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muffinlance · 1 year

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Prompt: Azula joins Zuko on his Avatar hunt instead of Iroh. I don't know why, I don't know how, but I'm certain to be entertained by whatever follows.

Ozai and Ursa were already dead by the time Iroh arrived home. He stepped from his ship into the palanquin, and rode past the places of their execution, holding the urn of his son’s ashes.

He had no time to entrust them to the Fire Sages before his father summoned him. He brought them along, because this was an easier thing than setting them down. And perhaps Lu Ten’s grandfather would like to see him once more, outside of the family shrine. Iroh would have given anything—

He placed the urn on the floor next to him. It did not kneel when he did. Fire Lord Azulon surveyed him from behind the flames.

“Rise, my son. It is good to have you home.”

They did not speak of Lu Ten. His father had always been a man to look to the flames of the future, rather than the ashes of the past.

* * *

They hanged Ursa, as befitted her attempted crime, and her past station.

They burned Ozai, as befitted his. A child of Agni should always return to the flames.

The children of the traitors had been stricken from the family line. Had been placed in the capital prison; bait for the trap. Azulon was keeping close eye on those who expressed concern for the offspring of regicides. Ozai had expected support for his position; it would be Iroh’s second task to sift through the court, and discard the chaff.

His first task was a more practical resowing. Azulon had already selected a handful of candidates: women of suitable birth and known loyalties. The wedding date had been set, pending selection of the bride.

“Thank you, father,” Iroh said.

Lu Ten held his silence.

* * *

Azula had never liked the servants who’d fussed at her hair and clothes, who’d pulled and tugged until she was perfect, like perfect was a thing outside of her for others to bestow. She only had to look at Zuko to know how far tailored robes and well-oiled hair could take one.

She couldn’t see Zuzu from her cell. Her robes were too cold against the stone and every tug to wrap them tighter just made them worse, she could see it in the guards’ faces, the way they’d stared when she’d first arrived and looked a few days after and now they barely even saw. No one would talk to her, no matter her demands. They didn’t even stop their own conversations anymore; just slid in her food and kept walking and batted away her fires and it was cold here.

There were things crawling in her hair that her nails couldn’t dig out. Sometimes she thought she heard Zuzu yelling, but she couldn’t be sure. And it would have been undignified to yell back. She was a princess. She was fifth in line for the dragon throne.

Fourth, now that Lu Ten was dead.

Third, because father was, too.

He’d yelled and then he’d screamed and it hadn’t done anything but make the crowd jeer. Fire Lord Azulon had been silent. Poised. In control. She was his namesake and she would be too.

She was nine.

* * *

Zuko yelled until his throat burned. The guards didn’t care, they didn’t listen to him, which was nothing new. He shouted and shouted and his own ears hurt. Maybe that’s why he never heard Azula calling back.

Grandfather had made them watch when he’d killed father and, and—

If grandfather had Azula killed, he would have made Zuko watch that, too. Azula was probably just better at being a prisoner than he was. Maybe the guards even talked to her.

He was eleven.

* * *

Iroh’s new wife was a third his age. A flower just coming to bloom. She looked like his first wife; Azulon knew his preferences. She was young enough to be Lu Ten’s sister. She smiled and laughed each day with the other court wives, and came to his room with lists of possible dissenters to discuss in their marital bed. It was not the pillow talk he was used to, but it was charming, in its way. She liked to lay on her stomach and kick her feet above her as they traced the web of treachery with his dead brother at its center. She was here to have his children—a task at which she worked with admirable diligence—and to be the acting Fire Lady. She had not had to struggle and flaunt herself for his affections; she had been picked from a line-up, her expectations realistic, her motives aligned with his. It was the least romantic relationship Iroh had ever been part of. It was… refreshing.

On the day the palace doctor confirmed their newly budded line of succession, the Fire Lord called them both in for congratulations. And for pruning.

* * *

Zuko had turned twelve, but had not realized it. Azula had turned ten. She’d counted the days.

Iroh had not been able to visit them in prison; only to inquire as to their treatment. Individual cells, regular meals of reasonable quality, no abuses. He’d moved his own people into position to ensure the last.

Azulon had moved them back, after a delay for his soft-hearted son’s conscience. They could not waste loyal men on cuckoo-vipers. And Iroh could not waste his father’s good will. Not when it would be needed in the future, for the most important request.

* * *

“And your wife agrees to this?” asked the Fire Lord, behind his flames.

Iroh’s wife had not been directly addressed, and so did not reply. She sat in polite and perfect seiza, her head raised, as befitted the woman currently running her half of the court. Azulon had never seen fit to replace his own wife, after all.

“She does,” Iroh spoke for her. “We have spoken on the issue at length, and believe it best. Our family is small, and cannot afford to be smaller. The children are young; too young to have been in their parents’ confidences. With proper guidance—”

“And how would they place in the line of succession?” Azulon asked. “How would they chafe, how would they plot, with a decade’s experience over your eldest?”

Lu Ten’s own connections at court had been built while his cousins were still in diapers. But he was no longer Iroh’s eldest.

“We believe—”

“No,” his father interrupted again. “I will not allow their adoption. Not by you, where they could smother your own babe in the cradle, and certainly not by someone I trust less.”

Which was everyone, since the night his daughter-in-law had served him tea sent by his son.

“Father,” Iroh began, and his wife shifted her elbow just so, the only indication that she wished to dig it into his ribcage. “They are young, and innocent. They are my beloved nephew and niece. Your grandchildren. We cannot in good conscience—”

‘Good conscience’ had never factored into his father’s policies. Iroh had… begun to realize that, of late. His wife let out a small sigh, deliberately audible only to the man next to her. She had cautioned very strongly against a—how had she put it?—a feelings-based approach to this situation. Feelings rarely factored into her own decisions. She had been hand-selected by his father, after all.

His wife went into a half-bow, her head lowered. “May I speak, my lord?”

The flames crackled. The shadow of his father inclined its head, just slightly.

“To kill the children is wise, and I admit, would set my mind at ease for my own child’s sake. But my husband feels strongly on this matter, and so I support him, for his happiness is my own. May I suggest a compromise? To place them outside the court, where they cannot build influence, nor harm your son’s heirs. A position from which you can judge their characters and value to the nation as they grow.”

“You suggest banishment,” the Fire Lord said.

“Not unstructured, of course. To leave them roaming freely would invite those that would take them in. Perhaps a military commission? As they are commoners, they should begin from a rank befitting their station, of course. Let them prove their worth on their own merit.”

Iroh could not see through the flames, but he knew his wife’s small smile was reflected on his father’s face.

“A naval position,” the Fire Lord said. “On a ship that does not frequently make port. The frontlines would be the best place for them to prove themselves, wouldn’t you agree?”

Iroh closed his eyes.

“Father,” he said. “Please,” and he could feel his wife willing him to stop talking. The Fire Lord had already agreed to spare their lives. A banishment could be undone, so long as he and the children both outlived the man before them. “I… thank you for your wisdom in this ruling. But perhaps, if they complete some feat worthy of our line, they could be allowed to return?”

The flames were hot against his face. His new wife was still and silent against his side. His father… his father laughed, a low exhalation, the wheeze of a humorless old man.

“Let them bring me the Avatar,” Fire Lord Azulon said, “and I will welcome them home with honor.”

* * *

Zuko didn’t know why they’d pulled him from his cell or scrubbed him down or taken his old clothes. They’d been dirty but they could have been cleaned. His new clothes were scratchy, and too big, and they looked like a common soldier’s, and… and—

And they’d shaved his hair.

* * *

It had gotten rid of the bugs, Azula admitted, in the privacy of her own mind. Still. She memorized the faces of the woman who’d held her down and the man who’d shorn her. For future reference.

They hadn’t bothered sizing her new outfit for a child. Azula noted the quartermaster’s face, as well.

* * *

They were put on a ship. It was the first time they’d seen each other in nearly a year.

Zuzu looked at her head, and wisely said nothing.

She raised an eyebrow at his, and graciously granted him the same.

It was hard to tell them apart. They had their mother’s face. And their father’s.

* * *

Their captain’s name was Zhao. He invited them to dinner in his private quarters, once the Fire Nation was behind them. Zuko fidgeted. Azula didn’t.

The captain spoke on how much potential he saw in them, under a commander who saw their true value.

Together, they could go far. Very far, indeed.

Azula smiled and said all the things she thought father would have said. Zuko scowled.

Zhao brushed over their arms with his own while reaching for things. He served them more when they said they were already full. He squeezed their shoulders when he brought them back to their rooms, which were next to his, even though the rest of the lower crewmen slept together in the same big cabin. Zuko scowled harder.

Azula was invited back. Zuko wasn’t.

* * *

Zhao was… Zhao wasn’t a good person.

“I know that, dum-dum. But do you want to stay banished forever?”

“Uncle said—”

“Uncle’s going to change his mind, when he has his own heir and a spare. We’re threats, Zuzu. And Zhao knows father’s old friends. He’s one of the smart ones.”

The dumb ones had already been executed.

“I… I think he wants to—to tie himself to the royal line.”

“Eww,” she said. “I’m ten. If he wants to get engaged, I’ll just break it when we’ve got the throne. It will be too late for him to retract his support, then.”

They’d barely left port before Zhao had made his first move. He didn’t seem like a man who waited.

Azula was ten, but Zuko was twelve. Being twelve was almost thirteen, which was almost a teenager, which was almost an adult, and adults understood things that ten year olds didn’t.

They had to get off this ship. They had to go home.

Zuko had to find the Avatar.

* * *

(This ficlet is now posted on AO3.)

#are you not entertained?#eventually this one will be a Fire Lord Iroh AU #better hope he gets that throne quick <3 #Happy Ending: and then they joined the southern raiders just as Hakoda was setting sail #and Hakoda was unprepared for these feral fuzzy-headed children suddenly on his ship #Bad Ending: and then they joined the southern raiders when Zuko was sixteen and Azula was fourteen #after four years with Zhao #Zuko: *shakes Aang until he glows then yeets him at Zhao like a grenade*#Azula: that's a good first step to being my favorite brother #but I still don't have a crown in my hair Zuzu #Avatar The Last Airbender #atla #Zuko #Azula #Iroh #I actually really like Iroh's new wife?#RIP one-off OC I'll probably never use again #you are the politically climbing aro-ace rep we deserve #New Wife: sure I'll exchange my firstborn for ultimate power in my nation #wait I can keep the kid too?#sweet deal #ficlet #Cuckoo-Vipers

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in-my-feels-probably · 11 months

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We’re Burned For Better - Chapter Fourteen

Chapter 14

They sat through the tourney for what felt like hours before they were finally allowed to return to the Keep. Aelora fought to keep a smile on her face the entire time, greeted by countless Lords and Ladies from across the realm who wanted to wish her well in her new marriage.

She felt like a puppet, her strings being pulled every which way against her will.

Aemond, somehow, was relatively untouched. If his strings were being pulled at all, he wasn’t showing it. Although, he was always good at hiding when it came to things like that.

As the sun began to set, the castle lit up with light. Candles in every fixture, window, and doorway, illuminating the corridors. Elaborate banners and decorations adorning green embellishments lined the halls, people fluttering about. The Great Hall was lined with tables, a great feast meticulously laid out. At the head of the room at the top of the steps, a table for the Crown was set up, overlooking the rest of the room.

Aegon sat at the head of the table, a glass of wine in his hand. Despite the festivities, he looked quite bored to be there. Helaena sat on one side of him, her children gathered next to her. A handmaiden stood behind them, assisting with keeping the children preoccupied. Further down the table from them, various members of the Small Council were sitting, keeping to themselves. Alicent was sitting on the other side of Aegon, with Otto on the other side of her. The two seemed to be in heavy conversation.

Two empty seats sat on the other side of Otto.

Aelora couldn’t bring herself to sit with the rest of her family. The idea of being trapped between Aemond and the Hand was enough to sway her appetite, and she was absent from the dinner entirely. She promised the children she’d come visit them in private, and celebrate their name day then. She had yet to get the twins a gift, assuming she had another fortnight to do so. She’d have to make due. Although, she wouldn’t mind celebrating them twice. She loved them enough that she would show equal excitement on both today and their actual nameday, regardless of which one was truly their nameday.

Aemond seemed to be absent from the dinner as well.

Aelora thought it odd when she finally forced herself to step into the Great Hall. She’d looked around the room, entranced by all the costumes, when her gaze finally made it to the head table. Aemond was nowhere to be found. Aelora had scowled when she saw their pointed absence, hoping the other Lords were too drunk to notice anything was amiss. Determined to keep her head up high, she had finally dragged herself to the festivities.

Her handmaidens had come to her room to help her get ready, the godforsaken green already laid out for her.

She had pleaded with her handmaidens, going so far as to call them by name to try and sway them. She knew all her handmaidens and servants' names, occasionally using them out of habit. Regardless of her station, Aelora didn’t like how impersonal her interactions with her help were. She spoke to them more than anyone else in the Keep, really, and calling them by name felt natural, like they were friends.

But it seemed to make some of them uncomfortable, so she tried to compromise. Calling them “miss” or “sir,” it wasn’t a big deal to her. Seeing as how they bristled at it, even her main help, she often didn’t call them anything at all.

But tonight? Tonight, Aelora had resorted to begging, making it a point to use their names to try and soften their resolve. Whoever had told them to dress her in green had made sure they wouldn’t crack, however, and Aelora’s pleading was no use.

“Doreah, please,” Aelora had tried to reason as she stood in front of her handmaidens in nothing but her shift. “Is it not torture enough that I’m expected to attend tonight? Must I be paraded around in this nightmare, too?”

“I think it’s pretty, Princess. Very fine lace,” her other handmaiden, Marei, tried to reason in an effort to make Aelora feel better.

Marei was always trying to do that. She was the younger of Aelora’s two favorite handmaidens, even younger than Aelora was. Much more optimistic, too, which was an annoyingly endearing quality of hers.

“Yes, it is,” Aelora agreed, sitting on the edge of her bed in frustration. “I’ll let you take it if you two let me wear something else.”

Marei’s face lit up, but Doreah immediately scolded her. “We can’t, Princess. You know that. We would if we could, but orders are orders. What good will that dress do for us with our heads on spikes for disobeying?”

Doreah was the older of her handmaidens, much like an older sister that Aelora never had. She was stern, hardened but goodhearted, always acting in her best interest. It was admirable. Aelora had softened at that, realizing they weren’t acting on their own volition. Someone with power was forcing them to dress her in green, and they had to obey. Swallowing her pride, Aelora finally stood.

“You can tell me who ordered you, you know. I won’t tell.”

“Princess–” Doreah hesitated, beginning to lace up the back of the dress.

“It’s alright, Doreah,” Aelora interrupted, holding out her arms to make it easier for them to dress her. “I won’t push the matter any further. I’m sorry.”

Marei smiled, laying a comforting hand on Aelora’s arm. “You look beautiful, Princess. No matter the color.”

“You must go,” Doreah said, guiding her to the door. “Don’t let them see you bend. They’ll bend you till you break, but you’re stronger than that. Outshine them all, Aelora. I know you can.”

“I’m sensing favoritism,” Aelora grinned, but she could feel the tears clouding behind her eyes as she stepped outside her chambers. “Don’t let anyone in the castle hear you talking like that.”

“Yes, Princess,” Doreah had nodded, turning down the hall with Marei.

That was how Aelora found herself standing on the edge of the room, bored and swirling wine around her cup. She refused to look down at the green dress, trying to forget that she was even wearing it. As she looked around the room, she could feel eyes on her. Ignoring them, she watched the guests dance and mingle.

At least half were wearing masks, and Aelora decided to make a game of it: guess the Lord or Lady correctly, and shave off some of the time of how long she was forcing herself to be there.

So far, she had guessed Lord Tyrell, Lady Blackwood, Lady Wylde, Ser Royce, and Lord Tyland Lannister correctly. That was half an hour earlier Aelora would let herself leave now. She kept to the outskirts, desperately trying to avoid any wellwishers and tedious conversations as she continued her game. Suddenly, she heard a cold voice next to her.

“Bored, are we?”

Aelora quickly turned to see Aemond standing at her side. Much to her chagrin, he was wearing his usual black and dark green attire, except for the tunic with embellished sleeves overtop his vest that was made from the exact same fabric as her dress was. She scowled at the sight of him, the taste of her wine having gone sour.

“You used to be one of the only bearable things about these gatherings,” Aelora replied quietly, thankful that no one had yet seemed to notice the pair standing together. “That’s another thing you’ve ruined, isn’t it?”

If her words hurt him, he didn’t show it. If anything, he was bored simply from their conversation. He spared a glance down at her, stiffening when he noticed her dress. She looked painfully awkward in it, fiddling uncomfortable with the sleeves.

“What are you supposed to be?” He asked, glancing around the room with a distaste similar to Aelora’s.

A fool, she thought. In truth, she wasn’t sure herself what character her dress was supposed to be emblematic of, but a fool was certainly what she felt like.

“A happily married woman,” she mused, her tone sharp. “Convincing, aren’t I?”

Aemond rolled his eyes, exasperatedly sighing. “Where’s your mask?”

“I’m already wearing one,” she said, plastering an exaggerated smile on her face. “Where’s yours?”

“I’m afraid mine wouldn’t be nearly as convincing as yours, wife. Best not to attempt one.”

Aelora narrowed her eyes up at him, before looking back out at the crowd. As she watched, she didn’t notice that Aemond was already watching her. His gaze flitted down to her dress, before he turned to face her, his attention now fully on her.

“You look nice in green,” he said, his face softening ever so slightly when Aelora stiffened. “But you’d look nice in anything.”

Aelora kept her eyes on the floor, shaking her head. “It wasn’t my choice.”

Aemond stifled a laugh, unable to hide his smirk. He found it hard to believe that anyone could make Aelora do anything she didn’t want to do unless she thought it was a good idea herself, or if she thought she had no other choice. And her choice of clothing clearly wasn’t something she’d choose for herself.

What force of nature was it that made her willingly show up to the festivities in the signature Hightower green?

Aemond raised a brow. “Then whose choice was it?”

“Mine,” Otto interrupted, coming to stand in between Aemond and Aelora.

Aelora hadn’t even realized he had moved from his seat at the head of the room, startled by his voice. She visibly stepped back, even bumping into Aemond’s chest as she tried to back away. He had to hold out an arm to catch her, steadying her before anyone saw her stumble.

“Yours?” Aelora asked, crossing his arms. “On whose authority?”

Otto smiled wide, clearly pleased with himself. “That would be my own, Princess. It is my job, after all. Making sure you blend and work well with the rest of us. I thought it was very fitting for the occasion. Don’t you?”

“This is what you and the council get up to when I’m not called to the meetings? Wasting time planning out ways to spite me, rather than doing anything productive that would actually benefit your King? It’s good to know you take your position seriously.”

“It would do you well to hold your tongue, or–” Otto tried to say with a stern face.

“Was that a threat?” She asked, narrowing her eyes. “Or what?”

Aemond had yet to speak, but he was listening intently from behind Aelora. She was testing dangerous waters, and he knew that. It did sound like a threat, and he didn’t take too kindly to her being threatened in any capacity, regardless of where they stood with each other. She was still his wife, and he still had a duty.

Otto remained composed, a small smile on his face. “It is not a theory you want to test, Princess. This may seem like nothing but a game to you, but I can assure you, it is not. And if you’re going to treat it like one, then I suggest you play nice.”

“Careful, now,” Aemond finally said calmly, though his tone was holding back a much harsher delivery. “Aelora may play nice, but I won’t. It would do you well to remember that.”

He hooked his arm with Aelora’s and pulled her away before anything else could be said. He stopped when they were finally out of earshot, letting her go. She was seething, clenching her hands into fists at her sides. From the way her knuckles went white, he could only assume her nails were digging into her palms.

“Easy,” he warned quietly, scanning the room. “People are watching.”

Aelora took a deep breath, feeling her cheeks heat with anger. “Let them watch! Let them see just how happy we are together here, husband. How much we positively care for each other. A fucking dream come true.”

“As if you still care for me,” Aemond frowned, his jaw clenching. “Aelora–”

“Please,” she faltered, practically begging now.

The splinters in her were beginning to crack. She couldn’t hold off the tears now. The foundations she had built herself upon were threatening to crumble under her feet, sending her crashing to the ground. She was breaking, and there was nothing she could do about it. Every breath she took didn’t feel like enough, as if there was a weight on her chest holding her down.

“Please, just leave me be. These events were miserable enough before you went and fucked everything up, I don’t need you and your family to make them any worse. I am doing all that I can to keep my head up, and make my Mother proud. Make no mistake…I am doing all of this for her. Every bit of it. And I’m doing this for Helaena, and her children. I’m doing this for the realm. Every godforsaken second I spend in this city is for them, it is most certainly not for you. Play the chivalrous and stoic role all you want, but I don’t believe you. I don’t fucking believe you. You haven’t shown me a true ounce of concern or attentiveness since that night in the skies–not that I would expect you to, or even believe you if you did–and I don’t need you to pretend like you care now. You can drop the act, Aemond. Just stop. Don’t make this any harder than it has to be.”

She knew her words were harsh, and she could see his mask slip, just a little bit. The slightest bit of hurt crept its way onto his face, but she couldn’t contain her anger long enough to keep herself from lashing out.

“I’m standing here in this ridiculous dress, being talked down to by men who are far beneath me. I’ve accepted it with as much grace as my pride will allow, and I’ve torn my dignity to shreds. How much more shit would you have me take, Aemond? Is this not enough? Must I bear it all?”

Aemond was silent for a long while, his gaze set on the floor when he finally spoke. “I…I do care, Aelora. I haven’t asked anything of you that you haven’t already made yourself carry.”

“You care?” She scoffed, a faint chuckle pulling its way from her throat. “I’ll believe that when you start giving me reason to.”

Without another word, she bowed her head, before turning and briskly walking away.

She meant to stop at the table with the goblets of wine, but her feet carried her straight past it. As if she wasn’t in control of her own body, she kept walking with determination, not stopping until she found herself in front of her chamber door. She quickly opened it, slipping inside. She paused once the door closed behind her, suddenly realizing she had no idea why she had brought herself back to her room. Suddenly, a throat was cleared. Aelora looked over to her bed to see Doreah sitting on the edge of it.

A masterly crafted floor length black dress, gilded with red beading and stitching was laid across her lap.

“I knew you’d come back,” Doreah said softly, a warm smile on her face.

Aelora brought a hand to her mouth, approaching Doreah and running her free hand across the lace sleeves of the dress. “Where did you get this?”

“I had the tailor make it when he finished the green dress. He had some leftover fabric, and Lord Lannister had given him a bag of gems and beads to use for his tunic he’s wearing tonight. Incredibly pompous of him if you ask me, but I thought they’d suit you well.”

“Doreah, this is beautiful. How did you pay for this?” Aelora asked, bewildered by the intricate patterns in the stitching.

Doreah chuckled, shaking her head. “Me? Not a penny. You have the Crown to thank.” “You mean the Hand,” Aelora grinned, holding a hand up when Doreah’s eyes widened. “It’s alright. He told me he was the one responsible for this little monstrosity. Looks like I have something new to wear, courtesy of the Hand’s coin. I love it.”

Doreah stood, beginning to undo the lacing on the back of Aelora’s dress. “I saw your Mother in a dress like this once. Not long after you were born, actually. It may have even been a nameday celebration for you and your brother, I can’t recall. But I remember the dress. She commanded the room that day.”

“That sounds like her,” Aelora smiled softly, letting Doreah change her into the black gown.

Doreah worked quickly, lacing the bodice of the dress back up tightly when Aelora pulled it on. Aelora smoothed it down, admiring it in the mirror as Doreah gathered the green dress in a bundle up off the floor.

“What shall I do with this one?”

“Sell it,” Aelora grinned, turning back around to face her. “Or keep it for yourself, share it with Marei, I don’t care. As long as you do something with it that will waste Otto’s time and money spent on making it.”

Doreah chuckled, opening the chamber door for Aelora. “You must go back to the party, Princess. Show them what you’re made of.”

Aelora grabbed Doreah’s hand in hers, giving her a grateful smile. “Thank you, Doreah. I mean it.”

“I know you do,” Doreah smiled back, squeezing Aelora’s hand tight. “Go on, then.”

—

Aelora marched back into the Great Hall with her head held high. She could feel her nerves bubbling in the pit of her stomach, but she refused to back down.

For Mother, she thought to herself. For me.

In the time since she left, the minstrels had started playing music. “The Bear and the Maiden Fair,” was echoing throughout the room as the guests gathered in the center of the floor, laughing and dancing. As it finished, the musicians transitioned into another familiar tune, “Under the Dragon’s Eye.” It was a song Rhaenyra used to hum to her children when they were young, and Aelora immediately recognised its melody. She smiled, slowly making her way around the room like she had done earlier that night.

Suddenly, a hand clamped around Aelora’s wrist, and she quickly turned to see that it belonged to Lord Borros Baratheon.

The man who turned her brother away the same night he met his death.

She cautiously pulled her wrist from his grip, which wasn’t a difficult task considering the stench of wine that was coming off of him.

“Lord Borros,” she greeted, trying not to grimace.

He grinned, his eyes glazed over. “Princess Aelora. I must say, your beauty isn’t done justice by the way the realm speaks of you. My daughters have seen you at court, but their descriptions of you don’t live up to seeing you in person. I heard you had been scarred, but you aren’t ruined like they said.”

Aelora brought a self conscious hand up to cover the jagged scar across her cheek. She had almost forgotten it was there. It no longer hurt, and even though she had only recently been injured, it felt like a part of her that had been there a while. But knowing she was the talk of the court, especially of the young Ladies who liked to tease and gossip? It did nothing for her confidence.

“Thank you, My Lord. If you’ll excuse me, I–”

“Have you been to Storm’s End, Princess? Perhaps when my Father was Lord?” He asked, holding an arm out to keep her from passing him.

Aelora fought not to roll her eyes, plastering a smile on her face. “I have, My Lord. My Grandmother, Princess Rhaenys, partially hails from there. Her Mother was Jocelyn Baratheon. Your Aunt, I believe?”

“You must visit again sometime. Your family has not visited in quite a while, if I am recalling correctly–”

“My brother visited,” she interrupted, her tone curt. “Lucerys Velaryon. You recall, don’t you? It was you, after all, that sent him away into that storm.”

His eyes widened in shock, and he began stumbling over his words, trying to stutter out some form of an excuse. Aelora saved him the effort.

“Don’t worry, My Lord. I saw the castle that night. That was quite enough for me. Very generous of you to offer, though.”

His cheeks burned red with embarrassment. “That wasn’t my fault.”

Aelora scoffed, feeling a rage burning inside of her. “Not your fault? Then tell me, My Lord…whose fault was it? Who is to blame for not answering the call of your bannermen? Who is to blame for breaking your oath?”

His eyes narrowed as she spoke, and he dropped his glass of wine. It fell to the ground, smashing with a loud clattering rattle. The noise was drowned out by the music and laughter scattered throughout the room, but it was enough to make Aelora jump back, trying to avoid the shards.

“How dare you!” He shouted, backing her into a corner. “How dare you talk to me like that! The daughter of a traitor. The disgraced wife of a murderer!”

“Careful–” Aelora warned, but Lord Borros was too drunk and angry to back down now.

“I’ll have you know I backed my King, unlike your bitch Mother!” He spat, his hands coming up to grip Aelora’s wrists tight, pinning her up against the wall.

She tried to wrench herself free from his grip, pulling hard as she glared. “Don’t touch me!”

“You should know your place, Princess–”

A hand came up to wrap around his throat, slamming him hard into the wall, silencing him.

“Get your hands off my wife!” Aemond snarled, pressing Lord Borros into the marble.

His head knocked back into the wall from the sheer force of Aemond’s attack, his eyes widening. Aelora could hear the crunch, wincing at the sound of it. The shock of it was enough to make him release her, and she immediately pulled her wrists close to her, trying to massage the crescent shaped indents away. The sound of Aemond unsheathing his dagger pulled her focus back to the sight in front of her, and she realized Aemond had pointed the tip of the blade directly under Borros’s chin.

“Aemond!” She choked out in a hushed whisper, but it was no use.

Heads had already turned, the music pausing as the guests looked on at the attack in front of them. Aegon had stood from his chair at the head of the room, a path parting as he made his way down. Aelora hurried to turn back around, wrapping her hand around Aemond’s wrist.

“Don’t,” she pleaded, trying to pull him away.

Lord Borros had yet to say a word, the mix of the alcohol and the smack of his head against the wall clouding his thoughts, preventing him from forming any sentences. Aemond didn’t relent, keeping the tip of his dagger flush against Borros’s chin.

“If you ever touch her again, or speak to her in that manner–better yet, if you speak to her at all–I’ll open you from your throat to your navel. That is a promise.”

Aegon had reached them now, looking down to see the shattered glass of wine on the floor. He looked up to see the scared look in Aelora’s eye, as well as the fury on Aemond’s face, and it didn’t take much to put the pieces together. He placed himself between Aemond and Aelora, laying a hand on Aemond’s shoulder.

“Brother…let him go.”

“No,” Aemond snarled, his hand still around Borros’s throat. “I’m not finished.”

“That was an order,” Aegon said before leaning in close so only Aemond could hear his words. “You’re scaring your wife.”

Aemond quickly glanced over to see Aelora still pressed up against the wall, silently watching the scene before her unfold. Her chest was rapidly rising and falling, her eyes wide. Reluctantly, Aemond released Lord Borros, sheathing his dagger. Borros immediately slumped against the wall, gasping for air.

Turning to address the crowd, Aegon managed a grin. “Back to the festivities, everyone. This is sorted.”

Slowly but surely, everyone went back to what they were doing. Some were still staring, sending nervous glances their way, but everyone eventually settled. Aemond, however, had not. He was still seething, squaring his shoulders as he glared down at Lord Borros.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” Lord Borros finally managed to choke out. “I’m grateful.”

Aegon–despite just having coaxed a crowd down with a smile–did not look happy. “The only thing you should be grateful for is me not allowing my brother to take your tongue. Go home, My Lord. Before I change my mind.”

Lord Borros nodded curtly as he stood, hurrying out of the room.

Aegon turned back to Aelora, looking her over once more, before resuming his evening as before, like nothing had even happened. He took his place at the head of the table, Alicent next to him with a nervous smile. Otto was standing behind them, watching with intrigue. Helaena was no longer at the table, and Aelora figured she had returned to her chambers to be with her children. This night was for them, after all. It was better this way, and she was glad none of them had seen what just happened.

Taking a deep breath, Aelora turned to look up at Aemond. He was already looking at her, waiting for her to speak.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that,” she finally managed to choke out, still rubbing her wrists.

“Of course I did,” he said passively like it was the obvious thing to do, just now noticing the marks on her wrists as he scanned her. “Let me see.”

She allowed him to take her arm in his hold, wincing as his thumb brushed over the indentions. He carefully turned her arm back and forth, getting a good look at the marks. They were red and inflamed, and likely would be for the next few hours. They were burning, and he could feel the tension in her arm as she let him hold it.

“You should go,” he finally said, gently putting her arm back at her side. “See the Maester. Get those taken care of. I think you’ve done your duties well enough for one night.”

Aelora nodded, her voice quiet. “I think you’re right. Bit of a shame, though. I wasted a perfectly good dress.”

“There will be plenty of other occasions you can wear it again, Aelora,” Aemond almost laughed, scoffing in disbelief, though his tone softened as he continued. “I will admit…I was wrong, earlier. You do look beautiful in green, but I prefer the black. It’s more your color. Like your Mother.”

Aelora managed a smile, but her chest was constricting. She could feel the emotion brewing inside her, and she cleared her throat to force it back down. She bowed her head, saying nothing more as she turned to leave.

“Aelora,” he called after a moment, his face hardening as his usual mask slipped back into place. “Don’t say that I don’t care ever again.”

—

A/N - Hi! I’m so sorry for not updating in a while, I’ve been so busy. Here’s a new chapter, I hope you enjoyed it! I promise I’ll update more regularly. I was in a writing slump but I’ve gotten out of it a little and I’m getting more excited about continuing this story. As always, any comments, questions, feedback, etc., are greatly appreciated! See you soon with more :)

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