A Prince of House Targaryen Chapter 77 (The Horn of Winter) (Patreon)

The Spider

The day started like all the others; after breaking his fast in his own quarters, Varys was informed that a small council meeting would start soon. As he was making his way towards the small council meeting, Varys couldn't help but wonder where the dragons came from. It would be one thing if one showed up, but his little birds had already reported that there were five dragons out there. Three were already tamed, and two were still wild dragons with no real owner, but Varys figured someone from the Royal Family would tame the other two, as long as Prince Viserys wasn't one of them.

What didn't sit well with Varys was the lack of knowledge of where the dragons had come from; a dragon of their size doesn't just pop out of a puff of smoke. His hands hid beneath his long, big sleeves. Varys walked slowly and softly towards the Small Council chamber; his perfume enveloped him like a second skin.

A secret son and a dragon from the North, Varys thought, amused by what he had heard.

He reached the council meeting room, opened the door softly, and stepped inside. Jon Connington sat on his seat, his legs resting on top of the table, a knife on his hand as he cut the nails of his hands; his perfume was noticeable, but not quite as Varys. The man held himself too high; not even the Hightower in Old Town could reach as high as him, but his ego was as fragile as an egg. Varys still pondered why The King hadn't dismissed his service; perhaps he saw him as a trustworthy friend, but Varys didn't know. Jon was wearing rich silks, velvets, damasks, and soft slippers.

The Commander of the City Watch, Alliser Thorne. The man stood tall like a pole against the Wall, his face harsh and grumpy. Varys wondered if the man had ever heard of the word 'Pleasure'; the man didn't seem like he had; he never went to the brothels. Perhaps he enjoys his hands too much, Varys thought, his lips twitching upwards briefly.

The Grand Maester Pycelle, Varys, often wondered what kept him alive. The man's mouth was hidden behind his beard; people often said that it was because he could whisper secrets without anyone noticing, secrets that could bring the entire Realm to its knees.

No one paid attention to Varys's arrival, and with the way he walked, his footsteps were quiet, too quiet and light. Even dear Jon often told him to be more loud when he walked. Many people said how Varys was quiet enough that he could walk inside a room, and no one inside the room would hear him unless they saw him. Varys paid little to no attention to anyone as he sat down on his chair, waiting for the small council to start already.

Soon, the door was closed, and the meeting started. "We have received a letter from Harrenhal. The king is returning," Maester Pycelle informed quietly and looked at Lord Connigton. The man's golden teeth glittered as he grinned.

"Prepare a Feast for his arrival. I want a big feast worthy of a King like him. I'm sure every commoner from every part of the city will cheer for him." Jon exclaimed, his voice echoing through the Small Council room. The man loved to talk. Varys was sure the man loved the sound of his own voice.

"The Feast might need to wait. Our King might not appreciate the gesture, especially after what happened in Harrenhal." The Maester of Coin spoke with great difficulty as if he was struggling to breathe, his voice emerging with a drowning quality, with his crooked teeth: Lord Lyman Darry, a prominent figure who held the title of Maester of Coin. The man had served King's Landing for ten and four years now. He had long dark hair reaching his shoulder, and half of his face was hidden beneath the hair like a cloak. He had a long face with a sharp chin. His most distinguished feature was his missing right eye. All left was a dark pit where his eye used to be. People claimed that a dog had bitten his face when he had been young.

"What happened?" Lord Jon exclaimed, now his legs moving beneath the table as his upper body leaned forward, looking straight at Lord Lyman.

"Queen Lyanna Stark never birthed a girl as Lord Eddard Stark had claimed, but a boy, and the prince was alive all along and was raised by the former Lord of The North, as His Bastard son Jon Snow," Lord Lyman said slowly, his voice still coming out strange as if he was drowning, his white eye like milk looked at Lord Jon, making the man shiver like a little boy.

Varys watched as Pycelle shifted uncomfortably on his chair. The man's hands had disappeared behind his long beard; his wrinkled face looked at Lord Lyman.

"How does the King know it's his son? Are we certain this boy is not just another pretender?" Pycelle asked.

"Prince Aemon Targaryen." Lord Lyman corrected, his voice unusually loud, but it still came out strange. "Are you saying someone could fool the King in such important manners?" The question came out sharp and threatening.

"No. I fully entrust the King."

"The Prince has a Dragon. The whole Harrenhal has the beast. Some rumors are already claiming it's the size of Harrenhal." A shiver drove through Varys's body at the thought. The Dragons of that size had long ceased to exist, and throughout history, there was only one dragon of that size. A fairytale he had heard back at Essos. A Dragon whose scales were made of Valyria Steel, his size could engulf an entire town in darkness.

"A Dragon? Lord Lyman, we didn't come here to hear fairytales!" Lord Jon's words made Lyman scowl, his hands spread across the table, his fingers long and thin, skin white as milk.

"It's no fairytale," Varys said his first words.

"Ahh, Lord Varys. I thought you had fallen asleep, but since you are still among us. Please, tell us what your little birds have told you." Lord Jon commanded with a crooked smile, using his knife to polish his fingers; Varys wondered how he hadn't cut his fingers yet. That would make this meeting more entertaining.

"No need, Lord Varys." Lord Lyman said with enough courtesy in his voice. He drew a tightly rolled paper from beneath his sleeve. Lord Jon reached out; the letter bore the royal seal. He broke it with his littlefinger and flattened the letter on the table. Silence stretched as Jon read through the lines; silence stretched for a moment. Varys wondered if he was reading the same words twice, but not soon enough, Lord Jon slid the letter away.

"Our King orders us to prepare a welcome feast for his new son's arrival. He wants a feast to be prepared and sixty sheep to be slaughtered for the three dragons to feast on. The King has ordered for the word to spread that dragons have returned. He wants the common folk to be informed. The King described them as being half the size of a castle." His words made Pycelle shift again; his old wrinkled eyes widened, and Varys wondered what was keeping his eyeballs inside.

"Are we sure they are that big?"

"Well, unlike you, Maester Pycelle, dragons don't shrink when they get older." Lord Lyman said with a smile. The old maester snarled at the comment; Varys allowed himself a small brief smile to make its way on his lips. The Maester seemed ready to say more, but he turned to face Lord Connington.

"Three Dragons, but where are those dragons staying?" Pycelle asked, now looking more awake than a moment before. Varys paid close attention; Lord Jon appeared displeased by what he heard.

"Prince Aemon, Princess Daenerys, and Princess Rhaenys have claimed their own dragons. The King has ordered us to start rebuilding the Dragon Pit. He says a smaller building will be built for now. To keep the Dragons inside until the Dragon Pit is built back to its former glory." Lord Jon informed everyone, his fingers rubbing a ring around his little finger that had the sigil of a mockingbird.

"That will be costly," Pycelle said.

"The king has ordered to prepare a room for Prince Aemon in the royal quarters," Lord Lyman said, ignoring Pycelle's comment; now, he was holding the King's message as he carefully rolled the paper before placing it on the table.

A Prince with a Dragon, and is not the Royal Prince, and if the little birds were right, both Princess already have their eyes set on Prince Aemon; Varys's lips twitched upwards.

I wonder what Lady Olenna will do, Varys thought. The rest of the meeting passed, but Varys paid little attention. He knew Lady Olenna would want more information soon. He knew Lady Flowers would be willing to do another small job for him.

Aemon

As the wheelhouse progressed forward through the muddy terrain, the towering gates of King's Landing stood tall in front of it. The air surrounding them felt oppressively humid and laden with moisture, enveloping the surroundings with a weighty heaviness. Aemon diligently consumed water in an attempt to alleviate his dry throat. However, the relief he sought eluded him, mirroring the predicament of Val, whose face had taken on a flushed hue due to the sweltering heat. Val's solution was to intermittently quench her thirst with water, yet despite her diligent efforts, beads of perspiration continued to bead on her face, persisting even after she repeatedly wiped them away.

Ghost wasn't doing any better. Dire wolves were animals that were used to the cold, freezing climate of the North; for him to be in such a warm environment, Aemon knew Ghost didn't like the temperature. The moment they were anywhere near a body of water, Ghost would jump on it, and it would take a while until he came out.

Aemon would much rather have Ghost stay with him in the Red Keep, but he knew the Red Keep would never be a good place for Ghost. He liked the nature and not a castle made of red bricks. Ghost loved hunting, digging around, and forcing him inside a castle. It would be like a prison for him. A big prison.

But his father had told him that Ghost could hunt in the King's Wood and stay there as much as he wanted. It was near, as long as he didn't approach the Dragons.

Since leaving Harrenhal, Rhaenys, more often than not, joined Aemon and Val in the bed. Val and Rhaenys would occasionally spend time with one another, and since both enjoyed fighting, Val had taken it upon herself to teach Rhaenys how to use daggers. And Rhaenys had taught Val about the Red Keep. While Val didn't seem amused by the castle's many rules, she still listened to what Rhaenys told her. After the first week, Val had started telling Rhaenys more about her life beyond the Wall, how they lived, and everything. Aemon was grateful that Val and Rhaenys seemed to be getting along. But he was a little concerned for his aunt.

Since taming Cannibal, Daenerys spent hours flying with him every day. Amongst the three of them, Daenerys spent more time in the skies than both Rhaenys and Aemon combined. Aemon didn't know why, but sometimes his aunt would be her usual cheerful self; she would be funny and smiling all the time and often flirting with Aemon and Rhaenys.

' "You look like a proper Prince now, sweet nephew." Daenerys said with a husky voice. She eyed him up and down as Aemon groaned, trying to move his arm around freely.

"I can't wait to get out of these clothes," Aemon said with annoyance; the clothes felt uncomfortable.

"I can help you with that," Daenerys suggested with a flirtatious smile as she approached him before kissing his cheek. '

But sometimes, her expression would turn colder than the Wall.

As The Wheelhouse continued riding forward through the bustling docks, the rhythmic sound of the powerful horses pulling the wheelhouse reached his ears, resonating with a symphony of hooves and creaking wood. The distinct aroma of freshly caught fish enveloped his senses, mingling with the salty sea breeze that swept through the air, casting hints of brine and adventure. As he observed the bustling activity at the docks, his gaze was met with a multitude of dedicated individuals diligently working amidst the organized chaos. The sight of sailors hauling crates, fishermen meticulously mending nets, and dockworkers scurrying about their tasks.

Within moments, the thunderous sound of horses galloping forward swiftly succumbed to the overwhelming uproar of the ecstatic crowd, their exultant cheers cascading through the air like a symphony. As the eye could see - an ocean of people had assembled at the grand entrance to King's Landing, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the noble entourage. The wheelhouse entered the city, engulfed in a sea of faces. Men, women, and children alike were unified by their shared jubilation, their collective voices reverberating as they jubilantly proclaimed the resounding name of Rhaegar Targaryen. Aemon could hear them chanting his father's name like he was a god.

'Long live the King.'

"Rhaegar, The Good.'

Aemon could hear many shouting Aegon's name; Val sat beside him, both looking at the crowd through the window. He looked at her expression, and he tried and failed to stop the chuckle.

"Do you find me amusing, Jon?" Val asked, turning to face him, trying to sound hurt, but Aemon knew she was just teasing him.

"I do, my lady. The first time you have seen so many people in such a small place?" Aemon questioned. Val nodded as her eyes focused back on the crowd as the Wheelhouse kept riding forward. "How can so many people live in such a small place?" Val wondered out loud.

The Wheelhouse, a structure made of polished oak, stood in the center of the bustling street. Its presence was accentuated by the sight of over twenty valiant knights, each mounted on a horse. Shimmering brilliantly in the radiant sunlight, their armors boasted intricate designs embellished with glimmering gold accents and adorned with lavish gold cloaks that billowed in the gentle breeze.

The knights surveyed their surroundings with an ever-watchful gaze. Gleaming swords, sharp and deadly, were clutched tightly in their gloved hands. Their vigilant eyes scanned the perimeter, on high alert for any individual foolish enough to dare approach the Royal Party within the Wheelhouse.

Aemonm's eyes were drawn to Visenya's hill. At the top of it was built The Great Sept of Baelor.

Aemon had read about the sept in Winterfell. The Great Sept of Baelor was named after the Septon-king Baelor the Blessed and surrounded by a white marble plaza. It features a statue of Baelor, which stands tall and serene upon his plinth; his face is a study of benevolence. Large gardens, capable of holding hundreds of people, surround the sept.

The sept is an impressive marble dome structure with seven crystal towers, each of which has bells. Only on momentous occasions, such as the death of a king, are all of them rung. The lofty dome is made of glass gol,d, and crystal. Around the doors leading into the building is a raised marble pulpit from which a septon can address a gathering crowd.

Aemon then turned to see Rhaeny's hill. Aemon knew The Dragon Pit was there, what was left of it after what happened during the Dance.

As they continued their ride through the bustling city, passing by the busy streets and vibrant markets, their destination of Aegon's Hill drew nearer with each passing moment. Where The Red Keep was built, the castle looked magnificent, made out of red bricks and perched atop the elevated hill, giving the illusion that it effortlessly floated above King's Landing. Aemon knew it would take a while to get used to a whole new castle.

Soon, Aemon felt him getting closer from the back of his head, his lips twitching upwards, the same for Rhaenys and Aunt Daenerys.

"He's here," Daenerys said eagerly as she quickly opened the window to look outside. Aemon noticed, for a brief moment, Daenerys's eyes seemed green like wildfire, but as she blinked, they were back to her usual purple eyes. Aemon escaped his thoughts when he heard roars outside.

People started pointing their fingers toward the sky, and the commoners with houses quickly entered inside their houses to be safe. Their alarmed voices filled the air, creating a chorus of fearful cries that pierced through the city. Amongst the chaos, people started running away in fear. Hovering over the city, dominating the skies, was Aegarax. With an earth-shaking bellow, he unleashed yet another thunderous roar, causing the soundwaves to reverberate throughout every nook and cranny of King's Landing, leaving no resident untouched by its intensity, letting everyone know that Dragons had returned.

Aemon's smile grew at the sigh of Kessa flying nearby, but unlike Aegarax, she flew towards the Red Keep before landing on top of one of the roofs of the many towers in The Red Keep.

Another deafening roar reverberated through the city's crowded streets, causing another ripple of panic among its inhabitants. Aemon, his gaze abruptly drawn to the sky, instinctively tilted his head upward. There, soaring, was Cannibal. Unlike Aegarax, Cannibal dared to descend much lower, its wings casting a foreboding shadow upon the people below. With predatory precision, its piercing eyes locked onto the vulnerable masses bustling within the City.

Aemon's heart pounded frantically in his chest. For a split second, time stood still as Aemon's gaze followed Cannibal's swift flight path, only to witness the dragon soaring skyward once again, soaring towards Aegarax.

Aemon watched as Cannibal let out a thunderous roar, challenging Aegarax, their roars echoing through the city below.

Aegarax defiantly roared back, refusing to back down, both dragons maintaining a cautious distance, their fiery gazes locked.

Morning maneuvered her way in between Cannibal and Aegarax, emitting her own thunderous roar towards the black dragon. Cannibal, feeling the heat of anger rise within him, unleashed a torrent of fiery breath in response before he reluctantly changed direction.

Aegarax and Morning descended onto the lush greenery of the King's Wood. Meanwhile, Cannibal landed far away from the others. His mighty wings beat against the air, causing gusts of wind in his wake. The ground trembled beneath him.

"I don't like that dragon," Val said with a slight frown, but it seemed Daenerys had heard her as she turned to face her.

"Why, Princess?"

"Aegarax has been friendly with anyone around him. He only kills when he needs to eat; your dragon is trying to start fights for no reason. If he was a Free Folk. Someone would have killed him by now." Val said bluntly, without holding back anything, looking directly at Daenerys's face, whose face went red with anger.

"My dragon is simply showing who is the strongest of the pack. The Strongest are the ones who are always in charge. While the weak will always try to clinch to the Strongest to survive." Daenerys said sharply, looking right at Val, who openly glared at her.

"Enough!" Aegon shouted at both Daenerys and Val.

"Daenerys, don't be a child, getting angry, whatever or not. Your dragon is the strongest or not." Aegon scolded, looking down at Daenerys, who simply looked away from him.

"You, Val. You are not allowed to speak to Princess Daenerys like that. Show her respect. If Cannibal is dangerous, then Aegarax and Morning are there to stop him." Aegon ordered Val nodded in understanding, but Aemon knew Val didn't want to admit defeat. She was still a Freefolk to the core.

Soon, the wheelhouse came to a halt in front of the towering bronze gates that guarded the entrance to the Red Keep. The guards swiftly approached and opened the door. Their hands moved a switch, triggering a mechanism that set the massive door into motion, resulting in a cacophony of resounding metallic sounds that echoed through the air.

As the door gradually swung open, the wheelhouse steadily advanced through the gates, its wheels rolling over the smooth, cobbled ground. As soon as the carriage passed through the threshold, the colossal gates began their deliberate descent, closing with an audible thud and sealing off the outside world.

Servants rushed towards the Wheelhouse, opening the doors for the Royal Family to walk outside.

Aemon felt the sun on his face as he stepped outside, holding Val's hand. In front of them were fifty gold cloaks, including four people Aemon had never seen before standing in front of the door that led inside the Red Keep.

The soldiers all kneeled to them, but Aemon noticed the little looks he got from the soldiers, including the four men who kneeled to the Royal Family.

"Attention, everyone," His father shouted with authority to everyone around them. His father looked at him, and Aemon stepped forward, now standing beside his father. He couldn't help but puff his chest.

"This is my son, Prince Aemon of House Targaryen," His father shouted and pointed his hand towards him. Aemon stepped forward, wearing the finest clothes.

Soon, the door opened, and his father walked forward; Aemon followed behind, stepping inside the Red Keep.

As they walked inside the castle through its large halls, the sound of their footsteps echoed around them. The high ceilings and towering walls made them feel tiny in comparison. Aemon's eyes were drawn to the dragon decorations that adorned the walls. The sigil of the Royal Family, a Three-Headed Dragon, was proudly displayed throughout the castle. Stone statues of dragons' heads protruded from the walls, their eyes seeming to follow Aenar's every move. Even the candle holders attached to the walls resembled dragon hands holding the flickering flames.

A fountain was in the castle's garden, adorned with a statue of a young boy at its center. The boy was depicted with a mischievous grin, and he was carrying two baby dragons made of silver - one perched atop his shoulder and the other nestled safely in his delicate, silver hands. With every detail carved to perfection, from the intricate folds of the boy's clothing to the delicate scales on the dragons' bodies. As the sun beamed down upon it, the fountain sparkled and glimmered like the most precious jewel in the world, casting a rainbow of colors across the garden.

Aemon heard his father giving orders to his men, ordering his family to go back to their chambers before ordering Aemon and Val to follow him.

While the inside of the Red Keep was a beauty, Aemon knew he was in the viper's nest. His father's voice came hushed, talking with one of the four men who were waiting for them at the door. This one had red hair and a small red beard. Decked in resplendent attire, he donned the most opulent garments that Aemon had ever laid eyes upon. Every thread of his clothing exuded wealth, with even his gloves crafted from a luxurious and costly material that felt indulgently soft against his fingertips. The man's shoes, a pair of sleek black boots with golden rings adorning every single finger, sparkled in the light.

Soon, Aemon walked through the towering, intricately carved door, which creaked slightly as he entered the Throne Room. As his eyes beheld the vast expanse of the hall, it appeared to stretch endlessly before him, with columns on either side ascending all the way up to the ceiling, each rising every five meters. The sheer magnitude of the hall made even the Main Small of Winterfell pale in comparison. Drawing closer to the end of the Hall, Aemon's gaze fixated on The Iron Throne.

Aemon heard Val murmur something in the Old Tongue. "That's the Throne; it looks like a Monster!"

Aemon agreed with her. The Iron Throne was made of thousands of blades of Aegon's enemies; the steel steps were the only way to reach the top and sit. It was said that if a King cut themselves in the Throne, it meant the Throne rejected them as rulers. Like Maegor, the Cruel. Viserys, The First. Rhaenyra, the Black Queen, who got cut despite wearing armor.

In the sides of the hall were placed the skulls of the old dragons. Aemon's eyes found the largest one present in the Main Hall. Caraxes, with teeth that appeared sharp, his eyes weren't there, but Aemon felt as if every dragon skull was solely looking at him with every step he took.

"Fascinating, isn't it," Aemon heard the red-haired man say with a smile as he approached. Aemon noticed his perfume first before he noticed the man; Val wrinkled her nose at the sight of him.

"What is?" "The Throne, magnificent, isn't it? Many people tried to take it, like the Blackfyres, but in the end, they all failed," the red-haired man added with a neutral tone that Aemon didn't like.

"Indeed, and the Targaryen could have lost it if it wasn't for Brynden Rivers," Aemon said; he watched in silent satisfaction as the man's smirk faltered. "You should introduce yourself when talking to a Prince of the Realm," Aemon ordered, his voice firm and commanding as he gazed at the man.

"I am the Maester of Laws. Lord Jon Connington," the man spoke with pride as he puffed out his chest before showing a smile with three golden teeth. Aemon saw an old man making his way towards him quite slowly.

"It's good to meet you, your grace; I'm Grand Maester Pycelle," the old maester said, his mouth hidden behind his beard.

"It's good to meet you, Grand Maester. I take it you are well?"

Pycelle smiled gently, his legs shaking as he looked up at Aemon. "As well as someone of my age can be, your grace. The Realm is happy to know that you are alive and safe and that you have brought the dragons to the World." The old maester said softly. His maester's collar wasn't just a metal choker like Luwin wore, but two dozen heavy chains that covered his neck to chest. His chains were made of every single metal out there.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Aemon turned and looked at the Spider as Rhaenys and Aegon called him. He could smell his perfume, a smile nestled on his face. His head was as bald as an egg.

"I'm Varys, the Maester of Whispers," the man softly said and reached out his hand. Aemon felt the perfume coming from. Aemon shook his hand. His hand was soft and perfumed, like touching silk.

"Varys, not Lord Varys?"

"Just Varys, I lost my name a long time ago," Varys replied with a smile that Aemon didn't know if it was a real one or not.

Aemon looked at the last man who approached him. Half of the man's face was hidden by his hair. "My name is Lyman Darry. I'm the Maester of Coins." The man said before shaking his hand. His hand was rough and his skin felt harsh. Aemon knew from his hand alone that Lord Lyman was a warrior.

Samwell

As the winds of winter mercilessly tore through the frozen landscape, a biting chill washed over him, causing his ears to ache with every gust. The frigid air seemed to slice through his throat like tiny, frosty blades, inflicting a sharp, painful sensation with each labored breath he took. The numbing cold crept through his body, leaving his fingers devoid of any sensation and an icy grip clenched around his heart. Amidst this wintry torment, an overwhelming urge to relieve the dryness tugged at him, compelling him to moisten his parched lips. Yet he hesitated, fearing that the moisture on his lips would instantly turn into a thin layer of ice. Meanwhile, the relentless howling wind intensified, echoing with an eerie. Every snowflake descended from the sky, an ethereal sight as they danced and twirled.

Samwell and his brothers of the Night's Watch had been on an expedition, trying to find who attacked their last expedition. Usually, the blame would always go to the Wildlings, but for the last three months, their attacks had been fewer and fewer. Sam had hoped he would return back soon, but the simple expedition had turned into a death sentence.

The Storm had come out of nowhere. Sam, including his friends, had been split from the others; now they were alone, surrounded by snow everywhere they looked, trying to find the fastest way back to the Wall.

They established their camp atop a rugged cliff. The biting wind howled around them as they dug into the snow. Sam was determined to assist Jack, Edd, and Grenn with the digging, each wielding a shovel of their own.

"You really don't have to do this, you know," Jack insisted as he looked at Sam, who breathed heavily; another sharp pain shot through his neck; he felt exhausted but shook his head.

"It helps keep me warm. I'm sure Lord Commander will soon find us, and we can go back South of the Wall." Sam replied with determination. Jack nodded in agreement with a smile. Unlike them, Jack came to the Night's Watch on his accord; no one forced him, and he wasn't a thief or anything. When asked, Jack explained that he wanted to find his little brother. His brother had been a fellow brother of the Night's Watch until he disappeared two years ago during an expedition; while the others highly doubted it, Sam told Jack that his little brother could still be alive and would find him one day.

"You must be absolutely mad," Edd chimed in.

"I'm not exactly built for this kind of labor," Sam panted, his shovel moving at a slower pace.

"I always imagined myself doing something much worse," Edd mused, shaking his head with a smile.

"We're digging latrine pits at the end of the world," Grenn remarked. "I can't imagine anything much worse."

"Well, maybe digging graves and stealing from them," Jack added with a somewhat hushed voice, but everyone still heard him, earning looks from the others, especially Grenn, who looked disgusted.

"Why would anyone steal from graves?" He spat.

"Just a suggestion," Jack said with a small voice before looking at Sam. "I can't think of anything worse that someone might do."

"You lack imagination." Sam chimed in; for a brief moment, he remembered the many books he used to read before his father sent him to the Wall. The world he could visit through those books, worlds he knew he would never see. When he arrived in the Night's Watch, Jack had been the one to help him so he could be put in the position as a helper for the old Maester. Sam couldn't stop smiling when he realized that the library was full of books, and he could read all of them.

Sam's smile faltered as he remembered Maester Aemon back at the Wall. The old man had entrusted him to make copies of the old books; Sam had promised him he would. I can't die yet, at least until I make those copies, Sam thought determinedly; he knew it was a trivial thing; not many people read those books, and perhaps no one would ever read them, but Sam didn't want their knowledge to go to waste. I will return and make the copies. Even a hundred years from now, someone might be reading them and learning from the copies I made, Sam thought with a growing smile, suddenly feeling warmth in his chest. It wasn't much, but he would prove it to his father at least.

'You are a worthless son. You will join the Night's Watch, or you won't return back home.' His words made him shudder more than the cold ever could.

Grenn's shovel suddenly clanged against something metal, causing everyone to pause. "What in seven hells is that?" he exclaimed, kneeling down and clearing the area with his hands.

Sam sat down beside him, intrigued, as a round stone cover engraved with markings emerged from under the snow. "The First Men made these marks," Sam noted. Edd assisted Grenn and Jack in lifting the cover, revealing a bundle wrapped in a cloak.

"Look," Grenn turned to Sam, eager to open it.

"If you find something you're not supposed to, the best thing to do is pretend you've never seen it," Edd advised.

"That's a Night's Watch cloak," Sam observed.

"It's been here a long time," Grenn added, opening the bundle to reveal a set of obsidian knives.

"Must be dragonglass," Sam remarked.

"Dragonglass?" Grenn questioned.

"Obsidian," Jack clarified as he held one, as did Sam. He remembered the books talking about Dragonglass; it was mostly worthless before it was used to make candles, but no more, and as a weapon, it shattered against armor.

"Why would a brother hide it here?" Grenn pondered.

"I expect it's 'cause he wanted somebody to find it," Edd surmised. Positioned beneath the dragonglass daggers lay a horn. He gingerly grasped the horn, bringing it closer to his inquisitive gaze. Observing it intently, it was the size of his own arm. Intricately etched runes adorned the horn's surface. As he tentatively supported its weight in his hands, an unexpected heaviness enveloped him, akin to the sensation of wielding a longsword. To Sam's astonishment, a veil of eeriness descended upon him as whispers, soft and indistinct, seemed to emanate from the depths of the horn.

"It's just a horn, Sam," Grenn said dismissively, but Sam ignored him. He looked closely at the runes. He knew he had seen those same runes before. He remembered a book he had read about ancient runes, but he could hardly understand what the runes were saying.

Sam suddenly heard a crow; he blinked; he turned his head to see a crow looking back at them before taking flight. Sam wondered where the crow came from, but his attention quickly turned back to the horn; for a moment, he thought of blowing on it, but the runes was what truly grabbed his attention.

Sam knew the one place that could have the answers needed for the runes. The Citadel, near the Hightower. Sam decided to take the Horn with them; perhaps Maester Aemon could help translate. If not him, then perhaps the Lord Commander would give him permission to go to the Citadel and translate what the runes were saying.

Edd and his group couldn't find any logs for the fire, so they were assigned the task of scavenging some material that could be set alight.

"I thought we were coming north to fight wildlings," Grenn grumbled.

"Is this goat?" Edd asked, picking up a piece of dung. Grenn snatched it out of his grasp, placing it in his basket.

"It's moose," he clarified. "People shouldn't live anywhere; you need to burn dung to keep warm."

"Well, you see a tree, let me know," Grenn retorted.

"If you step back and think about it, the thing about Gilly that's so interesting is-" Sam began, trying to lighten the mood. "Just bloody kill me," Grenn sighed.

"No, truly," Sam continued. "The thing about her that I find so interesting is that after all that Craster's done to her, she still has hope that life might get better."

"The thing about Gilly that you find so interesting is that she said six words to you," Edd shot back, prompting chuckles from the others.

"And the thing about you that I find so interesting is absolutely nothing," Sam countered, making the others muffle their laughter. Their smiles vanished as a horn blew in the distance.

"It's Halfhand," Sam cheered.

"They're back." But the horn blew again.

"Two blasts mean wildlings," Grenn said, unsheathing his sword while Edd kept his hands on the holster of his own sword.

"You're not fighting them alone," Edd declared. Jack grabbed the hammer he had wrapped around his waist. The third horn was blown, causing the three to stand there frozen momentarily.

"Three blasts?" Grenn asked.

"Run!" Edd shouted. He didn't need to tell the others twice as they started sprinting away, following Grenn, Jack, and Edd with Sam trailing behind.

"Wait! Wait for me!" Sam called, causing Edd and Jack to slow down.

"Faster." But Sam fell, prompting them to run back to him.

"Grenn. Wait!" Jack called out, but no one returned, his words swallowed by the winds.

As they stood there, the frigid wind howled relentlessly, piercing their skin like a thousand icy needles. The harsh blizzard shrouded their vision, and amidst its fury, they heard a high-pitched squeal.

Suddenly, figures emerged from the swirling snow and began to advance towards them at an eerie pace. Edd urgently urged the group to keep moving.

"Come on! We have to go now!" Edd watched as undead men and decaying figures with blue eyes chilled him to the bone. He quickly pulled Sam along with him as Jack followed behind. Their hearts pounded in their chests, a discordant rhythm against the backdrop of the howling tempest. Each footstep was a struggle in the knee-deep snow that threatened to swallow them whole. Edd fleed, his eyes wide with fear, as he led them behind a large boulder.

They crouched on the icy ground, their breath visible in the frigid air, watching the undead pass by them. Edd placed his finger to his mouth, gesturing for Sam to stay silent while his breath heaved in and out as if bearing the weight of the entire North. Suddenly, Sam heard the sound of ice cracking, followed by more and more similar sounds. Sam heard more and more similar sounds. The dead had stopped moving; now, they were looking around the place.

They are talking to one another, Sam thought, until he heard a shriek from the corner of his eyes. Sam's eyes widened at the sight before him. He laid eyes on what could only be described as a spider, its intricately detailed icy form standing tall at three meters.

Perched atop this Spider was a creature, unlike anything Sam had ever encountered. Unlike the lifeless corpses, this being emanated an ethereal aura, resembling a woman with skin as immaculately white as freshly fallen snow. Her stunning blue eyes were vibrant and piercing. If it wasn't for her being a white walker, Sam thought she looked beautiful.

Sam observed the woman slowly parted her ice lips, letting out more ice cracking sounds. The chilling sound reverberated through the surrounding air. Sam shuddered even more from her voice.

Fear clung to Sam, Jack, and Edd like a vice, making it difficult even to draw breath. Sam's panting breaths threatened to betray their presence.

The Strange Woman let out a shriek, causing an intense surge of excruciating pain to shoot through Sam's ears. The pain was so sharp and unbearable that Sam instinctively clenched his fists and tightly closed his ears. As he did so, a strange wetness trickled down the sides of his face. With trembling fingers, he cautiously touched the fluid, only to see blood.

Sam suddenly became aware of a hauntingly eerie sound. It was the horn that he was still carrying. The sound seemed muffled, as if it originated from deep within the horn itself, resonating like a mournful lament, reminiscent of the cries of thousands of people being drowned beneath the Sea.

Sam's blood turned cold as the woman turned directly to face them before she let out an order. Sam didn't know what she said; it sounded again like ice cracking, but the dead who were with her quickly turned towards Sam, Jack, and Edd.

"RUN!" Sam found himself screaming as he, Jack, and Edd started running, with the undead following them, but Sam quickly saw fire arrows flying through the air before hitting the undead following them. Sam smiled in relief to see a group of brothers from the Night's Watch rushing towards Sam with their swords drawn, including The Lord Commander, who was using his Valyrian Steel Sword.

Sam felt a body tackle him; he felt the snow on his mouth, on top of him, a rotting corpse, his rotting hand was reaching for the horn. Sam tried to pull him away before a hammer smashed his head in, and his skull shattered like glass.

"On your feet, Sam," Jack's voice echoed through the chaos. Sam reached out and grasped Jack's outstretched hand. A sword suddenly came through Jack's eye. The sickening sound of flesh tearing mixed with the gasp that escaped Sam's lips. Crimson droplets of Jack's blood splattered onto Sam's pale face, merging with his own sweat and tears. As Jack's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, countless corpses charged relentlessly towards Sam, who started crawling away in fear. The others quickly helped Sam. The corpses weren't dying, but cutting their heads off made them useless.

Sam felt his heart beating in his throat as another corpse tried to reach for the horn, only for Grenn to cut it in half before cutting its head off.

Sam saw the Commander and five brothers of the Night's Watch fighting with the Ice Spider and the woman on top.

Sam watched as one of the sharp legs cut through Ted, plunging deep into his chest, while two others were killed by the woman on top of the Spider, her spear cut through their bodies, snow turned red, but Sam watched as the Lord Commander rushed forward with a scream, the Ice Spider's sharp leg pierced through the flesh and bones, the Commander screamed in pain as he thrusted his sword forward, plunging it deep into the Ice Spider who let out a loud shriek that made everyone wince in pain, as the ice spider shattered in thousands of ice pieces.

Sam fell on his knees, his ears almost bursting from the pain.

"Sam!!"

Sam looked up as the ice woman lunged at him. He let out a scream of panic, but she ignored him as she quickly reached out and got hold of the Horn, her mouth wide open, ready to blow on it—

A sword cut stabbed through her chest from behind, and the once firm grip on the horn slipped from her hands, sending it tumbling to the snowy ground. A tear welled up in her eye, tracing a path along her cheek as she collapsed. Her form shattered into countless ice pieces.

Everyone was quiet as suddenly the cold and the wind went away; even the temperature seemed to rise slightly until the Lord Commander groaned from the pain, blood dripping from his wounded shoulder, blood dripping from his wound, turning the snow red.

"Lord Commander?!" Edd's voice echoed as he hurried towards the Commander, who ignored him; turning to face Sam, who gripped the Horn from the ground, he quickly noticed the white hand mark left on its surface. Sam realized her hands must have left it behind, but the mark slowly faded away, melting away like ice.

"Where did you find that Horn?" Sam explained how they found it buried underground with dragon glass. Once the Lord Commander listened to everything he said, he grabbed the horn from Sam's hands.

"It's heavy!" The man said, looking at the runes written on the surface. "I don't know why they wanted this, but I don't want to know what they want to do with it. We will take this to the Wall and give it to Maester Aemon." The Commander ordered as he handed it back to Sam.

"Did you send the ravens?" Lord Mormont's voice was heavy with urgency as he confronted Sam, his gaze on the ground, weighed down by guilt.

"Tarly, look at me. Did you send the ravens?" The Lord Commander's words were a demand, pressing upon Sam like a relentless blizzard. Sam could only manage a feeble shake of his head.

"That was your job," Lord Mormont admonished, his tone unforgiving.

"Your only job." Sam stood there, their faces etched with exhaustion, his spirit broken by the harrowing encounter. Lord Mormont's words hung heavy in the air.

"We need to get back to the Wall. It's a long march. We know what's out there, but we have to make it, have to warn them, or before winter's done, everyone you've ever known will be dead." The Commander ordered, as more blood poured from his wounded shoulder as he started limping forward, still leading his man as Sam followed; he looked behind at Jack; if it wasn't for the wound on his face, he seemed as if he was sleeping peacefully.

"We are not leaving him here. We must carry him." Sam shouted, hoping the Commander would agree, but suddenly, another cold wind passed through them, and the temperature dropped down again; the wind howled in their ears.

"Burn their bodies. We can't stay here." The Commander ordered. Sam swallowed a breath, his eyes falling on Jack one more time; he reached down and closed his eyes as Edd approached with a torch in his hand; he burned the other bodies before approaching Jack.

"I don't believe in heaven, but I hope he's with his brother now," Edd said mournfully.

"I hope so, too," Sam said as Edd brought down the torch; Sam watched as the flames engulfed him.

Aemon

After the small council meeting ended, Aemon and Val returned back to their chambers. Once inside, Aemon looked at the luxury of his chamber.

Candle chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a warm and inviting glow over the room. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries depicting scenes of regal splendor, while sumptuous silk curtains billowed gently in the gentle breeze from the open window. The focal point of the room was undoubtedly the massive four-poster bed draped in the finest linens and adorned with plush pillows; it looked like a sanctuary of comfort and luxury.

Aemon stepped inside the bedchamber. He removed his garments, meticulously folding them before placing them atop a cloth box nestled at the foot of the ornate bed. Now clad solely in his pristine white shirt and perfectly tailored pants, Aemon couldn't help but be overcome by the overwhelming comfort of the bed. Delicately lowering himself onto the plush mattress, he sank into a blissful cocoon of immeasurable softness. "I am a Prince, after all," Aemon pondered, his hand idly caressing the opulent fabric beneath him.

"This chamber is beautiful, right Val?" Aemon asked, but the only answer he received was silence. Aemon looked up to see Val standing in front of the full-length window of their chamber, which overlooked the sprawling landscape beyond the castle walls. The curtains swayed gently as Val reached out to unlatch the window, beckoning the embrace of the evening's fragrant breeze. As the ambient scent of twilight filled the air, Val's silhouette remained fixated on the North, her eyes tracing unseen paths in the distance.

"Val?" Aemon called her, concern seeping into his voice as he approached her, his arms going around her from behind. The warmth of her body felt like a blanket; his lips found her neck, but as he looked at her face again, she seemed deep in thoughts.

"I miss it, Jon," Val spoke with a hushed voice, her hand touching down her belly.

"What?"

"The North, Jon. My sister, our people. I know it's only been three months, but I really wish to live in the wild again, at least for a bit longer. To see my sister and for her to give birth without fear. She already lost two. I promised her that her third would survive, her child wouldn't be born in the cold, but in the Warmth of the South." Val said, feeling a lump in her throat. As she swallowed hard, she whirled around, her beautiful blue eyes looking up at his grey ones; Aemon reached out to cup her cheeks.

He knew Val was always a Free Folk in her core. She lived her whole life as one; Aemon always knew it would be difficult for her to get used to living in a castle; now that he thought of it, perhaps she would always prefer living like a Free Folk instead.

"Val-" his words silenced as she placed a finger on his lips.

"I choose to be with you, Jon. Mance told us how the Southern Ladies live, and I knew my old way of living was over, but I still followed you." Val placed his hand on top of her belly. A small bump had formed, and Aemon's face seemed as bright as a star upon feeling the small bump with his hand, he kneeled down, kissing her belly tenderly, and a giggle escaped Val's mouth.

"I don't regret my decision to follow you, Jon. Even now, I would have made the same decision all over again. I just wish for our people to no longer live in danger and for Bella to have her child and be happy with Mance."

"She will. I promised you her child would live. Our people will soon leave that place." Aemon said, looking up at her.

"Will they? You are a prince now. You have new duties now. Your family-" "You are my family too." Aemon interrupted her, standing up as he cupped her cheeks again.

"I always keep my word. I promise you, within three months, our people will be free. They will be South of the Wall." Aemon promised Val looked at him in the eyes, and he looked at her back.

Slowly, their lips touched; Val moaned as his tongue entered her mouth while his hands worked on the straps of her dress.

Arianne

I am a foolish girl, she told herself for the tenth time now. It's been a month since the Tourney of Harrenhal ended. So much has changed, and Arianne knew it would change even more. What started as her wanting another man in her bed like many others before had ended in her feeling down and disappointed with herself. Just how my father feels for me, Arianne thought bitterly, knowing her father never saw her as the true heir of Dorne. Not once did he ever try to teach her how to rule, but he always kept her at a distance. Arianne remembered when she had first slept with Daemon, she had hoped it would force her father to act, to pay attention, and teach her how to be the ruler of Dorne, but instead, he had called for her in his solar. He had asked if she had slept with Daemon when Arianne had confirmed it; he had told her to just not get pregnant before telling her to leave his solar and call for Trystane in his chamber. It was no secret to anyone how much her father adored Trystane; they both loved playing cyvasse and talking with each other for hours once Tyene had told Arianne that she had heard her father proposing to teach him how to talk with your banners.

Arianne had cried that night, but she couldn't find it in her heart to hate her youngest brother, unlike Quentyn, whose face was as ugly as a frog and had no manners. Trys was kind to anyone and had even promised Arianne once that he would never take the throne from her unless she wanted him to take it. He had caught her crying that night and had refused to leave her chamber unless she told her why she was crying. Arianne didn't want to burden him, but in the end, she had told him that their father wanted him as Ruler of Dorne, not her. Her brother had kissed her cheek before promising never to take her throne, but that still didn't stop her father from spending all his time with Trys instead of Arianne and teaching him how to rule despite the many rules that Arianne broke; her father not once cared and never paid attention to her.

Arianne escaped her thoughts when the carriage hit a small bump on the road; her eyes looked down at the wrist necklace Jon had gifted her, made of silver with a wolf head in the center.

Arianne had liked Jon's company from the beginning. Or should I call him Aemon, Arianne reminded herself, as she took a sip of her wine as the carriage kept riding through the city surrounding her home. When Rhaenys had told her that Jon was her long-lost brother, Arianne had hoped the King would agree to betroth him with her, even if he was already married to Val. Arianne wouldn't have a problem with that, but all that hope died down the moment Aemon revealed his dragon. She knew the King would never agree to marry Aemon to House Martell after he revealed his dragon, fearing his son's safety.

Arianne knew Aemon had suddenly become the most desirable prince in the Realm; having his title as Prince already validated him as someone Lords would want as a husband for their daughters, but having the dragon made him more desirable than Aegon.

Arianne knew from the beginning that her uncle and father wouldn't be pleased that Aemon existed. For this reason, she had kept it hidden from them despite knowing about it from Rhaenys.

But Arianne had hoped that her father would agree to a betrothal between the two so there would be no bad blood between Aemon and House Martell. Arianne shuddered, knowing just how much her uncle was furious when Aemon revealed himself as Lyanna's son. Arianne didn't really care who his mother was; Aunt Elia loved Lyanna, so why should I hate him? Arianne had thought, but she knew Uncle Oberyn didn't see it that way.

'Rhaegar shamed my sister in front of the Realm and has the audacity to invite that bastard to live beside my nephew and niece. No, Never.' Had been his words. Ellaria had tried to calm him, but nothing worked; Oberyn's blood was like wildfire; when it kindled, nothing could stop it.

A part of Arianne was glad that Aemon had been raised secretly, knowing her uncle and father. Arianne shuddered at the thought. She didn't want to admit it, but she knew it wasn't too far for her uncle and father, especially her father.

A day before leaving Harrenhal, Arianne had enjoyed his company one more time; before they departed from Harrenhal, Rhaenys had told her that she would marry Aemon, and all Arianne had now were the good memories.

The journey back to Sunspear felt like a vivid dream; Arianne knew her father would want to talk with her about the new prince of the Realm. Tyene had suggested that she should tell her father everything and not try to hide anything.

"You knew about the new Prince, didn't you?" Tyene had confronted her one day. Arianne hadn't bothered to hide it; she shared everything with Tyene and had told her that she had shared his bed several times with him and his wife.

While Arianne loved Tyene as a sister, as someone she could rely on, Oberyn's dislike towards Aemon had gotten into his daughters, too. Arianne knew they saw him as a threat to Aegon's rule, but Arianne never saw that; Aemon was kind and sweet.

Arianne felt her body singing just at the thought of him. The way his grey eyes looked at her when they were together. Her eyes went to Ser Gerold as he rode along with the carriage. The man should have departed from them, but her father had sent a letter inviting him to Sunspear to talk; Arianne didn't like Gerold Dayne's presence. The man lived under Ser Arthur's shadow. He called himself the 'Darkstar'. The man was handsome, and Arianne had invited him into her bed several times, but all the beauty was ruined the moment he opened his mouth to talk.

But since leaving Harrenhal, he had wanted to be with her again. He had challenged Ser Arthur to a duel before leaving Harrenahal, according to Tyene, and Ser Arthur had beaten him without even using 'Dawn.'

Gerold had felt humiliated and had gone to Arianne to feel better.

' "Gerold?" Arianne asked in confusion as he entered her tent; she hadn't called for him, so she was confused about why he had come.

"Why are you here?" But Gerold didn't answer her. Instead, he stumbled towards her, almost falling down; he reeked of beer and alcohol. Arianne wrinkled her nose. The man's eyes looked at her, dark with lust; that look alone used to make her weak in her knees, but all Arianne wanted was for Aemon; she desired his eyes looking at her; she desired his company, not this fool.

"We are not doing this," Arianne said; she knew what he wanted. His face turned red with anger upon hearing her words.

"You too?!~" he stuttered on his words as he took another step towards her. His hand reached out, but she quickly stepped back, away from him; Arianne was ready to shout for the guards when Gerold growled before turning around and walking out of her tent. Arianne sighed in relief once she heard Obara's voice calling for Gerold to approach her. '

The following morning, Arianne learned from Tyene that Gerold and Obara had fucked last night. Again, Arianne felt nothing. She didn't feel anger or any resentment towards Obara.

Arianne escaped her thoughts when her carriage stopped; her eyes saw they had stopped before the gates that led inside the Sunspear.

The servants took all the bags from her carriage as she stepped outside; Uncle Oberyn quickly approached her. "Your father is waiting for you at his chamber." Arianne was really hoping she had time for a bath before meeting her father, but she decided just to be done with the meeting as soon as possible. But there was someone else waiting for her return; this one ran and threw his arms around her, hugging her close. Arianne giggled, stroking Trys's dark hair.

"I missed you, Ari." her little brother cried out, his words muffled against her waist. Arianne giggled again, kissing his cheek as he pulled away from her.

"Look at you; soon, you can ride horses like your uncle," Arianne said sweetly, ruffling his hair, much to his annoyance, as he recoiled away from her while giving her the angriest look he could give her. Arianne loved messing with his hair, but Trys always told her to stop.

"You know, I don't like that," Tyrs said, looking at her sister annoyed, but being only ten years old made him look more adorable.

"Ohh, but I like that. I thought you loved your big sister." Arianne said, sounding hurt while covering her face and acting as if she was crying; suddenly, she felt his small fingers pulling her hands away from her face, his eyes looking at her with concern.

"Don't cry, Ari. I don't like seeing you cry." Trys said with red eyes. Arianne quickly hugged her brother again.

"Just playing, Trys," Arianne said, ruffling his hair again. He rolled his eyes but still giggled at her antics as they started walking towards the castle.

Walking through the corridors, Uncle Oberyn led her to his chamber; before opening the door, Arianne walked inside, her father sitting in the same chair he always sat in, Doran Martell. The gout had swollen and reddened in the joints of his knees, toes, and hands. Her father always used a blanket to cover his legs, but he couldn't do much for his hands; his knuckles had turned red and as big as small balls. Sometimes, Arianne wondered how he could even eat with his hands.

"Father, you asked for me?" Arianne spoke softly, sounding concerned like a daughter should always sound for their sick father.

"Trystane, you can leave. I need to talk with your sister?" Doran commanded; her little brother didn't budge.

"I will stay here with Ari." He insisted; while Arianne was happy to hear his words, someone who genuinely meant them, and not just empty words, she didn't want to bother him with her problems towards their father.

"Trys, go to your chambers. We can play hide and seek later." Arianne spoke sweetly as she kneeled to his level; Trys still looked concerned before reluctantly walking towards the door.

"Don't make her cry," Trys shouted towards their father, much to her shock; he was always sweet towards everyone, he never raised his voice, ever, and for him to shout like that, Arianne turned to look at their father who simply gave Trys a nod as he left the chamber.

Once the door was closed, her father reached to his side, a tightly rolled scroll in his hand. "I received this letter from Oberyn. He says you have talked with this Aemon Targaryen. What, you know him?" It was a command, not a request.

Arianne knew her uncle had already told him everything he knew, including her sleeping with him on numerous occasions. Arianne knew there was no point in lying. Her father wanted to see if she would try to lie for someone outside of their family. She knew it was pointless, so she opened her mouth and told him everything. Her own experience with him, and what Aunt Elia had told them, that he was no threat.

After she was done, her father remained silent. The silence stretched, broken only by Uncle Oberyn pouring himself wine. For a brief moment, Arianne wondered if her father had fallen asleep.

"You have done good, daughter. It sounds like Prince Aemon might not be a threat to us or Aegon." His words caught her off guard; she couldn't help but smile, happy to hear that; her uncle started coughing, choking on the wine, before glaring at Doran as he stood up from his seat, making it fall on the floor, the way he held the vase full of wine, Arianne was concerned that Uncle Oberyn might smash the vase against her father's face.

"What?!" Oberyn screamed at him with rage.

"Oberyn, Enough." Her father commanded sharply. Oberyn snarled, but Areo quickly stepped forward, his hand gripping his spear while glaring at Oberyn, who glared back at him. Arianne watched as her uncle stepped away. Arianne sighed in relief; as she took a deep breath, she didn't realize she had been holding her breath.

Her father looked at her, a proud smile on his face, something that made Arianne's heart almost leap in joy. "You have done very well, daughter. I will be honest, when I got Oberyn's letter-" he stopped mid sentence, giving a look towards Oberyn, who snarled; now he was sitting back at the chair, drinking directly from the vase.

"I thought I would need to call the banners, but it seemed your uncle has once again talked out of his ass. Arianne, you have shown calm and have already done a good job to befriend Prince Aemon; instead of showing hostility like someone I know, this proves to me that you are worthy to rule Dorne." His words made her heart skip a beat, her lips twitched upwards, and she felt like she wanted to dance; she knew she shouldn't smile like this; she was a princess, but she couldn't stop herself.

"Thank You, Father," Arianne said wholeheartedly, her eyes welling up with tears; she didn't stop herself, walking up to him and hugging her father, who kissed her cheek tenderly before wincing slightly when his hands got uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry." Arianne quickly apologized, pulling away, but her father shook his head dismissively. She noticed the knuckles of his right hand were bleeding, small drops of blood falling on the carpet below.

"You don't have to worry, daughter. Now, I know you didn't take a bath. You can go back to your chamber. I need to speak something with your stupid uncle. I want you to know I'm proud of you, daughter." Arianne couldn't stop the giggle before clearing her throat and bowing her head respectfully.

"I'm proud of you.' The words repeated in her head, even when she reached her chamber, even when taking the bath. Arianne couldn't stop herself from smiling like a little girl. She had desired to hear those words for years, and now, she couldn't stop repeating them in her head.

As Arianne closed her eyes, she hummed to herself, enjoying the water against her beautiful body. She could see it. She and Aemon, together with three beautiful children, running around the Water Gardens.

Every Like and Review is appreciated. I hope you all enjoyed this Chapter and have a Good Day.