—— " i will take your crown... i will take your throne... and i will burn it all as you watch " ——
༺ ♔ ༻
——— FINALLY, AFTER LONG TRAVELS, the Dothraki and the Targaryens finally arrived at Vaes Dothrak, the Dothraki capital city. Daeron came to a slow stop before the city's entrance with Daenerys, Ser Jorah, and Viserys, all four of them at the front of the procession on horseback. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep Daeron interested. He gazed at the pair of large horse statues at the entrance of the city as Ser Jorah said, "Vaes Dothrak — the city of the horselords."
"A pile of mud," said Viserys, derisively.
Daeron shook his head irritated, looking at his brother as he continued, "Mud and shit and twigs. Best these savages can do?"
"These are my people now. You shouldn't call them savages," Daenerys sternly said.
"I'll call them what I like, because they're my people," barked Viserys as Daeron and his sister stared at him irritated. "This is my army. Khal Drogo is marching the wrong way with my army."
With that, Viserys rode off as the rest of the khalasar continued forward into Vaes Dothrak. Daeron, Daenerys and Ser Jorah rode together, keeping a normal pace as Daenerys thought to herself. Something she wasn't much allowed to do unless she was with Daeron.
"If my brother was given an army of Dothraki, could you conquer the Seven Kingdoms?" asked Daenerys.
"The Dothraki have never crossed the Narrow Sea," said Ser Jorah. "They fear any water their horses can't drink."
"But if they did?" asked Daenerys.
Ser Jorah was silent a moment before he said, "King Robert is fool enough to meet them in open battle, but the men advising him are different."
"And you know these men?" asked Daenerys.
"I fought beside them once, long ago," Ser Jorah told them. "Now Ned Stark wants my head. He drove me from my land."
Daeron narrowed his eyes confused before looking at him. "Because you sold slaves."
"Aye."
"Why?" asked Daenerys.
"I had no money and an expensive wife," said Ser Jorah.
"And where is she now?"
"In another place... with another man," Ser Jorah answered and the siblings stared at him stunned.
That night, Daeron was set up in his own residential hut in Vaes Dothrak, laying out on his bed, reading a book. His sheathed sword laid against his bed, along with folded clothes. He was reading up more things about culture and language when he suddenly heard a noise outside. His attention perked up, staring at the entrance of his hut. And when he heard another noise, he straightened up in caution.
Wearing only black pants and a white linen shirt, Daeron pulled himself out of his bed, grabbed his sword from its sheath and slowly headed out of his hut. As he stepped out, readying himself for anything, he was surprised when he heard — crying. He stepped closer to the noise, only for Doreah to turn a corner, almost bumping into him.
Daeron stared at her stunned, as tears ran down her face. Her hair was wet, like she had just taken a bath. She gazed at him, trying to hold back her tears, but it only made it worse.
But everything became clear when Daeron realized that Doreah had just come from Viserys's hut.
"Did he hurt you?" he quietly asked, but she didn't answer.
"Goodnight, my lord," she murmured before she quickly strolled past him, heading for the handmaiden's hut. Daeron spun back, watching her go with his brows furrowed as his fists clenched up, anger filling him up all over again.
༺ ♔ ༻
——— THE NEXT MORNING ACROSS THE NARROW SEA, Rosaline walked through the Red Keep, into the throne room with Sansa and Septa Mordane. The girls stared at the famous Iron Throne in awe, staring at all the metal spikes coming from the throne, and up the side of the stairs to the throne. It looked... awfully intimidating.
"Someday, your husband will sit there and you will sit by his side," Septa Mordane told Sansa. "And one day, before too long, you will present your son to the court. All the lords of Westeros will gather here to see the little prince."
"What if I have a girl?" asked Sansa.
"Gods be good, you'll have boys and girls, and plenty of them," Septa Mordane told her.
"What if I only have girls?" asked Sansa.
"Don't worry about such things," Rosaline told her as she looked at Sansa.
"Jeyne Poole's mother had five children, all of them girls," said Sansa.
"Yes, but it's highly unlikely," said Septa Mordane.
"But what if?" asked Sansa.
Septa Mordane took a moment to gather her words as Rosaline stared at her sister mournfully. A 13-year-old girl shouldn't worry about such things.
"If you only had girls, I suppose the throne would pass to Prince Joffrey's little brother," Septa Mordane told the girl.
"And everyone would hate me," Sansa murmured and Rosaline narrowed her eyes at her.
"Sansa..." she murmured as the redhead looked at her.
"Nobody could ever hate you," said Septa Mordane.
"Joffrey does," Sansa told her as Rosaline rolled her eyes.
"Nonsense," muttered Septa Mordane. "Why would you say such a thing?"
Sansa shot her a look as Rosaline continued to stand annoyed.
"That business with the wolves?" questioned Septa Mordane. "Sansa, I've told you a hundred times, a direwolf is not—!"
"Please shut up about it," Sansa spat before she began to walk away. But Rosaline straightened up, staring at her sister sternly.
"Sansa Stark," she loudly said, causing Sansa to stop in her place, slowly glancing back at her sister. "Do you remember your history lessons?"
Sansa only stayed silent as Rosaline slowly approached her, arms crossed. Septa Mordane watched as Rosaline asked, "Who built the Iron Throne?"
"Aegon the Conqueror," Sansa answered.
"Who built the Red Keep?" asked Rosaline.
"Maegor the Cruel," Sansa answered.
"And how many years did it take to build—"
"Our grandfather and uncle were murdered here, weren't they?" Sansa suddenly asked and Rosaline was caught off guard. She stared at her sister taken back, hesitating to answer as Septa Mordane stepped next to her, facing Sansa.
"They were killed on the orders of King Aerys Targaryen, yes," she said.
"The Mad King," murmured Sansa.
"Commonly known as the Mad King," Septa Mordane corrected.
"Why were they killed?" asked Sansa.
Rosaline blinked madly, suddenly unnerved. She knew the answer, of course she knew the answer, but she'd rather not say.
"You should speak to your father about these matters," Septa Mordane told her.
"I don't want to speak to my father. Ever," said Sansa and Rosaline furrowed her brows.
"Sansa, you will find it in your heart to forgive your father," Septa Mordane said, imploringly.
"No, I won't," Sansa bitterly said as she began to walk off again.
"Sansa..." Rosaline called out, only for Sansa to abruptly spin back towards her, an angered expression over her.
"It's not fair," she said. "Father kills Lady, but brings you Sigrid. Your wolf lives and mine is dead, how is that fair?"
Rosaline only stayed silent, her lips pursed in angst as Sansa shook her head. "No," she said. "No, I won't ever forgive, father."
And she took off out of the throne room.
༺ ♔ ༻
——— IT'D BEEN A FEW PEACEFUL DAYS in Vaes Dothrak. Daeron attempted to get Doreah to tell him what happened with his brother, but she was so shut off. He didn't know how to help her.
His anger towards his brother's abuse only worsened when one evening, Daeron stood in Daenerys's hut with her. And Viserys came storming in. But he wasn't alone.
A sobbing Doreah came with him, but forcibly. Viserys was gripping her by her hair, dragging her into the hut before throwing her before Daeron and his sister.
Daeron's eyes instantly were on the sobbing girl as Daenerys's eyes glanced between the two confused.
"Doreah?" Daeron questioned and she looked up at him, sobbing madly. Viserys had injured her on their way there.
"You send this whore to give me commands?!" shouted Viserys as Daeron slowly placed his eyes on his brother. "I should have sent you back her head!"
"You shut your mouth—" Daeron began to shout, but when Daenerys placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back, he calmed down. Just a bit.
"Forgive me, Khaleesi," sobbed Doreah as Daeron and Daenerys glanced down at her. "I did as you asked..."
"Hush now. It's alright," Daenerys assured her as Daeron leaned down and helped Doreah to her feet. Once he did, she leaned into his touch, sobbing against his chest as Daeron tried to comfort her. But nothing seemed to work. She was clearly traumatized... by Viserys.
"Irri, take her and leave us," Daenerys told the handmaiden sitting nearby.
"Yes, Khaleesi."
Irri then stepped towards Daeron, who stared at her a moment before hesitantly placing her in Irri's arms. He then watched in growing angst and overwhelming anger as Irri helped Doreah out of the hut.
Once she was gone, Daeron instantly placed glaring eyes onto his brother as Daenerys stared at her brother baffled. "Why did you hit her?!" she snapped.
"How many times do I have to tell you?" asked Viserys as he stepped towards his sister. "You do not command me."
"I wasn't commanding you. I just wanted to invite you to supper," Daenerys kindly said before she pointed out the Dothraki clothing on her table.
Viserys glanced over at it before picking it up. "What's this?" he spat, looking over at his siblings again.
"It's a gift. I had it made for you. See, look..." Daenerys then pointed at the same clothing on Daeron. "Daeron is wearing the same thing..."
"Dothraki rags?" asked Viserys. "Are you going to dress me now?"
"Please—"
He threw the clothes in Daenerys's face, absolutely drowning in his temper. And Daeron was trying so hard to not fall in his example.
"This stinks of manure!" Viserys shouted. "All of it!"
Though when he began grabbing Daenerys's jewelry to throw at her, Daeron stepped before her, taking the hit. Viserys knew it was his brother he was hitting, but he just didn't care. He was tired of his brother's attitude.
"Stop, stop, stop it!" Daenerys shouted, pulling her little brother behind her, glaring Viserys down.
"You would turn me into one of them, wouldn't you?" asked Viserys. "Next you'll want to braid my hair!"
"You've no right to a braid. You've won no victories yet," Daenerys sternly told him.
From that, he looked absolutely infuriated. Which used to terrify Daeron. But now it wanted him to punch Viserys all over again.
"You do not talk back to me!" he practically screamed before he slapped his sister across the face with such force that she was knocked to the ground.
Daeron didn't give Viserys any last seconds to torment their sister further before he tackled Viserys to the ground. He punched him again, leaving a reddened mark over his face before Daeron pinned him to the floor, his, hot, reddened face shouting, practically spitting in Viserys's face;
"What did I say... What did I say!"
"Daeron—"
"What did I say would happen if you touched her again!" shouted Daeron. "What did I say?!"
"Daeron—!" Daenerys screamed.
"You don't deserve to be King... you are no dragon, you just hide behind that excuse so you can hit little girls!" Daeron continued. "If I see you around Doreah again... I will take your crown... I will take your throne... and I will burn it all as you watch—"
"Daeron!" Daenerys shouted once more before she finally was able to pull Daeron off their brother. The two siblings breathed heavily as Daenerys looked Daeron over, making sure he had no injuries. But when they finally looked at Viserys again, they saw a stunned look, staring up at them from the ground.
"I am a Khaleesi of the Dothraki!" shouted Daenerys as Viserys slowly stood, a look of confused shock over his face as he stared at his siblings. "I am the wife of the great Khal and I carry his son inside me! The next time you raise a hand to me will be the last time you have hands!"
Viserys stared at them a moment, the shock still over him as he realized... his siblings weren't going to let him abuse them no longer. He realized his siblings have learned to fight back.
———
That night, Daeron sat on Daenerys bed, an angry, stern look over him as Daenerys nervously paced the room with Ser Jorah staring at both siblings. Daenerys was just telling him what happened earlier before supper when she added, "And Daeron hit him. He hit the Dragon."
Daeron rolled his eyes as he grazed his fingers over his bloodied knuckle. Ser Jorah eyed him a moment before saying, "Your brother Rhaegar was the Last Dragon. Viserys is less than the shadow of a snake."
"He is still the true King," said Daenerys.
"Please," scoffed Daeron.
"The truth now," said Ser Jorah and Daenerys looked at him as he stepped towards her. "Do you want to see your brother sitting on the Iron Throne?"
"No," Daenerys said after a moment. "But the common people are waiting for him. Illyrio said they're sewing dragon banners and praying for his return."
"The common people pray for rain, health and a summer that never ends," said Ser Jorah. "They don't care what games the high lords play."
"What do you pray for, Ser Jorah?" asked Daenerys.
Ser Jorah was silent a moment, which caused Daeron to look up at him. He stared at him until he finally answered, "Home."
"I pray for home, too," said Daenerys, and it was quiet a moment as she thought to herself. And then she spoke again; "Viserys will never take back the Seven Kingdoms. He couldn't lead an army even if my husband gave him one. He'll never take us home."
Daenerys then glanced back at Daeron, who eyed her curiously. "You could," she said and his brows furrowed. "You should be King. Not him."
But Daeron chuckled as he slowly stood up.
"Viserys would have my head if he heard you saying these things," he said as he stepped towards her. "Don't say such things... one of us could end up dead..." And then he walked out of the hut with Daenerys watching him go in deep thought.
༺ ♔ ༻
——— THE NEXT DAY, Rosaline sat in the stands of the jousting grounds for the Tourney of the Hand with her sisters and governess. She wore a very light lilac dress with pearls outlining the waist of her dress.
Rosaline and her sisters sat just a couple feet away from King Robert and his family. Along with The Hound and Ser Adrian Sloane, who were serving as protection.
As Rosaline gazed out on the jousting grounds, at the corner of her eye, spotted Sansa glance back at Prince Joffrey, but after a moment, turned back with a hurt look over her. The fifteen year old stared at her sister remorsefully, wishing she wasn't stuck in an arranged marriage with a self centered brat like Prince Joffrey. A brat who smirked as his future wife's wolf was killed. A brat who lied to get his way.
"Lover's quarrel?"
Rosaline and her sisters glanced up to find a tall, skinny man standing before them with a beard trimming that looked definitely odd compared to the other men.
"I'm sorry," Sansa nervously said. "Do I—?"
"Sansa dear, this is Lord Baelish," Septa Mordane spoke up. "He's known—"
"An old friend of the family," said Lord Baelish as he sat down next to Rosaline. The fifteen year old eyed him oddly, as did her sisters, who sat next to her. "I've known your mother a long, long time."
Abruptly, Arya poked her head out and asked, "Why do they call you Littlefinger?"
Shocked, Rosaline and Sansa quickly turned to their sister as Sansa embarrassingly snapped, "Arya!"
"Don't be rude!" Septa Mordane sternly said.
"Arya... do you think that was nice?" asked Rosaline.
"No, it's quite alright," said Lord Baelish and the girls looked back at him, now staring in curiosity. "When I was a child, I was very small. And I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers, so you see, it's an exceedingly clever nickname."
Rosaline eyed him with narrowed eyes before her attention was pulled elsewhere when the King shouted, "I've been sitting here for days! Start the damn joust before I piss meself!"
Rosaline glanced back at him just as she spotted Queen Cersei abruptly leave, seemingly embarrassed by her husband. The fifteen year old furrowed her brows before she placed her eyes on the jousting grounds.
As she did, the first competitor rode up; a huge knight in dark grey armor. Rosaline eyed the man in shock at his size as she murmured, "Gods..."
Sansa and Arya looked as well, the same looks over them.
"Who is that?" asked Sansa.
"Ser Gregor Clegane," said Lord Baelish. "They call him the Mountain. The Hound's older brother."
As the Mountain stood before the King's suite, the second competitor rode up besides him. Both facing the King.
"And his opponent?" asked Sansa.
"Ser Hugh of the Vale," said Lord Baelish as Ser Hugh and The Mountain formally bow to the King. "He was Jon Arryn's squire. Look how far he's come."
"Yes, yes," Rosaline heard the King mutter. "Enough of the bloody pomp. Have at it!"
Rosaline almost felt herself roll her eyes just as a horn blared, signifying the beginning of the joust. Rosaline began to fiddle with her fingers as she watched the two knights ride off to their respective positions on the grounds.
They were given shields and very long wooden swords called lances. And then another horn blared and the two rode off down the course, making no contact with each other. No one fell off their horse. No one was hurt.
As the knights rounded around, another horn blasted and they rode off down the course again. Rosaline watched with a conflicted look, expecting it to be the same as last time but then— A horrible gasp, almost scream left her lips as Sansa shrieked when The Mountain drove his lance through Ser Hugh's neck when they passed, knocking him off his horse. A large splinter of wood was stuck in his neck, as blood spurred out as well from his mouth.
Rosaline watched in absolute horror as the rest of the crowd looked on, shocked to say the least. She felt like she was going to be sick as everyone just watched the man cough on his own blood for what felt like several minutes before he stopped moving, the blood pouring down his face.
Rosaline was left in shock. She had never seen a man die before. Or anything at all, for that manner.
She winced to herself as Ser Hugh's body was dragged away by a pair of retainers. She held her hands together, anxious when Lord Baelish said, "Not what you were expecting?"
Rosaline glanced at him to find he was staring already. Perhaps was staring the whole time, getting off of her reactions.
"Has anyone ever told you the story of the Mountain and the Hound?" asked Lord Baelish. Rosaline pursed her lips as she slowly shook her head no. "Lovely little tale of brotherly love. The Hound was just a pup, six years old maybe. Gregor a few years older, already a big lad, already getting a bit of a reputation. Some lucky boys just born with a talent for violence. One evening, Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire; Gregor's toy, a wooden knight. Gregor never said a word, he just grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the burning coals. Held him there while the boy screamed, while his face melted."
Rosaline held a shaking breath as she reached over and held Sansa's hand. The girl seemed to be shaking in terror. But Rosaline straightened up in almost fear when she heard Lord Baelish softly say in her ear, "There aren't very many people who know that story."
Rosaline gulped, keeping her eyes on the jousting grounds, feeling like she was being threatened. Her father was right. They had come to a dangerous place.
"We won't tell anyone," said Rosaline, quite strong and stern.
"No, please don't," said Lord Baelish. "If the Hound so much as heard you mention it, I'm afraid all the knights in King's Landing would not be able to save you."
As Rosaline kept her eyes out on the jousting grounds, absolutely terrified to do anything else, Sansa nervously glanced back at The Hound.