Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ayana Stark ran down the unending, winding hallways of the Red Keep. Just when she’d thought she'd finally gotten used to navigating the massive slab of red stone, the Gods made her eat her words. Now, she was going to be late with Prince Aegon’s breakfast for the second time in a week, and he would be furious.
She had begun her position as a serving girl at the Red Keep two moons ago, eager to be away from Winterfell and her controlling father. Ayana shed her name when she reached the Crownlands and took the bastard-name Snow, she could hide her Stark-heritage well enough, but she still looked like a northerner, she’d never be able to hide that. The moment she showed herself at the Keep the first man she asked about a position had laughed and asked her what she was doing so far from home. She had just smiled politely and told him she was a bastard from Karhold. It seemed to appease him and he had sent her on her way with the other maids and servants.

Ayana quickly developed a rhythm. She was up during the hour of the bat, bleary eyed and cold. She should have hated her sleeping arrangements, the small cot in one corner of the servants hallway did little to shield her from the winds. The old lady in charge of the maids had promised her better accommodations, but that was a moon ago already, and Ayana quickly got used to her cot. She spent the nights nested in her gray blankets, thinking about home, missing her sister Lyanna, and repeatedly twirling the gold ring on her forefinger around and around.
Lyanna was all she had left of her own mother, the only memory. Her older sister looked more like the late Lady Eya Stark than she did. Her sister was blessed with the golden brown curls and a slender figure Stark-women was known for. Lyanna’s eyes were bright blue and all her teeth were straight.
Ayana twirled the ring around her finger once more and tugged at a strand of her dark hair. She had never been golden a day in her life. Her hair was dark brown bordering on black, like her fathers. Her eyes, a dirty mix of green and gray, never quite green and never fully gray. The only thing she had going for her was her size. Ayana was small, she could hide easily and sneak off without being seen.

Still, when her body refused to grow more womanly by her first bleeding, her father began scouring for a husband. She needed to be married off regardless of her less-than womanly looks. The years passed and no husband came. Ayana thought she’d finally be free.
She had been fighting the master at arms son, Brandon, in the yard when her father sent for her. She’d fled Winterfell that very night. Fuck him, and his scheming. She’d rather be dead than a saltwife on Pyke. Everyone knew how the Greyjoy’s treated their wives. Life at the Red Keep was better, with only an angry Prince Aegon to yell at her, rather than being locked away in the salt cells on Pyke, forced to endure Dalton Greyjoy.

She must have spent twenty minutes trying to locate Prince Aegon’s chambers. She kept walking down the wrong hallways and always ended up where she began. In the end she’d started folding over carpet corners to try to remember where she had been.
   “Are you lost again, child?” The young maid she’d walked past twice finally took pity on her. Talya was handmaiden to the Queen, if anyone knew the ins and outs of this place it was her. Talya stood with her back against the stone wall and looked her up and down. “His breakfast is cold now, come with me. I’ll get you a new platter.”
   “Thank you,” Ayana said, losing a breath and hurrying down the hall after Talya, she was already exhausted by the time they reached the kitchens. Talya took the silver platter from her and placed the pastries, fruit and flagon of wine back on the shelves.
The kitchens already smelled of dinner. The roasted lamb was crackling away in the stone oven, and the cook next to Talya angrily shoved her away from his ever-growing pile of lemon cakes. “Don’t get in the way girl, them is for the Princess,” he said gruffly and slid one of the cakes over on the platter.
   “One for the Prince, too.”

Talya handed her the filled platter and grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her under the weight.
   “Listen to me,” she began and pointed out into the hallway, “two turns left, up the stairs, take a right, and then straight on through the double doors.”
Ayana repeated the directions under her breath and turned to walk away. She thought she’d heard a small chuckle, but decided to focus on the task at hand instead. Chuckling servants would be the least of her worries if she got lost again.

She did as instructed, she rounded the first corner without any issues, the second one too. She placed a foot on the stairs, grabbed the fabric of her dress with one hand and placed the platter of food against her hips for support. Balancing things up flights of stairs was always easier than balancing them down again. The food usually stayed put on the way up, but on the way down the food-less tray was littered with utensils and arrays of goblets, and she had more than once lost her grip and had an entire dinner’s worth of silverware cascading down the steps. Much to her relief, the stairs decided to behave today. She begged for Prince Aegon to be asleep when she headed right and passed through the double doors into his personal wing of the Keep. If he was asleep she’d just leave the platter of food, sneak back out into the hallways and maybe if she was lucky, she’d manage to get the cook to give her a lemon-cake.

The door gave in with the slightest push, the creaking hinges made her squirm. She stuck her head into the room and looked from side to side. The room was exactly as she had left it yesterday evening. The bed was still made, the pillows were fluffed and the windows were open, inviting in a fresh breeze.
The musty smell of the Keep never seemed to disappear completely. She walked into the room and emptied the platter of food on the table next to the sitting area. She gathered the parchment and quills strewn all over the low table and placed them in a neat pile on the desk by the window, placing the dragon paper-weight down on them to keep them from flying away.

Prince Aegon was nowhere to be found. He was not passed out drunk in his usual chair, and he was not in the adjoining bathing-room. Ayana picked a grape from the platter and chewed on it as she gathered the empty goblets from the small tables and placed them back on the empty platter.
The Prince had been served his breakfast, it wasn’t her fault he wasn't here to eat it. Ayana lifted the platter off the table again and looked around the room one last time for forgotten clutter, when she found none she headed for the door.

Her eyes were still focused on the open window when the goblets clattered against the silver. The angry grunt made her stop.
   “Prince Aemond!” she squealed when the Prince’s hands fumbled with the goblets still rolling all over her platter.
   “Watch yourself, Snow, you could hurt someone,” he said and stepped out of her way. He was armored. Again. The leather creaked when he moved, his hair brushed over her hands and through the drops of spilled wine.
   “I am so sorry, my Prince, I wasn’t paying attention!” she excused and gesticulated to the room behind her.
   “That much is evident, I-” he stopped speaking. The Prince never said much, he kept to himself and usually trained in the yard every morning before he went back to the libraries to read. He had come looking for his brother, she surmised and spoke.
   “Prince Aegon isn’t here, I was just delivering his breakfast,” she continued, meeting his violet eye.
   “I know he isn’t here. I came looking for a book he most likely used as kindling.” The Prince replied and stepped around her. His shoulder brushed her upper arm, the bruise Prince Aegon’s handling had given her the day before took the brunt of the force and she hissed through her teeth.
She tried to pass it off as a shiver. She excused herself again and was about to turn down the hallway when he took hold of her shoulder. His grip was firm, but yet, somewhat gentle. His fingers dug in beneath her collarbone and she stopped moving.
   “Wait.”
She turned to face him. Ayana stood completely still as the Prince extended a hand and pushed a finger into her upper arm. She tried not to grimace at the dull ache. Her nose scrunched and she kept her gaze firmly placed on his eye patch. She didn’t want to look him in the eye.
   “Bruised, are you?” he asked, trying to scan her face. She was about to make up an excuse about being clumsy when he stopped her by wagging a finger in front of her face.
   “Why did he beat you?” Prince Aemond asked and turned the last goblet right side up on her shaking platter.
   “He didn’t. He grabbed me as I was leaving. I forgot to bring his boots to be cleaned, I think,” she said nervously, then she added, “My Prince.” Offending Aemond Targaryen was not a good idea, especially not after practically throwing several goblets at him.
   “If he keeps carrying on like this, he’ll have no one left to tend to him, and that would be a shame, don’t you think?” The Prince continued and turned her away from him, making sure the goblets stayed in their place this time. “I know how he treats the serving girls and the maids. I don’t think he’ll be sober enough to remember it if you stood up to him next time.” The Prince said and closed the doors behind him.

Ayana kept thinking about his words making her way down the levels to the kitchen. Had he told her to stand up to him, or had he warned her not to? Why would he even want her to stand up to him in the first place? If nothing good came from keeping her mouth shut about the treatment something worse would definitely happen the moment she didn’t back down.
Truth was, she was tired of apologizing for everything all the time. She had spent weeks apologizing when she arrived, hoping it would stunt the Prince’s anger. She had apologized to him if his bathwater was too cold, if his food was prepared wrong and if his armor was dusty. None of these things fell under her obligations. Except maybe the food, she had learned to pay attention to how the Prince liked his breakfast to avoid the yelling and the harsh handling. The day before she had been on time. She had even brought the expensive wine he liked.
   “You are late, again, girl.” he had spat from the bed when she made her way through the room.
   “I am sorry, my Prince,” she had said “I thought I was on time?”
   “I say you’re not.” he grumbled from the mountain of pillows and sat up. He had wrapped the white sheet around his waist with one hand and reached for her. She had placed the food on his table and turned to leave. Ayana had yelped when his hand grabbed her by the arm and twisted her around. He had tightened his grip so much she lost feeling in her fingers.
   “One more error, and I’ll have you thrown out. Useless serving girls are of no need in the world, especially one who doesn’t know how to follow instructions.”

Ayana made her way to the kitchens and found Talya waiting for her. She stood with her arms crossed, leaning on the table and eyeing her curiously.
   “What?” Ayana said and placed the goblets in the corner to be washed.
   “No quick breaths this time, the Prince is still out?” she said and smiled.
   “Not in his rooms, Street of Silk I think,” Ayana replied and wiped her forehead.
   “Good, his mood should improve for tonight’s dinner then.”
   “Who did he request?”
   “Dyana,” Talyas voice was low now, anticipating. Prince Aegon always changed the serving girls. Dyana was his latest obsession. He always had his dinner alone and he always requested a new girl to serve him food. Ayana didn’t have to imagine what happened behind the closed doors, she frequently saw the serving girl in question the day after, frantically rubbing cooling salves on aching limbs.

Ayana continued with her chores for the rest of the day. Keeping herself busy and out of the way. She tidied up toys left by the Princess’s twins and fluffed too many pillows to count. She emptied chamber pots and cleaned wine stains off the linen tablecloths as best she could. The sun was finally setting when she made her way back through the Keep to her cot. She needed to rest her legs for just a little while until the dinner needed to be served. She was in charge of serving the Princess today.

Princess Helaena was always calm and mellow. Ayana liked her the most. She had no idea how she had even accepted marrying her brother, based on his treatment of the maids, he probably did not treat her any better. Then again, she probably had no choice, it being tradition and all.
Ayana sat down on her cot just as an errand boy from the Rookery rounded the corner, out of breath and slightly wheezing.
   “Letter for you, Snow,” he said and handed her a sealed scroll. The tiny direwolf made her heart leap.
   “Thank you,” she said and looked at the rolled up piece of parchment. The smell of perfume hit her nose and she relaxed. Lyanna.

Ayana smoothed out the scroll and read, eyes darting over her sisters exquisitely traced letters:

Sister.
Father has seen reason it seems. He has accepted your absence with less of a violent rage than I thought he would. He doesn’t speak of you at all now. Brandon misses you I think, he took up training with the boys again, and he is getting beaten more often than he’d like. I miss you too.
Replying to your last raven; how is life at the Keep? Do they treat you well? Is the King as ill as the rumors say? Please tell me everything!

Lyanna.

Ayana smiled. She did miss her terribly. As of now, going back North was out of the question. If her father had finally given up searching for her she was free. Well, freer than she had been before. She still had her position and the angry Prince to worry about, but now the possibility of her being stolen away in the night seemed less real. She rolled the scroll back up, pressed the seal into the parchment and placed it with her other scrolls in the crevice between the cot and the wall. The smell of her sister's perfume calmed her down, and keeping the tiny scrolls close to her at night seemed to make her sleep better.
Ayana stretched her legs out in front of her and yawned. The sun was just a small sliver on the horizon now, dinner was looming. She got up off her cot, brushed her crumpled skirts with shaking hands and headed for the kitchens.

She had expected the cooks to be busy, but this was madness. The cooks kept shouting for servants and waving their hands around for utensils, goblets and ornate flagons of wine. Ayana kept to the back wall and quickly gathered sweets for the twins, sweet-tea for the Princess and a basket of bread along with the lamb and the roasted vegetables. She piled everything neatly together on a serving tray and was about to sneak off to do her job when the cook stopped her with a grunt.
   “I’m going to the Princess with her dinner now, did I forget something?” she asked and turned. Lemon cakes. She had forgotten the lemon cakes.
   “You ain’t going there, the Prince has requested you to serve his dinner tonight. Dyana is with the Princess,” he said and took the tray out of her hands.
   “But, I-” she started to protest.
   “Don’t argue. The food is already brought to him. Here,” he handed her the wine and shoved her out the door.

Absolutely not. She’d go back and refuse him. She refused to go. They couldn’t make her if she was adamant enough. Ayana trudged down the hall and headed for the stairs for the tenth time. Of course they would make her go, she was not in any position to make demands of anyone.
She cleared the last step when a murmuring voice in the back of her mind made her stop.
   “I don’t think he’ll be sober enough to remember it if you stood up to him next time.”

Perhaps she should stand up to him if he tried anything? The other serving girls always said they were alone with him, and if she kept pouring him wine he’d be drunk before the hour ended. It would be easy to sneak away at the end of the dinner, and leave him there to rage alone. She’d be safe and off the hook. She thought about it as she rounded the corner into the Prince’s wing. It was worth a shot. If she saw Prince Aemond again she’d thank him for the advice if it went well, if it went to hell she’d be out of a job and possibly more bruised, but she’d keep her life. Most likely.

Ayana knocked on the heavy double doors and took a breath before she shoved them open to find Prince Aegon already sitting by the table, hand clasped around an empty flagon of wine, scowling at her.
   “You’re late again. This time you’ll leave here with more than one bruise.”

Chapter Text

Ayana did not excuse herself this time. The threat scared her, yes, but if she kept her mouth shut and did her job he should let her go without further bruises. That last part was extremely unlikely based on the looks he sent her when she filled his empty goblet. She could feel the rage from him.
She never understood his anger, she never understood why he hated the Keep or why he took the rage out on the servants.

Aegon Targaryen was born a Prince, he was his father’s first-born, living son. She assumed he was tired of living in Princess Rhaenyra’s shadow, but the Princess had left the Keep at six and ten to rule Dragonstone. She had no hold over the regular life at the Keep at all. Ayana had never even seen her, she’d only heard rumors about her romances and her beauty. She’d heard the servants whisper about an affair with the former Commander of the City Watch, that she then went on to marry her uncle Daemon and that her children bearing a striking resemblance to said Commander was entirely coincidental.

She’d heard more rumors too. It was all she did when she walked the Keep, she listened. According to one of the stable-boys, Prince Lucerys Velaryon had attacked Prince Aemond when they were children and slashed out his eye.

What she found most strange was the King. She had seen him entering council meetings and being carried out. His health had begun failing him. He was no longer the sturdy man the paintings portrayed. He had grown frail, one side of his face hidden beneath an ornate golden mask, and the stench of infection from his wing of the Keep made most people avoid it unless they had errands to run.
Despite the King’s health failing, Princess Rhaenyra had not come to visit. Not once in the time Ayana had been at the Keep. Prince Daemon was absent too, she knew the Prince did not harbor warm feelings for his brother, but surely illness would make him visit?

   “Do you really think that if you stay quiet I’ll let you go?” Prince Aegon eyed her as he let his fork fall.
Ayana said nothing, she just walked around him and filled his goblet again. Stay quiet. Don’t look at him. Do your chores and get out. Don’t-
   “No, my Prince. I just haven’t got anything to say,” Ayana said and tried to keep her eyes to the floor.
   “You don't talk much, do you?” The Prince said and waved his goblet at her. That much was true, she preferred to be quiet. She got into less trouble by staying silent. Ayana said nothing. She filled Prince Aegon’s waiting goblet and went back to the wall.

She had to keep her wits. Keep pouring him the wine. Ignore his scowling and just keep breathing. In. Out. In. Out.
The rising panic in her chest crept further up her throat every time the Prince’s fork hit the plate. The sound clanged off the walls and burrowed its way into her head.

He reeked of sweat and grime. After this, he’d ask her to draw him a bath and then yell at her again when the water got cold before he managed to actually get into the tub.
Prince Aegon cleared his throat. Ayana tried not to jump out of her skin.
   “Who are you?” he asked and pointed at her with a knife, dripping with cooking oil.
   “I am Ayana Snow, my Prince. Bastard daughter of the Lord of Karhold,” she had practiced that story enough times on the way through the Crownlands it was bound to sound convincing. Ayana lifted her head and met his eyes. Violet. Just like all the Valyrian descendants. However, where Prince Aemond's eye had a glint of amusement in it, Prince Aegon’s eyes were harsh and cold. His eyebrows furrowed and he went back to his lamb.

He asked her nothing else. He kept cutting up his vegetables and shoving the fried onions around on his plate. The screeching of the utensils still made her squirm. She had heard he’d thrown forks at serving girls before because they didn’t serve him quick enough. He apparently made a game of it, and Ayana found herself thanking the Gods that she didn’t have to serve him anything but the wine.

During his seventh goblet he started swaying a little in his chair and Ayana stood and watched as he lost his grip on the fork and his hand hit the table, rattling the silverware. His head fell forward and his pale hair flowed over the plate before him. He looked ridiculous, she thought and stayed still. If she moved too quickly, he’d sober up in a moment and be on her again. She had to get out of the room, she’d send the cook to pick up the plates and platters later, he knew the Prince’s moods. If any more serving girls showed up with bruises people would start asking questions, and the cook wouldn’t have it. Neither would Talya, or the older lady in charge of the general household.

Ayana counted her heartbeats. She kept watching Prince Aegon’s rising shoulders, waiting for his breathing to even out, waiting for him to fall asleep. An eternity later his left fist opened and a small snore escaped the Prince. Ayana loosed a shaky breath and carefully placed her feet on the ornate carpet, trying not to make any noise as she made for the doors.
Six more steps.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two-

   “Where do you think you are going, Snow?” The Prince was behind her. How he had managed to get up from the table without making noise she couldn't understand.
   “I was just-”
   “Fleeing.” he finished for her. Ayana was about to turn around when his hand closed around her throat. She had no idea what to do. She froze. Her muscles refused to listen to her, her mind was blank. I have to stand up to him, if I stand up to him he will stop.

Ayana tried to relax her muscles enough to regain control of the panic settling deep in her bones, she tried to move her toes. Just one toe. If she moved a toe, she could move her foot, she’d kick him.
His hand around her throat. She had to get his hand away. His clammy fingers were restricting her airflow and she could feel her cheeks heating and her eyes swimming. Get out. Now.

Ayana moved her foot. She stomped her heel down on the Prince’s toes. It must have hurt him because the answering punch she got to the back of her head made her teeth sing.
   “You’ve gone too far, little girl.” Prince Aegon snarled into her ear and whirled her around to face him. His face was glowing red. The wine had puffed up his cheeks, and the lamb-grease still coating his chin nearly made her gag.
   “Let me go!” She croaked between ragged breaths as the still snarling Prince regained his composure.
   “I told you you’d leave with more than bruises this time!” he spat, a piece of chewed carrot landed on her chest. She tried to move her hands between them to shove him away. He kept his hold on her shoulders and dug his fingers into her back, his thumbs pressed painfully on the soft spots below her collarbones and she could feel the bruises forming on her skin.

Ayana left her reason somewhere out in the hallways. She whipped her head forward and the blinding pain when her forehead met Prince Aegon’s nose made sparks fly on the inside of her eyelids. The Prince loosened his grip and Ayana wrenched herself free. She was next to his table now, the carpet curling on the floor where she’d been standing moments before. The Prince clutched his bleeding nose with his hands, and as the crimson blood ran through his fingers and dripped down to the floor she decided to do as Prince Aemond had said.

Ayana grabbed one of the knives off the table and angled it at the bleeding Prince. Consequences be damned. She had the bruises to prove he started it all. She had no witnesses, but at least she had injuries to show for her troubles.

Prince Aegon didn’t even flinch. He just laughed, a howling laugh with his head thrown back. His teeth glinted red.
   “Attacking a Prince is punishable by death,” he said and extended a hand for the knife.
   “I haven’t attacked you with the knife yet,” Ayana said and tried to control her breathing. She had to get out of the room. Now.
She kept her back to the wall as she tried to move her feet away from the Prince. She moved slowly and deliberately, not taking her eyes off him.
Ayana let go of the knife by the door and turned to open it, her hand stopped on the handle and the clang of metal hitting the back of her head made her knees give out.

She raised a hand to the back of her head and groaned in pain when her fingertips dripped blood all over her skirts. He’d fucking thrown a goblet at her. Prince Aegon came up beside her and kicked the useless butterknife away with his boot.
   “No one will believe you,” he whispered into her ear as his bloodied hand gripped her chin and forced her up from the floor. “You broke my nose, that is bad enough. It should land you a turn of the moon in the Black Cells. You will not be talking back to me after that.”

She’d do anything. Anything to avoid the Cells. The Cells, where people were thrown to die. Criminals, traitors and prisoners of war. Is that what she was now? A criminal? She had defended herself. She would have done the same thing if it hadn’t been a Prince. She would have done the exact same thing if it had been Brandon in the courtyard in Winterfell.

As for the Black Cells, the cells themselves didn’t kill. It was the rats, the torture and the loneliness that killed. The prisoners went mad down there. She’d heard the wailing screams at night. She wouldn’t last a week down there. And now, no one was looking for her. Her father had given up and her sister thought she was safe and happy in beautiful, warm King’s Landing. She was completely, utterly fucked.

Prince Aegon seemed to think she’d understood the threat clearly enough.
   “If you do as you’re told, I will let you go,” he said as he tightened his grip on her chin. He walked her backwards to the table and her lower back hit the wood with a dull thump. She was dead. Prince Aegon placed his knee between her legs, whirled her around and forced the side of her face down onto the table. The crumbs from the bread he had eaten earlier dug their way into her cheek.
   “Please,” she whimpered as his hand closed over her mouth to end her protests. She kicked her legs. Aiming for any part of him that could hurt. He kept his grip on her face and his bloody fingernails raked over her cheek.
   “Your choice. This or the cells,” he said, voice uneven and his breath stinking of wine and lamb.

Ayana gave up fighting. She closed her eyes and waited for the beating. It didn’t matter if a knife had been within her reach. Her arms were pinned to the table. The edge of it scratching her forearms.
She tried once again to fight him off, just so she could lure herself to think she’d tried hard enough.

Prince Aegon was ripped away from her with enough force that his nails tore through the delicate skin on her cheek when he lost his balance.
   “If you throw her in the cells, you’ll be in the cell next to hers.” Prince Aemond’s voice spoke from behind her. She’d never heard his voice this low in her life. The sound of knuckles hitting bone made her turn around.
He stood over Prince Aegon with his fist raised. His brother’s already swelling cheek glared up at her.
   “She came at me with a knife!” Prince Aegon yelled through the fresh blood dripping from his split lip. “And that was after she broke my nose! Attacking a Prince is a capital offense, I can have her put to death for this!”
Prince Aemond only chuckled. It scared her. His eye was void of any previous amusement. He just stood there over this brother glaring down at him with disgust contorting his face.
   “It isn’t a capital offense if you started it and she protected herself, you drunken fool.” Prince Aemond spat and turned away from him.

Ayana shook. She tried to get her hands to stop shaking long enough to smooth down her skirts but to no avail.
   “Are you hurt? Besides the obvious?” Prince Aemond pointed at her cheek. The blood made her realize where she was. The room floated back to her, the upended goblets and the knife flung halfway across the carpeted floors.
   “My cheek,” she mumbled and raised her hand to wipe the blood away. She was already in so much trouble. She should just leave, go back to her cot and lick her wounds in peace.
   “Come with me,” he said and took her by the arm. She was still shaking as he led her from the room. Thoughts still on the very real, fuming Prince on the floor.
   “He won’t save you next time, Snow!” Prince Aegon yelled after her when she cleared the doorway. Prince Aemond let go of her hand, turned from her and stilled completely. Eye growing darker as he again stared at his brother.
   “Excuse me, I will come find you later,” he walked back over the threshold and closed the doors behind him. Ayana was about to protest, begging him not to do this. Anything that would keep her out of more trouble.

Yet, her legs had other plans it seemed. She was halfway down the hallways and down the stairs when she came to herself. The panic was lessening, her mind cleared bit by bit and by the time she got back to her cot, her hands had stopped shaking. No tears. If she cried it became real. Keep the tears away.

Ayana sank down on her cot and grabbed her moth-eaten blanket. She threw it around her shoulders and kept her thumb on the ring on her forefinger. Around and around. Twirl after twirl. Breathe.
She stared at her hands. Her knuckles were scraped raw, the table had split her skin and the blood covering her fingers had dried. She was no longer sure who it belonged to. It was either hers or the Prince’s. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here. This was luck. If she got on the wrong end of the Prince next time she wasn’t sure if anyone would save her.

Her head spun. Why had Prince Aemond even been in that wing of the Keep anyway? His rooms were in the other end of the Keep, overlooking the Bay. Had he followed her? Or was he just on his way to the library when he’d heard her scream? She couldn’t remember screaming, but she was sure she had. Everything blurred together. The lamb, the knife and the goblet-
Ayana raised her hand and carefully moved her head to the side. It had bled before. Her thumb found the cut, the goblet had hit her hard. The cut couldn’t be that bad, it had stopped bleeding and her head hurt less than before. If she fainted, that would be a sign to go see the Maester, but until then she’d just stay here and sleep off her fear.

Ayana laid her somewhat throbbing head down on the pillow and curled her arm under it. She reached for one of her sister's letters and clutched it to her chest and she tried to forget about everything. It would be better tomorrow, she’d tell Talya everything and then leave. She’d go somewhere else. Find a ship and get to Pentos. She’d be safe in Pentos. She had no gold, but she’d figure out a way to get some. If she sold her ring that should buy her-

   “Are you asleep?” She opened her eyes to find Prince Aemond staring down at her. His arms were full. A basin of milky-white water, a rag, several vials of shimmering liquid and a pouch of leaves.
Ayana shook her head. She didn’t know what to say. Thank you, didn’t seem to cover it.
   “Can you speak?” he said and placed the basin next to her cot.
   “Yes.” she replied and let go of the scroll clutched in her hand.
   “Let me see your face.”
She turned her cheek to him. He had told her to stand up to him, and she had. It didn’t make her feel any better, it made her feel like an idiot.
   “You stood up to him?” he said, as if he’d seen the thought forming in her mind.
   “I did,” Ayana replied weakly. “I didn’t know if you said it as a warning not to, but I didn’t want him to hurt me again, so I lashed out, Prince.” she continued. Still with her cheek turned to him.
   “It was not a warning at all. Someone needed to stand up to him, I am sorry for the injuries. He will not remember much, but you will, and for that I am sorry.”

Ayana smiled. It made her cheek hurt. She’d be gone this time tomorrow anyway, she’d forget about this with time.
   “I can fix your cheek without getting a Maester,” the Prince said and carefully extended a hand to grip her chin. He moved her head from side to side, eyebrow furrowed.
Ayana nodded. She had no more words left. Speaking was exhausting.

She let him work. She watched his hands as he submerged the clean rag in the milky water and focused on the drops hitting the surface. Milk of the poppy. If anything it would dull the pain.

   “Are you still scared?” he asked suddenly and she noticed the shaking had come back.
   “Yes-” she admitted and looked at him. His face was less serious now, but still worried. His right hand was still in the water. His thumb looked strange. It was bent too far back, and every time the water ran over it his eye narrowed slightly. She’d seen dislocated fingers often enough to know what it looked like.
Prince Aemond let the rag fall. He turned away from her and she heard him pour. The smell of wine nearly made her gag.
   “This,” he waved a small vial in front of her face, “is essence of Nightshade. One drop will take the fear.” He uncorked the vial and gently poured a single drop into the wine.
   “Finish all of it, and try not to throw up, it's bitter but it works faster than the leaves.”
Ayana swallowed the wine and forced herself not to retch. He was helping. She should allow him to help.

The Prince picked up the rag and gently wiped at her cheek. The pain was still there, but more aching than stinging. He kept cleaning the blood away from her face and she looked at him. He was focused. Trying to not cause her more pain. And yet, every time he moved his hand his eye twitched.
   “Your thumb is dislocated,” Ayana said and moved her face away.
   “I know. I hit Aegon’s jaw wrong. I’ll have Maester Mellos look at it later. I’ve had worse.”

She supposed he had. The eye patch creaked slightly when he moved to clean her face again. She half wondered what it felt like, and how much pain he had been in. The injured side of his face didn’t seem to move at all, she noticed. The right side of his face twitched along with his good eye, but the left never moved.
   “Stitching is not needed. It should heal fine with time,” he said and let the rag fall again. “You may have one scar from his thumbnail, but that should be it.”

Ayana kept looking at his thumb. It looked painful. If the bone stiffened by the time he reached the Maester he’d have to break it and then re-set it. She had seen the Prince practice in the yard and his hand was needed.
While he had his blind side to her she quickly grabbed his hand, wrenched it toward her and placed the heel of her hand on the lowest joint of his thumb. She’d expected him to move, and when he did she pushed.

The wet crack made him hiss. He just gaped at her when he turned.
   “Do not tell me that was a capital offense, please.” she said and let go of his hand.
   “It wasn’t,” he said and flexed his hand. He rolled his wrist a few times and hummed.

Prince Aemond stood from the floor and brushed himself clean of dust. He handed her the vial of nightshade and gathered the basin, the other vials and the used rag.
   “Pour three drops into the wine, drink it and sleep. Thank you for this,” he waved his hand at her and smiled. And just as she had thought, only one side of his lip rose.
   “Thank you, my Prince,” she croaked, and nestled herself down into her cot. She’d think more tomorrow, her mind was too foggy to even form sentences. The nightshade took the rest of her pain and she drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

Prince Aemond Targaryen did not interfere. It was not his way and not his job. He didn’t care much about the day to day workings of the Keep. He cared about his training and his library. Forever hunting down tomes chronicling the Doom of Valyria and stories about his ancestors. One silly little serving girl meant nothing to him. Nothing at all. 

Until he’d crashed into her outside his brother's rooms. He was fully prepared to wave her off and go about looking for one of the books missing from his own room. Then he saw her face. She was terrified.
When he moved past her he heard her hiss, poking her with a finger was just a test. He knew she was bruised from the way she walked, she kept herself in the middle of the doorway, careful to not bump into anything painful.

Aegon had beaten her too. Perhaps he’d grown tired of poor-  who was it? Dyana? 

The Snow-girl didn’t even deny the violence. Most of the others did, scared for their lives. She however, did not deny a thing. Terrified she might be, but truthful she was. It was what he said next that had scared him.
   “I don’t think he’ll be sober enough to remember it if you stood up to him next time.”

While going through Aegon’s room he thought about it. He moved books, boots, blankets and pillows away from under the bed. She’d take that as a challenge. He had practically told her to stand up to him. Aegon would beat her again. Only this time it would be his fault for suggesting her defiance.
Aemond let clutter be clutter and walked out of the room. The Snow-girl was assigned to his sister every other day. By his calculations she should be arriving with Helaena’s dinner in a few hours. He should tell her not to listen to him, warn her not to antagonize Aegon. If he was in his usual mood he’d have her thrown in the dungeons. If his mood was worse, she’d never been seen again.

He walked back through the Keep to his own wing. Maegor’s Holdfast was massive, he had an entire wing to himself. His mother stayed on the floor below his fathers. Aegon and Helaena had a wing for themselves and the children. Only Aemond had begged to be placed at the other end of the Keep as a child. His rooms overlooked the Bay, the breeze calmed most of his aches and he had a clear view of the ocean. He was mostly left to his own devices too, the servants stayed away from the wing unless he called for them.
He spent his time training, flying, reading or sleeping. He knew what was expected of him, he had long since seen through his mother’s schemes. With his father’s failing health Queen Alicent Hightower relentlessly pushed her son first in line to the Throne, it did not matter to her that the line of succession continued with Rhaenyra.
The moment his father drew his last breath, Aegon would ascend the throne and the oncoming storm would break. 

Aemond shook his head walking past whispering serving girls in the hallways. They all whispered. They whispered about the dinner.
He knew all about he fucking dinners.
Sweet Helaena refused to see Aegon, she barely let him see the children unless they all ate together. Yet, he had never noticed bruises on his sister. When they were children, she had taken care of him after Driftmark. He’d promised her then that if Aegon ever laid a hand on her he’d break it. She had believed him. 
His brother had so much rage in him, he never understood why. His father kept saying he’d settle with his marriage. Aegon didn’t.
He kept up his drunken rages and violence. In turn, sending two scores of serving girls fleeing every turn of the moon. The Snow-girl was the latest in a long line of offenses. 

Aemond opened the doors to his room to find Jaehaera reaching her little hand into the bowl of candied fruit he kept by his bed.
   “Candies for lunch, little one?” he mused. His niece just turned to look at him and grinned. The rest of her teeth were coming in. Still, the gapped smile made him chuckle.
   “Mother said no,” she said and closed her fist around some of the fruit. 
   “And you came here because I usually say yes?”
   “Yes.”
   “Sneaky.”

Aemond braced himself as the patter of tiny feet reached him. Jaehaera threw herself around his neck and giggled into his ear. She had moved the hand with the candy around his neck and shoved pieces of sugary fruit into her mouth.
   “Is your mother in the garden again?” he asked and steadied the squealing child on his hip, letting her sit on his arm. He walked over to his bed, bent down and grabbed a fistful of fruit.
   “With the bugs,” Jaehaera said in between chewing and swallowing. “She promised to take me flying later!” 
   “Good, it will give you time to practice your Valyrian.” he said and handed her the fruit. 

Aemond kept his arm around Jaehaera despite her wriggling to get loose. If she ran off she’d find more sugary sweets and her teeth would ache come dawn. He squinted at the harsh sunlight as he walked out through the servants hallway to the gardens.
He’d thought his sister to be under the Weirwood, but stopped when he found the benches empty. Jaehaera tugged on a strand of his hair and he moved to look at her.
   “Other garden,” she giggled and raised her hand to him. He bit into the sour lemon candy she held out and squirmed.
   “How can you even stomach these?” he asked, trying to shake the sour taste from his mouth. Jaehaera howled and ate the rest of the candy in one bite.
   “It tickles, but in a good way,” she said and pointed to the path next to the Weirwood. Aemond placed his chin on top of her pale head and followed the path to his sister. 

Helaena sat next to the rosebushes and sang. He didn’t know the song, but it was always the same one. She’d made it up as a lullaby when the children were infants, when her anxieties came it seemed to calm her down enough to keep her words. She heard his footsteps and turned to him, the caterpillar crawling on her hand stopped moving too.
   “Jaehaera! I was worried!”

She was. Aemond heard it in her voice.
   “I found her looking for candy.” He said, letting Jaehaera slide down his leg.
   “How much did she eat?” Helaena asked and extended her arms for her daughter.
   “Nothing at all,” Aemond lied when Jaehaera placed a tiny finger on her lips. The sugar crystals all over her face was evidence enough. He was also covered in it. Helaena just laughed.
   “Dinner is soon, you still have to eat all your vegetables, little girl.” she said and nuzzled her daughter's nose with her own. Jaehaera buried her hands in her mother’s blue skirts and dried her hands. 

Aemond sat down on the grass next to Helaena and moved his arms behind his head. It was a nice day, and the air did him good. The summer was best, the climate was more lenient and didn’t cause him as much pain as the winter did. His face felt almost normal too. The feeling was still gone on the injured side, but he could live with it. 
   “The serving girl-” he began when Helaena looked at him. 
   “She smells of ice and bone,” Helaena said dreamily, her eyes frozen on a spot further down the grassy hill. She did this from time to time, letting her mind float off somewhere else. Somewhere only she could reach.
   “I should think so, she is a northerner,” Aemond added and looked at his niece now searching for more caterpillars in the bushes behind them. 
   “She says she is a Snow, but there is something else there. Within her. It feels different.” Helaena said and shook her head slightly.

Aemond sat up, placed a hand under his chin and looked at her.
   “What do you mean?” he asked, trying to find her eyes. She still looked like she was somewhere else.
   “Not important I think, not for us. She must have a reason to hide.” Helaena finished and turned to him. 
She said little else. Her hands found the caterpillar again and she let it crawl between her fingers. He never fully understood her obsession with the bugs, but as long as it made her happy he was content.
   “She is nice,” Helaena said, suddenly finding his eye “the girl.”
   “I suppose she is,” Aemond agreed and closed his eye, the sun hurt.
   “Is she with Aegon?”
   “No, she serves him breakfast, I don’t think she is the one this week.” he said, not wanting to say he’d noticed her bruises.
   “I wish he would stop, he scares me.” she said quietly and waved at Jaehaera now running around the trees further down the hill.
   “I know.”

Aemond stayed with his sister and his niece until the sun began setting. He felt badly about not seeing them as much as he used to. Helaena rose from the ground and took Jaehaera’s outstretched hand when she walked up to them.

Aemond rose too and took his niece by her other hand. They walked together up the path and through the Godswood. When he saw the tree again he furrowed his brow. The Snow-girl was a northerner. She kept the Old Gods as much as the rest of them, and yet, he’d never seen her here. Not in the weeks she’d been at the Keep had he seen her here.
He shook his head. Whatever she did with her spare time was of no concern to him. He didn’t understand why he even thought of it. 

He walked Helaena back to her rooms and accepted the bowl of candied fruit she handed him with a grin.
   “She definitely had enough earlier,” she laughed and nodded to the squealing child now hanging around her leg.
   “Apparently she did. I’ll have you know she threatened to feed me to Morghul if I refused her,” he whispered, loud enough for her to hear.
   “Lying!” Jaehaera said and stuck her tongue out at him. 

Aemond turned on his heel and reached for the door handle when Helaena spoke again. 
   “She smells of direwolf.” She said quietly. 
   “Who?”
   “The girl.”

Aemond thought nothing of it. His sister said strange things all the time. He chuckled at the bowl of fruit he carried. Nothing would stand between Jaehaera and her candy, that much was clear.
He walked back up the stairs and nearly missed her. The flaxen haired serving girl. Dyana.

   “Wait!” his voice was louder than he intended and she stopped dead in her tracks.
   “Yes, my Prince?” she said and did not meet his eye. She stood five steps below him and refused to look up at him.
   “Are you not supposed to be tending to my brother?” he asked and forced himself to be calm.
   “No, my Prince. He requested Ayana today.” she said quietly and turned to leave.
   “Who?”
   “Ayana?” she said and looked at him. She looked relieved. Relieved to have traded places with another for the night. “The Snow-girl?”

Aemond didn’t blink. He simply nodded to the maid and turned away. Her. Ayana. The Snow-girl that smelled of ice, bone and wolf.
Wolf?

Aemond hurried to his own wing. He needed to think. Now. He had told her to stand up to his brother, of course he had found out. And he would do what Aegon always did, he’d confront her. He’d make her believe she was free, and then he’d round on her. 

He left the bowl of fruit on the table along with most of his armor. The leather creaked when he removed it. Aemond grabbed a dagger from the side of the bed and shoved it into his belt. If she died-
He still didn’t know why he even cared. His conscience weighed on him for some reason, it had to be more than his idea of her standing up for herself. He’d never even spoken that way to any servant before. Ever.

Aemond’s hurried steps echoed through the Keep as he made his way down level after level and up several flights of stairs. Aegon ate in his wing. Always. He rounded the last corner when he heard the screams. Painful, hoarse screams. Aemond halted outside the massive doors. The screaming stopped. He heard goblets rattling and a groan, and he stopped thinking straight.

The muffled, snarling voice from inside said “Your choice. This or the cells,”
Aemond threw open the doors and stilled for a moment. A fleeting moment, just to take in exactly what he saw.
Ayana was bent over Aegon's table. He stood behind her with his knee between her legs, her hair was ripped free of the knot she wore on top of her head, his brother’s hand held her face. 
Aemond looked at his brother. He was bleeding. Blood streamed from his nose. She had fought. 

He walked across the crumpled carpet and grabbed his brother by the throat.
   “If you throw her in the cells, you’ll be in the cell next to hers.” He snarled. Aemond pulled his fist back and aimed for Aegon’s cheek. The anger made him falter for just a second. His thumb hit Aegon’s jaw and he felt it snap. When he retracted his fist his thumb stuck out. The pain didn’t blind him. It should have. He stared at the girl. The terrified, bleeding girl. 
The girl he had put in this situation. She stood as though she was nailed to the floor. Not a muscle moved. Her eyes scanned the room frantically and she stared at his bleeding brother.
   “She came at me with a knife-”

Aemond chuckled darkly. He’d heard the excuses before. Aegon never began. Ever. It was always the girls.
He was disgusted. He had been disgusted with his own brother since his thirteenth nameday and their visit to the brothels on the Street of Silk.
The words capital offense rang through his head and he huffed.
   “It isn’t a capital offense if you started it and she protected herself, you drunken fool.”

Aemond turned to look at the girl. Ayana. She stood next to the table still, trying to calm her shaking hands. The blood ran down her face from the rips Aegon’s nails had made.
   “Are you hurt?” Besides the obvious?” he said to her. It took her a moment to realize he had spoken it seemed. Her eyes cleared up and she gaped at him.
   “My cheek,” she said weakly, words nothing but a mumble.  Aemond reached for her arm.
   “Come with me,” he led her from the room, careful to keep his grip light to not antagonize the bruises he knew she hid.
   “He won’t save you next time, Snow!” Aegon spat from behind him. Aemond lost what little control he had managed to regain, let go of Ayana’s arm and looked at her.
   “Excuse me, I will come find you later,” he closed the doors behind him and heard her footsteps retreat down the hall.

   “Are you insane?” he asked the Princely lump on the floor.
   “It’s been said,” Aegon groaned as he rose from the floor, dried the blood off his chin with the back of his hand and headed for his goblet. 
   “You should be careful. The more girls you send fleeing from your company, the more people talk.” Aemond said, keeping his eye on the back of Aegon’s head. 
   “It does not matter, they always come back.” He said, emptying the goblet on the table. He looked so pathetic. Aemond almost felt sorry for him.
   “This one won’t.”
   “Why?”
Aemond walked up behind his brother and forced his head down onto the table, he placed his hand on his cheek and pushed.
   “Because you won’t remember her in the morning. If you touch her again I will break your hand, if she doesn't do it for me.”
Aegon slid off the table as the pressure left his head. By the time Aemond reached the door he was asleep. 

He found her by her cot. When he asked to see her face she turned her head. The wounds would heal. He debated giving her more than three drops of nightshade just to make her sleep easier. She finished the goblet as he had said. One drop now, three drops later. 
The blood came off easily, despite him trying to be careful he angered the worst scratch. His thumb refused to move, and he dragged a calloused finger over her cheek when he removed the rag. Thankfully, it had stopped bleeding.
   “Your thumb is dislocated,” she said and looked at his hand. It was. He knew that. He told her he knew and smiled slightly at her relieved sigh when he told her she didn’t need stitches. 

Before he could stop her she reached for his hand. She pushed the heel of her own hand down onto his thumb and the force of it made the joint crack. It hurt like it had when he injured it in the first place, but as soon as she moved his thumb the prickling feeling went away. He gaped at her.
   “Do not tell me that was a capital offense, please” she let go of his hand. 
   “It wasn’t.”

She smells of direwolf. 

Aemond rose from the floor. She hadn’t noticed a thing. He cleared his throat as he gathered the basin, vials, pouch of leaves and rag. He handed her the vial of nightshade.
   “Pour three drops into the wine, drink it all and sleep. Thank you for this,” he waved his now aching hand.
She said something to him but he couldn’t hear it. He only kept hearing the word direwolf repeating in his head. 

She says she is a Snow, but there is something else there. Within her. 

Aemond had figured it out by the time he was back in his room. He sat down on the bed and kicked off his boots. Ayana Snow wasn’t a Snow at all. She was a Stark of Winterfell. She’d left her home and shed her name for one reason or another that he was sure of.
He was also sure of what this meant. The Starks had never broken an oath. They had all sworn obeisance to Rhaenyra in the succession. Would they still keep their promise if one of their own was in the midst of war?
It became abundantly clear to him that the Starks came with Ayana. With them came the entire North, from Winterfell itself to the marshlands of the Neck. Ayana Stark was the key to the armies of the North. Ayana Stark was their only hope to pry the Warden of the North from Rhaenyra’s side. 
Aemond smiled to himself as his head hit the pillow. She was the solution to everything. And now, he had a plan.

Chapter Text

Ayana awoke with a groan. Something was wrong. Everything was too quiet. She opened her eyes, slowly letting them adjust to the light streaming in through the cracks in the wall. Had she lost her mind or just her hearing?
She moved a hand. The rustling of her pillow eased some of her worries . Not deaf. Just tired and exhausted. She laid there beneath her blanket, still not moving much. The day before came fleeting back to her, in broken bits and pieces. The dinner, the hand, the goblet and the nose.
Fuck. She had broken his nose. She was sure to be let go. She should gather her things and get out before someone threw her out. 

It was for the best she supposed. She would find a new place to stay. Her original idea of Pentos was still doable if she sold her ring-
Prince Aemond?

She sat up so quickly her head spun. He had helped her, cleaned her face and given her nightshade to sleep. Ayana panicked. She tried not to wince as she let her feet fall to the floor. Her cheek throbbed, she lifted a finger and gently hovered over the wounds. It didn’t feel warm, no infection then. She carefully placed a finger on one of the scratches. Dry, that was good. Dry skin meant healing.
If Aemond had told anyone about the day before she’d be in trouble. So much trouble. He had seemed genuinely concerned for her, and he had gotten her away from Aegon without more bruising. Still-

   “Good! You’re up! I thought you died in your sleep before,” Talya. Again. Ayana groaned again and moved her head towards Talya’s voice.
   “Why did you let me oversleep?” Ayana asked when she finally managed to figure out the time of day. The sun was already high in the sky.
   “I had strict orders to let you rest, I heard about the dinner. Did he hurt you badly?” Talya was next to her within moments. Her soft hand reached out for Ayana’s face and she had no more strength left to turn away. She stood from her cot.
   “Who cleaned it?” Talya asked, scanning the left side of her face and the torn skin. Ayana tried not to move her face much when she talked, she could feel the pull on her cheek every time she moved her head.
   “The Prince,”
   “Before or after he passed out with a swollen jaw and blood all over his face?” Talya asked, one of her eyebrows rose and Ayana sighed.
   “The other Prince, the one seemingly less likely to beat servants.” she clarified and sat back down on her cot. Her boots were placed by the foot of it. She had no memory of taking them off.
   “Strange. He doesn’t usually interfere. Explains the scroll I got from the Princess this morning then,” she said absentmindedly and walked off.
   “What?” Ayana called after her. Talya rounded a corner and her head moved back around it when Ayana yelled her name.
   “Get dressed. The cook left you lemon cakes, I'll explain while you eat.” 

Ayana grumbled darkly as she pulled on her boots. She half wondered if all the maids had taken lessons in very poorly worded explanations. They must have. No one ever spoke plainly, they always wrapped every word in half-truths and said less than they should.
Why she couldn’t know now made no sense. Explaining in the kitchen would entice the others, and soon rumors would spread of her dinner with the Prince, and the subsequent rescuing.  

She walked down the stairs and turned left, she’d take the long way today. Avoiding most of the chattering people and possibly the Prince. Princes. Both of them.
She didn’t really know why, but Prince Aemond unnerved her. The way he treated her made her nervous. She had never known him to care about anything but training and reading, and then suddenly there he was, cleaning her wounds and giving her nightshade for sleep. It had to be a scheme. It had to be him making sure she didn’t leave and tell anyone else about how serving-girls were treated at the Keep. 

Ayana kept passing whispering servants despite trying to avoid them, they all quieted the moment they saw her.
   “Her face?!” whispered one of the newer ones, a fair, brown haired girl from the Vale.
   “Did you hear she broke his nose?” whispered the blonde girl next to her. She clasped a hand in front of her mouth and giggled softly, visibly happy she hadn’t been serving the Prince’s dinner.
   “Did she really? She will disappear soon then, if she fought back she’s gone. I wonder why nobody told her?”

Ayana tried to ignore them, she tried to let their whispers pass through her head without caring much. If she disappeared, people would surely ask questions? Her sister would. Her father, not so much. Rickon Stark apparently didn’t care anymore. 

The kitchens were strangely void of people. Ayana thanked whatever power had drawn the usual flock of people from the bellies of the Keep.
   “I made them leave,” Talya pointed at her with a wooden spoon when Ayana cleared the dusty steps. “Do you need moon-tea? I didn’t want to ask until we were alone.” She fingered nervously with a red curl.
   “No, he didn’t get that far. Aemond-” Talya raised an eyebrow at her. “-Prince Aemond, helped, as I said before-” she stuttered while trying to find something to do with her hands. Here of all places she forgot his title?
Talya narrowed her eyes slightly but went back to stirring the black pot bubbling over the fire.
   “Just regular tea, then?”

Ayana sat down at the worn table in the middle of the kitchen. The grimy windows in front of her gave her little to no view of the courtyard, but she could already hear the clanging of steel. She caught herself wondering if the Prince was training today, as Talya placed a steaming wooden cup of tea in front of her.

Ayana wrapped her fingers around the cup and sniffed.
   “Why did you put lavender in it? I’m not sick-”
   “After yesterday, you need all the calming herbs you can get girl, you look like he scratched you up pretty good.”
Ayana followed Talya with her eyes as she went back and forth in the kitchen, cleaning pots, moving plates of food and baskets of vegetables out of the way. She had hoped Talya would explain herself faster so she could go about her day and get some air. Being inside was choking, she kept her mind as clear as she could but she couldn’t help remembering his hands around her throat and her own voice begging him to let go of her face. The blood on her hands, the goblet, the cells-

   “Tell me what happened,” Talya said suddenly, sliding two lemon cakes across the table to her. “Tell me everything, I need to know what he did.”
Ayana sighed. She didn’t look at Talya, she looked at the lemon cakes. She took one just as she started speaking, focusing on tearing the sugary thing to pieces before she ate anything. She told her about the room, how angry Prince Aegon had looked when he saw her.
   “I thought he’d let me go if I was quiet, I never meant to get lost- I-” Ayana’s voice rose. Her throat was already raw from trying not to cry.
   “I know, girl, I know how he is. It used to be me.”
   “Did he do this to you too?” Ayana pointed at her cheek with a sticky finger.
   “He did, he was younger then. Newly wed. He did it in places easier to hide,” Talya walked around the table with tentative steps, her hand slid over the wood after her. She placed her other hand on Ayana’s good cheek and looked at her. Her blue eyes filled with sympathy and worry.
   “You see, if you don’t leave visible marks, it would be like it never happened. Only your mind is affected, not your body. For you it’s both. I’m glad the Prince found you, if he hadn’t I’m sure everything would be worse.”

   “Never let him see you cry, he feeds off of it.” Talya said and lifted her skirts. Still, with the grimy windows she shielded herself from the light. Ayana dropped her lemon cake, it slid off the table and fell to the floor with a soft thud.
Talya’s right leg was full of marks. Scratches and cuts deep in her skin. Fingernails.
   “He used to grab me every time I walked past him. One time he threatened to mark my face next if I disobeyed him,”

Ayana reached out a hand, took hold of Talya’s skirts and let them fall to the floor. She had been in service to the Queen for so long Ayana never even considered she’d been somewhere else before. She had also seen Prince Aegon’s drunken rages and been on the receiving end of his fun.
   “I’m sorry, Talya.” Ayana said and took her hand. The light squeeze from Talya made her feel understood, but sad. “Truly sorry.”
Talya smiled, brushed her thumb over Ayana’s cheek and went back to her bubbling pot.

   “What did the Princess ask exactly?” Ayana asked when she had finished the other lemon cake, the tea still steamed and the scent of lavender made her feel more ill than healed.
   “She asked for you.” Talya replied. Ayana rolled her eyes. Still with the vague answers.
   “Asked for me? In what way?” she pressed on, not taking her eyes off the woman by the pot.
   “Well, according to the scroll I got, she wants you to be in charge of her household. I thought it strange, seeing as you haven’t been here long and it’s a big responsibility. You will be in charge of the children and meet any need the Princess should have. The Prince has also requested you-”
   “The Prince?!” Ayana’s voice broke. Her heartbeat was in her throat within moments and the cup rattled on the table when her hands smacked down on the surface.
   “Prince Aemond.” Talya said and grimaced. “You think I would send you back to him after all this?” She pointed a finger at her face.
   “No, you’re right. What did the Prince want?”
   “He didn’t say. He only requested you to serve him lunch, and then carry on with your duties for the Princess.”

Ayana nodded and stood from the table. For the Prince’s sake she hoped he liked late lunches, if not she’d be in trouble again. Talya kept prattling on about the responsibilities that now weighed on her. Always be on time, do as you’re told, don’t ask questions. Always be on time.
Ayana tried to listen to every piece of advice she was given while piling an array of pastries and pies on a plate.
   “She likes to be in the garden most days, so if you can’t find her that's where she is. Jaehaera is fussy without her mother and Jaehaerys is fussy without Jaehaera, best keep them together,”
   “Understood.” Ayana said and grabbed the bowl of candied fruit Talya handed her.
   “Now go! If the Prince isn’t there you are to wait for him!” Talya said after her when she began walking up the stairs again. “And don’t touch anything! He hates messes!”

Ayana’s head was full. Too full. If she heard one more piece of advice her head would implode. She was halfway down the hallway to Prince Aegon’s wing before she came to herself. No more Prince Aegon, at least not for today.
She wiped at her brow with a sleeve and turned away from the looming double doors. Not today. Safe. 

She kept walking to the left until she reached the grand staircase, she walked halfway up it and took another left at the landing, finding it easier to breathe in the south wing.
The Prince’s wing was essentially the same as the rest of the Keep, but she noticed more books and more paintings on the walls. She hurried past the eerie looking portrait of King Maegor.

The doors leading to the main chambers of the wing were open. She found that strange. Prince Aegon usually kept his own closed. On the other hand, Prince Aemond didn’t have a habit of beating up serving girls so he didn’t have to hide screams behind massive slabs of wood.
Ayana toed carefully into the chamber and placed the plate of food on one of the low tables. The room was aired out and open. Six windows on one wall, open to the breeze from the Bay. The light linen curtains flowed over a desk strewn with parchment, quills and mountains of books.

He had so many books. There wasn’t one of the four tables in the room that wasn’t piled full of them. A bookshelf on the wall opposite the windows next to the fireplace nearly cracked under the weight of them.
She didn’t know what she had expected him to sleep in but it wasn’t this.
Prince Aegon's bed was massive and usually a mess of sheets, pillows and wine stains.

Prince Aemond’s bed was neatly done. No wine stains and no crumpled blankets. She caught herself smiling a bit at the wooden dragon on the table next to it. Below the small table itself lay an array of daggers. They were all strewn around as if he’d kicked them under there in a hurry. She half wanted to tidy them up, just to eliminate any further bloodshed on her part, but she left it. Do not make a mess.

Ayana turned toward the bookshelf. She had never seen so many books in one room in her life. The Maester’s library in Winterfell was massive, but this was something else entirely. The shelf was taller than she was, and even if she stretched she’d never be able to reach the top of it. She hummed to herself as she dragged a finger across the spines. Heavy tomes chronicling Targaryen histories, dragon lore, herbs and plants and to her amusement, a book about the northern houses and their Gods.

Ayana eyed the chair by the fireplace and a book about dragons. If he was training he’d be gone for at least a little while longer. What harm could be caused by sitting and reading a book?
Ayana took the book off the shelf and opened it while walking over to the chair. She sat down and crossed her legs. She eagerly thumbed through the pages and stopped here and there to read bits and pieces about the dragons.
She read about Balerion and Harrenhal, Vhagar and Visenya conquering Dorne, she read about Rhaenys and Meraxes.

When she got to the section about the wild, untamed dragons her finger stopped by a name, The Cannibal. She found the page number and moved her finger down the page,

“It is not known exactly when the Cannibal first appeared in the skies, but he was born many years before the birth of the Old King. Some histories claim that the black beast lived on the rocky isle of Dragonstone even before the coming of the Targaryens in 114 BC. Myself, I find these claims to be mostly false, if that were the case he would be three decades older then Balerion himself, and while it is not possible to correctly determine the lifespan of a dragon-”

   “Reading?”
Ayana leapt from the chair with a yelp. She hadn’t heard him come in. How long had he been there? Ayana raised her eyes to look at him and tried not to stutter.
   “I’m so sorry, my Prince, I was told to wait, I didn’t know what else to do with my time. Talya said not to touch anything and I-”
   “Don’t apologize. I wouldn’t have asked her to send you here if I thought you’d make a mess.” He smiled at her. The same half smile as the day before. His eye had a shine to it she hadn’t seen before. Moreover, he was dripping wet. His silver hair was plastered to his face, the leather armor he wore sent streams of rainwater down into his boots.
   “My training ended due to the sudden downpour,” he said and pointed out the window to the rain pattering off the windowsill.
   “Oh,”

Prince Aemond walked away from her and over to the desk by the windows. He shuffled around with the pieces of parchment and removed the now damp curtains from the dark surface. After closing all the windows he turned to her again. Ayana still stood by the chair, clutching the heavy book to her chest.
   “Fascinating reading,” he said and pointed at the book. “The Cannibal interests you I take it?”
   “Yes, my Prince,” she said and let go of the book. She placed it back on the bookshelf and said “I think the smallfolk are right, since we can not accurately determine his age, it isn’t that much of an error to assume he is older than Balerion, my Prince?”
   “I keep saying the same thing. Simply because Balerion was the oldest dragon in the known world does not mean other dragons can't be older,” he said and walked over to the plates of food. He sniffed one of the pies and settled for the pastries instead. Ayana saw him smile a little when he noticed the bowl of candied fruit.
   “My niece and nephew,” he said and pointed to the bowl “I caught Jaehaera in here yesterday eating her fill. I like to keep candy on hand for fussy children.”
   “Clever, my Prince.” Ayana smiled. She had seen the little girl running around the kitchens before, sneaking tastes of anything surgery within reach.
   “I wanted to thank you again, for last night, my cheek already feels better.” Ayana said, deciding to leave the Prince alone with his lunch.
   “The pleasure was all mine, I assure you,” Prince Aemond said and chewed on an apple. “Aegon needed proper handling, though, according to rumors fleeting about you did hurt him terribly, before you stabbed him,”
   “I didn’t stab-” Ayana interrupted before she understood he was playing with her.
   “You did break his nose. Did you hit him?” Prince Aemond asked and nodded to her hands.
   “Actually, I broke his nose with my forehead,” Ayana said and looked at her feet. Even if he had deserved it, she had still assaulted a Prince. She was still in trouble and the consequences would come, one way or another.

She stayed by the bookshelf and watched him eat. Waiting for him to give her more instructions or telling her to leave. She watched him eat two pies and wash it down with a goblet of wine before he spoke again.
   “Who taught you to fight?”
   “My father, when I was little,” she said before she could stop herself.
   “I have never known Lord Karstark to fight?” The Prince questioned and eyed her. “His bannermen on the other hand-”
   “His bannermen taught me too,” Ayana interrupted and hoped she’d saved herself further embarrassment. If he found out-
   “I see,” The Prince said and straightened. “I’m glad someone taught you. As for now, I have things to do. I will send for you when I need you.”
   “I thought I was to tend to the Princess?” Ayana asked, remembering Talya’s instructions.
   “You are, her household is the same as mine. Only Aegon has his own staff, seeing as he is the first-born son.”
   “Yes, my Prince.” she said and walked past him and into the hallway.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Ayana anxiously twirled the golden ring around and around her finger as she walked back to the kitchens with the empty tray. My father.
Bastards didn’t receive training, they had no standing with their father’s house. She knew that. She found herself wishing that Lord Karstark suddenly became a very good fighter, if only to cover up her own idiotic rambling.

It mattered not. She was only a servant. How much time would she spend with the royal family outside her duties anyway, probably not much. She tried to calm herself down by the time she reached the kitchens.
Without much of a respite Talya sent her straight on her way to tidy for the Princess.
At least she knew the way this time, and would not end up lost. Ayana spent the remainder of her day picking up wooden toys, arranging pillows and airing out rooms. The rain made the air heavier, but with the dampness and the slight cold the children would sleep better.

When the sun set her cheek and feet ached so much she could hardly think straight. With a goblet of milk of the poppy and a promise to at least have a drop or two of nightshade, Talya sent her to bed. Ayana trudged down the familiar hallway to her cot and fell into bed. She had just turned over and wrapped the blanket around her when the back of her head met with something hard.

She sat up again and fumbled under the pillow until her fingers met with leather. She dragged the book out from under the pillow and chuckled. She let her thumb glide over the golden letters on the cover, Dragons, a Brief History.
She opened it to find a torn piece of parchment on the first page. 

Who am I to deny you simple pleasures?
Enjoy the dragons,
the Maester can be dull at times but he is
knowledgeable in his own way.

Chapter Text

Ayana sat next to Princess Helaena in the gardens days later. She had expected her workload to be too much, her responsibility too great and she had also expected to not get much sleep. She had been wrong.

The morning after she’d fallen asleep reading the dragon histories she had been sent with the Princess’ breakfast, much to her relief Prince Aegon was nowhere to be seen. Princess Helaena on the other hand, had eagerly opened the door for her when she knocked, helped her with the food and bid her to sit next to her while she ate.
   “The children are still asleep, I will wake them up in a little while. Jaehaerys was up all night, he needs more sleep than his sister,” she had said wistfully and bit into a peach.
   “Yes, Princess,” Ayana said and kept her hands firmly placed in her lap. She had no idea where the nervousness had come from, she’d tended to Princess Helaena before, her calm demeanor was infectious. It hadn’t mattered now many times she had looked into the Princess’ soft violet eyes, she kept being reminded of other, rageful and violent eyes.
   “Are you still thinking about the dinner?” The Princess had asked and swallowed her fruit. She looked so genuinely concerned that Ayana didn’t have the time to make up a proper lie to tell.
   “Yes. I wish I knew why he-” she had stopped herself. Criticizing the Princess’ husband to her face seemed like a step down on the ladder of decorum that had been drilled into her by Talya.
   “Why he is angry?” Princess Helaena had finished for her and reached for a goblet of wine. She had said little else, she simply looked at Ayana over the top of her goblet, her eyes scanning her healing face.

She soon learned that Princess Helaena was exactly who she seemed to be. Cautious, gentle and soft-spoken. She spoke at length about her children, their routines and their favorite things. Ayana wasn’t sure if she was just making conversation or trying to help her with a better understanding of the task she was set to do. Either way, the Princess’ company turned out to be her favorite part of running her household from day to day.

   “Do you think Prince Jaehaerys has practiced his Valyrian like you told him to, Princess?” Ayana asked from beside her, one hand planted in the grass and the other placed on the book she was reading.
   “Jaehaera teaches him when she wants to, she doesn’t speak much if it isn’t in Valyrian,” The Princess said and smiled.
Princess Jaehaera, like her mother, didn’t speak often unless it was important. Ayana had learned to appreciate the quiet as the days passed. The Princess never raised her voice, never yelled and treated every serving girl with the same amount of respect.

Princess Helaena laid back down on the grass, letting the new caterpillar gently down beside her. The bugs had unnerved Ayana in the beginning, especially the spiders. Now, she found that she didn’t mind the caterpillars that much compared to the other critters. She turned her eyes back to the book and finished the chapter. She had read nothing else but the dragon histories for days. The first time the Princess caught her reading it she had asked if Ayana wanted to see Dreamfyre, scared out of her mind she had politely declined and said they were easier to comprehend on parchment. 

   “I think, if you asked Aemond he’d take you to see Vhagar in a heartbeat.” the Princess said when Ayana reached the section about the she-dragon.
   “Do you think so, Princess?” Ayana asked, still scared but intrigued. She had read about Vhagar the most, her chapter spanned one third of the book along with Balerion. To read about her was one thing, but to see her-
   “I know he would. He is very protective of her, but given your fascination he may indulge you if you ask,” she continued and lifted the caterpillar back into the rose bushes. “He seems to like you.”

Ayana closed the book. Prince Aemond had not sent for her for days, not since the day the book had appeared in her bed. She had meant to thank him for it, but whenever she looked for him she couldn’t find him anywhere. She had assumed he was flying Vhagar around the Riverlands, but she never saw him anywhere near the Keep or the Hill of Rhaenys.

The squealing of tiny royal children ripped Ayana from her thoughts. The twins came running up the small hill and giggled excitedly as they threw themselves at their mother. Princess Jaehaera immediately begged for sweets.
   “If you promise to have dinner later, you may ask Ayana for candies,” Helaena said and pointed a finger at Ayana.
Ayana smirked at the little girl now running for her.
   “Please, candies? Please?” The shining purple eyes met her own and she couldn’t have said no even if she wanted to. She handed the little princess a piece of candied lemon and brushed some grass off her golden dress.
   “Uncle doesn’t like them. I always leave them in his room. They’re safe there,” she giggled as she shoved the lemon into her mouth and chewed greedily.

Ayana picked another piece out of the bowl and handed it to Prince Jaehaerys. He said nothing but smiled as his hands became covered in sugar.
She sat there and looked at them eating their candies. Princess Helaena had her hand in her son's hair, gently stroking it away from his face. The little Prince spoke to his mother in stuttering Valyrian, and the Princess just smiled at him and kissed the top of his head.
   “You learn quickly. Shrykos will listen to you very soon, little Prince.”

Hours later after the children had been put to bed Ayana was on her way down to the launderers with sheets when she stopped halfway down the hallway. The doors to the gardens were left open. The Weirwood stared at her, as though it was judging her. The red leaves rustled in the weak wind and she scrunched her nose. She stood for a moment, hesitant. She wanted nothing more than to go to bed and sleep, but still, she left the sheets on the bottom step.

Ayana walked through the doors and into the garden. She hadn’t prayed for such a long time. She couldn’t find herself to, if she began praying she’d think about everything to clear her mind. And some of those memories she could be without. When home in Winterfell she prayed every morning and she spoke to her mother in the evenings. She knew deep in her heart that her mother would be disappointed in her for not doing her duty to her house and accepting Greyjoy’s proposal. Her mother would perhaps have protested at the choice of husband, but not the idea of the political arrangement, even before the shivers took her, Eya Stark always placed her house first. Ayana had tried for many years to embody the spirit of her mother, but found it increasingly difficult when she had no say in her own life. Everything was already decided for her. She was to marry some Lord and have his children, and then she’d be the Lady of his castle. Lyanna would inherit Winterfell and become Wardeness of the North, nothing she wanted was important enough to bend the traditions. 

Ayana sat down on the bench next to the Weirwood and breathed. The anxiety came from deep within her, she could have done things differently. She could have fought better, she could have gone to Pentos. She placed a hand on the pale trunk of the tree and closed her eyes. She dragged her feet up to her chin and sighed. If she had just accepted or tried to reason with her father instead of running away. She did miss him, it didn’t matter how much she pretended she didn’t.
She thought back to Winterfell. To calm evenings in her mothers lap, to hot bread and fried fish, to her father laughing as she charged Brandon again and again only to be parried and disarmed. The eerie howling of wolves at night and the crows flapping their wings outside her window. Most of all, she thought of Lyanna. Her laugh, and the way she always placed a hand on Ayana’s cheek when she was sad, gently wiping away childish tears and irrational fears.

Ayana prayed.
She prayed for health, happiness and peace. She prayed for her father’s safety and Lyanna’s security. She deeply apologized to her mother, apologized for not doing her duty and for running away. Lady Eya Stark would never-
   “Mother says you smell like a wolf,” said a small voice behind her. Ayana turned around to find Prince Jaehaerys looking up at her, bleary eyed and yawning.
   “What are you doing out of bed, little Prince?” she asked and blinked away the tears that had formed in the corners of her eyes. How had he managed to open all the heavy doors by himself? He was only five years old, unless-
   “You don’t smell like a wolf, you smell like lemons,” he continued and walked up to her. He still smiled, an innocent little glint in his eyes made her smirk, Ayana scanned him and noticed he kept his hands behind his back.
   “Were you looking for candied lemons, Prince?” she asked and raised an eyebrow. The answering giggle was reply enough.

Ayana rose from the bench and placed a hand on his back.
   “Let’s not worry your mother more, let’s get you to bed.”
   “Why would she say you smell like wolf when you smell like lemon?” he continued asking as she carried him up the stairs.
   “I don’t know, I am from the north, that may be why?” she asked him back, trying to take his mind off it. If he told anyone else they would piece things together and finally realize that she was no bastard. Then they could just find a book about the Stark lineage and find her name.

Ayana’s heart beat so hard in her chest she nearly yelped. The book. The book in Prince Aemond’s room. The northern houses and their histories. She took a breath. Calm down. She walked to the end of the hall and eased open the creaking door to the children’s rooms.

She placed the little Prince back in bed with his sister and tucked him in.
   “Sleep well, little one. I will come back tomorrow morning. Stay in bed, please.” She said and brushed a strand of hair away from his face. 

The book meant nothing. For all she knew there could have existed scores of Ayanas before her. Unless the book went into extravagant detail about her looks she was still just a plain, anonymous serving girl. No reason to panic.
Ayana walked back down to the first level and grabbed the dirty sheets off the bottom step. She hurried down the hall to the right and down the worn stairs to the laundry. With the sheets placed in the waiting basket she turned on her heel and walked back through the Keep and into the garden.

This time she knelt by the tree. She bowed her head to the Gods and repeated her last prayer in her head. She sat there until she started freezing, trying to make up for the times she had ignored the Gods. When she felt enough time had passed she lifted her head and took hold of the bench to get up.

   “This is the first time I have seen you here, are you still scared or just looking for guidance?”
Ayana turned to find Prince Aemond standing against the wall with his arms crossed. She had stopped jumping at his voice now. He always seemed to find her when she thought she was alone.
   “I thought of my mother, and I am not scared. Not as much as I was, my Prince.” she said and bowed her head.
   “Why do you insist on using my title so rigorously?” he asked and pushed off the wall.
   “It is the proper etiquette, my Prince,” Ayana replied, mirroring the lessons she’d gotten when she began her work.
   “That may be,” he said and walked over to her. He extended a hand and pointed to the city below the Keep.
   “The only reason I have a title is because of my bloodline. What would you have called me if I had been born in one of the houses down there?” he asked and moved his hand over her shoulder. She turned around and followed his arm with her eyes.
   “I assume I would have called you Aemond then, if I had seen you at all,”
   “I think so too.” He said and looked at her. He was dressed in plain black now. No armor to be seen. Only a dagger glinting by his hip.
   “What was your mother’s name?” he asked suddenly looking at the tree. The wind rustled the treetop and several red leaves came floating to the ground.
   “Her name was Eya,” Ayana said and gave a small smile. “She used to sing to me sometimes, I tend to repeat the song when I pray.” She had no idea why she shared that with him, but she found the look on his face curious. He was thinking. Ayana had just realized her mistake when he spoke again.
   “Named after the late Lady Stark?”
Ayana nodded. Of course he knew of her family. Why wouldn’t he? He was drilled in politics and histories. She should have thought of that before. She should have made up a better story, she should have given herself a different name.
   “So you, Ayana Snow,” he said and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You are a low born bastard-daughter of Karhold, you know how to read, you were trained by your less-than-warrior father and his bannermen. Your mother was named after Lady Stark,” Ayana’s lip trembled. “And you speak as if you were high-born. Would you care to explain? Or do I need to show you your Lady mother’s description in the book you know I have?”

Of course he knew. He could have decided to not let her explain. If she explained he might understand her and not send her straight back to her father and into the very violent arms of Dalton Greyjoy.

   “My name is Ayana Stark of Winterfell,” she said and looked at him. She expected to find him angry. She expected him to tell her to leave. He just stood in front of her and looked at her, no emotion whatsoever on his face. Ayana sat down on the bench and twirled the ring around her finger.
   “I know, you look  like your father, but you have your mothers wit. I read her description.” the Prince said and sat down on the bench next to her. “Why did you flee?”

   “I fled because my father wanted to marry me off to Dalton Greyjoy. I met him once when I was a child, I know his reputation, I know what he does to his other wives. I refused to let my father accept the betrothal. If he can’t find me he can’t marry me off.” Ayana began and tried not to shake. She had no idea what would happen next. If the Prince would have her sent back to Winterfell to be married off.
   “My father’s banners are sworn to Princess Rhaenyra. He is building her an army, marrying Dalton Greyjoy would secure him the Ironborn and their men. I tried to tell him that Westeros has never had a ruling Queen, and that this won’t happen without useless bloodshed. He told me to keep my mouth shut and accept the betrothal.”
   “And you refused?” The Prince finished.
   “I fled.”

The Prince said nothing. He sat next to her and stared at his feet. Ayana could see him think. His eye kept moving from one foot to the other, over and over again.
   “Will you send me back?” Ayana asked after a while when he still hadn’t spoken.
   “Why would I do that, Lady Stark?” his head rose and his violet eye flared.
   “He would pay you a fortune if you did, Dalton too. You’d be able to hire however many armies you’d need-”
   “The armies,” he chuckled. And then he laughed. Ayana gaped at him. She was terrified, and there he sat, laughing at her. She wanted to slap him. Just for the looming anxiety and the shivering.
   “You actually think that I would send you to the Greyjoy’s after getting you away from my brother? For gold and armies?”
Ayana rose from the bench, stepped in front of him and glared at him.
   “I don’t know! I have no idea what you would do! I don’t know you well enough to even presume what you would do in a situation like this. I am forever grateful to you for saving me that night, but other than that I have really no idea what you would think to do next!” her voice was harsher than she intended. The Prince straightened on the bench.

   “Who would be in charge of my household if I sent you back? Helaena likes you, you are good with the children. A fleeing Stark should not be sent back purely because her father has gold.” He said and rose. Her head reached his chin. He stood so close to her she could smell him. She smelled the dragonfire on his black tunic and took a step back.
   “You want me to stay here because I am good with the children?” She asked, brows furrowing. It made no sense. The Targaryen riches were well known, but they would never let a chance for more gold and more men pass them by.
   “I want you to stay here because you have no other place to go. Sweet Helaena said you smelled of wolf. You surely have the anger of one.”

Ayana kept her eyes on him as he walked past her heading for the door. He had almost reached the landing when he turned again.
   “If you fight as well as you scowl, Lady Stark, I’d like you to fight me sometime, to see just how good Rickon Stark’s master at arms is at war. I would like to know what to expect when his vast armies reach the Seven Gates.”
   “Thank you for the book, Aemond!” she yelled to the back of his head when he cleared the stairs and walked through the door.

Chapter Text

Aemond was intrigued. He had expected her to put up more of a fight. To deny her heritage through her teeth. He had originally thought she’d fled because she wanted an adventure. There were a great many things said about Rickon Stark that could be discussed and pulled apart as lies and slander, his expectations of his daughters were not one of them. They would be his legacy, and the Warden of the North would not have his bloodline ended just because he fathered daughters.
Rickon Stark had fathered many bastard sons, half the north were riddled with them. However, he only had two true-born children. Lyanna and her younger sister, Ayana. 

If the Warden of the North found a suitable husband for both of them, Lyanna and her husband would take control of Winterfell when he passed. Ayana would have to marry a lesser Lord and rule his household while he surely fathered bastards of his own.

Aemond scoffed. He walked back and forth in front of the fireplace with his hands behind his back. He needed to keep her here. He needed to figure out a way to get the Northern armies to support Aegon's claim to the throne. The Kingdom had never had a ruling Queen, there was no chance the smallfolk and the greater houses would all accept a Queen now if they hadn’t accepted Rhaenys during the Great Council.

If the scrolls Ayana kept by her bed were any indication she was close with her sister. If he got the sister to listen, the father could be dealt with later. How?
He had had a plan. He wanted to use her secret against her. He had wanted to force her to stay, to threaten her with sending her back if she refused. That was before he learned of Dalton Greyjoy. To send Ayana Stark into the arms of that maniac would be the same as knifing her down where she stood. 

Aemond sat down in a chair. He rubbed at his temples and tried to get his tired mind to focus. For him to manipulate said sister, Ayana needed to trust him enough to tell him more about her. He needed to know how to turn Lyanna Stark against her father before he did anything at all. If he got Lyanna to turn, Ayana and the armies would turn with her, regardless of Rickon’s scheming with the Grejoys and the bitch on Dragonstone. 

Aemond filled a goblet of wine but stopped with the wine halfway to his mouth. Political arrangements. Treaties. Plans. Marriages.
The goblet rattled on the table as the Prince lept from the chair, headed for the door and finally fell over when the door slammed shut. The deep red drops dripped all over the book chronicling the Stark histories and the lineages of the house. One single drop found its way to the somewhat accurate portrait of Ayana Stark, staining her pale face bloodred.

Aemond didn’t bother knocking. He simply strode through the open doors to his mother’s chamber and half expected her to be asleep.
The Queen sat in a high-backed chair by the window, twirling a strand of her auburn hair around her finger.
   “Mother,” Aemond had wanted to sound less panicked, but he couldn't control himself.
   “Aemond?” his mother turned in her chair at the sound of his hurried footsteps.
   “Are the children alright?” she asked with a sudden look of panic. Aemond just walked up to her, took a breath and grinned.
   “It’s her! The girl!”
   “What girl?”
   “Ayana, the serving girl I placed in charge of Helaena’s household, is the answer to everything. All of it.”

Alicent Hightower looked at him. The look she sent him told him she thought he was drunk, or mad. Possibly a bit of both. She cocked her head to one side and pointed at the velvet couch facing the fireplace.
   “Sit. Explain." 

Aemond sat down on the couch, his mother filled a goblet of wine and handed it to him. While he drank she simply placed herself back in her chair and folded her hands.
   “She is a Stark,” he began and found no surprise on the Queen’s face. “You knew.”
   “I knew the moment I saw her. I have seen Snows before, she isn’t a Snow. She may have fooled the others, but she can’t fool me. Why is she important?”
   “She is the key to the North. She is fleeing from the Greyjoys and her father. If we can get her to trust us, we can get her to support Aegon’s claim, the North will follow.” Aemond said and eyed his mother. She looked less than certain. She sat still for a long while, so much so that Aemond believed her to be ignoring him.
   “She has a sister. She is the key to the North, Aemond. The youngest has no rights. No station, she does not control the armies or her father. If anything, we should exchange her for her sister.”

Aemond scowled.
   “The sister will rule Winterfell, she will back Aegon’s claim if,” Aemond extended a hand and pointed a finger between himself and his mother “we entice her with a more suitable match. Who do you think Rickon Stark will persuade Grejoy to marry if he can't find Ayana? If Lyanna Stark marries Dalton Greyjoy their entire army will flee to Rhaenyra’s side. If we save Lyanna’s sister, promise her safety and protection, and then offer Lyanna the same terms she will agree.”

Aemond took a breath. It sounded insane. Completely insane. He had no way of giving protection, he had no idea what suitable matches existed for the Stark girl. None at all.
   “Hightower.” said Alicent and furrowed her brows.
   “What?”
   “My brother.” 

Aemond’s head stilled completely. Gwayne Hightower. He was ten years Lyanna’s senior, but she could do a lot worse. Gwayne was steadfast, honorable if not a little dull. Marrying the Queen’s brother would be more agreeable than marrying Dalton Greyjoy of Pyke.
   “Would he accept?”
Alicent laughed. Aemond knew she had no close relationship with her brother, she had spent some time with him when they were children, and he had fought for her in tourneys, still, Gwayne kept to himself and his duties, for all Aemond knew, he might have a wife already.
   “My cousin is the Lord of Oldtown, I am the Queen, what does Gwayne have? A position in the City Watch.” she said and straightened in the chair and looked at him with eyes that glowed.
   “The moment I tell him that Lyanna Stark wants to marry him and give him several Stark children he will be out of King’s Landing and I doubt we’ll see much of him. He is not in line to inherit a thing, marrying a Stark is all he can hope for with regards to his station.”

Aemond played with his wine. Slowly circling the liquid around in the golden goblet. If they got Gwayne to marry Lyanna, she would rule Winterfell and they would control the Northern armies, all the Stark bannermen would rather keep their promise to their Lord than to flock to the Greyjoys. There was only one slight problem-
   “Rickon Stark still lives,” Aemond said and emptied the goblet. 

   “Yes, he does. Old he may be, but he has lived through more death than he should. If war comes, and he is on the wrong side, with both his daughters married on our side, his allegiance may change.”
   “And if not?”
   “I do not think my brother would find it agreeable if Lord Stark decided to put his new wife and his goodsister in danger, do you?” She said simply and placed her hand under her chin.

   “And Ayana, who will marry her?”
   “You will. You will marry her for her sister's armies. You will marry her for her own safety and our continued survival. When the war comes, and when the North is ours, we will have the Lannister Fleet, the Tyrells, possibly the Baratheons of Storm’s End and every banner that is sworn to our House. I do not care what you have to do to get her to agree to this, but you will do it.”
   “If she refuses?” She had already refused one marriage, it was a truly terrible match and would make her life miserable-
   “What do you think she will choose? To be without a place to go until her father dies, or accept the silver spoon held out to her? Send a raven to Winterfell, ask for her hand. Lord Stark can either accept and watch his daughter become a Princess or he can deny, and still watch his daughter become a Princess,” Alicent Hightower rose from the chair and took Aemond’s goblet “from the Black Cells.”

Aemond Targaryen walked through the streets of King’s Landing as the sun crept up over the horizon. The cloak kept him hidden from prying eyes, it slid through dirt and grime as he set his sight on the Hill of Rhaenys. Send a raven. He refused to send a raven. Why send a raven when he had a dragon? The Starks of Winterfell had not seen a dragon fly over their lands since Queen Alysanne tried to cross the Wall.

If Vhagar circled the skies above their castle, Lord Stark would think twice about refusing him and his plans. Aemond worried about one thing, and one thing only. Ayana Stark. She had fought off his brother and broken his nose when she pretended to be a meek serving girl. If she found out he had interfered with her life, there was no telling what she would do. She would definitely be armed with more than a butter-knife. He needed to sway her before he told her. He needed to make her like him, and there was one thing Ayana Stark liked that he knew of, dragons.

If Vhagar couldn’t sway her, nothing would. Aemond refused to force her. If she didn’t want to, he wouldn’t make her. She’d probably murder him in his sleep. Wives had killed husbands before, their titles mattered little.
Lyanna would be his solution. Lyanna would help. If it was as he thought, that Lord Stark had given up on Ayana, and that he still needed armies, marrying off his heir to the Ironborn was his next move.

Aemond nodded to the single dragonkeeper outside the Dragonpit.
   “She is mean today, my Prince. Better watch her.” he said as Aemond passed him.
Aemond loved Vhagar. Deeply. He had never had the bond he had with her with anything. In the beginning he had been scared half to death by her. The night he claimed her he had thought he would die at least twice, but something in him kept pushing. In the years since her hearing had deteriorated and her mood grew fouler, still, her eyes still glinted when she saw him and she never refused a flight.

Aemond walked down into the bowels of the Pit with only a torch. He hummed to himself, and as soon as she heard his breathing the chains rattled.
In the beginning he had refused to chain her, but after several limbs had ended up in her den he’d seen reason. Dragonkeepers were far and few between, and they, unlike the prisoners from the Cells, were not expandable.
Vhagar’s golden eyes met him as he cleared the last corner. She should have been outside, open space would do her good. Keeping her down here made her mood even more foul. 

She sniffed him. Once. Twice. Aemond unfastened the chains from the wall and commanded her to follow.

The dragonkeeper had been right, she was mean. She snapped at his back when he led her from the Pit, and she only calmed down enough for him to command her further out when he promised her sheep. It was the only common tongue she knew.
He climbed up into her saddle just as the sun shone over the Dragon Pit and commanded her into the skies. They crossed over the Bay and turned to fly over the Crownlands. Several herds of sheep met their fiery demise in the Riverlands.

Her roar sent flocks of birds scurrying from bushes and towers, Aemond just laughed. At midday he flew her over Moat Cailin and the marshlands. When the war came, whoever turned out to be in charge of the Northern armies would have to seal off the North there. If the North could not be reached, it could not be taken. It would keep the battles south, and give them a fair chance. He didn’t give a shit about the Twins, the Frey’s were fickle. If they decided to mass to Rhaenyra’s side he’d let them. The Frey’s could never turn a war. The North would. The Starks would. 

Vhagar groaned as her bones adjusted to the movement, Aemond knew she was old, but he still admired her resilience. She had outlived every one of her riders, and she’d probably outlive him too. 

Aemond finally saw the massive granite walls encircling Winterfell in the distance, just as the winds threatened to rip him from the saddle. He landed Vhagar outside the east gate, and the tired roar she gave sent scores of Stark-men running to fetch their Lord. He climbed down off Vhagar’s back, and braced himself as she leapt to the skies and started circling the castle.

Aemond had just finished readjusting his cloak when the sound of armored feet met his ears. He lifted his head to find the gray, aging Lord Rickon Stark coming toward him.
Ayana did look like him. The eyes. Not quite green, and not gray. From the dark ends of the Lord’s hair Aemond surmised that it had once been deep brown or black. The haircolor had gone with the years, along with his posture. Rickon Stark was no longer the spry youth he had been, his gait was stocky, his face contorted by the exertion. His mother had been right. He was not dead yet-

   “Prince Aemond, I did not realize we were to expect you?” The Lord said and placed his watery eyes on Aemond’s Valyrian steel sword. 
   “I meant to send a raven, but my errand could not wait, my Lord, you have my apologies for any intrusion.” Aemond said politely, amused by the guards scrambling to their Lord’s side.
   “What brings you here, Prince?”
   “Your youngest daughter,” Aemond said and found his eyes. Aemond had seen plenty of angry men before, but none of them concealed it as terribly as Rickon Stark. The moment he understood Aemond was there for Ayana he tensed up, balled his hands into fists by his sides and scowled.
   “What about my daughter, has she finally seen reason and decided to come home to do her duty?”

Aemond wanted to laugh. The now very angry Lord Stark did not invite laughter. He simply stood where he was with the same scowl plastered on his wrinkly face, nearly hidden in the furs around his shoulders.
   “If she has seen reason can be debated, but she has decided to do her duty. She will marry.” Aemond said, drawing out his full meaning just to antagonize the already fuming Lord. If he decided to treat his own daughter's life as a game, Aemond would do the same to him.
   “Good. I will send for Lord Greyjoy immediately-”
   “You misunderstand me, she is to marry me.”

Rickon Stark gaped. Vhagar circled above his towers, and a Targaryen Prince had just asked for his daughter's hand. Well, asked.. Not so much.
   “You? What do you have to offer her that Greyjoy doesn’t?”
   “Father, what is-”

The tall woman who came up next to him stopped speaking in the middle of her step. Her foot hit the ground with a soft thud, she bowed her head and her father just sighed.
   “My heir, Lyanna,” he said and looked at her.
   “I know. Your sister speaks of you,” Aemond said and bowed his head. If he was to make an impression, he better start quickly.
   “Is she alright?” Her eyes grew full of worry and Aemond almost felt sorry for her.
   “She is to marry him he says, he comes here with his dragon, and doesn’t even ask-” Rickon mumbled to his daughter. Lyanna kept staring at Aemond. Her hair shone in the light from the sun, sending a warm red glow across her face.
   “As for your question, about what I have to offer that Greyjoy does not,” Aemond continued and shifted his weight “I have the crown on my side, I have several armies at my back, I am currently the rider of the largest dragon in the world, and I do not have a habit of beating my wives to death.” His voice was low and dark. Lyanna gaped, her kind eyes widened in shock.
   “Has he beaten his wives to death? You would willingly let Ayana-”

   “Silent!”
   “I assure you, Lady Stark, Lord Greyjoy has more wives than he needs, and none of them are treated kindly. Surely what I offer is the better option for your sister.” Ameond said and moved his gaze to her. Lyanna was visibly upset, it became clear to him that their father had kept very quiet about what exactly went on at Pyke Castle.
   “You want to buy her then?” Rickon Stark said and eyed him from deep within his furs. He was shaking, the redness had moved to his cheeks, he stared at Aemond with trembling jowls.
   “I beg your pardon?”
   “I am in need of armies, Prince, I am sworn to Princess Rhaenyra, as is my House. Everything I do now is for her. What do you have besides a usurping, drunken cunt of a brother and a scheming mother? The moment the King dies and I will gladly send my men to fight and die for her, if it keeps your blood off the Throne. Take your fucking scheming somewhere else, I-”
   “Keep your mouth shut!” Lyanna Stark placed a hand on her fathers chest and blocked Aemond’s view. He found his hand hovering over his sword and wondered exactly how close he had come to cut down the Warden of the North. Lyanna whispered to her father, Aemond could hear her hissing voice desperately trying to make the fool keep his wits.
Aemond was running out of time.

   “Lord Stark, you are too young to remember Maegor Targaryen, I take it?” the insult struck. Rickon Stark moved his head from behind his daughter and snarled. “You have heard the stories, no doubt. The stories of what happened at Harrenhal and the fate of the Harroways? I swear to you, if you refuse me now I will return with dragons and an army and I will make your seat a second Harrenhal. What you have already said is treason enough. For the sake of your daughters, do not go further.”

Lyanna Stark moved. She moved in front of her father and extended her arms. She protected him. She would protect him with her life.
   “I bid you remember, that in King Maegor ran the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, the same blood runs in me. Refuse me again, and I will have your head.” Aemond’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the color that drained from Lord Stark’s face told him enough. 

Aemond turned on his heel and left the Lord by his gates. He hadn’t planned on a war with the man, however, wars had been fought over brides before. If this is what he needed to do to make the Starks turn, he would do it.
He kept walking away from the eastern gate, Vhagar spotted him from above and followed. He needed to keep his wits, he wasn't entirely sure if he had left it all back in his mother’s chambers. Antagonizing the Starks was never the plan, but the Lord’s incessant insults had annoyed him. He was lucky he kept his head.

   “Prince Aemond! Wait, please?” The voice reminded him of her. Lyanna ran over the muddy plain and stopped a few feet away from him.

   “I apologize for my father's reckless outburst, I won’t make excuses for him. I am sorry.” she said and kept her eyes firmly on his boots. She hid her ferocity with the same amount of skill as her sister. None at all.
   “I did antagonize him on purpose. I wanted to push him, I apologize for whatever troubles this will bring you, Lady Stark.” Aemond had just realized that she would have to deal with the aftermath of his rage.
   “Is it true? She is to marry you?” she asked, finally looking at him.
   “Yes,” he said, simply, waiting for the rest of her words.
   “I will have to marry him then, to appease my father?” she said, and Aemond felt a small knot somewhere in his chest. She would marry Greyjoy regardless of what he had said about him?
   “There was a second reason for my coming here,” Aemond said and took a step toward her. He had expected her to move back, but she stayed. Aemond extended a hand but thought better of himself. When his hand dropped she met his eye.
   “Gwayne Hightower has asked for your hand.” Not entirely true, but not false either.
   “Hightower?” Lyanna’s face scanned his own. She was clever, that much was true. Her eyes kept darting back and forth and she furrowed her brows.
   “My uncle on my mother’s side,” Aemond said, knowing full well she knew who he was. Lyanna was thinking. He could see it all over her, she was starting to piece things together. If she married Gwayne, she would be safer with him. Dalton Greyjoy would only be a threat in the war, she would not have to endure life on the Iron Islands and neither would her sister, instead she’d live at the Keep, with Ayana, far from their controlling father.

   “I accept,” Lyanna said suddenly, finding his eye again. There was something else there. Something she hadn’t said. “If he asks me himself. I will deal with my father.”
   “That can be arranged. I will send for him as soon as possible.”

Aemond chuckled under his breath. To get Gwayne to go north and ask for her hand was the least troublesome part. To get Ayana to accept this, would be worse.
   “I apologize again for the fright, Lady Stark.” Aemond said by way of departure and headed down the muddy road.
   “One more thing, my Prince,”
She was persistent. He’d give her that. Aemond turned to face her, and found himself to be tired of the North already. Cold, inhospitable and bleak.
   “My father whispered something to me, before,” she said and twirled a golden ring around one of her fingers.
   “Which was?”
Lyanna Stark, heiress to Winterfell and eldest daughter of the Warden of the North took a breath. It looked like the thought strained her deeply. When she finally spoke Aemond just nodded. He thanked her again for her compliance and went to track down Vhagar. 

He reached King’s Landing by nightfall. Soon after he was back pacing in his rooms. The fire crackled away behind him as he poured over the Stark histories. Lyanna had been right. He still heard her whispering voice in his head. It refused to leave him.

“ My father bid the Prince remember that the blood of Maegor the Cruel also runs through the veins of Rhaenyra Targaryen.” 

Chapter Text

Aemond spent the next two days avoiding his intended bride. For the most part because he had no idea how to begin explaining himself to her, but also because he had now realized how she was treated in Winterfell

The rage in her fathers eyes had cleared up more than a few things. As for Lyanna Stark, Aemond had sent a raven to Gwayne Hightower explaining the situation. The raven that returned the next morning contained the smallest scroll the Prince had seen in his life. The crumpled parchment only contained one single line, scrawled in a hurry and with a quill sharp enough to poke holes through it.

“It shall be done, my Prince. Give my best to your mother.”

After briefly speaking to his mother to inform her of her brother's reply he strode out of the room before the Queen had a chance to ask about the raven he had supposedly sent to Winterfell. What she didn’t know, would not hurt her. He didn’t find it necessary to recount the almost-decapitation and the insults.
The sun was setting when Aemond walked out into the courtyard, much to his surprise the yard wasn’t empty.
She wore a pair of simple brown trousers and a tunic that was too big for her. She had rolled the excess sleeves up to her elbows.
Ayana was circling a straw target shaped like a soldier. The straw stuck out of holes in the leather armor it was clad in. Aemond raised an eyebrow.

Ayana kept circling the target, eyes fixed on its chest. She moved her left foot back, angled her dagger straight forward and charged. She kept her left shoulder pulled back as she attacked, the dagger stabbing its way through the worn leather, pieces of straw flurrying all around her, catching in her hair.

He noticed her cheek then. It had healed, just like he’d told her, but her skin still had three slightly red, jagged lines running from the corner of her mouth and up towards her ear. They wound fade with time, but she would carry the trauma for the rest of her life. Now, here he was about to make her a pawn yet again, after saving her from becoming one in the North.

He debated telling her right then and there, just to feel her rage and see how she reacted. He had to tell her before Lyanna did. There was no way Lyanna would marry a Hightower without telling her sister, and Aemond knew that telling her not to send a raven to her sister would seem very suspicious. He had less than a week to make her fall for him, to make her care for him in a way that made her less reluctant to murder him in his sleep. 

   “Do you need anything, my Prince?” Ayana asked from the middle of the courtyard when she spotted him. Aemond chuckled. He did need just anything. He needed her .
   “I want you to fight something else than straw,” he said and reached for his sword.
   “Like what?” the smirk she sent him made his eye flare. 
   “I told you I wanted to know how good your father’s master at arms is at playing war. Indulge me, Lady Stark.” 

Daggers wouldn’t do, no matter how efficiently she cut the target to pieces. He made her walk to the armory to get a proper sword. Much to his shock she came back with a sword, and her dagger.
   “The dagger stays, unless you’d like to take it yourself, my Prince.” she said and bowed her head slightly.
   “As you wish, my Lady.” He said and moved. 

Her sword clanged against his the moment they met. She kept her knees slightly bent, weight placed evenly and left shoulder pulled back. She had no discernible patterns, but yet, she was predictable.
   “You drop your shoulder every time you strike, Ayana.” he said and parried the dagger inches from his middle, he stepped around her, angled his sword mid-move and aimed for her stomach. The blade wasn’t sharp enough to slice her, but it would hurt. She dropped her shoulder again and spun away from his strike. 

He had, however, noticed that she kept her left side open to attack every time she turned and he decided to use that to his advantage. He gave her absolutely no respite as he lunged for her again. She met him halfway and raised her sword, keeping her left arm behind her back. She quickly stepped around him and hooked her foot around his leg.
Aemond fell, grabbed a hold of her wrist on his way down and dragged her with him as the dust settled. Ayana’s dagger pointed at his neck. She had her chin placed on his shoulder, keeping the hilt of the dagger hidden with her head. There was no way for him to reach it. 

   "Dead!" she stated and let the dagger fall. She smiled as she rose from him. She was about to walk away when he lunged for her leg and dragged her back down beside him.
   "Who trained you?" he asked, he had not given her everything he had, he mostly paid attention to her footwork, if he had been in full armor she would have struggled more getting him off his feet. Yet, the feat was impressive. 

   "I told you, my fathers master at arms." she said, looking at him curiously.
   "Who else?" he continued, not believing she had learnt it all from one man, her movements were all composed of different tactics. There was fluidity to her and the choices she made, yet her movements were pieced together like a puzzle. Some tactics from this master and some from another.

When she didn’t reply he rose from the ground. He had figured her out before, he would do so again. No need to push her further.

   “Now, drop the cheating. Fight me to win, Lady. Tripping people over will most likely not help you in battle, seeing as everyone will be armored and armed to the teeth.”
Ayana grinned at him. She was playing, she was having fun. The thought was not completely lost on him, he did enjoy this. Fighting her, seeing her actively try to defend herself with more than a bent butterknife. 

He kept parrying her advancing attacks, and as he moved around her he noticed she picked up on his patterns. He kept his blind side protected at all times, always keeping his sword between himself and her, making her think differently, he knew his disadvantage. He’d known the moment he came back to Keep after losing his eye that training would be different from then on. Ser Cole had drilled him relentlessly making him remember his weakness, if a slash came at him from his blind side the attacker would aim for his throat and he would be dead in seconds.

Instead of keeping himself open to attack he moved constantly, he parried the strokes he could see, learned to read his opponent to figure out how to parry the strikes he couldn’t. Keeping her on his right side was a necessity. Every time she moved to get around him he counterattacked to keep her where she was, never letting her advance unless he was prepared for it. 

And by the Gods, did it annoy her. She seemed to understand her evasive actions wouldn’t work on him. It made her angry. Her pale eyes flared the moment her steel hit.

Ayana screamed. He had a moment's notice before she flexed her hand and flung her dagger directly at his face. Aemond raised his sword, swiped the blade in front of him and ducked. The dagger flew too fast. Evade or bleed.
He placed a hand on the ground to steady himself when she came at him. This time, he was ready. Her breathing revealed her.

Aemond dropped his sword, hovered a hand over the dagger in his belt and drew it. In one swift motion he rose from the ground and placed his left forearm across her chest. He pushed her backwards against the wall behind her and saw the pure adrenaline dissipate from her face.
   “Excellent effort, but now you’re dead, Lady Stark,” he said and kept an even pressure on the dagger pointed at the spot between her neck and shoulder.
   “So are you, Prince,” she said and looked down. Aemond felt the tip of her own dagger on the inside of his thigh. She moved the blade to right above his knee, slid her hand an inkling to the right and grinned.
   “If I slice you here,” she pressed the tip of the dagger through his trousers and slightly into his flesh to illustrate her point “you will bleed out before you can scowl again.”
   “Except,” he replied and pushed his own dagger “you would be dead.”
   “That entirely depends on the situation, my Prince,” she continued and removed her dagger from his leg.
   “Does it?” he questioned and let his arm fall slightly from her chest. He could feel her heart beat faster every time he spoke. Every time her eyes found him her heart seemed to beat faster.
   “It does.” she finished and ducked under the arm he still held against her. 

Aemond smiled at her back. The tunic swished when she walked, the sleeves had fallen over her hands and he chuckled. If she was to fight he’d have to find her proper armor. Fighting in clothing that didn't fit was a sure way to be killed.

When he sheathed his weapons an idea rang through his mind like a bell.
   “Lady Stark?” he said and waited for her to turn. When she didn't he called her name.
   “Yes, Prince Aemond?” she replied when she got to the stairs, sword still in hand and her back to him.
   “Meet me here at dawn. Wear a warm cloak, I have something to show you.”

Aemond had noticed her heartbeat. It was not rooted in any feeling of terror he knew that much. She felt safe enough with him to walk away while he spoke. He should have taken it as an insult, but a part of him liked it. She knew her own station, the only thing separating them was a title. The near silent, murmuring serving girl had died beneath the weirwood. He was glad of it. 

He would take her flying at dawn, when the air was cold enough to enjoy it. He hadn’t planned it, but her heartbeat told him that if he was to make more of an impression it had to be now. He had the one thing she had never seen.

Aemond drank his wine and poured over old maps. The Riverlands were out of the question, Vhagar devouring several herds of sheep told him he should stay clear of it. The Crownlands, too familiar, unless-
His finger stopped at Crackclaw Point. Dragonstone. His father still lived, so flying to the Dragonmont would not be an act of war, unless he lost his head. If he had gone by himself he most likely would have, but with Ayana he could not afford mistakes. 

Aemond exited the Keep just as the skies started turning from black to gray. He had made several arrangements for her, she’d at least be appreciative of two of them. He couldn’t be sure of the third, time would tell.
He had barely sat down on the steps of the Keep when rustling caught his ear.

Ayana came walking around Maegor’s Holdfast, clad in a woolen cloak. Her hair was braided neatly down her back, the end of it reached her waist. She still wore the trousers, but this time the tunic had gone. Instead she wore a simple linen shirt, buttoned at her throat. She pulled the cloak tighter around her as the winds picked up.
   “I am here, what did you want to show me, Prince?” she asked, she hadn’t slept a moment. Her face was drawn, eyes watery and bleak. She’d been in the Godswood. She must have. Speaking to her mother he presumed.
   “You will like it, follow me, and try not to look suspicious.”

   “Are you actually serious?” she said half an hour later standing in front of the Dragon Pit. Staring into the gathering darkness, eyes still adjusting to the sparse light. 
   “Yes,” he said for the tenth time. Why was this strange to her? Helaena had practically told her to ask him.
   “Flying? Now?”
   “Mhm. Wait here.”

Vhagar greeted him with a growl.
   “Māzīs!” he said and waited for her to look at him. Come.
She did as instructed. She clawed her way out from her den, sending sheep skulls and wool flying.
   “Gevī, Vhagar.” Good, Vhagar.

She didn’t snap at him this time, instead he noticed her flaring nostrils and the rhythmic swishing of her tail. She smelled something. Ayana. She wasn’t used to her scent. Aemond was glad he told her to wait outside, bringing her down here would have been a bad idea. When Vhagar cleared the Pit he found her standing against the wall. Waiting.

Aemond placed a hand on Vhagar’s jaw, stared into her eyes and begged her to be civil. She understood some of the common tongue but he could never truly know if she’d ignore him.
   “Ayana, come.” he reached out a hand to Lady Stark and watched her walk tentatively across the sandy ground. She kept her eyes firmly on his dragon, each of her claws the size of Ayana’s arm.
   “What do I do?” she whispered when she reached him. Aemond simply took her hand and placed it next to his.
   “You do nothing. If she doesn’t like you, you’ll know.” She would know. She’d die. 

Aemond continued speaking to Vhagar. Kept his voice low and melodic, repeating every calming command he knew, and when he thought Ayana to be safe he let his hand fall.
   “Grab the ropes, keep your grip no matter what she does.” he said and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Give me your foot.” 

Ayana didn’t protest. She placed her foot in his waiting hand and grabbed onto the ropes hanging off Vhagar’s body. Climbing it would take less than a minute if she was quick. Aemond grabbed the ropes when she was halfway up, still repeating commands. He wasn’t too scared for her, but he had never once taken another person with him for a flight. Vhagar was bound to have had non-valyrians on her back before, but it had been decades. 

Ayana shook slightly when he reached her. Of course she would. No Stark he knew of had ever ridden a dragon.
   “And now, Prince?” she said and looked at him as he placed himself behind her in the saddle, wrapping an arm around her waist to steady her.
   “Wrap your legs around mine, try to shift your weight, make yourself as heavy as you can.” he explained while reaching for the chains. He usually kept them off, Vhagar knew him. She did not know her, not yet. Aemond reached around Ayana’s middle, moved the heavy chains across her lap and once around her waist. He pulled on them to tighten them before he secured them in the rings connected to the saddle.
   “Now, we fly.” He said and grabbed the ropes. “Sōvēs, Vhagar!” Fly, Vhagar. 

Vhagar leapt to the skies with a roar, Ayana’s screams drowned out by the noise. Aemond felt her shake. He felt the muscles in her entire body tense as the Dragon Pit disappeared below them. He moved the ropes to his left hand, placed his right around her middle and moved his head to her ear.
   “Breathe,” he said and waited for the initial shock to leave her. 
He felt her relax a moment later, and her shaky breath mingled with the fog.
   “Good, if you look down, you’ll see the city.” he said and nudged her with his thigh. Not in any of the seven hells would she look down. She kept her eyes closed, leaning her back against his chest, hands firmly gripping his thighs.
   “Ayana, open your eyes. Now!”

Ayana opened her eyes and screamed. He had thought it to be terror, but when she laughed he found himself laughing with her. She kept staring at the lands below them, streams, rivers and houses moving at a rapid pace. She moved her right hand from his thigh and placed it on Vhagar’s scaly hide.
   “She feels so warm,” she said and kept touching her.
   “It’s the fire,” he said. The older the dragons got, the hotter they burned. It was said that Balerions flames burnt black, hot enough to decimate entire stone castles.
   “How do you ever do anything else, if this is how it feels to fly?” she said, moving her hand back to his thigh. The warmth from Vhagars hide heated him. Suddenly, all that mattered to him was her. Ayana. Her hands on him. The smile that lit her face, and the small glow he noticed in her eyes.
   “For a long time, this was all I did. My mother threatened to chain me to a wall to make me stop flying. According to her, I had already paid enough and she refused to let me end my life for Vhagar too.”
   “Your eye?”
   “Yes.”
   “What happened?”

Aemond debated not telling her. He debated just waving it off as a story everyone knew. When he spoke she tensed up again. He told her about his father, telling him that if he wanted a dragon he could go and claim one. Aemond had. He had found Vhagar on the sands.
He had claimed her, for himself. If his cousin so dearly wanted her mother’s dragons he should have claimed her first. Dragons were not passed down from parent to child.

When he got to the knifing he left in the part about the rock. He had been angry. They had attacked him first and he defended himself. Lucerys screamed, threw sand in his face and attacked.

Aemond still remembered the pain. The warm, throbbing pain as his skin split and his eye stopped seeing. He remembered the feeling of blood running over his hands as he desperately tried to get up from the ground.
   “Sharply questioned..” he ended.
   “Torture?” she asked, her hand had left his thigh. She kept it by her own throat. “She wanted to have you tortured because you called her sons bastards?”
   “Yes.”

He watched her. Her face fell, her eyes moved back and forth, she was thinking.
   “Valyrian blood holds precedence,” she said, moving her hand back from her throat. “They are not pale haired, nor do they have violet eyes. According to the Queen, her children by Prince Daemon look Valyrian. Even Ser Laenor looked Valyrian despite Lord Corlys’s bloodline being only partly of Valyrian descent.” 

Aemond chuckled. It had taken Ayana Stark two minutes to arrive at this conclusion. She had never seen the Princess or her husband. She had never seen the Velaryons either, and she still didn’t believe the bastards to be Laenor’s.
The fact that Rhaenyra Targaryen herself had Valyrian blood made the children even more strange. Why didn’t her blood take precedence?  

   “That’s the Dragonmont!” Ayana yelled when the dark mountain finally appeared on the horizon.
   “It’s a volcano, it's riddled with caves. Most of the dragons dwell there. The untamed ones too, in caves in the mountainside.” Aemond said and grinned at her excited expression.
   “The Cannibal?”
   “He has his lair on the western side of the mountain, by the shoreline. The keepers let him be by himself. Antagonizing him usually results in missing limbs and bloodshed. According to the author of the book I gave you, his caves are riddled with dragon skulls and broken eggs.”
   “If I had Valyrian blood I would claim him.” Ayana said and kept her eyes placed on the smoking mountain as Aemond turned Vhagar to the left and headed back to the Keep.
   “Dragons have been claimed by non-Valyrians before. It’s rare, but it does happen.” 

Aemond kept his wits on the way back to the Pit. If he told her now she’d rage at him until they landed, and then she’d storm off. He needed to choose the opportune moment carefully.
Her hands kept heating him. Her grip tightened every time Vhagar dipped in the skies. Aemond had an idea.

He placed the ropes back in his left hand and snaked his right arm over her shoulder and across her chest. While doing that he simply let his hand fall to the pane of her stomach-
He smirked. Her heart definitely raced. He moved a finger, slowly- slowly moving across her stomach in circles. Her heart thumped against his lower arm. If this is how she felt when he touched her, the rest of his plan would go swimmingly. 

The Dragonkeeper leapt away as Vhagar landed right next to him an hour later. Ayana carefully climbed down the ropes, eyes fixed on Vhagar’s, scanning for every possible scenario. When nothing happened she let go of the ropes and slid the rest of the way down. She hit the ground with a soft thud, walked over to the wall and promptly sat down, legs shaking.
Aemond reached up and placed a hand on Vhagar’s nose.
   “Gevī, Vhagar.” Good, Vhagar.

He left Vhagar in the Dragonkeeper’s care and walked over to the somewhat tousled girl on the ground.
   “Was this too much for you?” he asked and extended a hand to her.
   “Not at all, my Prince.” she said and rose, taking his hand and pulling herself up. “I have never been in the skies in my life, I am a little bit dizzy that’s all.” she said and tried to find a fixed point to put her eyes on. He could see them moving around in her head. He remembered the dizziness well. 

   “This seems like the opportune moment to tell you that my mother arranged new quarters for you. You will be staying in the same wing as Helaena and the children, seeing as they still need you.” he began and found the shock on her face amusing.
   “Did you really think I’d let you sleep in a cot in a cold hallway forever?” he questioned and placed a hand on her cheek. He had expected her to shy away from it, but she didn't. She just looked at him, the beginnings of a smile curling one side of her lip. Aemond moved his thumb across her cheekbone, over the marks from his brother's hand.
   “You are safe here, Ayana. You will be treated as a guest, no more serving duties. Consider this as me relieving you of your obligations, unless you want to do them. I won’t stop you, as I said, the children still want you to visit.”

If Aemond Targaryen hadn’t been out of breath already he would have lost whatever was left of it.
Ayana smiled at him, reached up on her toes, placed a hand on his scarred cheek, swiftly moved her head over to his right side and kissed his cheek.
   “Thank you, Aemond. For the flight and the accommodations.” 

Chapter Text

When she came back to the Keep at midday, Talya found her gathering her belongings in the servants corridor.
   “Lady Stark is it?” she mused and started folding Ayana’s worn gray blanket.
   “The title of Lady is usually reserved for my sister,” Ayana said and gathered the scrolls from between the wall and her cot.
   “But a Stark you are nonetheless,” she insisted and looked at her.
   “Who told you?” Ayana questioned and placed the small scrolls on top of the folded blanket.
   “I am handmaiden to the Queen, she told me. For the life of me I can't understand why you didn’t tell me?”
   “I didn’t trust you enough to tell you, Talya,” Ayana said and took her hand. Talya placed her blue eyes on her, still carrying the worry from their conversation in the kitchens.
   “I understand you, girl. I just wish you had told me, we would never have sent you to see the Prince if we had known.” her face fell. Ayana found herself hoping that Prince Aegon actually knew who he had assaulted. It wouldn’t scare him, but it would make him think twice about doing it again, if she was lucky.

Ayana still hadn’t quite wrapped her mind around the last few hours. She had trained with him like he asked. She had given everything she had, despite being tired and worn. There was no way she’d beat him in a real fight, but it was fun to try. She had seen something on his face when he pushed her against the wall, and then she’d felt it. His arm was loosely placed across her chest until her heart beat faster, when it did he had leaned more into her, placing more weight on her. He had done the same thing in the skies, as though he was checking if her heart reacted to him.

It had. She was sure of it. She’d tried to pass it off as excitement, partly because she had understood she didn’t need to hide and partly because she was riding a dragon. When his hand accidentally drifted over her stomach her heart had jumped so far up her throat she could have tasted it.  

She had begrudgingly dragged her mind away from the feeling of his hand and to the Cannibal. She wanted nothing more than to see him, to actually, properly see him. And yet, when the Prince removed his hand she felt cold. 

When she shakily sat down with her back to the walls of the Pit she had thought she was going to throw up. Her head spun so fast she struggled to see straight. The ground kept spinning and she struggled to find a spot to place her eyes, if only to regain a semblance of control over herself.

Prince Aemond had extended a hand to help her and she’d taken it. The feeling of his skin against hers made her heart speed up more than usual. She was being stupid. She only felt gratitude. Nothing else. He had saved her from a potentially lethal situation and then done his best to make her feel okay. There couldn’t be anything else there. Simple gratitude. 

Then he had told her she was safe, didn’t have to tire herself out working for his family and given her her own chambers. He had smiled. The smile had damned her. Completely taken away her critical thinking. She kissed his cheek.
When she heard his breath hitch she had believed him to be shocked. Shocked by her complete lack of decorum-

   “If you stare any harder at the wall, the bricks will fall out.” Talya said from behind her and Ayana realized she had been speaking to her. 
   “Sorry, did you say something?” she said, trying to get her eyes to focus on the face beside her.
   “I asked if you needed help carrying your belongings to the Princess’ wing, or if you’d be okay on your own?” Talya repeated and pointed at the cot, covered in blankets, scrolls and clothing.
   “I can manage by myself, thank you Talya.”

Her new room was the size of the children's room, at the end of their hall. She knew the Prince had had something to do with the location when she looked through the windows. The three windows overlooked the Godswood and the Weirwood. In front of the windows was a desk made of dark wood with an accompanying high-backed chair. 

The rest of the room was sparsely furnished, a simple low table surrounded by a couch and a chair in front of an unlit fireplace. A small bookshelf taking up half of the wall next to the bed.
She had never been happier in her life to see a bed. If she laid down and stretched out her arms her wrists hung over each side.
Ayana giggled happily to herself as her head hit the soft pillows.

If she needed a bath she was to fetch Talya, she’d have a tub brought in for her. Ayana debated it, just to get the sweat of training and the smell of dragon off her clothes, but as soon as she turned over on her side she fell asleep.

For the first time in a long while she dreamt of nothing. Her mind let her rest, and the sun kept moving its way across the horizon. The birds landing on her windowsill looking for crumbs just sat there, looking at the sleeping Stark in the bed that was too big for her.

The birds took off from the windowsill, flew through the Weirwood and sent a few leaves floating to the ground, where they landed on the benches, seemingly painting the white marble red. 

Ayana awoke to a small hand pulling hers. She opened her eyes to find Princess Jaehaera staring at her, tugging on one of her fingers.
   “Wake up?”
   “Princess?” Ayana replied groggily and moved her legs over the side of the bed. “Do you need anything?” She looked around the room for her favorite candied fruit, the Princess usually scoured the vacant rooms for more candy if she was unsupervised.
   “Follow me,” she insisted and kept pulling on Ayana’s hand.

Ayana got up from the bed, ran a hand hastily through her hair. Most of it had fallen out of the braid and kept tickling her neck. Princess Jaehaera gave no indication of hurry as she walked beside Ayana through the Keep and down the stairs to the back gardens.
   “Where are we going, Princess?” Ayana asked and followed her down the path to Princess Helaena’s garden. She had just finished drying the sleep from her eyes when she spotted Prince Aemond sitting beneath a tree, back resting against the trunk of it. He was reading.

   “I found her!” Princess Jaehaera exclaimed and let go of Ayana’s hand.
   “I told you not to wake her if she was sleeping, little Princess,” the Prince scolded lightly and shook his head.
“She wasn’t asleep when she woke up!” the little Princess argued and ran down the hill to her waiting brother.

   “I am sorry if she woke you.” Aemond said and closed his book. He couldn’t have slept much either. He looked so tired.
   “The Princess was right, I was in fact not asleep when I woke up,” Ayana said and laughed.
   “She can be very persistent, my niece.” He said and smiled. Ayana cleared the distance between them and sat down next to him.
   “Did you need me for anything, my Prince?” she asked and looked at him. He did look tired, even more so up close. His face was drawn, the dark circle under his eye told her he must have been up the entire previous night.
   “I wanted to ask you how you found your new room, to your liking I hope? And for the sake of continuity, you can call me Aemond when we’re alone. I really don’t mind.”
   “The room is perfect, I sat down on the bed, then I tried the pillows, and you know the rest.” she nodded in the general direction of the squealing Princess Jaehaera “Thank you, Aemond.” she added as an afterthought. 

   “Anything has to be better than the cot I suspect. Are you still ill from the ride?”
   “Thankfully no, the world has stopped spinning and as much as I loved it, I am glad to be back on the ground.” Ayana said and looked at the book he was reading.
   “Why are you reading about my family?” She asked when she noticed the engraved direwolf on the leather. She had been through that book so many times back in Winterfell she practically knew it by heart. It began at the beginning, with the Age of Heroes and the Kings of Winter and their subsequent repelling of wildlings.
   “General curiosity,” Aemond replied and opened the book. “Do you want to know what it says about you?” he asked and kept the book out of her reach when she extended a hand.
   “I know what it says about me, I’ve read it a thousand times!” she said and kept reaching for the book. 

Aemond cleared his throat, rose from the grass and read
   “Ayana Stark, born in the 109th year after Aegon’s Conquest. Dark of hair with fair eyes. She has a great interest in dragons, and attacking princes with knives. When she isn’t breaking princely noses she finds herself in the yard attacking defenseless straw dummies with daggers. Dragons make her laugh and sneaking little royal children lemon candies is considered among her favorite things.”  

Ayana laughed. A true laugh all the way from her stomach.
   “Absolutely not!” she said and rose to get the book. Aemond kept evading her, looking at her as she leapt for him
   “She also likes to argue with other Princes before ultimately tripping-”

He grabbed her by her elbow just as her foot caught on a root “over roots.” he finished and helped her upright.
   “Fair enough. I do enjoy supplying them with endless candies,” she admitted. “You can try stopping them when they look at you with their doe-eyes.”
   “I never stop them, much to their mother’s annoyance I’m afraid.” he said and let go of her arm. 

Ayana stood and watched the children with him. They kept running around the trees, catching each other and taking turns. She had absolutely no idea what he was doing and why he was making her laugh. She liked it, yes, but he was a Prince. She was meant to laugh at his jokes, if she didn’t she’d offend. 

Princess Jaehaera ran away from her brother and hid behind Aemond’s back.
   “I think he’s tired, Princess.” Aemond said and lifted her up. “Let him stay by himself for a little while, and he might play more later.”

The Princess reached out a hand over Aemond’s shoulder and grabbed the end of Ayana’s braid.
   “Pretty,” she said and her eyes sparked. “Can you braid mine, please?”

Aemond eyed her from the side, and Ayana nodded.
   “I can, would you like a regular one or one of those fancy ones your mother wears?”
   “Fancy, after you can braid him,” she said and pointed at her uncle. Ayana blushed slightly, but nodded again.
   “If the Prince finds that agreeable I will,” she said and extended her hands for the Princess when Aemond let go of her. She sat back down on the grass, her back to the tree and placed the Princess between her legs.

She carefully combed her hands through Princess Jaehaera’s hair and untangled the knots before she began splitting it into sections. Braiding it went like a dream, the soft strands twisted around her fingers and ran through them like water. She started at the front, braiding the hair into a crown, moving it around her head and securing it at the end with a short leather strap. Ayana eyed the white flowers growing by the base of the tree, took two of them and stuck the stem of them through the braided crown.
   “There, a braided crown, with some flowers for additional beauty.” Ayana said and smiled as the Princess reached up to touch it.
   “Thank you, Ayana,” she sing-songed quietly and moved over to show her uncle.
   “Beautiful!” he said and kissed her cheek.
   “Now, your turn.” She said and reached a hand up behind his head to pull at the leather strap that kept half his hair up.
   “Would you like a regular one, or a fancy one, Prince Aemond?” Ayana asked and grinned at him.

The Prince settled on the regular one, to keep his general princeliness, he said. Ayana half debated ignoring him and getting some flowers for him too, but ultimately decided against it despite the Princess’ pleading. She soon ran to join her brother and Ayana was left alone with the Prince.
   “Do you actually want a braid?” Ayana asked and eyed him.
   “I fear if you don’t we will have to deal with my disappointed niece.” he replied and turned his back to her.

Ayana had never seen his hair fully down. It reached the middle of his back, swaying lightly in the breeze.
She combed her fingers through his hair, beginning at his forehead. The eye-patch would become an issue-
   “The eye-patch?” she asked not knowing if she should ask him to remove it or not.
   “It stays.”

Ayana separated his hair into three sections at the nape of his neck. It smelled like she did, of dragon and dust. She kept thinking about it as she braided. He seemed less serious now. He spoke more and he engaged her in conversation. This had all happened over a span of three days, seemingly out of nowhere. The Queen also knew she was a Stark, he must have told her. He had arranged new quarters for her, made her a guest and still, he spent time with her. Time he probably should spend doing other things.

His change in demeanor confused her. Simply because she was a Stark he now laughed with her? Trained with her? Took her for flights? Braiding?

It felt like a lie. Something was going on. She had no idea what she had missed. Why she’d become so wrapped up in that made her miss the signs. Everything pointed towards a scheme. Ayana dropped his hair.
   “Ayana?” Aemond turned to look at her, his eye narrowed when she looked at him. She scanned his face, looking for any signs of manipulation.
   “Am I here because the Queen refuses to send me to Winterfell because she knows my father is allying with the Ironborn and Princess Rhaenyra? Does my being here make them less likely to ally because he doesn’t have a daughter to-” Ayana rose from the grass, stopped speaking and ran. 

Lyanna. Ayana ran through the Keep, she ran past several startled serving girls before she leapt down the stairs, went through the yard, headed left to the rookery and grabbed the first man she could find.
He turned around and stared at her, her panting breaths obscured her words, and he angrily ripped his arm away from her grip.
   “I am so sorry, has a raven arrived for me from Winterfell in any of the past three days?” she breathed, becoming increasingly aware of the state she was in.
   “Stark.” He said and turned to the small table he stood next to.
   “Yes.” she said and tried to calm her breathing. If Lyanna hadn’t said anything she’d go back. She’d leave and do her duty. Anything to keep Lyanna safe. Lyanna wasn’t meant to marry someone as horrible as Dalton Greyjoy, Lyanna was meant to marry a Lord and give him several shiny haired little Lordlings, with straight teeth and the right amount of wit.
   “One scroll, from a Lyanna, apparently” the man looked her up and down, “your sister I assume. I hope she isn’t as brazen as you. Hurt my arm you did,” he said and handed her a neatly rolled up scroll.
   “I apologize again!” Ayana said and turned on her heel. She would apologize to him properly once she knew her sister was fine. She turned to find Aemond running across the yard. Straight at her. 

Ayana gave him no chance, just when she was about to sprint back to the Keep he stopped. He stopped in the middle of the courtyard and stared at her. He knew as much as she did what she had in her hand. If this scroll told her what she thought it would she’d leave this place in a heartbeat, nice Prince or no.
Ayana walked the rest of the way back to her room. She still hadn't opened the scroll, she kept twirling the golden ring, trying to ease her nerves.
She started pacing, back and forth, in circles. Anything to keep her from losing her mind.

When her legs were about to give out she sat down on her soft bed, pried the wax direwolf off the parchment and unfurled the scroll. Her eyes darted back and forth, reading every line twice. Thrice.

Ayana’s hand dropped. The scroll fell to the floor just as the door to her room slid open. It was him. Of course it was. Ayana leapt from the bed, angled her dagger in her hand, went over to the slightly shocked Prince by her door and placed the blade to his throat. Fuck the consequences. 

   “Is it true?!” she roared. She had never been this angry in her life. He had saved her from becoming a pawn in her father’s game by taking her off the board completely, only to move her over to a far deadlier board.

Aemond locked his hand around her wrist and moved her hand away from his throat. He hadn’t even flinched.
   “Answer me, Aemond!” she said, voice breaking slightly. She would scream at him. Yell at him, poke him full of little holes. She had thought she was safe. That Lyanna was safe. And now this- 
   “I will answer you, if you stop trying to end my life. It will not end well for you, if you do.”

Ayana’s head cleared a little. She dropped her dagger, it fell to the floor with a clang. The rage had taken most of the fight out of her, her breathing was shallow as the last flicker of wanting to fight went out.
She composed herself as best she could, walked back over to her bed, took the scroll from the floor and threw it at him.
   “Read it to me, and then tell me if it’s true or not.”
She sat down on her bed and closed her eyes. She braced herself for the words.

Sister.

I am pleased to hear the news. Father did see reason, with some help.
I am to marry the Queen’s brother before the moon turns.
Tell me about your own betrothal, I was shocked when Prince Aemond
told me you’d accepted his proposal? Even more shocked when he threatened to take father’s head if he refused him.
Though he would have deserved it.
I hope to see you soon, so we can speak again.
I miss you.

Lyanna.

Chapter Text

   “Exactly what is unclear to you?” Aemond said from the doorway. Ayana debated throwing a book at him. She laughed, it was a cold, snarling laugh. She refused to even look at him. She had no more anger, only disappointment and shame. Everything had been a game.
   “Why is my sister marrying Gwayne Hightower, and when did I agree to marry you?” she said and kept twirling the ring around her finger.
   “Your sister also does that when she’s nervous.” Aemond said and walked over to her, he kicked her dagger away with his boot. 

   “Tell me why this is happening. You promised I would be safe here,” she looked at him, “and why did you threaten to take my father’s head?”
Aemond took a breath. He sat down on her velvet couch, crossed his legs and picked at the armrest.
   “I needed to keep you safe, to keep your sister safe, if my House was to secure the North. We need your armies. Your father’s banners are sworn to Rhaenyra. If I removed you from your fathers plans Dalton Greyjoy would refuse him his armies. That only left two problems, one, if your father decided to marry your sister off instead. I’d have to figure out a way to get her away from the Ironborn. I did that by speaking to my mother, securing your sister a suitable match that would keep her out of your fathers hands. She agreed to marry Gwayne Hightower if I married you. And two,” he pointed at her with a finger, “if you refused me.”

Ayana’s head spun. She kept staring at his hands. He showed no more signs of regret or anxiousness. She had thought she was safe from scheming and plotting.
   “As for your father’s head. I realized what kind of man he was when he urged me to buy you. Then he insulted my family and scared your sister. If that is what you grew up with, I most definitely understand why you ran away.”
   “It sounds like him,” Ayana said and lifted her head to face him. “I used to be his pawn, now I am yours, or is it the Queen’s?”
   “You are not a pawn. You are our hope. With you and your sister we have a chance of sealing off the North. There is no way your father will turn on both his daughters.” Aemond stated and rose from the couch.
   “You do not know my father, there is nothing he wouldn't do. I appreciate you trying to keep my sister and me away from the Iron Islands, but our armies won’t matter much in the war. Lyanna does not rule Winterfell, and I have no say.” Ayana said and tried not to cry. She was exhausted. She was already tired of trying to understand the schemes and the war-planning. 
   “Do you understand why this is important?” Aemond asked quietly.

   “You want to marry me for the armies I don't have, to control the land neither me or my sister rules, by spiting my father. My sister only marries Gwayne Hightower because she thinks I agreed to marry you, which I didn’t, I might add.” she said and scowled at him. “What about my father? His banners are sworn to him, not my sister?”
   “When you marry me, you will have the power to make him back down. You will have the power to make your sister rule Winterfell. If you won’t, the Queen will. Your father’s insults will land him in the Black Cells. If I were him I would flee. If he takes his armies with him, that is an act of war. He is locked in, in Winterfell. He has nowhere to go.” Aemond explained, and she could see he spoke the truth. Somehow, she saw it. He did not evade her eyes and he did not move. He simply kept his eye on her face.
   “What did he say?”
   “He called my brother a drunken cunt, insulted my mother, told me he’d do anything to keep my blood off the Throne, and swore his allegiance to Rhaenyra. Three of those things are considered treason. If he crosses the Neck, he will land himself in the Cells.”
   “Well,” Ayana said, she wanted to agree about Prince Aegon, but considering the fact she’d nearly shoved a dagger through Aemond’s throat she found it best to not speak her mind “and the marriage?”

Aemond chuckled. She still wanted to slap him. He had used her. Even made her like him a little, that was the worst part. She still liked him, but not enough to-
   “Surely, you are no stranger to political arrangements?” he questioned and raised a brow. “This arrangement will land you here instead of Pyke castle, you will have protection, your sister will be safe and you only have to pretend to like me in public. Feel free to attempt to knife me down in private, but know that next time, I’ll fight back.” he smirked at her.
   “So, you have known about this for three days and decided to let me find out by raven?”
   “I debated telling you at the Dragonmont, I feared you’d shove me off and let me fall to my death, so naturally I was hesitant. I have seen your anger, Lady Stark.”
   “I am still angry.” she said and looked at the dagger, lying halfway under the crumpled carpet. 
   “There is more,” Aemond continued and pointed at her bed “may I?”

Ayana nodded. She’d have to get used to him somehow. She had to keep her sister safe. She kept hearing her words over and over in her mind. She had agreed to marry Gwayne. She had not been forced, not directly. She would marry to keep Ayana safe. The least she could offer her sister was the same. 

   “Tell me, but please, no more about my father. I can’t take it.” She said weakly and stopped twirling her ring.
   “Corlys Velaryon has been injured fighting in the Stepstones. There is a petition to be held over the succession of Driftmark should he die. His brother, Vaemond, wants the Driftwood throne; he has called a petition to favor himself, and in doing so he is raising questions about the legitimacy of Rhaneyra’s sons by Laenor. Lucerys Velaryon is next in line to the Driftwood throne, according to the King.”

Ayana rubbed at her temples. How much information was it possible to get in half an hour? Her head was hurting.
   “When is this petition supposed to happen?”
   “Tomorrow. Rhaenyra is arriving with her husband and children today. Tomorrow after the petition, there will likely be a dinner, which you, as my betrothed, will be expected to attend.” 
   “Gods help me,” Ayana said and fell backwards onto the mattress.
   “You are also expected at the petitions, as a member of the family.”
   “I am not a member yet,”
   “No, but you will be in less than a fortnight.”

Ayana tried not to groan. Not only did she have little choice, she also had less than fourteen days to make herself comfortable with the arrangement.
   “If I am to do this, I have conditions,”
   “I assumed so. What are your conditions?”

Ayana thought. If she was to pretend for a fortnight she needed to keep herself occupied, she assumed the charade needed to appear convincing, and to do that she needed to do the things she liked the most.
   “I want you to teach me the histories of your house, I want you to train with me, and” she pointed a finger at him “I want you to take me to the Dragonmont so I can claim the Cannibal. Those are my terms.” 

Aemond gaped at her. His mouth actually fell open. He simply stared at her, probably stuck silent by her nerve.
   “Have you lost your mind?” He said when the words finally came back to him.
   “I swear to you, I can be armed in less than five seconds. You asked for my conditions, I told you. What you do with them is your choice, my Prince.” she said and stood from the bed.
   “I can agree to the first two, I will not send you to the Cannibal to die.”
   “Acceptable. You will take me to the Cannibal later.” she said and narrowed her eyes at him. “If you wouldn’t mind, my head is screaming for me to sleep, so if there is nothing else, I would like to go to bed, Prince Aemond. I assume I’ll have to appear well rested at the petition and the dinner.”
   “Sleep well, Lady Stark.” he said and stood from the bed. He did not look back at her once. The braid still hung to the middle of his back, one single white flower fastened to the middle of it. 

Ayana laid back down on the bed, curled her legs up under her chin and cried. She was so utterly exhausted and tired she had no idea where to even begin. She had been used again. Marrying a Prince didn’t matter. Having power didn't matter. She cared nothing for it.
Now, she had to pretend to love him. She was too scared to let herself admit exactly how quickly she had grown to appreciate his company. Everything was ruined. He had run after her to stop her from reaching the scroll hadn’t he? To stop her from finding out in the first place or stop her so he could tell her himself?

She shook her head. It didn't matter, he had still played her for a fool. He’d done everything in his power to make her actually like him before he told her, as a contingency. To make her want to marry him. She assumed he could have forced her, she found herself glad she hadn’t. She had nowhere left to run. 

   “Lady Stark?” someone said, gently shaking her shoulder. “The Queen is outside, I wanted to give you some time to prepare, I’ve been trying to wake you for ten minutes, please get up, you’ve been asleep for hours!” 

Ayana opened her eyes to find the brown haired girl from the hallways days ago, the one who had been shocked about the state of her face.
   “The Queen?”
   “She is here about the dinner, Lady Stark.” the girl said and kept trying to brush Ayana’s hair away from her face. “My name is Reina, I am to be your new maid.” She said when Ayana raised a brow. Reina took hold of her hand and helped her out of bed, still fussing over the state of her clothing. She still wore the trousers and the shirt. This was no proper outfit for seeing the Queen.
   “Will you hand me my cloak from the desk, I can’t see the Queen dressed like this.” Ayana said and pointed at the gray cloak on the desk.

   “Queen Alicent Hightower, Lady Stark.” said the guard from outside her door.
Ayana stared as the Queen walked in. Her green velvet dress swished over the carpeted floors, her auburn hair braided neatly around her head. The seven pointed star clinked softly against the brass buttons on her chest. Ayana had seen her several times, but she had never seen her like this. The Queen didn’t smile, she only looked her up and down, and stopped with her hands clasped in front of her.
   “Please leave us, Reina. We have things to discuss.” she said and nodded to Reina, still holding onto Ayana’s cloak. 

   “I do apologize for my state, Your Grace. I had no time-”
   “I knew you were asleep, I sent your new maid in to wake you. Apparently you are not as easy to wake as I thought, although I hear my granddaughter has no trouble waking you.” A small smile.
   “Princess Jaehaera used to be my responsibility, your Grace. I quickly learned to wake up if she spoke.” Ayana said, it was true. She had taught herself to stir within moments of any of the twins’ voices, should anything happen to them she needed to act quickly.
   “And now,” the Queen continued and motioned for Ayana to sit in the chair next to the couch, “you have an array of new responsibilities, Lady Stark.”
   “Prince Aemond told me as much, your Grace.” Ayana said and sat. She kept her eyes placed on the Queen’s forehead, not knowing if it was rude to keep the eye contact.
   “You do understand our predicament I assume?” she continued and kept her brown eyes on Ayana’s face.
   “I do, your Grace. I will help in any way I can to keep my sister safe. I am thankful to you for arranging the match for her, she means the world to me.”
   “It pleases me to hear you say this, but this is not the reason I am here. I am here about the petition and the dinner you are expected to attend.”
   “What exactly is the predicament concerning the petition and the dinner?” Ayana asked not quite understanding how any of it would be a problem. She was meant to attend and to keep her mouth shut.
   “You are not officially betrothed to my son, but you will be introduced at the dinner. It is the perfect opportunity for us to celebrate some happiness, in times like these.” The Queen said and smiled. A true smile this time, but still marred by a sadness Ayana couldn't place.

Ayana took a breath. She knew what this meant-
   “You are announcing this at dinner to see if either Princess Rhaenyra or Prince Daemon react a certain way, to understand if they plan to request my father to move his armies south?”
   “Aemond did not lie. You are clever. That is the plan, yes. I assume he told you about what is expected of you with regards to behavior?” she continued and placed a hand on the arm of the  couch.
   “Our relationship needs to appear convincing. Both at the petition and at dinner.” Ayana surmised and looked at her. She was just a pawn in the game they all played. She meant nothing, she was a means to an end. And end where the Queen and her family lived.
   “Excellent. I will have dresses brought to you, pick whichever one you like. Prince Aemond will come for you when the petition starts. I will have Reina arrange a bath for you in the meantime.” 
   “Thank you, my Queen.” Ayana said and bowed her head as the Queen rose and walked from her chambers. 

A means to an end. A pawn. Armies. Pretend. 

Ayana sat in the bronze tub an hour later as Reina poured water over her head and scrubbed her clean of dirt and sweat. She hummed while she washed Ayana’s hair and asked her all manner of questions. Ayana tried to answer as quickly as she could, trying not to give too many details, as the broad strokes of what she had said would flutter about the Keep come nightfall.
   "Reina, what exactly?” Ayana asked suddenly, remembering she hadn’t said.
   “Royce, my Lady. The late Lady Rhea Royce was my older sister. I was set to inherit Runestone but I was found too young. It was either to become a serving girl here, or at Dragonstone-” all her words came so fast Ayana struggled to keep up. “And I didn’t want to go to Dragonstone of course, because Prince Daemon- he-” she stopped speaking. It hurt her. Her eyes filled with worry and fear. She quickly went back to Ayana’s hair and scrubbed vigorously at her scalp.

Ayana had heard the rumors already. About the hunting accident that claimed Lady Royce’s life. The men of the Vale had seen a pale haired man on the path just before Lady Rhea fell from her horse; it didn’t take a clever person to put the pieces together. Especially not when Prince Daemon’s marriage to Lady Laena Velaryon was announced soon after. 

Ayana rose from the tub with a hand wrapped around Reina’s arm.
   “The dresses,” Reina began as Ayana wrapped herself in a towel “they belong to the Queen. Talya sent them, two of them are too small for her so she thought they might fit you.”
   “The Queen gave me her own dresses?”
   “Her Grace seems cold, Lady Stark. She isn’t. She cares about her family more than any other woman I've met in my life. Since you will be a part of it soon, she must have wanted you to feel like a part of it too.” 

Ayana stared at the two dresses laid out on her bed. One golden and one green. The gold one had a slightly cinched waist, heavy sleeves that ended in a point, the neckline would sweep across her chest, and half an inch below her collarbones. The rest of the fabric would flow behind her when she walked. She didn’t even look at the green one.
   “The gold one. It would make an impression, and seeing as Princess Helaena often chooses gold it seems like the safest choice.”
   “I think so too, and if your Prince dresses in his regular black, you will fit him well.”  Reina added and grinned.

Ayana looked at herself. The dress did almost fit, the skirts were a bit too long, but if she remembered to kick them while walking she shouldn't trip.
   “My sister also chose gold.”
Aemond walked in behind her, stepped over the dagger still lying on the floor and chuckled.
   “Not armed today?” he asked and looked at her. The braid was gone now, he still wore the black tunic, but hidden beneath a long black coat.
   “Should I be?”
   “That remains to be seen.” 

He hadn’t lied about the people. Ayana stood with Aemond at one side of the throne room, still not sure what to do except looking at the people finding their places and whispering amongst themselves. Princess Rhaenys stood next to her granddaughters, with one hand placed on Lady Baela’s shoulder. Ayana kept looking at Princess Rhaenyra. The Princess’ gaze was fixed to her feet when Vaemond Velaryon petitioned his case.

Ayana shivered when King Viserys was announced. The King was so frail, the murmurs that came from the crowd made her realize she wasn’t the only one not knowing the full extent of the King’s ill health.

Ayana tried to pay attention, she tried to truly understand what was going on, but Aemond stood so close to her she could feel his pulse. She saw his eye darken when he looked at his Uncle, how his entire body tensed up when one of the Strong-boys looked at him. Of course they were illegitimate. They looked nothing like their mother or any of the Velaryons. Ayana grabbed onto Aemond’s wrist. He had seen the same as she had.

One moment ser Vaemond Velaryon stood in the middle of the throne room screaming about the injustice to his House and his blood, the next, King Viserys had a dagger pointed at him. Not for long.
Prince Daemon crept up behind ser Vaemond, swung his sword in a swift motion and forced the blade through Vaemond’s head.
   “He can keep his tongue.” the Prince said as he dried Dark Sister on his cloak.

Ayana wasn’t shocked. She had seen the small nod coming from his wife, she had noticed his lingering stares as ser Vaemond insulted her. Aemond pulled on her hand.
   “We should leave. Now.”

Ayana followed him as he kept one hand in hers and the other wrapped around the shaking Princess Helaena, Prince Aegon followed close behind, next to his mother. Guards were summoned to clean the blood off the tiled floors and just as Ayana walked through the open door, Aemond dropped her hand and turned.
   “You said something, Uncle?” Ayana followed his eye to find Daemon Targaryen, still with his unsheathed sword, scowling at his nephew.
   “I asked what a Stark of Winterfell is doing with a Targaryen Princeling?” The rage from him was evident. He had pieced it together the second he saw her. The armies and her sister. Ayana kept her gaze steady as she planted her eyes on him. Princeling.
   “I am to be his wife, Prince Daemon.” she said and bowed her head. It hurt every inch of pride she had, but she still bowed. She still gave him a smile, and she still waited until he looked away before she turned.
   “The insult was meant for me, princess,” Aemond said as he led her down the hallway back to the Princess’ wing.
   “I know. I took it personally.”

Chapter Text

Princess. It had just slipped out of him. He hadn't been thinking. He just kept hearing Daemon in his head. Princeling . She had stood up for him, and for herself. Coated her words in lethal poison, bowed her head and smiled. It took her less than an hour to understand what sort of man Daemon was.

When they walked to the throne room she had told him about the Royce girl, and how she had stopped speaking the moment she said Daemon’s name. She knew that too. Though, he supposed she’d had nothing else to do during the months she’d been here, but to listen to rumors.

Aemond took the platter of boiled potatoes she handed him. The dinner was his mother’s way of scheming. She wanted to see just how far the rift between her own family and that of her step-daughter went. Aemond had long since understood that this day would not end well. He tried to focus on the food, and not her dress swishing over his thigh every time she moved.

Ayana was placed next to him at one end of the table, his sister followed to his right, and his grandfather sat to Ayana’s left. Then followed his mother, his father and Rhaenyra.
He noticed she kept her eyes to herself, but he could see she was thinking. Daemon kept whispering in her ear as the rest of the food was passed around, she smiled here and there, to seem unsuspicious. It didn’t help. The moment the Queen stood to speak for the second time her gaze snapped to her almost too fast to see.
Aemond smirked. This would be trouble. He felt it in his bones, he felt Lucerys’ eyes on him as he placed a hand on Ayana’s thigh. The suckling still stood untouched in front of him, he had understood the insult and decided to ignore it for Ayana’s sake. His father had begged for them to put aside their differences, he understood. His father’s wish, as their King, was for them to get along as a family. His father did not understand that the seeds of war had already grown. It did not matter what he decreed or what he wished, war was inevitable. The answering smile from his half-sister made him sick. As if she wouldn’t murder her way to the throne the moment his father drew his last breath. His mother cleared her throat.

   “I am sure you will join me in extending heartfelt congratulations to my son, hearing the news of his betrothal to Lady Ayana Stark. She graciously accepted his proposal, and will be a fine addition to this family. May the Mother keep you both safe.”

   “Thank you, Your Grace,” Ayana said from beside him, placing a hand on top of his. He hadn’t noticed it, but his grip had tightened. The look on Rhaenyra’s face made him angry. She was undeniably, utterly enraged. Ayana noticed it too. She poked his hand with a finger and moved her mouth to his ear.
   “Why is she so angry?” she whispered quietly. Aemond smiled and kept his eye on the Princess as he softly squeezed Ayana’s shivering hand.
   “She is angry because she has just realized she has lost the North. Daemon just told her about your father’s missing Ironborn army, and now, here you are betrothed to me. What a tragedy for her.”
   “My father still lives, if he flees-”
   “If he does, he will die.” 

He would die. There was no way for Rickon Stark to cross the Neck with an army, march them across the Riverlands, through the Crownlands and to Dragonstone without anyone hearing about it.
His grandfather had scouts everywhere, the second Lord Stark moved, he’d know it.
   “Exactly how is it that you came to be here, Lady Stark? The last I heard you were promised to Lord Dalton Greyjoy?” Daemon's voice cut through the chatter like a knife, Aemond tensed. He had to let her answer for herself, she was capable of making something up for this, she’d been making things up for months.
   “I was never promised to him, my father made arrangements I didn’t find suitable,” Ayana began, never taking her eyes off his uncle. “I left Winterfell, I was meant to leave for Runestone. My mother had friends there, I heard rumors that some of the Royces of Runestone ended up in the capital. I came here to find them. I found Prince Aemond instead.” It sounded somewhat reasonable, Daemon would never set foot through the gates of Runestone after what he did to their heir.
   “As I understand it,” his uncle continued, placing a palm flat on the table, “your father was in need of an army, how is that army meant to be delivered when he has lost you?”

Ayana turned in her chair. The soft, fluttering gaze she sent him now severely excited him. One corner of her lip tugged up, she moved her head slightly to one side, lifted a hand and placed it on his cheek, her thumb gently ghosting over his cheekbone.
   “My father has another daughter,” she said dreamily “I only have one p rinceling .”

Aemond almost believed her. He almost believed her to actually care about him as her hand fell. She drew her misty eyes away from him and reached for her wine. Her right hand was on his knee, her finger gently stroking the spot her dagger had pierced when he trained her in the courtyard.

He met his mothers eyes across the table, she nodded slightly, hand still holding onto his fathers arm. She was proud. She was proud of her for not letting Daemon walk all over her and pick her apart bone by bone. Aemond was proud too, she had done what was expected of her without hesitation. The added princeling made him a little more appreciative of her than he should.

   “Well, we will see-” Daemon stopped speaking as King Viserys drowned him out by a coughing fit so severe the servants yelped.
   “Quickly!” his mother fanned for a handkerchief and tried to dry off the blood that ran from one corner of his mouth. Aemond could handle many things, he could handle the incessant ugly looks from his uncle, he could handle Rhaenyra fuming at her new problems, he could handle Ayana’s hand moving further up his leg the more wine she drank, and he could handle seeing his father carried from the room as his coughing fits grew in intensity.

The one thing he realized he could not handle was the look on his nephew's face as Ayana explained herself to his uncle. The look of sheer fucking betrayal. If the little Strong felt so strongly about his mother's armies, he could try leading them himself-
Ayana moved next to him, she moved her eyes to him. She smiled.
Helaena was dancing, happily giggling as Jacaerys twirled her around.

Lucerys’ little snort when Aemond smiled back made him furious. The black rage inside him took over completely. Aemond slammed his fist down on the table, rattling goblets and silverware alike. The soothing music stopped the moment he rose and raised his goblet in the air.
   “Final tribute,” he began, eyeing his nephews, “To the health of my nephews, Jace, Luke and Joffrey.” His mother stirred in her seat. She sent him a look, if he had cared it would have silenced him. “Each of them handsome, wise-”
   “Aemond!” The Queen’s warning amused him.
   “-strong.” He finished, his eye fixed on Jacaerys as he let go of Helaena’s arm and came toward him.
   “I dare you to say that again!”
   “Why? It was only a compliment!” Aemond said and placed the goblet down on the table, he was twice his nephew’s size. Had he been armed he’d be dead already. Fuck the consequences. Ayana grabbed his arm, not to stop him, but to move him-

Jacaerys’ fist hit Aemond on the blind side of his face, his head snapped to the side and he briefly noticed Ayana’s eyes darkening. Aemond grinned. He took a step toward his nephew, shoved him to the floor and laughed.

He saw Ayana move before he felt her hand fall from him. Jacaerys was on his way up when she placed herself between them.
   “For your sake, I hope you never do that again,” she said to his little nephew and glared at him.
Aemond stared at Daemon’s hand. It kept hovering over Dark Sister as Ayana stared down Jacaerys.
   “Keep your Lady reined in, nephew. I have seen whores in better control of their emotions than her.” 

Ayana moved backwards and hit the table. Her eyes flared. Aemond saw her hand fumble for a knife and he moved. He moved to his uncle, placed a hand on his shoulder, dug his fingernails into his flesh and sneered.
   “If you ever insult her like that again, I will take your head.” Ayana shoved past him and headed for the door, he only saw her flowing hair as she lifted her skirts and headed for the hallways.
   “Careful, nephew. You may think the Stark armies are lost to us, your little Lady, however is not, it would be so simple to take her from you.” Daemon’s whispering snarl made Aemond tighten his grip. 

   “Prince Daemon!”
Otto Hightower moved from beside the Queen. Daemon stopped snarling. Rhaenyra stopped narrowing her eyes, and his mother stopped shaking. The anger radiating from her made him tense.
Aemond let go of his uncle's shoulder and stepped away. His mothers eyes were filled with disappointment and rage. His grandfather however-
   “Go after her, bring her back here. Prince Daemon is right. If we lose her-” Aemond didn’t let him finish whispering the words. He walked past his uncle, up the stairs and felt his mother’s eyes burn holes between his shoulder blades. 

Aemond went through room after room. He searched through all three of the libraries and the Godswood before a brown haired serving girl came up to him and placed a hand on his arm.
   “I saw her leave through the gates, my Prince.”
   “Toward which hill?” he asked and looked at her. The Royce girl. It must be. Ayana’s maid.
   “The Hill of Rhaenys.” 

He should have known she would end up there. She’d never go in, but she’d be there.
Aemond made his way through the city, the sound of his footsteps obscured by screaming children, laughing men and several young girls fluttering around them, hands filled with tankards of ale, eyes shimmering as they eyed their purses of coin.

He was almost at the top of the Hill when he heard her steps. She was pacing, and then she laughed. A shrill, howling laughter that made the hairs on his neck stand straight up. He hurried the last feet to the top and found her standing with her back against the pale stone, head turned to the skies as she laughed.
   “Ayana?” he asked, walking up to her, half thinking she’d lost her mind.
She looked at him and dried her eyes. She pushed off from the wall and steadied herself on his arm. Her hand was clammy, her cheeks were tinted red, and her eyes swam in wine.
   “Drunk?” he questioned as she straightened herself and looked at him.
   “Is this how your mother’s dinners usually end? With fist fighting and insults?”
   “No, not usually. Only when bastards and drunken uncles are involved. He was protecting his family, I was protecting mine.” Aemond said and grabbed onto her hand as she swayed, eyes still fixed on him.
   “He called me a whore,” she said quietly, as though the insult hadn’t quite registered until now.
   “He did. You spoke up to him. He tends to get offensive when he knows he’s losing the argument.”
Ayana let go of his hand. She walked away from him to the edge of the hill and sat down, she stared down on the city and curled her legs up under her chin. She sat there and gently rocked herself back and forth. Aemond sat down next to her.
   “Are you alright? What are you thinking?”
   “I wanted to marry for love,” she said and ran a hand through her hair. Some of it had come loose from the braids atop her head and she angrily pushed the strands away from her face.
   “I know.” She didn’t love him. She had thirteen days to find it in herself to accept him, to accept his family and decide to fight their war. It was not enough time. He understood that now, it didn’t matter what he did or what he said. Time was not on their side.
   “You could do worse,” he said and chuckled, “I am a Prince, and I do not beat wives.”
   “You only beat drunken brothers,” she said and looked at him. Her face filled with such sadness he couldn’t stand to look at her. She was anxious, sad and lost.
   “You still have thirteen days, Ayana. If it would be easier for you not to be around me I-”
   "It wouldn't." She interrupted and took his hand. “I still want to know you, and your house. I only know what I’ve read. I only know a tiny bit of who you are. You defended me today. You stood up for me, even though you didn’t have to. The war-”
   “If I die in the war, you will be a very rich widow.” he said absentmindedly. He might not live long enough to marry her either way. Pretending would not be enough. Pretending to have her would not be enough. She would never love him completely, her entire relationship with him was built on her sister’s safety and her own future. She would never see him as anything other than a means to an end. He was the purveyor of her safety. And as he moved her around the board, trying to maneuver her away from the Iron Islands he had placed her by his side, staring down the storm that would end them all.
   “I don’t want you to die, Aemond.”  She squeezed his hand lightly and placed her head on his shoulder. Her breathing was shallow and ragged, he could feel her fears and her uneasiness.
   “I knew there was some deeper feeling for me behind all the daggers,” he said and wrapped an arm around her shivering shoulders. Her golden dress didn’t provide any warmth at all, he felt her teeth clatter.

   “Do you think he saw me reach for the knife?” Ayana asked and moved his hair away from her face. Aemond stilled. Her breath heated his throat. The smell of wine and the heat from her nearly made him drunk too.
   “Yes. There is however a limit to the damage you would be able to do with a dessert knife.”
   “Do you doubt my stabbing capabilities?” she questioned and moved her head from his shoulders.
   “I doubt nothing about you, Ayana. Nothing at all.”

Aemond sat there with her until the skies changed color. She kept mostly quiet, only stirred occasionally when the dragons awoke. She smiled at the deep roars and rumbling noises from within the Pit. Aemond was about to suggest walking back to the Keep when she spoke again.
   “I’m scared, Aemond. I’m scared of the war. It will come, and I am not prepared. I can not be helpful to you in any way. I know some fighting, yes, that’s it. I do not know anything about tactical warfare or politics-”
   “Listen to me, Lady Stark.” he broke her off and placed a hand on her cheek.
   “There is only one thing you need to know how to do, and that is to listen. I know the politics, my mother knows the politics, commanding armies is essentially the same. Give the correct orders at the correct time. Advance when possible and learn when to retreat. You are already useful, you are already a threat.” He explained, trying to sound convincing, for her sake.
   “If I had a dragon, I could help you. I could fight from the skies with you. I wouldn’t be stuck here waiting for men to die and blood to run.” Ayana rose from the ground.
   “I agree, but things have changed. Everything changed today. If we go to Dragonstone now, it would be to declare war. We are not prepared. My father still lives, and Rhaneyra and Daemon will not allow us the advantage of claiming the Cannibal without a fight.”

Ayana went silent. Her eyes darted back and forth over the horizon. She kept twirling the ring around her finger as she thought, trying to figure out a valid argument to make him back down. Aemond refused. Sending her to the Dragonmont was the same as killing her.
   “If we drew their armies away, and went by ship. Found his cave and lured him out it could be done. We would have to wait for the war to break out. And hope we have enough time to get him to listen to a non-valyrian.” she began, finding his eye. He tried to be adamant, he tried to open his mouth and tell her she was being ridiculous.
   “So you want to wait until they attack, sneak off, claim a dragon and fight them from the skies?” he asked, trying to make sense of her rambling.
   “No, I want to surround them on all sides, force them to advance their armies and then sneak ashore.” she said, as this was something everyone could understand.
   “How would you do that, sweet Lady Stark?” he indulged her planning. He had nothing else to do, and speaking to her sounded a hell of a lot better than her being silent and solemn. The fact of the matter remained, they still had to secure the armies. They had to have more men and more dragons. They could secure the men, that was easy enough. The dragons were another matter entirely, they were outnumbered. They would still be outnumbered with the Cannibal. 

Ayana rose from the ground, extended a hand to him and made a clever little noise with her tongue.
   “What?”

She took his hand and pointed.
   “What lies between the Dornish border and King’s Landing?” she asked and shook his hand slightly.
   “Too much,” he replied and raised a brow.
   “Aemond! Listen to me,” she groaned and dropped his hand. “To the west lies Casterly Rock, with the Lannister fleet. South of us lies Storm’s End and west, Oldtown. To the north,” she pointed, “is the Northern army.”
   “All well and good, princess. Except, we do not have the Baratheon’s yet, or the Northern army.”
   “I know-” she stopped in the middle of her sentence and turned to him. “ Why do you keep calling me princess?” she asked and looked at him “you have done so twice, are you so sure I’m going to marry you or are you trying to sway me?”

   “I like the look on your face when I say it.” he said and took her hand. “Time for us to get back, before my mother sends her own army to track us down.”

Aemond kept thinking as they walked the crooked streets of the city back to the Keep. She did have a point. If they were able to mass armies from all four sides they could potentially surround the attackers, beat them back and win. The problem was the dragons. When dragons flew to war, everything burned. He had assumed they would save the dragons for last, keep them out of harm's way for as long as possible, spending their coffers and wits on massing armies. The blacks would not, they would fight them to the death, the dragons too.

Aemond walked Ayana back to her own rooms, he turned to leave her when her hand closed around his wrist.
   “Thank you for standing up for me today, again,” she said and placed a hand on his cheek. “Thank you for believing in me, despite me being slightly drunk and a very bad strategist, even if it is all pretend.”
Ayana reached up, stood on her toes and kissed him. Aemond nearly lost his footing. She tasted of wine, salt and something sweet he couldn’t place.
Aemond placed a hand on the back of her head and leaned into her, desperate for her to not break away from him yet. She was thankful and possibly still drunk. That was all of it, it didn’t mean he could not enjoy it. 

She pulled away from him and let her hand fall from his cheek.
   “Goodnight, Prince Aemond.” she said and closed the door, leaving him staring at the wood, wondering when exactly over the last couple of days he had stopped pretending to like her and actually fallen for her.