#rewritten

TW; PTSD, SA and violence (implied through flash back), alcoholism, Explicit words, Blood/Gore/Violence (Aerion being Aerion at the puppet show.)

Summary; Baelor’s daughter was brought to court, leaving Summerhall and her cousins behind. On her way to Ashford, she was reminded that the realm remained shadowed by the Blackfyres. Neither black dragons nor red ones forget. Some only wait for their turn again.

AU: Baelor has a daughter (instead of Matarys), Baelor does not die, Blackfyre rebellion is still thriving, Daeron x cousin/ Aerion x cousin (implied), Aerion is obsessed with her, Daeron is in love with her //Currently considering/Under thought -> The Spring Sickness //

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Chapter 6

The loud singing filled the space between the knight and his squire. Lyonel Baratheon was performing a version of the song Alice with Three Fingers  while Dunk drank the free ale. Compared to him, Egg was fidgeting with the handle of his cup. 

“What did you think of her?” The question had come through the noise around them suddenly. Dunk looked towards Lyonel and then back to Egg.

“Of who? Alice?” Duncan shrugged his shoulders unbothered. “What is there to think?” He lifted his cup drinking again. 

Egg exhaled in annoyance.

“No, not Alice Ser Duncan. Prince Baelor’s daughter.”

Dunk nodded at Egg, having finally understood, and then suddenly, as if he had put all the pieces together.

“How did you know she was the princess?” His voice slightly rising. “Did you run off and hide so you could spy on me? While I thought you had gone back to camp!”

“I didn’t need to spy on you to know that, Ser. It was rather obvious.” The small boy answered.

Dunk narrowed his eyes at his squire. “Oh, it was obvious, was it?” 

Egg nodded and placed his cup down on the table; he was far more interested in this conversation than the ale.

“Yes, it was. She had a silver dragon crest on her clothes, if you didn’t notice.” Aegon had already prepared this answer in advance so as not to raise suspicion with the Hedge Knight.

“Yeah, I noticed,” Duncan said. “After I had already made a fool out of myself in front of her.” Having finished his ale, he set the cup down.

“You did not look like a fool, Ser. You tried to help her; I am certain she appreciated it.” The young boy’s voice trailed off at the end as if he meant more than he spoke out loud.

Duncan snapped his head towards Egg.

“I knew it! You were spying on me!” Duncan bumped the small boy on the shoulder without any real anger behind it. “Not like it mattered, she refused the help.” 

Back then, Dunk had been certain something was wrong, yet once the princess had dismissed him, he did not dare bring it up again.

Egg sat still, thinking about the exchange between his cousin and Dunk. The vomit, the tears, the dagger she pulled on Duncan, the way she winced in pain and blamed cake for it. He had never seen her in that state before. To him, it had looked almost as if all the life and joy had been drained out of her. Like his cousin had seen death and somehow survived it. 

“She looked like she was in pain.” He accidentally gave a voice to his thoughts. 

Dunk flashed him a worried look and exhaled. “She did, didn’t she?” 

The statement kept both of them in deep thought for a time, long after Lyonel had stopped singing. 

Neither knight nor squire was thinking of Alice with three fingers any longer.

Meanwhile….

Back at the castle, the mood had been just as melancholic.

The princess had been sitting at the edge of her bed in silence. Already having washed and changed into a deep red doublet and simple black pants, she was now struggling with her hair. 

The task was simple, yet her unsteady hands made it impossible. The shaking hadn’t stopped since the horse, since the blood, perhaps even since the Blackfyres. She hated how it felt, like she couldn’t control it, and in turn, she couldn’t control herself. It made her feel weak. 

A shallow breath left her as she tried once more. 

“Ahh, seven hells!” 

On the third attempt, her hairbrush had gotten the better of her, and she found herself tossing it across the room. Some things could not be tamed no matter how hard one tried. 

Exhaling a few times, she caught her reflection in the distant mirror. Lifting her hand, she traced her fingers along the deep brown waves flowing down to her waist, stopping abruptly once reaching the top of her head. 

Her breath had hitched, and the memory came so vividly that her stomach was turning again.

—Flashback—

My hands had gripped mother’s red dress higher as I attempted to flee in any direction after my horse had fallen. 

“Where you going, princess?” I could hear them shouting at me. I wouldn’t get far this way, but what option did I have? 

Soon, my nightmare came true.

“Come here!” I felt a large hand fist into my hair and yanked me back towards the man. 

The pain that ran across my scalp forced a yelp out of me.

“Where are you going, huh?” The other man held me by the throat, almost choking. 

“Think you can get away from us?” By now, five men had surrounded me.

“No! Get off me! Let go of me!” I screamed and shouted. “Get the fuck off me!” I attempted to kick and bite in return. 

The pain in my head came back as the man holding me yanked me back towards him. I could feel his breath at the edge of my ear as he leaned in.

“Oh, quite the fighter are you? Don’t worry, you’ll be all softened up once we are done with you.” 

I shuddered. 

Their hands did not leave me. Not to kill. 

They wanted more than that.

In one violent motion, the man shoved me fully into the ground; the sudden movement had made strands of my hair break into his fist as he only held on tighter. I noticed wisps of my hair flying freely in the wind while I continued to struggle beneath them. 

Tears started flowing down my face.

—Flashback End—

Just as they flowed down her cheek now.

Lowering her hand and reaching towards the wet spot that had formed on her face, she wiped it in a hurry — fingers still shaking. The panic in her had been present too long. She had denied herself a drink all day. 

The memory had completely overwhelmed her composure, and the need to regain control burned within her. She pulled the black cloak back over her shoulders and swiftly exited the chambers. 

The sun was on the verge of setting now, and the princess forced her way towards anywhere that served wine.

Passing the castle stables, the princess noticed Prince Maekar’s horse. 

‘Had uncle returned? Had Daeron?’ 

Having heard Duncan speak of his squire Egg, the princess was already aware of Aegon’s whereabouts. He was close enough, and something about the Hedge Knight told her he would look after the boy. That only left Daeron for her to worry about. 

The thought lingered, but it was not nearly enough to pull her away from the need to numb herself tonight, and so she kept her pace steady and focused forward towards the noises in the distance.

By the time she reached the camp, all of Ashford had been swallowed in darkness. Candle lights and laughter came from all directions, and music filled the air.

Baelor’s daughter had her hood up enough to avoid curious eyes, yet she could still scan the people just as easily. One of the tents had multiple drunk men outside it. That was the one. 

Wrapping around, the princess found an opening at the back, managing to sneak through. To her surprise, her goal was right there, staring at her in the face. 

Multiple wineskins were tossed across a large table. Her eyes moved across the people present inside, and she waited just a moment to see if anyone would notice her. When nobody did, she opened one and drank from it. It had not been full; she had her fill of it and, after, tossed it aside. Her fingers slid across the table and grabbed onto another before quickly retreating the same way she came in. Unnoticed.

Baelor’s daughter walked across the camp clutching her wine like a treasure. It was always Daeron’s choice of poison, and somehow it had become her’s too. 

A sudden loud cheer, followed by clapping, brought her attention to a bigger tent across the meadow. Usually, she preferred solitude, yet tonight the noise all around her had been better, more comforting than the cruel silence back at the castle. 

Her interest grew as she slowly approached the commotion, taking a sip along the way. The princess pulled her hood further down over her face before entering. There were too many people, and she wished to avoid them all.

It was a puppet show, she had concluded from the moment her eyes fell on the stage. Finding a space towards the back next to the curtains, she stood idle, watching the performance. It had been a beautiful sight. The costumes could use some work, and the acting had not been the best in her experience, yet what captured her was the story being told.

And as she became more captivated by the performance, another Targaryen had been just as excited witnessing it.

Aegon sat on the floor, knees hugged tightly to his chest, eyes wide—he was captivated by the puppet show. 

The large curtain to his right had shifted, and he caught it, turning his attention. He saw her then, hiding between the crowd, the same way he was. To others, she looked like she could be anyone; to the little boy who played with her in the gardens of Summerhall all his life, it was too obvious. 

The young prince took note of the wineskin between her fingers as she brought it to her lips. The thought brought him little comfort and reminded him of Daeron. Yet the fact that his cousin had been here at all, considering the earlier encounter with Duncan, had brought a small smile on his face. If she could leave the castle, then she was well enough.

A roar from the stage brought his attention back to the play in an instant. A giant dragon puppet captivated the young prince and princess alike.

Unfortunately, neither Aegon nor his cousin had been aware of a much wilder, much more real dragon present. One not carved from sticks and paper, but fire and blood.

Maekar’s second son, Aerion, was sitting on the left side of the tent, accompanied by three guards. 

Drinking from a rather large cup that was now almost empty. He had already been in a sour mood before arriving. The encounter he had with his cousin earlier stayed with him even now, and her words had never left him. His grip tightened at the thought of it, and he drank deeply once more. 

Sitting back, he continued to do what he had been doing all this time, scanning the crowd more than the show itself. Perhaps he was waiting for anyone to cross him in the wrong way tonight; perhaps he dared someone would.

“Sorry, lady.” 

A voice caught his attention from across the opposite side of the tent. 

Aerion turned his head curiously. It was a man, drunk obviously, as he stumbled between people. Even if the drunk was what forced the prince’s attention in that direction, something else had held it. The figure to whom the man had spoken his half-sincere apology to. 

It only took a moment for Aerion to realise it was her. 

Baelor’s daughter, his dear cousin, wearing a black hood that covered her hair and face and yet hid nothing from him. A sorry attempt in Aerion’s mind. 

‘What were the odds you’d be here?’

He scanned her with his eyes slowly. His cousin appeared cleaner, more put together now, compared to out in the yard earlier — when she had almost taken his head off with that dangerously close arrow. He smirked now, remembering it. 

His eyes landed on the wineskin between her hands. The reason for her appearance here was most likely her desire for the wine. He watched her as she drank, eyes not peeling away from the puppet show. 

His own not peeling away from her.

The motion had revealed a much more interesting sight to him, hiding under her cloak, visible only when she lifted her arm. The doublet the princess had changed into was an exact match to his own. A deep blood-red shade that represented their house, one he often wore as a sign of pride, now wrapped around her frame flawlessly. 

Like it’s always belonged. 

He was aware that his uncle’s daughter always preferred practical clothes to dresses and gowns, wearing them only when her father instructed her to. Except he had never seen her in something so…his. 

His smirk deepened.

Aerion felt his chest tighten in a menacingly possessive manner. A feeling that had only been growing alongside the prince. 

He wished she would turn to him then, notice him, notice what she was doing to him by doing nothing at all. 

The princess did not turn.

Instead, the play moved swiftly to the final act, mesmerising all three dragons in the process.

The older prince had found the large dragon puppet fascinating, and he stepped forward for a closer look. 

Aerion stood in the middle of the crowd as the climax of the show was about to unfold. Little Aegon remained hidden below, and his smile had dropped the moment he took notice of his brother.

All looked in awe as the girl dressed in knightly armour faced off against the great beast. Fire spread across the stage in the fierce battle between the two. And as the knight danced and dashed around the dragon, she finally struck it in the neck with her wooden sword and rose petals flew out of the wound, marking the finale of the performance.

Unlike Aegon, the princess was not yet aware of Aerion’s presence in the tent.

She watched on as the last of the flowers settled on the stage and rolled her eyes, displeased at the scene. Annoyance appeared across her face at the poor portrayal of a dragon. 

It had been a simple, drunk reaction, one which should not have mattered. 

Except it mattered to him.

‘Did that bother you as much as it bothered me, cousin?’

No applause followed, only silence. 

The princess looked around, confused, and followed the stunned puppeteer's worried eyes towards the crowd. 

The moment her gaze landed on Aerion, she herself froze. Not because he was there, but because her eyes slotted perfectly into his as if he had been watching her this entire time, and everyone and everything around them did not matter. 

Her grip on the wineskin tightened once Aerion finally looked away from her.

‘Oh, this is not going to end well.’

The princess could not have been more right, as terror fell upon the camp shortly after.

It happened before her eyes.

Before Aerion even spoke, before the screaming and shouting and the ruin that this beautiful tent turned into. 

The moment the boy she grew up alongside left, only the rage remained. 

It was right before he pulled his eyes away from her, like he was still deciding, still choosing his path; and then he had. 

His pupils had fully darkened; he had left her in more ways than one. 

And then the moment he spoke, even if not towards her, his voice made her jolt in place.

“Seize her,” Aerion commanded. The guards rushed towards the stage. People started scattering. “Whip all the traitors. Turn the rest to ash.” 

In moments, the tent had been emptied as people fled the chaos. 

She should have left. Wanted to, yet some dormant curiosity in her kept her rooted in place, as if she wanted to see how far his anger would actually go. As if she earned the right to know. 

Aerion’s guards, having caught anyone who assisted in the play, were now following their prince’s orders and unleashing his judgment. Props were lit on fire, both inside and outside the tent, where a large crowd now stood, horrified.

At first, she saw Aerion just standing there in the middle of it, watching the chaos he himself created unfold before him. And shortly after, he had the puppeteer in his grasp. 

That world narrowed around her, and the air in her lungs suddenly was not enough.

The violence was nothing new. 

But that look on his face, she could not swallow down. 

He looked like he was enjoying himself; he looked like all of them. The mercenaries on the road. The reason she couldn’t sleep at night, brush her hair properly or wear her usual clothes. 

She saw it in him then.

He did not look at her again. Did he even know she was still there? Did he care at all?

The moment Aerion snapped the poor girl’s fingers, her scream filled the tent instantly. 

Tossing the wine aside, her heart was hammering; she had to stop him. In that moment, she believed herself the only one who could. On her first step forward, past the curtains still concealing her, she halted at the sight of the Hedge Knight. 

Ser Duncan stared at the scene with about as much shock as the princess.

In a flash, Duncan closed the distance with two large strides and struck Aerion clean across the face, twice, before tossing him off the stage like he weighed nothing. 

The mutilated girl continued to scream as Aerion reached for his knife before Duncan kicked him in the jaw, throwing him off balance. 

It took three guards to fully restrain him.

Aerion rose back to his feet, spitting blood. 

The curtains under the princess’s fists had wrinkled by now at the mercy of her sweaty palms. 

Her cousin approached the larger man.

“Why did you throw your life away for this whore?… She is scarcely worth it.”

Duncan looked back at the bleeding girl on the ground. 

“She is a traitor. The dragon ought never lose.” 

Duncan remained silent. 

“Nothing more to say?” 

The prince stepped back a few paces. 

“You’ve loosened one of my teeth… So we’ll start by breaking out all of yours.”

Fear fell upon the princess once again as she watched Duncan struggle against the guards. If Aerion wished to harm this knight, she would not allow it; not after knowing her own father vouched for him, not after he attempted to help her earlier today, and definitely not after she just witnessed his bravery – even when it meant risking his head for it. 

He was a good man, and the realm lacked good men. 

Baelor’s daughter violently pulled the curtains aside, certain this time.

“No! Don’t touch him.” 

A small, bold boy dressed in nothing but rags spoke up, and his voice alone drowned out the noise from the direction of the princess at once. 

Her cover remained unchanged as she continued to observe, her heart now hammering harder than ever.

“You stupid boy, hold your tongue, or they’ll hurt you!” Duncan shouted between gasps for air.

By now, the princess knew the boy who spoke was Duncan’s squire, and by extension, Egg. 

‘Aegon.’ 

She exhaled at the thought. He had not changed much since the last time they saw each other, except for the lack of his silver hair.

“No, they won’t,” he answered confidently, “If they do, they’ll answer to my father. Let go of him! Wate, Yorkle, do as I say.” The commands came clearly from him without wavering. 

Behind the sheer curtains, the princess had smiled at the boldness of her younger cousin. 

‘You sure have grown.’

Everyone, including Duncan, looked confused as the guards slowly lifted their hands from him.

The realisation reached Aerion a moment slower. He had by now risen from the floor, and his eyes scanned the peasant-dressed boy. 

“You impudent little rat. What’s happened to your hair?” He questioned his youngest brother with blood still in his mouth.

“I cut it off, brother. I didn’t want to look like you.” 

Silence fell inside the tent.

Bringing a hand across her mouth to shush the chuckle that had left her despite herself. 

She wondered if what she was witnessing was nothing but a drunken dream. 

Perhaps that would have been easier.

Synopsis: It’s not like you to be late in meeting your boyfriend after classes. When it’s discovered why, though…Well. Sawyer isn’t quite happy.

Pair: Sawyer Henrick x Reader (Kora)

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Does this look familiar? This was the SECOND fic I ever posted on here, rewritten to fit Kora and Sawyer’s story. Takes place during Iron Flame.

Note: This is my own take with HP Pip, so not the OG but still took old ideas from Inner Demons AU.

✦ ✦ ✦

Pip somehow manages to be in Hell but he knew this was his universe. A sky with an endless sunset as the ectoplasmic river continuously flows yet groans of the tortured souls within the underworld.

The blonde haired Brit glanced around trying to see if there was any exit, “If this is another trick by Damien to torment me.” Pip sighed in a slight irritation thinking he was placed in Hell for some kind of entertainment, “We’re adults and still acts like he’s in the fourth grade.”

There was no response out in the rocky terrains of the underworld. The blonde British man sighed as he continued calling out for someone else, hoping he wasn’t alone, “Christophe?”

Pip realised it was pointless, “Oh goodness, I am alone.” He murmured to himself, “Tsuji…What would you do? Maybe I’ll find some help—“

A sudden voice would catch Pip’s attention, “Ello, ello! What do we have here?” Upon turning around. He would see an alternate version of himself. It was like looking into a reflection yet still different.

Pip was stunned. He wasn’t sure how to even comprehend what he was seeing, “Y-you’re…”

“I can’t believe this is real! Another version of me…” Pip’s doppelgänger chirps, “…in Hell!” The fallen would wrap an arm around Pip’s shoulder like they’ve been friends for ages, “Looks like you’ve been in the same fate—“

This is Elero aka Rewritten’s Cogsworth! This is his concept design

Consuming me so thoroughly,

distorting what's possible,

my reality dissolves

in the burn of eternal flames.

You've carved new neural pathways,

penetrated the boundaries of my ordinary self,

molding me into pliable clay at the touch of your hands.

I can't shake this implanted passion—

what did you do to me,

to hold me so completely

in the fervor of your design?

And in that searing blaze of relentless fire,

a revelation emerged:

I didn't know a connection could be so deep

until I met you.

You made me vulnerable—rewrote the maps of my soul,

made me pulse with passion and possibility.

You were the catalyst,

drawing quieted desires to the surface,

hidden away until our forces collided,

resonating within me beyond reason—

a challenge to my logic, an awakening,