I. Aerys
Aerys watched from the shadows as her father was brought into the room, gasping and coughing up gouts of blood. She winced slightly, but kept her Princess front up. The people should see a strong Princess Regent, and that was exactly what she was going to be, especially in front of the warriors that had come right from the front of the battle to bring King Volgaris, Lion of Lunamorn, Scourge of the Specters, and the Axe of the South, home to die from his fatal wounds from fighting a battle with the vicious Nomads of the North.
She watched as healers scuttled about, murmuring distractedly to themselves, as the warriors hefted their maces and spears and swords, in an attempt not to show their nervousness.
The king is dying, the princes are captives of the Imperious League, and all we’re left with is a sixteen-year-old princess, barely strong enough to lift a wide-bladed axe. She knew those were the thoughts running through the warrior’s heads. Aerys met their gazes coolly, and saw their fear reflected in their eyes. She could have curled her lip in scorn of these new recruits, but she knew a Princess must be above things like scorn.
The smell of death in the air was sickening—a pervading musk that brought gloom and despair into the throne room. She took a deep breath and strode purposefully towards the stretcher bearing her father. Her stomach lurched at the smell, but she held the bile down. The twenty-odd warriors made way for her, and she walked to her father’s side, kneeling down so fast that she actually heard her knees crack against the stone floor.
“Aerys,” her father murmured. A trickle of blood made its way down his chin, and she fought the urge to wipe it off. Be strong, his eyes were telling her, and she gazed into his steady green eyes.
“Yes, Father?” She couldn’t bring herself to address him as Your Majesty, especially right now. She knew from the smile in his eyes that it was all right.
“Aerys… keep Lunamorn safe.” He coughed, in a series of grunts and blood gushing from his mouth, and Aerys fought to keep tears from filming her eyes. Her hand searched for her father’s, and he held it tightly, gripping it with what strength he had left. She understood his request. She understood that Lunamorn came first, and she understood that her father was going to die.
They remained frozen in silence for what seemed like an eternity, but then he spoke again.
“You will need allies…and that means marriage to a King, or a Prince. You—you will know who to be allied with.” He coughed again, and more of the precious life’s-blood that was his streamed down his chest. Aerys nodded mutely. This was what she was born for.
“Aerys… know that I love you, I always have.” Her eyes widened at this. She loved her father, and he loved her, but they never acknowledged it. They just knew it. He continued speaking, his breath now coming in ragged gasps from the sheer effort it took him to raise his voice above a whisper. “We are on the brink of war with the Imperious League, and your brothers are their ‘guests’ in the capital… I didn’t want it to come to this. I wanted you to choose your husband, or let you be free to become a priestess of the Goddess, if that was what you wanted.” The ghost of a smile hovered on Volgaris’ lips, and Aerys smiled through the lump in her throat. They both knew that while they worshipped the Goddess, Aerys wasn’t priestess material.
“I understand, Father.” Aerys bit her lip to keep from crying out. “I love Lunamorn, too. I know my duty.”
Volgaris smiled back. Only the pressure on her hand indicated the pain he was going through.
“I love you, Father.”
“I love you, Aerys.”
And with his second proclamation of love for his daughter, Volgaris—Lion of Lunamorn, Scourge of the Specters, and the Axe of the South, and her dad—died.
The funeral pyre was a stark contrast to the greenery of the courtyard. Piles of wood stacked so high that they almost seemed to touch the moon herself, a tangle of sticks and branches that enmeshed the Lion of Lunamorn.
Aerys was in full battle regalia, a gift to her from her father the year before, but she held her helm beneath her arm, a tribute to the dead monarch. There were plenty of people surrounding the pyre, as close as they could get without being hurt by the flames that the towering pyre would produce, but Aerys knew almost the whole of Selana, Lunamorn’s capital city, would be filled with those mourning for their fallen king.
“People of Lunamorn!”
Her high, adolescent voice rattled through the courtyard, and the people looked at her.
“I will not make my father’s death useless. I will save the kingdom he loved so much.”
No drumbeats heralded her approach to the pyre, but Aerys felt the blood pumping in her veins, rushing in her ears. At fifty paces from the pyre, she laid her helm down onto the ground and took the bow that an attendant offered her.
“May the Goddess take you in her arms, may you dwell in her skies forever, may you be counted among her heavenly warriors.”
So saying the traditional words of release, she took the flaming arrow from another attendant, drew back the bowstring until the white fletching touched her cheek. As she did so, memories of her father flashed through her mind.
Then she let go of the string, a twang resounding through the silent courtyard. The arrow arced like a comet through the night sky, and came to rest on the funeral pyre. The wood blazed where the arrow hit, like a comet coming to rest in a shower of sparks. Aerys watched, and as she did, it was as if she could hear Volgaris' voice, and memories came, unbidden, to her mind: Volgaris engaging in swordplay with her, ordering her to bed because of sneaking out alone into the woods, telling her stories about her dead mother.
Then her eyes misted up and her princess façade was abandoned, and she cried for the man she knew as her father.
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It was midmorning when Aerys finally had the chance to retire to her room. The few dignitaries of neighboring countries had expressed their condolences, which Aerys received with such bitterness. She had wanted to ask them why they hadn’t helped her father in fighting back the Nomads who had threatened the northern bounds of Lunamorn, but she knew the answer all too well. They knew that the Nomads were but vanguards of the Imperious League, out to test a potential country’s strength.
She had called a meeting of the remaining warriors and the resident warlock, Battencove, to be held in the afternoon.
Aerys felt something she had not felt before.
It was fear.
She paced around her room restlessly, her brain denying her need of sleep. She could feel her stomach churning. It was a new emotion to Aerys, she who had been weaned on weapons and training with tough warriors and riding the wildest chargers.
She was afraid of letting down her dad. She was afraid for her brothers, Astrael and Aviniel, in the Imperial capital Aurum. She was afraid of getting married.
Aerys smiled wryly. Getting married was the least of her problems, she supposed. Yet it might probably be the greatest, too. In order to get allies, she must be everything a man desires in a woman, or else be an asset to the country’s ruler in some way. Lunamorn’s warriors were considered the best in the Northern Continent, but considered barbarians by foreign countries in the Southern and Western Continents.
Her hands clenched involuntarily into fists, then she let her breath out in a great whoosh.
I’ll think better when I’ve had some sleep. One of the witch healers had offered her milk of poppy, but she refused, knowing that she would have to meet a few dignitaries from the surrounding countries later.
Aerys just wished milk of poppy would calm the raging monster that was fear that was clawing at her.
*Thank you to the people who have bothered to check this story out xD. Okay, maybe I sounded stuffy there. Well, I hope you enjoy this--I'mnot fishing for votes, or for fans. I just want people to enjoy this. And since I enjoy writing, writing Aerys is a treat for me, too. Message, comment...I'll reply, any time. Again, thanks for reading!