Helaena rubbed her fingers in the dough with a bemused look, "Mother knows about this."
"What!?" Aemond exclaimed in shock.
"How could mother agree to this? She hates Rhaenyra and Rhaegar the most," he questioned, struggling to understand.
Unless his mother is planning to compromise and use her future as a bargaining chip.
Helaena shook her head, "Don't be blind. I did it willingly; mother can't control me anymore." She was being honest to avoid misunderstanding.
"I've liked Rhaegar since I was a child. It's useless for others to object," Helaena explained calmly.
Aemond couldn't believe it, his face turning red with embarrassment, "You're crazy. Targaryen no longer has the tradition of marrying more than one woman. You're being a mistress!"
His words were harsh and full of annoyance. He would rather Helaena marry that fool Aegon. At least then she would have a name and live with dignity.
"Who says I want to be a mistress, my dear brother?" Helaena's demeanor remained unchanged as she continued, "You should know about Lady Jeyne. Do you think a Lady would be a mistress?"
Except when facing Rhaegar, she was intellectually sharp most of the time. Jeyne came from House Arryn of the Eyrie, and her character was just like their family motto: "As High as Honor!"
She was still young and didn't attract much attention. Sooner or later, Jeyne couldn't hide and would take the first step to clash with Rhaenyra, opening up Targaryens to polygamy.
Even if it violated the unwritten rules set by her great-grandfather and the Faith of the Seven, the Faith of the Seven would not dare to say anything more.
A Lady personally pushed for it, along with Rhaegar's heroic conquests, would gradually restore the tradition.
She just had to bide her time and assist flawlessly at the right moment.
Indeed.
Her ambition was to emulate the formidable Queen Visenya Targaryen, not merely to bask in reflected glory, but to forge her own path.
In both the Narrow Sea War and the Dornish Rebellion, she had played pivotal roles; her contributions were undeniable, commanding respect from all.
Aemond caught a glimpse of her intentions and hung his head in dismay.
Bastard!
He had thought himself clever, planning an alliance through marriage with House Baratheon to undermine House Swann.
Yet, he hadn't anticipated that his sister harbored ambitions far surpassing his own, daring to challenge Rhaenyra directly in for the Queenposition.
In a moment, Aemond thought of Daeron, thattireless bookworm, who have been cherished since his youth.
"Is Aegon truly the only failure among us?"
Aemond found himself feeling an unexpected sympathy for Aegon, the fool.
Helaena reached up, stroking his head in a gesture reminiscent of Rhaenyra's affection for Rhaegar, her tone flat, "Focus on the task at hand, and stop worrying about the chaos."
Aemond blushed.
After a moment, Helaena abruptly stopped and withdrew her hand, her voice soothing as she spoke to a child, "Defend the city well, and you might just earn Stonehelm."
Stonehelm was gaining importance and had the potential to develop into a significant harbor.
Rhaegar intended to grant it to Aemond at his discretion.
"Sister~"
Aemond clung to the thought, his voice carrying a whine of expectation.
Unperturbed, Helaena sighed and turned away.
She needed to return to her duties, leaving Aemond to ponder his future alone.
Watching her depart, Aemond felt a pang of disorientation, almost as if his regret was physically imprinting itself upon his mind.
He was beginning to regret his decisions.
Had he known, he would have vied for Aegon's favored position and embraced the family tradition alongside his sister.
Now, it was too late.
He was bound to Cassandra, while Aegon seemed similarly engaged.
"Three blood brothers, and none of them likes me."
Aemond dabbed at the corners of his eyes, feigning tears, and murmured, "Mother is blinded by ambition, enamored with the power of House Baratheon and that fool Aegon."
If only he hadn't been coerced into this engagement, he would still be free.
Instead, he watched as his sister threw herself into Rhaegar's arms, clearly having chosen her allies.
Aemond clenched his teeth, "I am no less capable than the others."
With that, he turned and strode outside.
The war was far from over, and he was determined not only to secure Stonehelm but also to earn a reputation that would make animpression.
...
The Red Mountains
Stretching from east to west, the Red Mountains form a formidable barrier separating Dorne from the Stormlands and the Reach.
This mountain range extends from the north-northeastern edge of the Stormlands near Cape Wrath, encompassing landmarks such as Griffin's Roost in Shipbreaker Bay and extending nearly to Storm's End Castle.
To the south, the Dornish Borderlands are punctuated by the castles of the Borderlands Lords, including the cities of Blackhaven and Stonehelm. The ridge extends further northwest into the Riverlands, where House Tarly's domain, Horn Hill, is nestled in the foothills.
Two main passes cut through these ruggedheights: the Prince's Pass and the Boneway. Currently, hordes of ragged Dornish refugees, displaced and desperate, pour into the mountains, splitting at these passes in search ofsafety.
Dorne's tropical climate subjects its inhabitants to unrelenting heat and humidity. At the height of summer, the scorching sun and searing mountain paths take a heavy toll, claiming the lives of theinfirm and elderly.
Without a hint of emotion, the survivors strip the deceased of their sun-bleached clothes - each item a potential lifeline against the cold mountain nights.
The Boneway, also revered as the Stone Way, marks its entrance along the northern Dornish coast.
Guarded by House Yronwood, lords of this critical passage, it weaves through Yronwood, approaching Blackhaven in the north. Tens of thousands journey this route, their faces etched with the hardships of famine and forced expulsion from the more fertile oases by their merciless lords.
These exiles, hopeful yet haggard, gaze upon the red-hued path of the Boneway, imagining it as a gateway to the Dornish borderlands, where salvation - in the form of food - awaits.
Amidst this exodus, a stark contrast emerges. A group of robust figures, not particularly tall but unmistakably sturdy, edges the procession.
Each individual bears the fierce countenance of a warrior, a curved sword at their waist, and a crossbow concealed behind their back.
Just a few dozen kilometers from Blackhaven, these 5,000 strong split from the main group, organizing into five cohorts. They slip into thelesser-known paths of the Boneway.
Compared to the Prince's Pass, known as the "Great Pass," the Boneway had steep and treacherous terrain that made navigation difficult and dangerous.
The paths were narrow and winding, accessible only to the most skilled and daring. In the wider sections, only three people could walk side by side, while in the narrowest areas, a single personhad to cling to the rock face to make progress.
This secret route was known only to the Dornishborderlands and the lords who dwelt within the mountains.
"Can we really bypass Blackhaven by taking this road?" questioned a brash man with flamboyant hair, resembling a mercenary.
"Save your breath. This road is tough," replied a man with black hair and brown skin, his leather armor emblazoned with the emblem of House Wyl—a black viper biting a heel.
The brash man snorted, "I don't get you Dornish folks. Why choose this godforsaken path?"
Were it not for the lucrative commission from Braavos, he would not have ventured here, even under coercion.
The group, five hundred strong, moved through a deep, narrow path flanked by sheer rock walls. The brash man, brushing against the hot stone, cursed, "If a Dragonlord's came, we'd be roastedalive."
The man from House Wyl halted and turned to stare at him. His thoughts mirrored the brash man's fears. With the group stretched over five hundred meters, dragonfire could incinerate them from end to end.
"What are you looking at?" snapped the brash man, unnerved by the scrutiny.
"Keep your mouth shut and say something positive," the House Wyl man retorted sharply.
A distinct uneasiness settled over the group as they continued.
Hoo-
Suddenly, a shadow blocked the searing sun.
"What the hell!" the brash man exclaimed, crouching instinctively.
The shadow circled back, revealing the immense form of a dragon, its silhouette darkening the secluded path.
Hearts pounded as faces turned skyward in dread.
"Roar"
A thunderous dragon roar reverberated through the mountains, the sound waves echoing ominously.
Boom-
Golden dragonfire descended like a volcanic eruption, sweeping through the narrow passage from one end to the other, engulfing everything in its path.
(Word count: 1,430)