freya

deviating from original plot, not lore accurate, english is not my first language, slow updates

Warning: cursing, eventual smut, forced marriage, depictions of mental health problems such as depression, attempted suicide, unhealthy relationship, anger, attempted violence and others (to come)

Part 8

After they had set the hideout on fire, the search party left Heart’s Home and headed for the Eyrie. Aerion’s candle of hope in the dark. He couldn’t stand the scenery of the Vale much longer. Grassy plains, day in day out. Mountains in the distance which, no matter how many the had passed on their way, always looked the same to him.

The prince had never been to the Eyrie before. All he heard were stories of the great white castle atop the snowy mountains and the moon door. His teacher told him that on the way up they had to pass the three defence castles called stone, snow and sky. But the Each one being more difficult to reach than the one before. And that the ascend took days. He remembered little of the history lessons, preferring sparring and jousting instead. But this was a fact that had stuck with him. A castle completely impenetrable.

But of course they weren’t able to stand a chance against the dragons. Aegon’s sister wife Visenya flew her dragon Vhagar directly into the Eyrie’s courtyard, which had Lady Arryn surrender, after realising that not even a castle high up in the skies was safe from the Valyrian Conquerers grip.

That story had always belonged to the prince’s favourites. Even though the story did not contain swords and bloodshed. It symbolised the strength of House Targaryen.

Thinking about his ancestors lightened Aerion’s mood somewhat.

But history was not the only reason he wanted to visit the Eyrie. The blank in his mind unsettled him. His memories not letting him see what happened inside those castle walls. His men hadn’t talked to him more than necessary. Even his second in command had gotten less talkative. Instead Aerion had caught him starring an increasing number of times during the last few days. Fleeting gazes as if afraid that he would plunge a knife in his back at any given moment. Ser Quentyn had never been cautious of the prince before. Despite his cruelty towards those he deemed deserving of it. Meaning almost everyone, even his littlest brother Aegon. And despite taking Aerion’s delusions of being a dragon as the well known Targaryen ailments of the mind.

“Let’s make camp here. Tomorrow at nightfall we will reach the Eyrie!”

It hurt.

It burned.

And she was burning too. The dress adorned with laurels stuck to her body. Sweat running down her forehead and getting caught in her eyebrows.

Her arrow wound had become infected. The grumpy maester said she was at fault for moving too much. But she needed to pace in oder to think. When he had stopped giving her milk of the poppy, her mind went clear.

Lyaessa had done nothing wrong. She had committed no crime. Expect the for being a daughter of Daemon Blackfyre. Which was something she couldn’t really do much about. Your parents are your parents whether you like it or not. And even though her’s were dead, their doings during life created problems for her.

Whatever the king was afraid of, she had no intention of making a play for the throne. Who would even help her if she would? The mother of her half siblings wouldn’t. Any sane noble house in Westeros wouldn’t, for she was a woman and could only rule through a legitimate son, which would again require a husband. A husband she had no want or need for, because she was well on her way to become a septa.

A circumstance she had no control over. She did not want to spent a lifetime reciting the same passages over and over again until she dropped dead. She would not work hard because a senior septa told her too. She wanted to see the world away from the convent. More specifically Essos, in Westeros she would always have to be on her guard. For that life outside of the seven kingdoms, she was determined to work hard.

But now she would never be able to discover any of it on her own terms. Imprisoned on grounds of unlucky circumstances assigned at birth.

And now she was here. In a dark chamber within Casterly Rock.

Her moist shift clinging coldly to her skin. Her head pounding from fever. Lying on her side, blurry vision set on nothing in particular. Shivering with goosebumps and sweating buckets at the same time.

And utterly alone.

As a child she always thought there was a grand elaborate plan behind hiding her. That many people were counting on her staying hidden, laying low for as long as necessary. But as a child everything seems grand to one self. It took a few years for her to realise that there was probably no one except Ser Wysmur and his anonymous liege lord. The knight had never lost a word about him. He only spoke of contacts to the east and escape routes.

How could she have been so blindly oblivious? Falling for his persuasions and children’s tales? Letting herself be fooled by improvised stories and poorly carved dragon toys he smilingly assured her had been sent from the free cities?

It was clear to her now. He had been a low life liar from the very beginning.

If Ser Wysmur thought of coming to her aid, he would surely change his mind once he heard she was being held at the rock. In the lion’s den. She had to face it. No one was coming to help her. Who would care about another Blackfyre? The people of Westeros wanted peace. The only help she could count on was her own.

She was of no importance to anyone. A worthless chess piece to be sacrificed when needed. Now trapped in the hands of powerful men holding the strings controlling her life.

Lyaessa had no one. No one to tell her what to do, to offer advice, to hold her. Hot tears stung in her eyes and her breathing grew ragged. What had she done to deserve this? Had she angered the gods so gravely that they saw it fit to punish her with absolute helplessness and loneliness. The seven knew she had been lonely enough her whole life. Lonely in she sense of hiding her true self, of wanting to be honest with her sisters. She had envied how they could be so open with each other. Feeling safe enough to share their deepest regrets and troubles with each other. Like real sisters of the blood. But Jynna was not allowed to be honest with them. Jynna had to make up excuses whenever they started to ask personal questions. Jynna had to lie. Jynna had to smile while doing so, while the truth was gushing like a river behind a beaver dam, trying to break from her lips. Jynna was a fraud.

Since I made one for Lyonel, I HAD to make one for Baelor. I mean … JUST LOOK AT HIM!

I have “unfortunately” fallen for this absolute party animal of a man … and I am NOT ashamed.

deviating from original plot, not lore accurate, english is not my first language

Warning: cursing, eventual smut, forced marriage, depictions of mental health problems such as depression, attempted suicide, unhealthy relationship, anger, attempted violence and others (to come)

Part 1

Jynna was uneasy. Her movememts were rushed and uncalculated today. She had knocked multiple things over. The Head Septa had already asked her twice what the matter with her was. She brushed it off and assured her that it was just her monthly course giving her a hard time concentrating. Jynna was trying her best to ignore the images that flashed and flooded in her mind since she woke up, sweating and with a racing heartbeat. After the long and arduous day of gardening she had finally time to lay down and try to make sense of her dream. She closed her eyes.

a bloody helmet

pillows and expensive carpets

a cup with dark liquid

a knights hand in black armour reaching towards her, its owner hidden behind a wall of fire

the noise of bells ringing and swords singing

her headscarf coming undone and her hair spilling down her back

Jynna massaged her temples. None of this made any sense to her. She could not remember having seen any of these things before, so why would she dream of them? Normally dreams process the things seen during waking hours she thought. It scared her. And worst of all, she had no one with whom she could converse about this. Her roommate had left the nunnery for a man and her best friend among the training septas was currently journeying through the westerlands and spreading the belief of the seven. Jynna rubbed her eyes with her palms, what a shit day this was. Argh seven hells- she looked at her hands. Still full of dirt and now also in her face. With a heavy breath she stood and walked over to the small water basin, ridding her hands and face of dirt and grime. Just as she laid down again to make sense of her dream, the dinner bell rang.

The dining hall was buzzing with whispered conversations and shocked gasps. Strange, she thought, normally dinner was served and eaten i absolute silence. At the window side she saw a group of her peers eagerly chattering and exchanging urgent looks.

“Lysa,” Jynna asked while approaching “what in the name of the seven is going on? ”

“Oh greetings Jynna, we do not know. We were just speculating.”

“Come on, you know every new information before it reaches our ears.”

“No Jynna truly, this time i only know that something is supposed to have happened at the tourney of Ashford.” She shrugged her boney shoulders.

“Maybe Lord Ashfords daughter was abducted in the dark of night by a hedge night?” Another girl mumbled

“That would be horrendous, can you imagine…”

“Or perhaps there was a great feast and everything burned down?”

“We know the Targaryens wouldn’t mind a fire now, don’t we haha.” The bigger boned woman laughed. Jynna tensed.

“Marryl, someday this wicked tongue of yours will bring you into the lowest of the seven hells, you know!” Lysa scolded her but the woman laughed on, only further humored by this pious girl.

“SISTERS OF THE SEVEN!” Another voice cut through the chatter in the hall. “Will you all please find your seats.” Everyone obeyed.

Head Septa Gari folded her hands in front of her tunic and took a deep breath before speaking.

“As you all may have heard, a great tragedy has befallen the tournament at ashford.” She wiped a tear out of the corner of her eye. “Our beloved Prince of Dragonstone, Prince Baelor Targaryen has given his life in a trial of seven.” Gasps and shocked whispers flooded around Jynna as she herself needed a moment to stomach the information “May Prince Baelor be among his ancestors and find peaceful rest and comfort with the seven. And may the King be guided by his family through such a dire time of grief.” Septa Gari held a respectful pause “My Sisters, for we do not have more news. This late evening we will hold a special service to honour his grace. And as a sign of mourning we will not eat dinner today.” Agreeing rumbling from the crowd. “You may all return to your tasks now.” Septa Gari stepped down and began conversing with the others High Septas.