Aenar Targaryen (295 A.C. Nine Moon)
Greywater Watch
"Arthur, what is it?" He asked after they were alone. The man had been solemn ever since they returned from the hunt. "Aenar, I'm a Kingsguard responsible for your protection. Yet, a few hours ago, I did not know if you were dead or alive. When I saw that thing you killed." Arthur paused and looked at the hanged lizardlion, in the shed. "I knew I made a mistake of leaving you alone." Arthur ended.
"Arthur, sometimes, I need something alone to stand on my own feet. Without help, otherwise, I would always be dependent on someone, and I wouldn't have found the helmet or my new companion." He explained as he stroked the lizardlion cub lying beside him on the ground beside the trunk he and Arthur sat on.
"Hmm, perhaps, but you have to understand... You are the last piece I have left of Rhaegar and your mother. If you were to die on my watch, I don't think I could handle the shame—the failure to protect you, just as I couldn't protect them," Arthur said as he looked at him.
"Alright, I understand that, but not even you will not be able to protect me from everything." He said as he stood up.
"Come, Vena, we need to find you a place." He said to Lizardlion cub, and Arthur frowned. "Vena?"
He smiled at his mentor. "Is her name, is short for Venatio is a Valyrian word for hunting." He answered. As he walked toward the Godswood, some folk around Greywater Watch looked at him with awe. Perhaps it was understandable. He bonded with the sigil of the house that forester him.
"Jojen, and more visions of our supposed future." He asked. "Hmm, you found your hunter, I see, and a piece of the past. I saw it in the morning and wanted to speak to you, but you, my father, and Arthur were already gone. As for the wall, nothing, only what I have seen, that Nightfort is important." Jojen said as he looked at him and Vena, and then Jojen closed his eyes and shuddered.
"Jojen," He cried out as he ran to his friend. He touched him, and then Jojen opened his eyes and spooked. "Vena will be second of three, one for land, one for water, and one for sky. The last, blood red will mark him, yet snow his color." He just frowned. "What does it mean?" He asked?
"Your warging companions, you have your eagle for the sky and now for water, your lizardlion. I don't know when, but you can also find one for land. Fitting that description when I can't say." Jojen explained causally. He nodded and wondered what the white and red creature would be.
"I will leave Vena here until she is big enough to go into the swamp by herself. I have to go help your father dress my kill. Do you want to help?" He asked. "No, thank you, I'll stay here and spend some time with Vena if you don't mind," Jojen answered. "Alright, see back at supper." He said, as he padded Vena on the head, making the cub purr. Then he left to meet up with Howland.
"My Lord," He arrived at the dress shed. "Jon," Howland muttered.
As his eyes inspected the massive lizardlion, its rough, scaly hide a dull green that blended with the marsh. Its lifeless eyes were half-open, and its mouth, filled with jagged teeth, gaped wide, frozen in its last menacing snarl.
Howland walked over to stand by the beast's side. The Lord of Neck looked small compared to the massive beast he had slain the previous day. The Howland moved its fingers along the animal with deliberate care. "First, we respect the kill," he said in his soft, calm voice, pausing to run a hand along the Lizardlion snout. "The crannogmen have lived off the swamps for generations, and we do not waste what we take from it."
He nodded, his own hands trembling slightly with excitement and a hint of nerves. He had hunted many things, but never a creature like this. It had been both an exciting and terrifying hunt.
"You start with the belly," Howland continued, taking out a sharp, bone-handled knife. The blade caught the faint light filtering through the open windows of the shed as he began to slice through the thick hide. The skin parted easily under his practiced hand, revealing layers of muscle beneath. "The skin is the most valuable part. Strong enough to make armor and as export as pressure leather if treated right."
He walked up closer, fascinated by the precision with which Howland worked. Every cut was lean, every movement purposeful.
"Here, you give it a try," Howland said, offering him the knife.
He hesitated for a moment, then took the knife, feeling its weight in his hand. He mirrored Howland's motions, cutting carefully along the underside of the lizardlion. He had dressed animals before, in the Neck and In Winterfell, but this was different. The thick hide resisted at first, but with Howland's guidance, he managed to peel it back, revealing the gleaming white flesh beneath.
"Good," Howland said, nodding in approval. "Now, we remove the meat. It's tough, but the flavor is like nothing else you'll find in the North or the South." He smiled and remembered his first supper here and the wonderful taste of the meat of the lizardlion.
"True, Howland, the meat was very tasty." He said with a wide grin, and already his stomach grumbled at the thought of eating it tonight. "Father, Jon, how is it?" Meera asked as she walked into the shed. "Very, or ward his talent in dressing animals," Howald said as he smiled at his daughter.
"Well, he truly is a crannog hunter now. I'm still amazed you now have one of those on your side." Meera exclaimed, smiling as she looked at lizardlion.
"I am happy too, as I am planning to send a sword with wolf pommel and lizardlion scabbed to Robb for his nameday. I hope he likes it. I miss him. It will be the first time I won't be at his nameday." He said as he ended a bit somberly. "Well, in half a year, we will travel to Winterfell and the Wall, and then you will be able to see your family again," Howland said, smiling. "True. I also have some other plans to give out the lizardlion to all my family." He replied happily.
"Oh, also for Alysanne?" Meera questioned with a smile. "Of course, her nameday is coming up too." He grinned at the girl. "For me, too?" Meera asked more slyly. He smiled at his friend. "Of course, I know your nameday was a moon ago. But I suppose I can gift you an extra present."
He was embraced afterward and received a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you. I will leave you both to your work," Meera said after her happiness subsided and she left the shed.
"You spoil her," Howland observed warmly. "She should be. All three of them deserve it. They are good friends or some even more." He replied. 'Especially Alysanne.' He thought happily. "Come, Jon, we finished it so we can start preparing the meal for tonight," Howland said, and he nodded, and they continued their work.
Daenerys Targaryen (295 A.C. Nine Moon)
Pentos, Daenerys chambers.
"Fall of the Rhoynar, bye Magister Valandra Belmarkas," She read. The words were in her mother tongue, and thanks to her tutors, she received her, and Viserys, speaking to her in High Valyrian, could read fine.
"This book contains the parts of copies of accounts of the Valyrian-Roynish wars. Parts of the book are speculative as not all accounts are completed or are from third or even fourth base accounts of the events that happened." She read and started eagerly reading.
It was dark when she put the book down and wondered how it was to fight in a war on the dragon's back or be on its receiving end. She stepped into her sleeping gown and fell asleep a few moments later.
She awoke, but she knew right away this wasn't Pentos. This was Dragonstone. "Oh," She exclaimed as she saw where she was. "The painted table." She said in awe as she brushed her hand over the wood.
"Aenar," She called out and wondered if he was here too. "Dany?" A voice called out from the top of the staircase. There he was, her husband; it still dazed me that he was. Even if it was only for them. Aenar was quickly down the stairs, and she quickly envelope into a hug. "I missed you," Kissed her on the lips.
"I missed you too." She said, smiling. "It's amazing, isn't it? Aenar asked in awe as he looked around the painted table room. "Yes, the place where our ancestors planned the conquest of Westeros." She said and kissed him again.
"How much do you know of the Seven Kingdoms. How much did your brother tell you?" Aenar asked as Aenar let go of her embrace and touched the painted table. "Well, that are seven Kingdoms. That the usurper stole them from us. That the dragons forged them." She hoped she was right.
"That's true. However, we lost the Kingdoms to rebellion partly because of the rebels, but the main blame lies with your father." Aenar said gravely. "My father, but Viserys always said that he was a great king and was betrayed and murdered." She asked, confused.
Aenar let out a slow breath and moved closer to her, his hand reaching out to rest on hers. "Aerys began his reign like many others before him. He wasn't always mad, not in the beginning. He had grand plans but never went through them, and one main reason the realm was well run was because of Tywin Lannister, even if the man himself is a monster." Aenar growled out, his last words.
"Your father's madness and curtly were probably always there under the surface. Yet, it was contained and was more the wrathfulness that most of the Targaryens have. Being wrathful isn't madness immediately, yet it can become so if hit with the right spark. That spark for your father was Duskandale; he was imprisoned for moons, but something snapped within him at that time." Aenar said with a sigh.
"What happened after." She asked, afraid. "He started to gain an obsession with fire. People convicted of treason were being burned alive. He also would no longer let a blade come near him, making his hair long and his nails very much the same, and there are rumors he did something else as well." Aenar paused and looked at her hesitatingly.
"Aenar, whatever it is, you can tell me." She said as she squeezed his hand. "After burning men alive, it said, he raped his wife," Aenar said sorrowfully. "No, my mother, that means I was conceived after one of those burnings." She said, horrified. Aenar nodded and took her in her in embrace. "It's alright. She is at peace now and has brought forward a wonderful daughter." Aenar murmured reassuringly.
"Tell me more. What else did my brother lie about." Aenar just smiled at her. "I don't necessarily think your brother lied. He was probably told lies about your father and our family. That the rebellion was unjust. Not all of it was, but the story about my mother and father was certainly not true.
The rebellion truly started when your father burned Rickard Stark, the Warden of the North, alive, and his son strangled himself trying to save him. After that, your father ordered the heads of my uncle Eddard and Robert Baratheon to be brought. Jon Arryn refused to do it and rose in support of the rebels. Even if that act was good, Jon Arryn and Robert lied to my uncle, as they knew the truth about Lyanna and Rhaengar.
So after that, the rebellion started, and by the end, only four Targaryens would be alive." Aenar said with a sigh. "hearing that all, it's true the rebellion was partly justified if only Rhaegar had won at the Trident, how would the world look like now." She said, with longing.
"I wonder about it sometimes, too. I want to have a true mother and father to care for me and for both of my siblings to still live. Growing up with you and them." Aenar added while smiling at her. She loved his smile.
"In the future, we will be here for truth and to have our own family. If you want that, at least." Aenar continued. "Of course, that's what I have always wanted: a family and a home." She answered eagerly.
"Good," Aenar said and kissed her again. She loved his soft lips and his protective arms around her. She wondered how it would feel when they would embrace outside of the dreams. Everything started to turn black again. "Bye, Dany," Aenar said as he continued to hold her. "I miss you." She said, and then she awoke back into her bed as the sun rose.
Margery Tyrell (295 A.C. Nine Moon)
High Graden – gradens.
"Mira, did you ever meet Jon Snow." She asked her friend of about 4 years as she lay in her lap. "A one's, I think, during a visit to Winterfell. I only don't remember much of him. I remember his brother better as I danced with him. All pretty red hair with blue eyes." Mira answered dreamly.
"Oh, not my betrothed, doesn't he dance." She asked. "I don't know, now think of it, he didn't sit with his siblings during the feast. I only think I remember it now. Where his eyes, they had a dark purple color." Mira replied.
"I think it must be his mother's color. The rumors say his mother is Ashara Dayne, and Lord Stark took him with him after Ashara's death. After she heard of the death of her brother and killed herself." Mira added quickly, remembering.
"My father said that Lord Eddard danced with her in Harrenhal. Also, Ashara was quite beautiful. I hope he inherited some of her beauty." Margery said longingly. "Marg, you will be part of the second strongest house in the North. When Moat Callin is rebuilt, and the channel is built, you will probably be among the wealthiest. Perhaps you should be married to him. You know what happened, to the wife of the last prince of the Seven Kingdoms." Meera said.
'Oh, she knew. Elia and the children had all met a terrible end.' She thought and nodded. "Yet the North Mira is the fardest form my home, anywhere in Westeros. Kinslanding is perhaps two weeks of riding, but North, perhaps two moons? " She said, feeling saddened at the prospect of leaving her home.
"I felt the same, and I have seen my family once, in the tourney your father held two years ago. You will love the North in time, as I did the Reach. The North itself is a different Kingdom than any of the others." Mira added hopefully.
Then, footsteps, and they both looked up. "My ladies, your lord father has asked to join him in his solar. There is a message from the North." Gyawne said. "As will ser. Please escort me to the solar. I see you later, Mira." She added as she stood up. "Goodday Marg, hopefully some good news.
When they arrived, the door was opened. In her father's solar set, her mother, father, grandmother, and Willas. "Ah, please, daughter, have a seat." Her father said after she closed the door.
"A letter from your betrothed, one address to me, and one for address to you." Her father said, holding two raven scrolls in hand after she sat down.
He opened the one for him first and started reading.
To Lord Mace Tyrell, Paramount of the Reach.
My Lord,
I trust this letter finds you in good health and in high spirits. With great honor and anticipation, I write to you regarding my betrothal to your daughter, Lady Margaery. Her beauty and grace are well spoken of throughout the realm, and I am most fortunate to be promised such a match. I am eager to see the bonds between House Tyrell and The North forged and flourish through this union.
The North is a harsh land, yet I have worked on plans to strengthen our position here at Moat Cailin, and with funds granted by the crown, I am confident that Lady Margaery will find herself well-protected and respected when she takes her place as Lady of Moat Cailin. I understand that the South is warmer in both climate and manner, but I shall endeavor to ensure her transition is as smooth as possible.
In two and a half years, when we are wed, I hope to travel South before the wedding. I doubt I will be able to make the trip to see the South and your home in the coming year. As I'm traveling after my next nameday, back Winterfell to my sister Arya nameday, and then to see the wall and my uncle serving there. After I'm hoping to make a trip South the year after that. Perhaps if all is right, we might be able to travel together North for the wedding in Winterfell.
Please extend my warmest regards to Lady Margaery and the rest of your family, my Lord. I look forward to the day I may stand before her as a man, her husband.
May the old and new gods bless the future we will build together.
With respect and honor,
Jon Snow
Lord of Moat Cailin
"Hmm, well, mander letter. It would be good for us to send a response. Even if this match is forced upon us. We can, at least, be grateful. It is a match to a son of the lord Paramount of the North. Plus the future of a fleet, and the channel's potential, through the Neck." Her grandmother muttered. 'I hope so, too. I hope for a bright future if everything goes well.' She thought happily.
"I only care about how he will treat my daughter. The boy has been raised by a good man. If only slight on the man is he sired a bastard. He sent a good response, and it seems to be he will be good for her. Perhaps we could send Loras or Garlant to Winterfell, to see Margery betrothed he is there for his siblings nameday." Her mother said as she took her hand.
"That would be a good thing to take a measure of the boy." Her grandmother added.
"I say we sent funds to Moat as well. The better we can improve the Moat, the better. I want my daughter to have the best life," Her father said, smiling. "Thank you, father, I think my future husband will appreciate it. I hope I can have a good life in the North. The better bonds we have now, the better marriage we will have. Anyway, I will do my duty to our family, either way." She replied.
"Good girl, my golden rose." Her father said as he patted her hand. "Here, read your letter.
To Lady Margary Tyrell, Daughter of Paramount of the Reach.
To the Lady Margaery Tyrell,
My Lady,
Though I do not delude myself into thinking this match was one of your desire, I would not be honest if I said I did not share your uncertainty. You will be leaving behind the warmth of the Reach for the harsh winds and cold stone of the North. I am but a Snow, raised in the shadows of Stark honor, and the lands you will soon call your own are far removed from the splendor you are accustomed to. But know this—I shall do all in my power to be a worthy husband to you, even if it is a task I must learn with time. Moat Cailin, our home, will be one of strength and shelter, and I shall endeavor to make it a place where you can find comfort.
I hope this letter marks the beginning of our correspondence, that we might come to know one another as more than names on a contract, as man and wife should before they stand together at the sept.
As you are aware, His Grace has granted me leave to establish a new house of my own. You shall be its first Lady, and so I ask for your counsel. What name do you imagine for us? What banner will we raise to the skies when I ride into battle or stand in peace? You are part of the future of that house. I would wish to hear your voice in it.
Lastly, I ask if there is aught you would wish for in our keep or castle, anything you desire that might remind you of the Reach or make this new life more bearable. Though Moat Cailin is an old fortress, I would strive to ensure that you might find some measure of familiarity within its walls.
Warm regards,
Jon Snow
Lord of Moat Cailin
"Oh, he seems kind, and unless this letter is a pretty lie, I think Jon Snow will be a fine husband." She said as she set the letter down gently upon the polished wooden table, her fingers brushing the parchment's edge with thoughtfulness. As a smile tugged at her lips.
"I hope the same, darling, I hope he is as dreamy as the letter suggests." Her mother said, giving her a bright smile.
"Perhaps, yet I hope the boy has a strong head on his shoulders. It seems to be that way, considering the letters, but we should send a response to the letters and discuss who we sent to North." Her grandmother added.
"We shall, but for later, for now, let's appreciate the responses from our daughter's future husband." Her father exclaimed happily.
Margaery smiled at that, feeling the warmth of her family surrounding her as she stood. "Then let us appreciate the moment for what it is, a beginning," she said, glancing once more at the letter. "For soon enough, the North will be my future."
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