Chapter 17: The Great Tourney of Dragonsreach Part 5
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-Princess Helaena Targaryen of Dragonsreach-
She remembered feasting with the Hightowers so very long ago, not long before her early death at nine and twenty name days. She remembered the burning fever and the fear not only for herself but for her children as well, followed by an encroaching blackness, and then the hazy days of her second infancy and toddling years ceding into proper streams of consciousness. Oh how wondrous this second life was, feasting with the Hightowers again, but this time not some awestruck backwoods savage at the table of high nobility only by virtue of her husband's strength, but as the host, higher in status and honor than they who appeared so lofty to her before.
Rather than remain silent and offering only vague responces to keep from exposing her ignorance about this dish or that, or this song or that, or this dance or that, or this cut of dress or that, now she had it all, and they fawned over her. Her husband possessed a knowledge of many things in this world from his travels in his last life, and a keen ability in clawing back access to anything he might desire from various far off lands. A feast at the Blue Keep sported more than just Westerosi fare with supporting dishes from the Free Cities, but offerings inspired by the remnant Ghiscari, the luxurious Qarthi, and even the mysterious Yi Tish. The shock on Corlys Velaryon's face when he bit into a nugget of chicken glazed in orange sauce made his presence far more tolerable.
"Familiar, isn't it." Aegon smirked as the old man turned his head slowly to look at him, "That flavor cuts right through the decades and takes you back to when you were last when you tasted it. Funny how that works."
Corlys grimaced as he pondered her brother-husband's words. More than anyone, Aegon allowed himself to be Jorah around the legendary Velaryon sailor. From the tales in relief of gold and silver on his armor she knew as a Mormont he sailed all the same seas, and took far more for himself than Corlys managed. Somehow, Aegon portrayed the affection of an older, more seasoned and experienced brother for his younger up-and-coming kin. Something that always compounded the much older seadog's bad mood when in proximity to her brother-husband.
"That puts me in the mood for a song." Aegon announced loudly and a servant brought him his guitar as the feasting hall quieted, his voice powerful enough to fill the massive space.
He circled the high table, strumming and tuning his instrument. A certain expectation settled over her, and she wondered if the others around felt it, that something was about to be achieved. She felt a similar feeling when Aegon was knighted, when he first became a tourney champion, when he established himself as the preeminent warriors of the age, and when they founded House Targaryen of Dragonsreach. These events rippled out across her dreams, bending destiny in greater and lesser ways, but always centered on Aegon. He always gained from these achievements, not just the prestige and acclaim, but something mystical.
"I've worked on my songs for far longer than anyone realizes." Aegon declared building the anticipation for the coming song with some personal narrative.
Helaena knew exactly how long he'd worked on them, having found a journal of what she assumed at the time poetry not long after their first marriage in another life. She remembered Jorah bringing home his first guitar from Lannisport, and his frustration trying to teach himself music and later put cords to the very poems from that journal. It never worked out even after he gained passable skill with the instrument due to the quality of his voice, like a bear freshly removed from a forest fire. No amount of manipulation could make his low gravelly voice pleasant. He'd the voice of a barbarian warlord, so it at least fit his professional life, if not his hopes for his social life.
"Music, a song, can take you back in time, remind you of what you felt back when you first heard it." he continued languidly, "So much of life slips away, lost in the dark recesses of the mind until passing away into oblivion. The names, the faces, who did what, and when. It all fades away, but a good song reaches into the darkness, and lets you feel once again. It's been so long, I can't even remember what this song first made me feel, but I know what I feel now."
He turned his gaze on her, and she saw something she never saw in her last life, but saw all so often now. A deep affection. Love. She'd seen it before, but still found her mood improving from it now, almost enough to muffle her understanding of the narration. She wondered, was the last life his first? Jorah had a poetry to him, a song in his heart, but his was a song of brutality and absurdity. Did he craft those poems as a boy, or was the boy she married really a man, with a book of songs to remind him how he used to feel.
It mattered little to her as he began strumming familiar cords, his much improved singing voice taking her back to the feeling of where she'd been when she first heard the song, and how she felt now in this life.
"~If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that I'd like to do
Is to save every day
'Til eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you~"
-Lady Jeyne Arryn, Warden of the East-
She'd heard all manner of disgraceful tellings of Prince Aegon Targaryen of Dragonsreach, all of which she readily believed for above near any other name, she feared his. She'd heard of his savagery on Driftmark, the falseness of his chivalry in tourney, of the armature fumblings of his music, the barbarity he unleashed in the Red Mountains, and the tyranny of his small folk. In one visit to the Blue Keep, she'd already learned three of those claims as baseless slander, and she feared him all the more for it.
Formerly she comforted herself on the belief that despite the threat he posed to her kinswoman, and by extension her own tenuous grasp on power, he was not more than a brute with low cunning. Now she feared him all the more, for he put those petty comforts to flight, driving the soothing lies from her mind. Aegon wasn't the brute of low cunning those with connection to her kinswoman claimed him as. Instead he matched the rumors rarely spoken in the Eyrie, the finest man of the age.
His voice barely finished the first verse of his song - sung obviously for his lady wife, a woman she was told was plain and simpleminded, but instead shone more splendidly in the candle and hearth light than her kinswoman, the fabled Realm's Delight - and she felt her cunt moisten, desiring him in a way she'd never desired a man before. No wonder Rhaenyra ever waffled between loving him and hating him, for if he can stoke the passion of a woman with no carnal attraction to men, how much worse is it for a woman with such an obvious weakness for the male form. He possessed the voice of an angel and the body of a god. If he sang his song for her, could she resist the craving to bow down and worship him? To beg for his affection?
Aegon Targaryen of Dragonsreach is the enemy of women.
"~If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
I'd save every day like a treasure and then
Again, I would spend them with you~"
-Lord Ormund Hightower, Beacon of the South-
The young Lord Hightower felt intense satisfaction as his legendary kinsman and liege lord enchanted the feasting hall first with his monologue, and then with his song. Few understood like he did, just who sang for them, the second coming of King Hugor of the Hill, reborn and far greater. Old Town housed the proof. His father refused to understand, finding them an eyesore, but Ormund understood the obvious sign of the gods. Hugor fathered four and forty sons, each made strong by the Warrior, who conquered ancient Andalos from the northern hills to the southern marches creating a kingdom that would cross the Narrow Sea and conquer Westeros.
Aegon fathered over a thousand sons, all of them growing strong each day.
He quietly brought a hundred of the oldest boys with him from Old Town, all ten name days old to Aegon's nine and ten. It boggles the mind, but the gods work in wondrous ways. How much will these boys conquer, the vanguard of an army unlike any other in the world, not just brothers in arms, but brothers in blood, brothers of a blessed bloodline. Dorne, The Lands Beyond the Wall, the Free Cities and beyond. Their glory and might shall know no end, and as their kinsman he too shall ride with them, to honor and riches unceasing.
Aegon Targaryen of Dragonstone shall cast down his enemies.
"~But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with~"
-Lord Borros Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands-
Borros wondered how such a sissy man lived in the skin of the Warrior incarnate. He wouldn't say as such out loud, not after feeling the power of the sissy's lance on his chest today, sending him to the ground in a single pass leaving him sucking in air like a fish out of water. He understood why the other guy didn't face him in the lists. Still made him a craven, but a cunning one at least. The loss didn't put him out of the tourney, but he knew the champion already, having never felt that kind of power behind any man's lance before. He felt the blow to his chest from his scalp to his scrotum, as if his very soul was blown out his back for a moment.
Such power in his arm allowed a man any amount of sissy boy singing, his manhood unquestioned. What Borros would give to match such a man's sons to his daughters, but Aegon's wife only produced twins, boys and girls paired, and he knew what that meant among Targaryens. If the King legitimized some of his son's bastards, then they could do business. Otherwise, he'd consider the man's younger brothers, though they'd need to wait for his girls, especially if the oldest didn't please them. Aemond impressed him today, winning both his matches against strong knights. He'd make a fine husband for one of his girls, should his father not see him saddled with some lesser wife before Borros felt ready to make an offer. Fool's bet considering the boy was now the same age as his brother when he wed. Perhaps he'd get a shot at the youngest. Whatever comes, Borros wanted on the team.
Aegon Targaryen of Dragonstone is too powerful an enemy to have.
"~If I had a box just for wishes
And dreams that had never come true
The box would be empty
Except for the memory
Of how they were answered by you~"
-Lord Jason Lannister, Warden of the West-
The Lord of Casterly Rock felt great joy seeing the fat pig Rhaenyra lusting openly for her half-brother. His place in the feasting hall put him in the perfect position to watch his song melting her heart and heating her loins. He was there when she scorned Aegon's offer of marriage, more callously and more carelessly than she scorned the suit of himself and his twin brother, Tyland. Oh how the tables have turned. Were she free to do so, would she offer her hand to him, only to be scorned for her age and form like she did all those years ago? Would he laugh in her face as she did to him? Jason eagerly awaited to see how the dragon settled his debts. He awaited the day to rise up with his King and cast down the fat pig from her pretender's throne.
He dodged an arrow when she scorned him. His wife, the former Johanna Westerling, remained fit and fierce after five children, much like Queen Alicent after her four, and Princess Helaena and her six. Rhaenyra started packing on the weight after the first, giving the realm all the more to delight in with each birth. Even his mistress kept the weight off after the births of their girls. Truly he lived a blessed life, and praised the gods for sparing him the porcine harlot he so foolishly pursued.
Every time he met the king-in-waiting, he left even more impressed by the young man. More than anything, Jason's personal conversations with Aegon left him surprised and in awe of his masterful use of rhetoric to stoke up animosity, loathing, and even hatred. He presented his arguments and claims with a furious passion, the man garbed in robes of reproach and woe, and by the end of a candle sticks life, those who listen clothed themselves the same, and then they prepared.
Aegon Targaryen of Dragonstone will lead House Lannister to full satisfaction against their enemies, and the sanguine repayment of long held outstanding debts.
"~But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
I've looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with~"
-Princess Helaena Targaryen of Dragonsreach-
The hall erupted into applause as the final notes of his guitar faded away. They didn't even need to fake it as 'Time in a Bottle' used a far more complex and novel melody than his usual fare. Not nearly as complex as songs using the lute or harp, but bridging the gap enough that the emotional and personal lyrics are not considered vulgar. In fact, something changed during the song, and the sympathetic quality rose greatly, her brother no longer inviting the audience to share the feelings with him, but instead guiding them through the experience supernaturally. By the end few women in the hall retained a dry eye, and even many men wept softly.
Helaena wiped her lids before her husband returned to his seat at the table, and after much acclaim from the family and their highest guests, she led him through the Blue Keep to their shared chambers, pulling him into a passionate embrace before they even crossed the threshold. Feeling emboldened by his public declaration of true love, she broached a topic she long held her tongue on.
"Jorah." she greeted her husband, who gazed down on her with a sudden realization that brought a bright smile to his face.
"Elia." he softly spoke and her heart dropped somewhere into her stomach and her wrath rose high and hot.
"Mother fu-
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If I did a second draft of Path, I'd have spent more time portraying Elia so that the audience understood better how alike she was to Alyssa, but simply came into his life at a time when he felt more open and safe, and thus entered his heart in a way Alyssa failed to despite being the better woman overall. Basically everything he loved about Elia was present in his first wife, just removed from the baggage, living literally in a land of sunshine and warmth as opposed to the cold darkness of the North. It was something planned but I failed to execute on it, getting down in the dumps midway through the story and just trying to soldier on, missing the beats I meant to hit in return for expediency.
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