear a certain resemblance to Princess Ceryse, his sister." Jeyne shuddered. "He insists on calling me by his sister's name while I… service his cock."
For a moment Barth's eyes widened in surprise before the mask appeared again. "You have done well, Lady Jeyne. Both learning and as my servant." Silently, he pressed a hand to her scalp and absolved her of her sins before the Father. "The time will come when you depart, and when that time comes you will need someone to join you."
"What do you mean?"
"Your task would be easier if you weren't alone and you had someone… less precious to handle any seductions that are beneath you. I'll let you choose whom will accompany you, so make sure to choose wisely."
His last words still weighed in on Jeyne as she headed towards the girls' quarters in the rear of the brothel. Who was she to pick? It would need to be someone she could trust - everyone here would jump at the chance to leave, but who could be considered not to stab her in the back at the earliest opportunity for a bit of coin? The answer was very few.
Aside from Sarai - who afforded better accommodations as the madam of the establishment - the whores each slept in a cot crowded in one large chamber, one afforded almost no privacy, though such was better than many brothels from what Jeyne had heard. Bathing was communal, dining was communal, and sleeping was communal, the latter quite difficult many a time when one girl was sick or invited someone actually favored for… intimate company. Sometimes that involved another girl of the establishment, and they didn't bother to keep quiet most times.
However as she walked in, Jeyne could only find her friend Floris Flowers. She was hunched over her cot, trembling slightly. Jeyne immediately knew something was wrong. "Floris?" Placing a hand on her shoulder, the bastard whore turned around to reveal a large black eye. Jeyne sighed. "Someone wanted it rough?"
Floris nodded. "Didn't tell me he paid extra for it, thought someone would come in to stop him, but no one did." Unlike the others, Floris was somewhat educated for smallfolk. Earned her a higher price. "Seems I've run out of concealing paste."
"I think I have some," Jeyne offered. Sure enough she did, and moved to apply it to her.
Allowing her to, unlike others who would greedily accept such help Floris was modest. "You don't have to do this, you know."
"No, I believe I should. We have to stick together round here." Jeyne smiled.
Floris chuckled nervously. "You're obviously favored here… why not schmooze Sarai. Why me?"
Jeyne shrugged, taking in her blonde hair and willowy features. "I suppose you remind me of my best friend… the one before I came to Oldtown. I have a type, seems to me."
"Yes, yes you do." Suddenly, the vexing question Barth imposed on her wasn't so vexing anymore.
If there was anything that Ceryse adored the most in terms of festivities, it was a wedding. There was only joy in them, especially when family was involved as it was that day. Her beloved cousin Donnel Hightower and his bride married by the High Septon himself in the Starry Sept. Her father insisted in a massive feast thrown in the Hightower, the finest foods that the Honeywine could produce strewn on tables for the pleasure of his guests. For the Princess, she vowed to enjoy herself and enjoy herself she did.
Reaching the place of honor at the long table, immediately Ceryse was greeted by the groom. "Dearest cousin, I was wondering if you had abandoned us in this merry time."
Taking in her cousin Donnel's mischievous glint in his eyes. Ceryse didn't take such as an insult. "You couldn't keep me away from your big day," she chuckled, leaning in to kiss his cheeks. Of all their family, aside from her aunt Patrice it was the ever jolly Donnel that she favorited the most. And now the notorious womanizer was married. "Celia, you look lovely."
Celia Arryn rose herself, curtseying. "Thank you, your Grace." Sparkling blue eyes and strawberry blonde hair, she looked radiant - a true mountain beauty as the younger sister of Ser Hubert. Five years older than Donnel, Celia didn't appear as such. "I do hope that we could visit the Citadel together. I've heard you are quite well-read."
Ceryse grinned - oh, her good first impression on this one had been correct. "Aye, I would be glad to escort you there… though as a Hightower now you can head there whenever you wish."
"The concern of getting lost in the massive place is a worry for me. Donnel says you've spent more time there than you have with your husband," she giggled, making a jape.
While pleasant laughter followed from those nearest to them, the jape hit close to home for Ceryse. Perhaps she is correct… It wasn't out of the question, especially if one considered her time here in Oldtown. No longer did she think too much of the miscarriage - Ceryse did remember it and the pain was still present, but it didn't debilitate her anymore. And yet she still hadn't left. Hadn't returned to the husband she loved with all her heart and soul.
Seeing him and the Red Keep will only bring the pain to the forefront all over again. The realization she simply wasn't strong enough just… with a sigh she politely nodded at her friends and family before quickly and inconspicuously slipping away. Desperate to head back to her quarters and play cyvasse with her niece or nephew if they were awake. If not, her maids…
"Princess."
She stopped, cursing under her breath. Caught. Forcing a smile on her face, she turned to see Septon Barth's youthful smile directed to her. "Good evening, your eminence. I hope you are having a lovely time."
Only a few years younger than her, Septon Barth was a rather famous prodigy. Everyone knew he was likely to be High Septon so either sucked up to him, gave him a wide berth, or treated him as a dangerous enemy… Ceryse was one that simply ignored him. She held the power to as a Targaryen Princess. "His holiness is certainly availing himself to your house's food and spirits, so I must feel as he feels for the sake of the Faith." Not an answer. "Or your former house rather, considering you are a Targaryen."
Blinking, Ceryse was confused at the direction of the conversation. "I consider myself a Targaryen, aye. Though to be honest, I feel more at home in this place than at the Dragonpalace."
Is that a fact? "That is always something that I've wondered, and the Citadel has never given me an answer. Does a woman truly pass into the embrace of their family by marriage in addition to passing under their protection? The marriage ceremony is clear on the second point, but the first point is a mystery."
Raising her brow, Ceryse shrugged. This didn't seem too problematic to discuss, as it arose a scholarly curiosity in her. "I like to think of myself as a Princess of House Targaryen."
"Ah yes, House Targaryen. Truly a magnificent house in the objective scheme of things." Leaning against the wall, he looked all his youthful years - it was disarming. "They are a fascinating group, the dragonriders, though small minds can only see jealousy or maddening zealotry to their view of them."
Ceryse looked surprised. "Quite odd for you to say as one inducted under the sacred vestments of the Seven."
"A closed mind is a mind unable to serve the Seven who are One. His holiness and the Seneschal of the Citadel taught me to always view facts objectively before applying my own wishes to them, and that includes the house of your husband." He snorted, smirking. "The Valyrians are an intriguing people, considering their customs."
Listening to Barth, Ceryse was starting to think the rumors associating Barth with deviousness may have been exaggerated. He seemed a charming young man and honorable servant of the Faith she had been raised to love and respect. "It is fascinating to live among the dragons."
Barth nodded. "Fascinating beasts, aye. So hard to control by anyone, forcing the Valyrians to practice incest or polyamory in order to keep the blood pure."
"Polyamory? Not familiar with such a term."
"It's one I've created based on what I know of our first King and his Queens. The dragonords… it seemed that there was an imbalance between men and women, the latter outnumbering the former - hence the men taking multiple wives. What I find intriguing is that in many of these cases according to the sources, the women enjoyed each other as much as they do the men."
Ceryse stared, gaping slightly. "I believe you are japing with me, Septon Barth."
He held up his hands. "Never, your Grace. I am completely serious… though the only actual sources I have concern the conquerors." He smiled softly. "Most men would adore such an arrangement… even with their sisters, aunts, or cousins."
"Such is a sin to those of the Faith, Septon." She knew her Seven-Pointed Star.
"Cousins marrying is technically forbidden, but those do so. The First Men practiced such incestuous marriages as well, something the early Andals adopted." He shrugged. "As I said, fascinating things."
It was fascinating… something worth further study, to understand the culture of her husband better, for a lot of it was still a mystery to Ceryse. "And so why is there such a resistance to it?"
Barth's smile widened. "Oh, your Grace, what sins carry the prospect of wielding the greatest power known to man? Those of us that engage in it merely obtain a fleeting lust, but they obtain the loyalty of the dragons. Temptation… great temptation." He sighed. "Only we can hope that they all share the same sense of restraint as your goodbrother does."
There was little that Ceryse could say to that.
"Are you sure, Rhae?"
With a sigh, the silver-haired Lady of Winterfell nodded as she sat upon the bed. Even after three births, her hips and rear were still slim enough to fail to jostle the bedding too much. "Aye, Bran. It's my moonblood."
Still half asleep, tangled in the furs provided them by the Black Brothers - nothing fancy but blissfully warm - Brandon grumbled. "So a morning coupling is out of the question, then?"
Rhaenys smacked his shoulder. "Lecher. Last night was enough for you for a while." She couldn't help but match his sleepy grin. Their… activities last night certainly must've woken most of Castle Black.
When her grin slowly transformed to a frown, Brandon pushed himself into a sitting position and drew her in for a hug. Her wool nightdress mashing against his bare chest. "You were hoping for another babe?" While a question, it wasn't really - Brandon knew the answer.
"Would that be such a bad thing, my love?" Gods, it was jarring sometimes how quickly this man had wormed his way into her heart. A political marriage, but one that blossomed into the most wonderful of love. Like her brother and Ceryse, only with providence instead of tragedy. "Our sweetlings are soon to come of age, two of them dragonriders and each bonding with a direwolf. Perhaps I wish to have another little girl to love and to hold and to fuss over." Rhaenys hugged her chest, just as Brandon did.
The Lord of Winterfell kissed her neck, making Rhaenys sigh in contentment. "No, that sounds heavenly."
"We've been making love like rutting wolves for the last few moons. Shouldn't I be with child?"
"My dear dragon," Brandon chuckled. "We've had three babes within three years of each other. You need not prove your fertility. House Stark has all the time in the world."
Given the worries and threats popping up in the South as Aenys' rule lost the luster of its initial pomp, Rhaenys was skeptical of that. But they were Starks, insulated and protected from the south by Moat Cailin and the swamps of the Neck. She worried far more of her brothers, nieces, and nephews rather than her own babes - especially since the threat of House Bolton seemed to be abating. "Mayhaps we do." She leaned in and melded their lips together, feeling his hands start to roam about her belly and chest… "Whoa, easy there, my wolf."
Brandon huffed. "You normally love when I play with my favorite peaks."
She rolled her eyes but smirked. "You know they're sensitive this time of the moon." She rose, moving for her woolen battledress and cuirass with the Stark sigil stitched about the front. "I'll make it up to you after I'm done, promise."
"Will hold you to it." Brandon turned in the bed to catch another hour of sleep. It wasn't he that wished to catch in an hour of dragonriding just as the sun rose. Sleep with her husband was appealing, but given their need to advance north of the wall at any moment practice was perfect.
Even at this early hour the yard of Castle Black was busy. Not bustling, but busy as the stewards and builders went about their chores be they hauling water, cleaning weapons, maintaining the walls and so forth. All gave her a wide berth, bowing respectfully even as they stared at her in awe. Was it her Valyrian features? Or the fact such Valyrian features were born by a woman wearing the colors of House Stark. Both, Rhaenys suspected.
Arrax either nested atop the wall or right under its shadow in the corner of where the ice met the walls of Castle Black - to protect against the winds, he told Rhaenys one time the gales were especially bad. The last night was calm, so she sensed her mount at the top of the wall. "Damn." The lift was at the top as well. "I need to ascend," she called out to one of the builders… someone clearly in charge of the others.
Bushy-bearded but otherwise mostly put together, he nodded and called over his men. "We'll bring it down for you, your Grace." They assembled at the large wheel and slowly turned it.
Rhaenys exhaled and sat upon a barrel, knowing she was going to need to wait some time for her trip up to be ready. Idly eyeing the courtyard as more and more people roused from their slumber to dart around it, she spotted someone she'd been meaning to talk to for a while. "Ralla! Lady Ralla!"
The gruff yet pretty wildling woman had been walking from the gate towards the grainery when she heard Rhaenys' call. Eyes meeting the Princess', she scowled as she walked over. "Only two people call me 'Lady.' You and your mad brother."
"My muna taught me to be polite, even as I was to be fierce as she is." Rhaenys gestured to her. "Your father is the chief of your clan, akin to a Lord south of the Wall. That makes you a Lady."
Ralla snorted. "You're just as crazy as your brother… but he grew on me so I suppose you'll grow on me too." Her gruff visage was softening. "What do you want?"
"Waiting out here like an idiot… so might as well have some company to talk."
"What if yer' talkin' choice has tasks to do that can't wait?"
"Well, do you?"
There was a silence as Ralla glowered. "Not at the moment, no. But I fuckin' could."
Rhaenys laughed. "I knew I'd like you, so sit."
He eyebrow rose. "Is that a command?"
"Your clan accepted the suzirenity of my family, so it could be… but I simply want to talk." To Rhaenys' relief, Ralla merely huffed and took a seat on the barrel next to Rhaenys. Folding her hands, Rhaenys found her curiosity that Maegor could never sate about these particular wildlings coming out. "I was certainly surprised that my brother managed to convince you to come south of the wall."
"I don't know why it would be hard? Us Free Folk've been tryin' to do it since fuckin' forever."
Blinking, Rhaenys looked away. "Point taken." Her brother's notorious lover would be a tough nut to crack, though she seemed far more at ease here than the glimpses she'd caught in King's Landing. "Reluctant to bend the knee, is what I meant, given that your usual tactic is to raid and pillage."
"We just take what we need to survive. My clan doesn't rape or slaughter for the fun of it," Ralla insisted. "But yeah. Our clan leaders are selected among the strongest and smartest, not by blood like you cunt fools. Your brother, though… he can be very persuasive when he wants to be."
"Tell that to those at court," Rhaenys snickered.
"You southerners… prioritize - aye, that's the right word - prioritize different things. Trust me, your brother had no issue convincing us to take him seriously. Now that he has a dragon like a legend of old, he never will again." There was another pause. "Did you know he was my first?"
"First what?"
This caused Ralla to narrow her eyes at Rhaenys. "Really? Three babes and you don't know what I fuckin' mean?"
Rhaenys' eyes widened, never having expected Ralla to be so open - she was sure she'd have to dance around the topic of her affair with Maegor. "Your first? Truly?"
"Oh please, I was his after all." She smirked, as if proud of the fact. "Taught him all he knows, yet didn't get even a thank you from his pretty lass from the city of cunts."
"City of cunts, a… charming turn of phrase." She didn't like the Starry Sept either. While Queen Visenya had taught her to keep the Valyrian gods, these days Rhaenys had embraced the old gods of her husband and never regretted it. "Though I think her dislike stems from the fact that you're…"
Another snort. "That I what? Fuck him while he's married?" At Rhaenys' nod, Ralla shrugged. "He broke it off with me when he married her and I was fine with that… then when he lost his babes he needed someone to comfort him without being reminded of that pain and I was fine with that. I love the idiot." Before Rhsenys could reply she cut her off. "Not in the way you think, wantin' to marry him and bear his babes, nah, someone else is gonna fuckin' do that I feel. No, I love him in that I want to do whatever he needs of me. A lover, I'm his lover, a fighter here, I'm that… if he wants me to protect 'im in the south, I'll do that too… and his family, including you."
Thinking for a moment, Rhaenys ultimately smiled. "I can tell you are loyal, so thank you for watching over him."
Rising, Ralla leaned down to clasp Rhaenys on the shoulders - a bold move by a bold woman. "Let me give you the same bit of fuckin' advice I gave your brother, Princess. You and that husband of yours are exactly alike."
"What do you mean?" They definitely had common interests but Ralla's statement was vague.
She didn't keep Rhaenys in the dark too long. "Those 'Northmen' and you Targaryens are but weak versions of what you once were. Northmen used to be exactly like us and the Targs used to be among their kind, the ones who rode dragons and conquered the fuckin' world." Learning to read, she'd chosen the history of her people, the other First Men, and the people her lover belonged to. "Yer' lost your way."
"I resent…"
"Oh shut it, you know it's true. All to mollify people that hate you. The Andal cunts aren't gonna let you live your lives… it's all or nothin' with them. You conform or you die. That's why we live north of the Wall. We all have our own customs and up there there's no cunt tryin' to get us to conform. First Men knew that and so did the Valyrians I'm told."
Rhaenys had nothing to say to that, simply staring at Ralla.
The Free Folk spearwife pulled back and rolled her shoulders. "Think it over. He knew I'm right and so will you." With that, Ralla departed just as the lift thunked at the wood of the platform, signaling Rhaenys' ride up the Wall.
Feet thunking on the rickety planks, Lord Samwell Tarly of Hornhill passed his guards and got into the faces of the stone-faced prisoners. Ones he had taken alive as the band of horsemen escorting him from Starpike had been lucky enough to surprise as they attempted to sack, rape, and burn the fourth village under his suzerainty. Of the seven men captured, there were double that number left as meat for the buzzards.
Those were the lucky ones.
Normally a jolly sort, when forced into battle Sam Tarly was a different man entirely. To his foes the man was a beast. To his bannermen the man was no less a beast, only the term was said in affection rather than hate or terror. Walking in front of the prisoners, he eyed them as they stood there with their hand tied behind their backs and nooses round their necks. Some trembled. Some glared at him with swarthy faces and hard eyes. Others simply stood silently.
Saying nothing, finally Sam drew his blade. A massive Valyrian steel greatsword, Heartsbane was infamous among the Dornish of the Marches. In its life it had slain thousands, and Sam would see thousands more slain by it if he had his way. "Alright!" he barked out, two of the more terrified prisoners flinching. "For the crime of rape, banditry, and murder, I have sentenced thee to death. You are not getting around that punishment."
Many visibly gulped, whatever faint hope dying.
Sam grinned. "However, by the Mother the man who tells me who you are, how many else are out there, and what you know of your leader shall meet their end at my blade rather than by the knives of my butcher." The aforementioned man, tall and beefy, grinned savagely as he showed off the various cutting knives in his arsenal. "Yout choice."
It took about half a minute before one of them broke. "Please! Please mercy!"
"You coward!" another yelled, starting to kick at the man since he was unable to lash out his hands. Though bound, he got in some good kicks before one of Sam's men-at-arms bashed him in the stomach with the bottom of his halberd.
"Cut him down and take him inside," ordered the Lord in disgust - the sniveling coward may have been useful as he blubbered, being led away by two of his men, cowardice was still something he held in contempt. "As for the rest of you… I hope your dear Mother Rhoyne gives you the mercy that I won't." At his signal, the executioners let them drop. Throats constricted and wheezes left them. It was now that Sam left them to their fate, dangling there until just before death when they would be cut down, stretched at the rack, and then drawn and quartered.
So it was to those that brought war and brutality to his lands.
As the sun fell low in the sky, he left the interrogation chamber while wiping the blood off of Heartsbane. "So?" Sam looked up to see his sister Margaery, arms crossed. "What did the cunt say?"
Sighing, Sam motioned for her to walk with him - their father may have replied to her more… blunt quirks with a switch, but Sam didn't care less. He actually appreciated it since he knew fuck all about running a household. Managing the lands, yes, but in that case he also appreciated her advice. "Seems to me that this is another band adhering to the Vulture King."
"So he's not just some bandit. That's unfortunate." Dornish bandits were a fact of life. Their older brother died at the hands of one. "Four villages sacked and burned, all important ones on the road to Highgarden and the capitol. Part of a strategy if you ask me."'
"I'd do the same if I wanted to help a Dornish invasion." Tapping Heartsbane's surface, he seemed almost eager at the possibility. "Should I call the banners?"
Margaery looked at him with a raised brow. "I'm stunned you haven't already." Vivacious and pretty, her dismissive attitude and snark showed to most why the sister of the Lord of Hornhill hadn't obtained a husband yet. Didn't matter, since Sam was convinced she wasn't a maiden anymore. "Harvest season over?"
"Harvest is commencing as we speak… we should pull it all within the keep."
"As well as the Smallfolk… lest they have walled towns of their own." Sam nodded, in agreement just as two loud roars filled the air. Margaery's eyes lit up in excitement. "The dragons are here."
"Thank the Seven." The sooner the Targaryens could get into action the sooner this threat could be dealt with.
While he had hoped for the King - the entire Reach would've followed Aenys, First of his Name, to wherever he went. But the massive form of Balerion the Black Dread was the next best thing. Prince Maegor's reputation preceded him, as did that of Princess Rhaena as the pale-blue coloring of Dreamfyre soared alongside him in the sky. Luckily, Hornhill's courtyard was large enough to host the two massive dragons.
Sam and Margaery both bent the knee as the armored form of Prince Maegor. "Your Grace, welcome to Hornhill."
"Thank you," replied the Prince, removing his helm. Sam heard Margaery's breath hitch… apparently he was as handsome as reputation suggested. "I will need chambers prepared for my niece and I, then I need a briefing."
"One I will attend, uncle." Unlike him, Princess Rhaena was dressed in a simple black riding dress emblazoned with the Targaryen sigil.
"Did you only bring yourselves?" Margaery was not one to mince words, even though she did give the Prince her own version of mooney eyes.
Rhaena didn't like it one bit. "We have two hundred horse and a thousand foot proceeding behind us," she growled. "Will that be sufficient."
Sam could tell there was something going on with her, not one he wished to be a part of. "Let us show you to your chambers." He eyed the dragons. "What do they eat?"
The Princess smirked. "Whatever they want."
Thank the gods they are on our side.