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Chapter Text

In the dull and desolate forests of the North, trees stood tall, yet barren and short on leaves. The coldness crept through every corner of the drab castle of Winterfell. Through them, a raven flew past the trees, mountains, the gates and walls of Winterfell, and to the chilling icy outskirts of the colossal Wall. The cold was no unfamiliar occasion to its inhabitants, as it was not for all other residents throughout the North. “Duty is sacrifice. It eclipses all things, even blood. All men of honor must pay its price. The North owes a great duty to the Seven Kingdoms. One older than any oath. Since the days of the First Men, we have stood as guardians against the cold and the dark. Through its long tradition, the Night’s Watch cultivated its strength from doomed men who had their life as their only possession. But my ancestor, Jin Stark, began a tradition by making an offering at the onset of winter. One in ten men from our household was to be chosen to fortify the Watch. This is not a sentence, but an honor. A duty embraced by all who serve the North. Even by mine own kin. The North must stand ready. Winter is coming.”

“Coming?” Juyeon asked as he and Lord Soobin Stark rode the elevator up to the top of the Wall. “What is this, then, that falls from the skies and shivers my bones?”

“This is only a late summer snow, my prince,” Soobin remarked. “In winter, it will cover all you see, and all memories of warmth will be forgotten.” Juyeon smiled softly, he had gotten along quite well with the young Stark lord, just as his mother had wagered.

“It pleases me to think that over a century ago, our ancestors treated in this very place. The Conqueror and the King in the North.”

“You, at least,” Soobin stoically japed, “had the mercy not to threaten me with your dragon.” Just then, the elevator came to a stop, and they arrived at the very top of the ice-built Wall. A couple of attendants greeted the prince and the lord as they walked past them.

“Surely the great Jin Stark would’ve sooner died than bent the knee. Unless he believed the Conqueror could bring unity to the Seven Kingdoms.”

“You are right in that,” Soobin nodded to Juyeon.

“That unity is now threatened. The realm will soon tear itself apart if men do not remember the oaths sworn to King Hongbin and to his rightful heir.”

“Starks do not forget their oaths, my prince,” Soobin reassured. “But you must know that my gaze is forever torn between north and south. In winter, my duty to the Wall is even more dire than the one I owe to King’s Landing. I need my men here.” Juyeon frowned slightly at him.

“Whilst your men guard against wildlings and weather, the Hightowers plan to usurp the throne. If my mother is to defend her claim, to hold the realm united, she needs an army. War is coming to the whole of the realm, my lord. We can not wage it without the support of the North.” The two stopped on the main ledge overlooking the land beyond the Wall. Juyeon inspected the land, amazed and somewhat alarmed.

“My grandfather brought King Jongin and Queen Harin to see the Wall,” Soobin stated as he gripped firmly the hilt of his ancestral Valyrian steel sword, Ice. “His Grace stood at this very outlook and watched as their dragons, the greatest power in the world, refused to cross it.” He then glanced over to Juyeon, more gravely than before. “Do you think my ancestors built a seven-hundred-foot wall of ice to keep out snow and savages?”

“What does it keep out?” Juyeon questioned.

“Death,” Soobin blankly answered. The prince stared back, the color beginning to depart from his face, as he pondered over the Stark lord’s sayings. “I have thousands of greybeards who’ve already seen too many winters. They are well-honed.” Juyeon, mayhaps refusing to despair for long, allowed himself to enliven and calm once more.

“So they’re old?”

“I can ready them to march at once.”

“If your greybeards can fight,” Juyeon asserted, “then the queen will have them.”

“They will fight hard, my prince,” Soobin said boldly, “like Northerners.” Their negotiations were interrupted by a messenger, who brought forth a letter by raven. Soobin opened the letter and read its contents, his gaze briefly turning to pure shock. He then looked back at Juyeon, sympathetic to the prince’s tragic circumstances. “I’m sorry about your brother, my prince.”

—

Back down south, Cirkis flew back to Dragonstone from her rider’s patrol of the Gullet to secure the Velaryon blockade. She landed at the darkened cavern near the very bottom of the castle, connecting to its entrance. “Gevī, Cirkis,” Leo said as she climbed off her dragon’s saddle, only to hear the dragon commands of another nearby rider.

“Rȳbās!” Minho shouted to his own, Layros, “Umbās!” The king consort then climbed off his dragon’s saddle, as he and the old princess were to confront each other. “Take your mount again! We’re flying out!” Leo made towards the entrance, not focusing on her fellow Targaryen cousin.

“I alone patrol over a hundred miles of open sea, endlessly, to hold the blockade. Cirkis must now replenish and rest, as must I.” However, Minho came in front of her way, restraining her from walking further forward.

“No, we’re going to King’s Landing,” Minho insisted. Leo glared exhaustedly at him.

“To what end?”

“Killing Vallamor and Felix,” Minho asserted. “I can’t face that hoary old bitch and her mad rider alone. With the combined might of our dragons, we can kill them both, and make it a son for a son.”

“Was this the queen’s command?” Leo questioned.

“The queen remains absent,” Minho exasperatedly responded. “I should be at Harrenhal right now bending knees, but I must remain here instead to wage her war.”

“Or perhaps, more simply, to await her return,” Leo coldly shot back.

“She has been gone for days, far too long! She is exposed!”

“She is grieving the loss of her son!”

“And while the mother grieves, the queen shirks her duties to the realm!” As was too oft the occurrence, the princess breathed a sigh of heaviness and lament. She gazed back at Minho, now with a more gentle and reasonable figure.

“It was a raven that brought me news of Minchan’s death.” Minho turned his head back to Leo, his face beginning to pain once more on the memory of his late wife. “I existed for weeks in torment, refusing to believe what I’d been informed. It was only when I saw my beloved daughter’s mortal remains that I could begin to mourn her.” Leo’s face then turned, slightly, to its more familiar cool expression. “A raven has told Jeongin that her son is dead. She needs to see it for herself, so that she may know for certain.” Minho sensed his long past grief fleeing, and his anger returning.

“She was a fool to go alone! What if Felix were to happen upon her?”

“Then I would pity him,” Leo, unwavering, said back to him. “The queen was wise to recuse herself. She has not acted on the vengeful impulses that others might have.” She followed the last sentence with a piercing glare directed at the king consort.

“If you’d had acted when you had the chance, princess,” Minho said, bemoaning, “then Hyunjin’s line would be extinguished! And Sunwoo would still be alive!” A hint of regret, it seemed, flashed on the princess’ face as she turned her head and walked away to the entrance. But the king consort would not allow himself to be satisfied until he quenched his thirst for bloodshed. “Fly with me! It is a command!”

“Would that you were the king,” Leo undauntedly snarked, leaving Minho alone in the dark and cold cavern.

—

The Sea Snake’s main ship had been left badly damaged after the ambush in the Stepstones. Many sea servants attended to it, cleaning the blood left over on the wood and repairing what little they could. Lord Ravi walked near the ship at the docks of Driftmark, approaching one of the workers there. Remarkably, the worker had the same hair and eye color as the Velaryon lord. “M’lord,” he greeted Ravi as the lord came just before him.

“It’s a marvel that she was able to return from the Stepstones at all,” Ravi remarked, inspecting his ruined ship. There had been some truth to his words, by all accounts the ship suffered an attack that it should not have survived through.

“Barely done, but done,” the worker affirmed. “Seven more ships put out to sea this morn’ to fortify the blockade. The Gullet is vast, and we’re not like to have the numbers to cover all that open water.”

“I must have my ship back at sea to lead the effort,” Ravi insisted.

“It’ll be many weeks yet, I’d wager,” the worker stated, noting that the ship was far from ready to set sail away from Driftmark. “But I’ll have a word with my brother, so that we might know what reinforcements the shipwrights can muster.” Ravi looked back at him, reflective and grateful. The worker picked out something from a box, which was wrapped and concealed in leather. “The smithy delivered this earlier.” The Velaryon lord stared at it for a brief moment. “M’lord?” It was a dagger, a Velaryon heirloom, intended for the heir to Driftmark.

“I had this commissioned, originally, for Prince Sunwoo,” Ravi regrettably remarked as he took the dagger.

“I’m very sorry to hear about your heir’s death,” the worker said. “It was the blackest of treacheries.” He then stared back blankly at Lord Ravi. “Pardon, m’lord, but if it will please you, I have much to do.”

“They tell me that you are the one that dragged my body out of the sea,” Ravi said to the worker as he was about to leave to resume his task of repairing the ship. The latter stopped abruptly, and gave the lord a lukewarm gaze.

“It was only my duty,” he insisted. But Ravi was sympathetic and generous to his invaluable efforts.

“I’m indebted to you, Mingi.” Mingi, the worker, nodded back coolly and left the lord alone to his contemplations.

—

On the rock-planted and grass-filled lands near the Shipbreaker Bay, few myles close to Storm’s End, Jeongin stood alone, mounted off Archin in search of her lost son. It had been days since she left Dragonstone, and had searched endlessly throughout the Stormlands, barely sleeping and refusing to idle herself. Upon climbing a seemingly inconsequential mountain, she spotted a ship crew in the far distance, who had come into possession of a dragonwing. She flew towards the crew, startling them as they noticed the yellow-scales of her dragon. “Dragon!” One of the members cried out. They ran and scattered, just as Archin made her landing on the shore. The queen made her way to the now-abandoned ship, removing the fishnet that contained the wing as she looked through its contents. There, she found Sunwoo’s torn, and still bloodied, cloak… the only remnant left of her late son. The mourning had overtaken her, leaving her a weeping and broken mess on the sands of the Shipbreaker Bay. She had not been alone in her grief, as Archin also mourned the loss of her offspring, Ikarus. From nearby on the beach, several fisherfolk watched with doleful and morose respect, watching a mother grieve the death of her son.

—

Near Dragonstone, at the Blackwater Bay, the Velaryon fleet intercepted the last of the ships that had left King’s Landing, strengthening the blockade even further. Ser Jackson and the Velaryon guards scoured through the ship in search of any valuable or motive-revealing items left inside. They found some crops and livestock, but not much else. Whilst searching, however, Jackson discovered a familiar face taking cover around a corner of the ship. The White Worm. “You,” he said.

“When last we met,” Taemin plainly responded, “there were two of you. Where is your twin?” But Jackson elected not to entertain any banter with her, and soon she found herself in the vicinity of the “Rogue Prince.”

“The ‘White Worm,’” said Minho warily. Taemin reciprocated the intense look upon her to him.

“Did you think I would wither in your absence?”

“I did not think you would flower a traitor.”

“You speak of highborn games,” Taemin shot back, “I am but a common-born.”

“How long have you been selling secrets to Ken Hightower?” Minho questioned frantically, already sensing his wroth returning.

“As long as he had gold to pay for them.” Instantly, Minho slammed his table violently and hastily approached Taemin, who was sent into a state of shock and self-defense.

“Who sent you fleeing from King’s Landing in such disrepair, hm?” She raised a hand to stop him from making any attacks, but he grabbed the hand tightly. Now face-to-face with the White Worm, Minho’s eyes beamed with fury. “You put that drunken cunt on the iron throne!”

“That was the Hightowers’ conspiracy,” Taemin protested adamantly. “I merely profited from knowing Hyunjin’s movements.”

“But you delivered him,” Minho shot back to her, the words almost escaping with no hint of delay.

“He would have returned home eventually for gold and respite, as he always does. I simply… sped the business along.”

“‘Business’ that ended with the theft of the queen’s throne and the murder of her son!”

“Oh,” Taemin uttered, “but you only blame me because your true enemies are out of reach. My arrangement with the Hand was purely transactional. I held no loyalty to him, certainly do not now. Ken Hightower was to me as I am to your noble ilk, fodder to be cast off.”

“And what else do you know of him?” Minho questioned, restraining his anger somewhat. “His plans?”

“Little and less,” Taemin asserted, sighing faintly. She refused to shrink in the face of a man who craved for vengeance. “I possess nothing of value to you, Minho.” He stared aimlessly at her, more softly than before. Then he walked out of his office, leaving her there to languish. He paced about outside of the room, laying out his command to Ser Jackson, who had been waiting there.

“Have her moved to the cells. She is to be treated as a traitor to the crown.”

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Jackson stated, “but the lady speaks the truth. She was no agent of the Hightowers.”

“What is it to you?” Minho jeered at the white-cloaked knight. Though he flinched for a moment, Jackson stood his ground against him.

“A matter of honor.” The king-consort’s scowl grew wider and deeper by the moment.

“Was it honor that compelled you to stand by and watch as the Hightowers usurped the throne? You and your traitorous twin.”

“No, Your Grace,” Jackson replied regretfully. “I’m shamed by it. It’s precisely why I abandoned the kingsguard, and my brother, and came here.”

“I don’t care!” Minho shouted with such venom that threatened to expose the madness within him. “Hyunjin was in your grasp! You should’ve killed him yourself!”

“Gackson and I were named to the kingsguard at just eight and ten,” Jackson fiercely contended. “We swore the same oath: to defend the whole of the royal family. So what were we to do when they turned against one another?” They were interrupted by the loud roar of a dragon, coming from afar in the distance. Minho recognized it as Archin’s, and gave the knight another heart-piercing glare as he turned his head back towards him.

“The only thing that stands between you and the cold embrace of my steel… is the queen’s favor and mercy.” He warned Jackson as he left the hallway for the chamber of the painted table. At the meeting of the black council, he would be joined by the returning queen, who had finally come back that night from her days-long trip.

“Queen Jeongin Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” Jackson announced as Jeongin entered the chamber. Minho went to her and they faced each other, directly and intently.

“Did you find what you needed?” He asked. She whispered to him, which the other council members could not hear from where they stood. The queen made her way towards the spot between the fireplace and the painted table. “The council stands at the ready, Your Grace!” Minho affirmed as he walked to the other side of the painted table from his niece-wife. “I will fly to Harrenhal at your command and set our toehold in the Riverlands!”

“Your Grace, my lord husband’s blockade of the Gullet moves into place,” Leo stated factually. “All seaborne travel and trade to King’s Landing will soon be cut off.” Jeongin neither nodded nor said anything back to the council, as she glared about the room. Her violet eyes were marked, concurrently, with the unbearable sensation of grief and the insatiable appetite for revenge. And she had appeared as restless as ever, though unrestrained by the burdensome consequence of fatigue. There was but one order, one desire, one demand she had to make.

“I want Felix Targaryen!” Minho’s own eyes focused closely on hers, realizing the mutual desire that rested within his and Jeongin’s bones. And as the queen made her leave to rest and slumber, he decreed the next action to be taken by the Blacks.

“You heard the queen, my lords! An eye for an eye, a son for a son, Sunwoo Velaryon shall be avenged!”

—

Much had changed in King’s Landing, since the death of King Hongbin I Targaryen. Many of the former Targaryen guardsmen were replaced with the guards of House Hightower of Oldtown. And almost all of Jeongin’s remaining supporters were either imprisoned or executed within the city bounds, leaving the Red Keep firmly in King Hyunjin’s control. Though Hyunjin had ascended the throne, there was still much to be done to secure the succession. A war, which neither his allies or enemies favored, was to be fought, and only one side would eventually taste victory. “Mind your posts!” Ser Gackson ordered, loudly, to the castle guards as they held watch over the gates of the Red Keep. “Keep your focus, men!” They would soon be greeted by a sudden and unexpected arrival.

“Dragon!” A guard yelled as a dragon graced far into the daylit sky. “Arm the scorpion!” The guards began readying the scorpion to fire in the direction the dragon flew towards. “Approaching from the southeast! Get around!” The wheels turned and the arrow was rotated until the mechanism was in place. “Scorpion ready!” But as the dragon came more closely into view, Gackson recognized its green scales and bronze wings.

“Halt!”

“Stand down, it’s Vallamor!” Gackson eyed her as she flew above the towers of the Red Keep, and prepared for her landing. The Prince Felix’s return… awaited.

Chapter Text

Taehyun sat in her royal chambers, accompanied only by her daughter and several attendants. Ever since she was made the queen of Westeros, she felt a lingering sensation of forthcoming tragedy. Her rise in station did little, perhaps nothing at all, to quell her inescapable dread. And her brother, it seemed, would suffer the most in his new role as King of the Seven Kingdoms. So she sat there in her room, attending to her expected duties, when Hyunjin came inside, looking for his son and heir.

“Where is Jongin?” The king asked upon realizing only Jongah was to be found in the chamber.

“He is away,” Taehyun plainly replied, “attending his lessons.”

“And those are where?” asked Hyunjin further. His wife returned an accusing look at his direction.

“What do you need of him?”

“I’m taking him into the small council,” Hyunjin responded. “He’ll be king one day, meaning that he must soon begin his instruction.”

“And what if he does not want to be king?” Taehyun bluntly questioned. Hyunjin bent down and took a gentler stance towards his sister-wife and queen.

“Where is he?” Once more the king asked. The queen sighed deeply, then refocused her attention more closely at him.

“In the library. You must not interrupt his custom.” Without another word, Hyunjin made for the way out of the chamber, but he was halted before he could begin towards the library. “I’m afraid!” He turned his head back to Taehyun, a look of reassurance apparent on his face.

“Don’t be! They’d be fools to come with Vallamor protecting the city!”

“Not of the dragons,” Taehyun plainly asserted. “The rats.” Curious, Hyunjin looked around the room to see if there were any rats nearby, and the handmaids followed suit. There were none.

“The queen is an enduring mystery,” Hyunjin remarked, “is she not?” The handmaids awkwardly nodded to the king, as he took his leave and left the room. The queen carried on with her doings, not minding her husband’s business or their conversation.

—

At the queen dowager’s quarters, Beomgyu and Heeseung had just concluded with their moment of pleasure. As they hastily dressed, her worry and concern grew considerably by the second. “There is a chill in the air. Summer is well and truly through.” Indeed, it appeared so that such times were past them.

“We’re expected at the small council, Your Grace,” Heeseung reaffirmed. Beomgyu weakly nodded back and stared at him for a moment. The knight, too, looked at her and they stared for, what one might be forgiven for thinking, a near-eternity. There had been much tension and desire between them, now that she had been made a widow, gifting her a well-appreciated taste of freedom she was rather unfamiliar with. Though whatever affection they had for each other, they were not foolish enough to ignore the barrier of their current stations.

“We can not,” Beomgyu steadfastly insisted. “Again, Ser Heeseung.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Heeseung agreed. He grabbed his cloak from where he had left it on the desk in the room. “If you wouldn’t mind?” He handed the cloak to Beomgyu, who took it without hesitation and fastened it into the back of his armor.

—

Later as the meeting of the green council commenced, Heeseung and Beomgyu entered stoically, with not a hint of the feelings for one another they hid from others discreetly. “Your Grace,” Jisung greeted Beomgyu.

“Good day,” Beomgyu said back. The council was soon then graced with the presence of the king himself, who had arrived with his four-year old son and heir.

“Good morrow, my lords!” Hyunjin joyfully said to his council members. “I’ve brought Prince Jongin with me! He must learn the ways of the court if he is to rule one day.” He then greeted his mother as he walked past her and to his seat, primed for his first council meeting as king. “What news?”

“Our letters to the Vale and to the North continue to go unanswered,” Ken affirmed. The king’s bright smile abruptly faded, and he appeared more dour now.

“Cunts!” Hyunjin bemoaned. On other matters, the Hand of the King had more optimistic news to share.

“The Stormlands should be ours after Prince Felix’s marriage pact to the Lady Yeojin Baratheon. I anticipate their sworn declaration.” On the opposite side of the king’s seat at the table sat Prince Jongin, who was causing some annoyance to Jisung next to him.

“Hem, my brother is raising the strength of the West to mass at the Golden Tooth, but we-” Jisung was distracted by Jongin grabbing his meeting-marker, again, which the boy had been doing since the start of the meeting. The Lannister lord had to restrain himself from yelling out in frustration. “Yes, thank you, my prince. That’s- that’s very helpful,” he said, grabbing his marker back from Jongin. Hyunjin watched from his seat, his bright smile returning and wider than before.

“My nephew, Lord Minhyuk, musters his forces to sally forth from Oldtown,” Ken stated, rapidly continuing from Jisung’s business with the boy prince. “They expect to march quickly, meeting little resistance, until they reach the Riverlands.”

“And what of my letters to Jeongin?” Beomgyu asked urgently. “Has there been any answer?”

“An apology for her dead son?” Mark drily snarked.

“None, Your Grace,” Jaemin said factually. “Between that and their blockade of the Gullet, we must presume that the princess has refused the offered terms, and that war is now inevitable.” Jongin began playing with Jisung’s meeting-marker, yet again, and the golden-headed lord’s patience was reaching its limit.

“Perhaps Your Grace might lend his voice to our outreach…” Beomgyu said to Hyunjin, who ignored her in favor of focusing on his son, once more causing some trouble.

“Stop!” Jisung yelled, trying to again wrest his marker from little Jongin’s hands. “Enough!” Beomgyu sighed slightly before continuing.

“...in hopes that new terms might be negotiated.”

“Release it at once! Will someone please-”

“Is the heir to the throne bothering you, Jisung?” Hyunjin questioned. Jisung stared back at the king in stunned silence.

“N- No. No, no, not, not in the least, Your Grace.” The king lightly chuckled.

“Because I think he wants a ride.”

“Your Grace,” Beomgyu said.

“Uh, a ride?” Jisung astonishedly questioned.

“A pony ride,” Hyunjin asserted. “Wouldn’t that be fun, Jongin? Should the Master of Coin be your royal steed?” Both the king and Jisung laughed. Hyunjin, gleefully, Jisung, more nervously.

“Your Grace!” Beomgyu, more sternly, said to Hyunjin. “There are important matters to discuss… despite Ser Jisung’s interruptions.” Jisung shot her a slight frown at the comment.

“Very well,” Hyunjin responded. “No time for amusements, my lord.”

“Your Grace,” Jisung nodded and sat back down into his seat. The king then aimed to excuse his son for the day.

“Off you go, Jongin! Good boy!” The boy then left the room, seen through the door to the meeting room by a servant. “Now, where were we?”

“Jeongin’s blockade has placed King’s Landing under strain,” Ken stated as the discussions resumed. “And those pressures will multiply quickly.”

“Well, we should’ve just killed her when we had the chance,” Hyunjin groused.

“Regrettably, the opportunity for surprise has been lost, and with it, the chance to end this conflict quickly.” Ken said as he glared at Beomgyu, sharing the king’s disappointment. “We must play the board before us.”

“If we are to break the Sea Snake’s blockade, we will need to bolster both the Lannister and Hightower navies,” Jisung affirmed.

“We do have need for a new master of ships,” Jaemin informed the council. “We could offer the title to the young Lord Greyjoy.” They were abruptly interrupted by the sudden arrival of the returning rider of Vallamor, and the king’s younger brother.

“Felix,” Beomgyu warily said. “What is your business here?”

“The king summoned me,” Felix replied as he stood before the table.

“You do not have a seat at this council.”

“Nonsense,” Hyunjin objected. “Felix is my closest blood and our best sword. I welcome him here with open arms.” Felix faced the large map near the table in the room.

“The path to King’s Landing is through the Riverlands. We must establish a toehold there, at Harrenhal.”

“The Riverlords will either declare for me, or they will meet Vallamor and Venia together,” Hyunjin boldly declared. “And why don’t we burn the blockade while we’re at it?”

“Jeongin has dragons as well,” Beomgyu advised the king.

“Mine are bigger,” Hyunjin contended.

“But if we lose the dragons to war, there’ll be no calling them back!” Beomgyu forewarned. “We must proceed cautiously!”

“No!” Hyunjin quickly refused. “Fat, old lord Tully will either raise my banner or see his burn. We should fly to Riverrun.”

“You are the king, Your Grace,” Heeseung noted. “You must not needlessly put yourself at risk.”

“And Vallamor is needed here to deter Jeongin from attacking in retribution for the death of her son,” Beomgyu scowled fiercely at Felix as she spoke, who looked back at her in repudiation of the deed.

“Errors were made in the hours following King Hongbin’s death,” Ken asserted. “We mustn't compound them.” He then turned his close and focused attention from the queen dowager to the king. “You’ve already demonstrated your might, Your Grace. We must now favor patience and restraint. I send ravens by the hour. Many and more houses will declare for you in time. History and precedent will come to your side.” But Hyunjin only let out a dejected sigh, not eager to take the approach the council had advised him to. Impatient and unmotivated, he frivolously fidgeted with his meeting-marker at his seat.

—

After the meeting’s conclusion, Lord Hyuk met with Beomgyu in the halls of the Red Keep. Since the revelation of her former lady-in-waiting’s treason, she felt as if she had few allies that could be fully trusted. She even doubted her trust in her own father, which had been dwindling since her son’s ascension. The dowager queen became more… selective, in who she could now confide in. “Good morrow, Your Grace,” Hyuk greeted Beomgyu.

“Good morrow, Lord Hyuk.”

“I had intended to speak with you before the council convened, but your handmaiden said that you were indisposed.”

“Well, what is it that you wish to discuss?” Beomgyu inquired. The Strong lord paused for a moment to take a more intent look.

“I have completed questioning the whole of the castle’s staff. They produced rather interesting details, but I am pleased to inform you that I have exposed all who betrayed our trust.”

“And what of them?” questioned Beomgyu, further.

“They no longer breathe our air,” Hyuk stated. Beomgyu paused briefly, then nodded in approval.

“I see,” she said. “And what of my new staff to replace them?” Hyuk smiled back, somewhat and rather stoically.

“I have chosen them personally.” Beomgyu stared back for a moment, then nodded again to Hyuk and left for her apartments. Expectedly, she found her new servants waiting for her in the room, prepared to bathe her. Little later as she rested in her tub, she had not grown fond of these new servants either. One of them attempted to wipe her with a bath-cloth.

“Give me that,” Beomgyu said. This puzzled the servant who had tried to assist her.

“Your Grace?” The servant responded meekly.

“Just leave me,” Beomgyu ordered, and they all left the room. Alone in her chamber, she bathed in silence and reflection, her mind drifting away from the known surroundings of the earth.

—

After the day’s meeting, it was time for the king to hear petitions in the great hall. More business in a long day of ruling. It wasn’t as exciting as he had hoped it would be, and certainly far less than it seemed during his coronation. But he was eager and braced, to carry out his duty to the realm, as his father’s successor. “All hail King Hakyeon!” One of Hyunjin’s lickspittles announced as they entered through the gates to the throne room. “Hakyeon the ‘Magnanimous!’ Second of His Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!”

“Hail King Hakyeon!” Another lickspittle shouted.

“The ‘Magnanimous?’” Hyunjin mimicked as he rolled his eyes at the title. He then made it to the base of the iron throne, where his grandfather, the Hand, was waiting for him.

“Your Grace,” Ken greeted the king. Hyunjin climbed the steps of the throne, and the first thought that went through his mind as he sat on it was how uncomfortable it was. The chair also stung, and it felt like a mass of daggers was poking at his skin. But the king did not bleed, and the throne appeared to have received him willingly.

“Let us have the first petition, my good lord Hand!” A common-born man stepped forward before the king, his shoulders shaking slightly.

“Good morrow, my- uh, Your Grace.”

“It’s alright,” Hyunjin reassured the man. “There’s no reason to be nervous. What’s your name?”

“Uhm, Tae- Taeho, Your Grace.”

“Good morrow, Taeho,” said Hyunjin, cordially. “How might your king be of service?” Taeho cleared his throat in anticipation of his address to the king.

“‘Tis my flock. A- a- uh, a tenth of them taken, by… the crown on… th- the cusp of winter. If I’d had the time to plan-”

“We should return them,” Hyunjin responded suddenly. The commoner froze in shock.

“Yo- Your Grace?” asked Taeho incredulously. It did not sit well with the Hand, who began slowly, but steadily, approaching the king at the steps of the throne.

“Well,” Hyunjin said, “you need your goats for the winter, don’t you?”

“Sheep, Your Grace,” Taeho corrected.

“Ah, yes, sheep. Even better. I shall make your flock of sheep whole once more.” The shepherd nervously laughed.

“We already made a promise to all the Crownlands that a tithing of the livestock would be necessary to sustain the dragons for their increased activity and, pray not, eventually fighting.” Ken reminded the king.

“Right, right,” Hyunjin whispered. “But if we could just return his sheep. He came all this way to the Red Keep.”

“If you return one herder’s sheep, Your Grace,” Ken advised, “then you will soon find them all at the foot of your throne expecting the same from you.” From behind a wall in the great hall, Hyuk watched as the king and his Hand bickered.

“They won’t know,” Hyunjin asserted.

“When the king speaks, Your Grace, all hear it.” Ken protested to him, with greater annoyance. The king’s face began to frown as the Hand moved back to the side of the throne.

“After further thought, and with the greatest of regrets, I’ve decided that I can not restore your sheep. If war were to break out, my dragons would require feed. Bring the next.” A guard escorted the shepherd out of the hall, and forward stepped another common-born man, a guildmaster.

“Salts always run scarce on the road to winter, Your Grace. We rely on ships from Essos for our supply. But now, with a blockade in place and war threatening-”

“That treasonous blockade won’t last long,” Hyunjin bluntly stated. “I plan to send Vallamor to burn it to ash. Send the next.” Next came a blacksmith, with silver-gold hair.

“San, Your Grace.” The man bowed his head to the king. “The smiths are all proud to support Your Grace against the pretender, Jeongin.” The king stared back at him, unsatisfied and expecting more to hear.

“But?” San nodded and continued his petition.

“But… iron costs have grown. A lone scorpion takes weeks to build. To put it simply, we are struggling. If we could but have the crown’s coin before we started work, it would bring great relief. Not just to me, but all other smiths serving in your cause.” Hyunjin sighed back at San and looked him straight in his eyes.

“You shall be paid and paid well. My army can not win a war without weapons. You should continue their making.” Just as Ken was about to approach him again to reprimand him, he continued more firmly. “Our victory depends on the efforts of the smallfolk. Do you disagree, my lord Hand?” Ken reluctantly shook his head and returned to his place at the side of the iron throne.

“You have my sincerest gratitude, Your Grace,” San responded as he bowed his head again and walked away from the base of the throne.

“Very well then,” Hyunjin declared. “I will hear the next petition.”

—

After all the petitions were heard, the king made for his apartments to retire for the day. But he found Lord Hyuk waiting for him there in the hallways of Minho’s Holdfast. “Your Grace,” Hyuk pleasantly said, “it fills my heart with warmth to see you on your father’s throne.” Hyunjin looked back at him tiredly and sullenly. “I was a mere boy when Jongin last graced the seat, but you brought forth memories of him, and you have such a deft touch with the smallfolk, just as your lord father did.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Before Hyunjin could begin to walk away, the Strong lord made a humble request for his presence.

“Do you have a moment for a quiet word?” Hyunjin sighed and hesitantly heard his subject out. “It is the Hand’s wont to have a firm grip on matters of governance. He controlled your father much the same way. Hongbin had a certain reputation as being pliable.”

“I am aware,” Hyunjin replied.

“Then I would think, as we find ourselves standing within a hair’s breadth of war, that you would wish to be viewed differently.”

“And how?” The king asked with significant curiosity. Hyuk’s gaze towards him softened, an expression of the lord’s understanding.

“Ken Hightower was your father’s Hand, my king… But he need not necessarily be yours.”

Chapter Text

Shortly after her arrival at Dragonstone, the Lady Taemin was kept in one of the castle’s prison cells, where she would wither as a traitor. However, the king-consort suddenly discovered a new purpose for the White Worm after the queen’s order of vengeance for her son. To enact this vengeance, Minho would need to find a way to sneak into King’s Landing without risking his cover. So, there he found Taemin in the cell, alone and vulnerable. “In your years as a merchant of gossip,” Minho said, “you surely accumulated spies within the Red Keep. Servants who knew the comings and goings.”

“Scheme with someone else, Minho,” Taemin argued back. “I was once in your thrall, but no longer. Find someone else for your plots.” His eyes remained focused towards hers.

“Hm, a transaction, then,” Minho insisted. “A simple one. Your knowledge in exchange for your freedom.” She looked back accusingly at him, but she could not find within herself the will to refuse his offer.

—

After the petitions in the great hall, the Hand of the King returned that evening to his quarters in the Tower of the Hand, where his daughter waited there for him. It seemed that a word with him was an urgent matter for her, judging by the glare on her face. “Daughter,” Ken stated politely.

“I requested an audience hours ago,” Beomgyu tiredly remarked.

“There were many petitions,” Ken protested, not aggressively, but respectfully. Beomgyu could do little but let out a sigh.

“I find myself wondering, do we pursue the same end? I must admit, nowadays I find myself unsure most of the time. I believe it would be best for the both of us if you knew mine. Victory.”

“And how would you define ‘victory?’” Ken questioned.

“Jeongin bending the knee and Hyunjin sitting the iron throne in peace,” Beomgyu responded plainly. “Just as Hongbin would’ve wanted.”

“If that is how you describe it, my dear daughter, then we are aligned.”

“Then be my ally,” Beomgyu pleaded.

“I am,” Ken said, sternly, but sincerely to her.

“An ally would not repeatedly cut my legs from beneath me at the table of men!” Beomgyu angrily moaned. Ken took a seat near his daughter and softened his gaze towards her.

“I sit here and I feel your anger. Your frustration, and impatience. These critical days since Hongbin’s passing haven’t gone to plan.”

“It isn’t my fault,” Beomgyu asserted. “My sons see you as the great example, father. The Hand to three kings. Hyunjin is ever-eager to prove himself and Felix… he is angry. Jeongin’s son took his eye and was never truly punished for it. What he did, however vicious…”

“The caprice of youth,” Ken softly remarked.

“I could only hope so,” Beomgyu regretfully replied. Ken’s face, too, frowned with sorrow and regret.

“Felix erred, no doubt. But he is fiercely loyal. He only wishes to please.”

“And Hyunjin still heeds me, in private, at the least. But if you undermine my voice, both those boys will grow deaf to it.” Ken’s face drifted around slightly in reflection and further thought.

“I had not seen it that way,” he said.

“We only need to mind Hyunjin until the novelty of rule is spent. And once he grows tired of it, you and I can steer our cause to victory.”

“A fine strategy, daughter,” Ken agreed keenly with Beomgyu’s procedure. “But you must accept that the path to victory now is one of violence.”

“I know it,” Beomgyu said. “But that does not mean it need be wanton.”

“No,” said Ken, plainly, and with great consideration of the next plot to be done for their cause.

—

Alone in her private chambers, Jeongin sat still grieving the loss of her son. She had barely spoken a word since she had returned to Dragonstone. In a twisted and tragic sense, she believed that she was to bear some responsibility for his death, as Sunwoo was sent to the Stormlands under the notion that south would be the safer trip than going north. But now he was dead, and there was nothing else the queen could do but call for the spilling of blood in retribution for his murder. She awaited the return of her eldest son and heir, and, mercifully, she had been granted that wish. Juyeon appeared through the entrance to her chamber, forlorn and in a great struggle for the proper words. “Your Grace,” he said dejectedly. “Lady Gayoung Arryn has pledged her support in exchange for a dragon to guard the Vale. And… Lord Soobin Stark…” He began heaving and his voice was breaking. “...has promised two-thousand men.” Quickly sensing her son’s grief, Jeongin went closer to Juyeon to embrace him. The young prince could hold back his tears no longer, and he wept in his mother’s arms. The queen herself also fought her tears back, intending to be her son’s support in the most difficult of times.

In the late evening that day, during sunset, a modest but intimate funeral was held for Prince Sunwoo Velaryon. His torn cloak was set on the pyre, since there was no more body to be found. Present only were the royal family along with a few castle guards. Among them, Eric and Kangmin mourned the greatest. Eric had, expectedly, been especially very close with his older brother, and Kangmin was betrothed to Sunwoo. For Ravi and Leo, it was yet another terrible and tragic loss for their family. However bound he was to them by blood alone, Sunwoo bore the name Velaryon. As the pyre was lit, Juyeon brought some of his late brother’s clothes and threw them into it. He then took his sobbing brother in his arms, his own eyes turned red from weeping. And Jeongin, with her youngest sons, Yeonjun and Seungmin, beside her, brought Sunwoo’s other belongings into the pyre. Soon as they turned to ash, she collapsed down to her knees and cried for her son once more, with all her close kin bearing witness to it.

—

Concurrently in King’s Landing, Beomgyu had gone to the Grand Sept for her customary prayer. There, in peaceful solitude, she prepared to light the candles for those who came before, and had departed. As she lit the first candle, she uttered the name of her long-deceased mother. “Aera Florent.” Afterwards she lit another candle, this time for her recently-past husband. “Hongbin Targaryen.” Then, with further thought and some hesitation and weariness, she lit a third candle… for the second son of Jeongin Targaryen. “Sunwoo Velaryon.”

—

That night, Minho had snuck into King’s Landing by boat on the waters of the Blackwater Bay. Navigating the ins and outs of the city was an effortless endeavor for him, as his once-appointed role as Commander of the City Watch gave him an opportunity to scout all of its significant streets and places. There he was able to find one of the former gold cloaks under his command, who had remained loyal to him even after their dismissal. The gold cloak’s personal name was not known throughout the public, so he’d gone by the nickname “Blood.” “A tribute,” Minho said to him, “my old friend.”

“Commander,” Blood responded, shocked and amazed.

“Never gone for too long,” Minho pleasantly stated. “I’m told you bear a certain mislike for the Hightowers.”

“Fuck them Hightowers,” Blood heatedly jeered. Minho let out a too-amused chuckle.

“Well, I suppose that makes two of us. Keep walking.” Blood then took Minho to see one of his acquaintances, a ratcatcher, who was styled with the name “Cheese.” “The White Worm said you’re one of Hyunjin’s ratcatchers. I take it you have been very busy of late. The Red Keep seems to be filled with them now since the usurper took charge.”

“But I thought the White Worm was already dead,” Cheese responded.

“Mm, her ghost informed me of your vast knowledge of the castle,” Minho stated, half a jest.

“King Minho’s tunnels,” Cheese affirmed.

“Ah yes,” Minho remarked, “the great network of holes and secret passages that my dragoncunt of a namesake before me built.”

“A great big rat’s nest, it is,” Cheese japed. “I know them better than the shape of mine own cock.” Blood nervously nodded to him and turned his look to the Rogue Prince.

“This is my friend,” he said.

“Indeed,” Minho replied. “He will be your friend tonight.” He then glared more seriously at the both of them, his intentions nearly discernable from the intensity in his stare. “You’re to find and slay Felix Targaryen. He has silver hair and one purple eye. Should be easy enough to find. But you’ll need to take caution. I heard the prince is quite the excellent swordsman.” Minho then held out a bag of gold to the former gold cloak and the ratcatcher. They looked inside, inspecting the amount. “That’s one half. You’ll get the other when the deed is done.”

“And what if we can’t find him?” Cheese questioned. The king-consort’s answer was a sneering smirk. It then became clear to them what he had desired.

—

“We’ve wasted precious days in this war of quills and ravens,” Felix discontently bemoaned. “Words are but wind. You should be leading the vanguard, and I should be flying cover on Vallamor. No castle would dare to raise Jeongin’s banner against us. We would bring the whole of the Crownlands to heel within weeks.”

“Well,” Heeseung suggested, “mayhaps we could petition the king, in private, to send us out.” He then pointed around a map on the table in the room. “Rosby and Stokeworth, small castles right in the shadow of King’s Landing. They would not want us for enemies.”

“We could add their levies to our own,” Felix asserted, too, moving pieces ‘round the map. “Our host growing as we advance.”

“It is a rather canny scheme, my prince,” Heeseung remarked.

“But moot,” Felix said. “My brother is hostage to my grandsire and mother, and they tell him that a war of dragons can yet be avoided.”

“‘Tis inevitable,” Heeseung responded. “They must see that.”

“Aye, but Ken fears to upset the order of things,” Felix dourly noted. “And Beomgyu is… angry.”

“Angry?” Heeseung asked, perplexed.

“She blames me for starting this war after she plotted with my father’s council to usurp his throne. It appears, regrettably, that Her Grace speaks with two tongues.”

“Beomgyu has a gentle heart,” Heeseung defensively stated. “And Jeongin is a cunning spider. Years ago, she drew your mother into her web, intoxicated her. It is not her fault.”

“She holds love for our enemy,” Felix denied. “Which makes her a fool.” The prince and the knight stared in silence for some few moments, before the former gazed morosely around the chamber. “In these days, I find myself longing for my dear brother down in Oldtown. He is… the one person I could confide in.” Just after, the door to the room opened, and in-walked the Hand of the King.

“Lord Hand,” Heeseung greeted Ken, who looked back, vexed and wary.

“Return to your post, Lord Commander. I must have a word with the prince.” Heeseung nodded and left the room, leaving the Hand to deal with business with his grandson. Ken took a seat and glared, gravely, at Felix. “It would concern me, grandson, if plans were being considered beyond the ears of your king and his Hand. You have a zeal to act, I understand. I was young once myself.”

“I wouldn’t be so wary, grandsire,” Felix reassured. “I only wish to serve the interests of my king and my house.” Ken took the flask of wine from the table and poured some into his cup.

“You and Vallamor are the greatest single power in the realm. If it was not obvious before, it certainly is now. But there are many pieces at play here, some of which you can’t yet see.” He then took a few sips of wine before continuing. “I promise you, Felix, that you will have the vengeance you seek, but you must keep a grip on your own impulses. We both know, regrettably, that your brother is incapable of such.” Felix sighed deeply and nodded, reluctantly.

—

The sewers beneath the Red Keep were, as Blood and Cheese discovered, the main pathway leading to the secret tunnels of the castle. Once they made it out of the sewers, they were quickly led into the main floor near the great hall, which was left vacated for the night. They passed through the throne room, glancing occasionally at the iron throne and the recently, and honorably, erected statue of King Hongbin I. Cheese’s dog, accompanying the two, was urged to keep quiet by his owner, who had been afraid his growls would alert others to their presence. On the way to the next secret passage, the guards and servants were impartial to them, believing they had simply been granted permission into the main area. When the duo and the dog did make it through the pathway, the ratcatcher’s demeanor suddenly shifted, and he appeared not as bold as he was when first took on the job. “How do we get upstairs?” asked Blood, whose composure and daring had not yet left him.

“The royals live up there,” Cheese said.

“Right,” Blood said back, impatiently.

“Well, it’s off limits, it is,” Cheese remarked. “Different group of ratcatchers work the upstairs.”

“If we’re to kill a royal fucking prince, where do you think we’re gonna find him?” questioned Blood angrily. “I got you in the castle. I thought the rest was your bit.” Cheese grunted back apprehensively at him. Blood’s already thin patience began to thin even further. “I could end you right here, and take the gold for meself,” he said as he placed a hand on his knife holsted on his belt. Fearful, Cheese relented to Blood’s demands.

“I know a way upstairs,” said the ratcatcher. “Just don’t know my way ‘round.” Blood took his hand away and glared fiercely at him.

“Show me.” Cheese then led them to the upper floor from a staircase, his dog annoying his companion along the way. Eventually, they made it into a room where, unbeknownst to them, Prince Felix and Ser Heeseung had met earlier that night, but was now empty.

“No one’s here,” Cheese murmured.

“Then we need to keep looking,” Blood whispered back.

“I told ya, I’m not supposed to be here,” Cheese moaned.

“Did you not hear the prince? No head, no gold!” Reluctantly, Cheese led them further through the upper floor, giving their greatest effort to avoid detection. Blood also advised the ratcatcher to set up traps around the place for appearances, to maintain their cover. Soon as well, they split and the duo searched different sides of the floor. Blood continued setting traps, and as he went around a corner he was spotted by a handmaid. Startled, he reassured the handmaid that they were “for the rats,” but when he turned around she had fled the room. Reckoning that the handmaid would soon like warn the others, Blood hastily went to find Cheese so they could finish quickly. As he looked around, he heard a noise nearby and went to the source. There he found Cheese holding a knife to Taehyun’s throat and restraining her by the waist.

“Quiet,” he said, “be quiet and stay still.” The ratcatcher cackled as Taehyun helplessly stood still, unable to cry out for aid.

“Who the fuck is she?” Blood nervously questioned.

“She’s the queen, that’s who she is,” Cheese said without wiping the smug grin on his face.

“‘A son for a son,’ he said. Does she look like a fucking son to you?” Cheese simply laughed again, uncaring of his partner’s annoyance and panic.

“Over there!” Blood took a look behind and found two beds, quickly realizing they were presently in the queen’s quarters, where her children slept with her. He searched the beds, attempting to make out who among the twins was a boy. “We need to get our head and get out!” Blood continued searching, alarmed as he inspected Jongin and Jongah. They had little time left to spare, and their task awaited them. “They both look the same. Which one’s the boy?”

“I- I don’t know,” Blood answered.

“Well, look for a cock.”

“We don’t have time.” Blood then turned around to face Taehyun directly. “The mother knows.” Taehyun wished to let out a gasp, but could do nothing as the ratcatcher held the knife even closer, leaving a few small cuts around her throat.

“Do anything but what I ask, and I’ll bleed the whole lot of ya! Now, which?”

“Just take mine own,” Taehyun tearfully begged. Her pleas did not satisfy the perpetrators.

“You are not a son, my queen. Tell me, which one is it?” The queen whimpered powerlessly, forced into an unthinkable choice no mother should ever be burdened with. She lingered in internal chaos there, in a certain dread that not even she could have believed in. Could she truly fight it? Or did destiny wickedly lead her to that moment? For a little longer, she withered in despair until, eventually, she made her choice. Regretfully and with unimaginable sorrow, she pointed to the king’s heir, her son. Blood nodded and proceeded to the bed where Jongin lay in slumber, but hesitated momentarily.

“Wait,” he said, “it’s the other one. There’s no way the queen would give up the heir to the throne easily.” However, as they looked back, her expression remained unchanged. They pondered slightly, recognizing her genuineness and anguish.

“No,” Cheese uttered as he raised his knife away from Taehyun’s throat. “She’s telling the truth.” As they made towards the bed, she watched as they covered her son’s mouth and held him down, waking the boy in panic. Seeing her opportunity, she took her daughter away from her bed and began to flee, but not before she heard the sound of her son’s muffled and terrified screams, and then his head being hacked off from his torso. She felt like screaming, as she ran throughout the hallways near her apartments and down the stairs leading to her mother’s own apartments. But she made barely so much as a couple of soft and pain-laden pants as she fled. Rather, it was a wonder to her that she found within herself enough strength and will to continue rushing to safety. With Jongah alive and breathing in her grasp, she stopped just outside the door to her mother’s room and entered. Beomgyu and Heeseung, who were in the midst of intimate pleasure and covered only by bedsheets, looked back at the doorway puzzled and alerted.

“Taehyun,” Beomgyu said as she noticed her, “what’s happened?” Breathing heavily and in petrifying discomfort, Taehyun stared at the both of them, her eyes glassy and her face pale nearly as a white hart.

“The-,” she stumbled, “they… they killed the boy!”

Chapter Text

Great upheaval ensued in the wake of the king’s heir’s ghastly and fiendish murder. The people of the Red Keep screamed, wailed, weeped, and cursed as the news of Prince Jongin’s demise spread throughout the castle. The guards seized and dragged out many of the servants, intent to find the assailant responsible. Handmaids returned out of the queen’s chambers carrying cloth stained with blood. And at the king’s quarters, Hyunjin vented out his wrath upon his late father’s old model. “I’LL KILL THEM!” He roared, “I’LL KILL THEM ALL! Traitors and villains! They dare strike at me!”

“Your Grace,” Eun Reyne, Hyunjin’s companion, tried to calm him down. The king pointed his sword at the knight.

“I am the king!”

“Your Grace!” Eun called out again. “Yes, yes!” Hyunjin then turned the tip of his sword in the direction of his other companion, Minjun Waters.

“I am the king,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Minjun responded. “Please, Your Grace!” The king darted around the room, savagely and seemingly mad.

“Traitors and villains!” Hyunjin yelled as he returned to striking at Hongbin’s model of Old Valyria. “Fire from the sky! This is war! I declare war! I DECLARE WAR!” Whilst the king raged, the queen wept, and the king’s brother somberly reflected on his own part in the circumstances that led to his nephew’s murder.

—

“The gates have been shut,” Ken affirmed to his daughter at her chambers. “The search progresses. The villain will be found. My daughter, we mustn’t be shaken by this, this act. The child.” Beomgyu sat on her bed, distraught and utterly inconsolable.

“The child is dead,” she said. “His pain is ended. But- But what they’ve done-” She broke into sobs and sniffles, her tears surrounding her eyes like a flood. “What they’ve done to my girl…”

“Yes,” Ken reassured. “They will pay dearly for it.” Through her tears and shaken conscience, Beomgyu somehow mustered up the courage to ask the most difficult of questions.

“Who will pay?”

“Whosever hand did this or caused it to be done!” Ken furiously declared.

“And what if the hand that’s done it is not who must be blamed?” Ken paused briefly, and incredulously, at the abruptness and nearly outrageous curiosity of his daughter’s question. “The gods punish us. They punish me!”

“For what sin?” questioned the Hand. But Beomgyu only stared back at him, cheeks stained and unable to drive herself to admit the truth of her affairs with the kingsguard’s lord commander. Ken softened his gaze and sought to reassure her once more. “Daughter, listen to me. We will mourn as we must, but… some good may yet come of this.” She looked at him, this time perplexed and baffled at the suggestion. What “good” he believed would come out of the prince’s death, she could not even set about understanding, or wish entertaining.

—

“And where were the members of this council while the murderer threatened their king?!” Hyunjin accusingly asked.

“Where you also threatened, Your Grace?” asked Jisung nervously.

“I COULD HAVE BEEN!” The king took the cup from Jisung’s grip, and shattered it into pieces on the ground. “My son is my legacy! My son is heir to the iron throne!” He then glared at Heeseung, anger and venom thrown all about the council. “And where were you, the Lord Commander of my kingsguard?”

“I was abed, Your Grace, having ordered the night’s watch,” Heeseung replied.

“‘Abed’? ABED! Instead of safeguarding the sanctity of my family?!”

“Your Grace, now is not the time for blind accusations,” Ken cautioned Hyunjin. “We’ll know who did this soon enough.”

“Who did this?” Hyunjin mocked, “Who did- What? Is there even any question, without a shadow of a doubt, who did this? Who would do this save the bitch queen of bastards, hm? The smug cunt of Dragonstone! There she sits across the bay, on her rock, laughing at me! SHE’S FUCKING LAUGHING AT ME!” The king took another cup and brutishly flung it across the room. He then pointed, fiercely, his finger at Beomgyu. “And you wished her life to be spared?”

“If I may, Your Grace,” Hyuk requested. “My lords, the guards have detained someone. The man we apprehended is known to us. A gold cloak. Noted for his brutal nature. We caught him, fleeing through the Gate of the Gods with the child’s head in a sack.” Incensed and bloodthirsty, Hyunjin made his way to the entrance of the meeting chamber.

“I’ll kill him myself!” But before he could leave through the door, he was stopped by Heeseung there.

“We’d do well to get what information we can from the blackguard,” Ken asserted, then turning to Hyuk in gratitude. “I trust in the mastery of your trade, Lord Hyuk.” Hyuk nodded and courteously exited the room.

“Oh, always studying,” Hyunjin groused, “always protocol! We know our enemy!”

“A king may have more than one enemy, Your Grace,” Mark judiciously asserted. “We would do well to ascertain if this barbarity was played by your sister’s hand… or if there is a serpent nestled closer to our bosoms.”

“Ha,” Hyunjin sneered, “I suppose you’re right, Ironrod! Could, indeed, be anyone! It could be anyone of you in this room!” Ken sighed, tiredly and irritably, his willingness to entertain his grandson’s rants steadily diminishing.

“Lord Mark is correct,” remarked the Hand. “In one sense, we must determine what happened and if we in the Keep are still in peril. In another sense, of course, it doesn’t matter.”

“You mean to blame Jeongin,” Jisung said. “Tell the realm that she has done this.”

“I’ll have the realm told nothing!” Hyunjin protested. “We were assaulted within our own walls. Within our own beds. I will not be seen as weak.”

“You are already seen as weak, Hyunjin,” Ken shot back.

“Oh, you fucking…” Hyunjin muttered furiously, shattering more materials in his rage. His grandsire remained stony and resumed laying out his intention.

“A hasty coronation,” Ken reflected, “a dragon escaping the Pit. The people see an omen. They whisper in the streets and they say, ‘Perhaps Jeongin should be queen.’”

“And so you would name her: Monster, slayer of infants,” Jaemin responded. Ken returned the council a pleased smirk.

“I would do more than that,” he stated. “A funeral progress! Let them see the child. Let them look upon the works of this pretender to the throne.” Beomgyu looked back at Ken, stunned by his motives and at a struggle to take in everything surrounding her.

“Father,” she murmured mournfully. Ken eyed Hyunjin sternly, and steadfastly.

“My king.”

“No!” Hyunjin cried out, “I’ll not have my little son dragged through the street like a dead dog!”

“Not dragged!” Ken vehemently objected, “Honored! Escorted to the Dragonpit to be burned as a Targaryen prince!” Beomgyu stood from her seat, unable to deal with the bickering for another moment.

“Your Grace,” Mark said.

“No!” Hyunjin again yelled, breaking down into tears and burying his face into his hands. Ken relaxed his face, appearing much more melancholic than before.

“Let no one say I do not grieve. Jongin was my grandson, I loved him. I will not have him die in vain.” Though just as quickly, his gaze hardened once more. “Those who declared for Jeongin, will they still support her when they hear of her depravity? Or will they rather not renounce her? This is an impeccable opportunity for prudence. Jongin will do more for us now than a thousand knights in battle. I assure you, Your Grace, you will have your war. But if you wait a short time, you may yet double your strength.” Hyunjin looked up and firmly shook his head, and then took a desperate look towards Beomgyu.

“Mother,” Hyunjin pleaded. Beomgyu went to him at his seat, consoling and sharing his worries and doubts. But she would not disagree with the Hand’s proposition.

“The Hand sets on a difficult path, my darling, but it might be the right one.” The members of the green council breathed slightly, all resolute, save the king, in their next act.

“Then let the Silent Sisters ready the prince for his final journey,” Ken declared. “And riding behind him in the wagon, his mother the queen, and with her, the queen dowager.”

“No,” Beomgyu argued, “I do not wish to be a spectacle.”

“The realm must see the sorrow of all the crown,” Ken said back, unwavering. “A sorrow best expressed through its most gentle souls. I think you’ll all agree the king himself must be spared.”

—

None of the hours since her son’s death felt, at all, real for Taehyun. She felt like crumbling, scattering into millions of pieces beneath the earth. She had not eaten, and, truthfully, she’d not been certain she would ever grow to enjoy food again. She had the strength to do nothing, but mourn for her son in solitude. In her quarters, she would be greeted that day by her mother, who had come to request her partaking in a royal obligation. “There’s to be a funeral for Prince Jongin.” The queen turned her head around slowly, still dazed from trauma. “We’ve been asked to ride on a wagon behind his body.”

“I don’t want to,” Taehyun uttered plainly.

“Neither do I,” Beomgyu said regrettably. “But when such a thing happens… a blow to the king is a blow to the realm. When the people share our grief, they draw closer to us.”

“I don’t want them closer,” said Taehyun, miserably. “I don’t know them.”

“Sometimes we have to pretend,” Beomgyu remarked.

“Why?” Was all that could further come from the queen’s tongue. Beomgyu stared at her more intently and seriously.

“We are representatives of the throne. We have a duty.” She then placed her hand gently on Taehyun’s. “My daughter, what you saw last night when you came to my room-”

“This is for my boy,” Taehyun said, holding out robes intended for Jongin when he was to come of age. They were intended, now, to be used as his funeral garments. Beomgyu stared at them, blankly and aimlessly.

—

On the late hours of the morning, the funeral progress for Prince Jongin Targaryen, son of King Hakyeon II Targaryen, proceeded. The prince’s mother and grandmother rode right behind him in the wagon, as it was wheeled out before the masses of King’s Landing. The boy’s head had been hastily reattached to his body as he laid still in the coffin. The common people of the city looked upon the queen and the queen dowager in their solemn and mournful stares. As they saw what they had come to see to believe, they stood in respect and condolence to the royal family and to the deceased prince. Where the crown mourned, the folks followed behind. And as the wagon rode throughout the city’s streets, a herald shouted out the name of the perpetrator purported to be responsible for the act. “Behold the works of Jeongin Targaryen! Pretender to the throne! Kinslayer! Defiler of the innocent!” Taehyun and Beomgyu sat in their seats blankly as the crowd delivered their flowers and sympathies.

“Gods be with you, my queen!” A folk said. The wagon rode further into the streets, and the herald cursed the “Black Queen of Dragonstone” once more.

“Behold the works of Jeongin, the cruel!” The sympathies and adulation of the smallfolk did nothing to calm the queen, whose stomach grew weaker as the progress continued. Being forced to reveal herself before the public made the pain worse for her, and she wanted nothing more than to linger in the privacy of her apartments. But as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, her duty to the realm could not be ignored. “Behold the works,” the herald continued, “of Jeongin Targaryen! Pretender to the throne! Kinslayer! Defiler of the innocent!” As they made it further into the city, the wagon abruptly halted. While the kingsguard looked around to determine the source of the setback, more smallfolk gathered around the wagon.

“Queen Taehyun!” They shouted, repeating her name with sorrowful and anguished voices. The commotion was more than the queen could endure at that moment. Frightened and overwhelmed, Taehyun began to lose control over her own breathing. The sound of the guards trying to move the wagon forward did not help to calm her.

“Taehyun,” Beomgyu worriedly called out, examining her daughter’s condition. Taehyun panicked and breathed, and repeated the acts as the people screamed their cries for her.

“A curse,” a folk shouted, “a curse on Jeongin, the monstrous!”

—

Elsewhere in the dungeons, Hyuk set about gathering information from the murderer he captured. The Strong lord readied his instruments to prepare to sharply question the man on his involvement in Jongin’s murder. Fearful upon looking at those instruments, Blood had no intention to withhold the information he had to give to his interrogator. “I- I was- was hired by Minho Targaryen! He paid us! Half now, half when the job is done!” Hyuk looked back at him, tepidly.

“Who is ‘us’?”

“A- A ratcatcher!” Blood shakily responded. “Employed by the household! I- I don’t know his right name!” Hyuk did not say a word back to Blood, only electing to continue his cold and tense stare at the former gold cloak. Puzzled and suspicious, Blood stammered with palpable trepidation. “Ar- Are- Are you gonna hurt me?” Hyuk smirked back at him, continuing to pierce through his eyes with his stare.

“No… but I can not vouch for His Grace…” Shortly after, Hyunjin suddenly appeared at the door to Blood’s cell, vengeful and with fiery eyes. Blood shrunk nearly as the king stood before him, mace in hand. But before the man could plead for his life, Hyunjin raised his mace and swung it towards Blood’s head. The man fell down, and again he was struck, repeatedly. The king cared not if he was long dead by the time his thirst for bloodshed was spent. In a moment of rage and grief, Hyunjin unleashed all of his wrath on the murderer responsible for the death of his dear son and heir. The floors of Blood’s cell would ultimately be filled with no shortage of his namesake, bathing them in red.

—

The news of the young prince’s demise was as great of a shock at Dragonstone as it was at King’s Landing. The queen was far less than flattered to be blamed for such a vile transgression. “It is yet unclear how the Keep itself was breached,” Joonggil noted. “The boy’s head was severed from his body. Thousands witnessed the procession.”

“And they are accusing me of having a hand in this,” Jeongin questioned warily.

“It appears so, Your Grace,” Joonggil responded. “There have been messages sent to that effect throughout the realm.”

“Then we must send our own messages, denying this vile allegation,” Jeongin fiercely asserted.

“I will do so at once,” Joonggil stated, “but I’m not so sure they will be received in good faith.”

“And we must double our guard,” Jeongin insisted, “here and in Driftmark. There will be swift retribution in one form or another.”

“I have seen to it, Your Grace,” Xiumin affirmed. Overhearing the discussion, Juyeon approached the painted table opposite the side from which his mother stood.

“Let me fly out on Serus. Leo is needed in the Gullet and I can watch for movements from King’s Landing.”

“No,” Jeongin refused without hesitation.

“It must be said that the damage to our position is immeasurable,” remarked Xiumin despairingly, “at a time when we most need loyalty to our cause.”

“But it’s a lie,” Jeongin contemptuously declared. “Having lost my own son, that I would inflict such a thing on Taehyun, of all people! An innocent!” From her seat at the table as she listened, Leo took one look at Minho where he sat, quickly sensing his own part in something so appalling.

“The death of Prince Sunwoo was a shock and an insult,” said Jaebeom Broome. “A mother so aggrieved might, naturally, seek relief in retribution.”

“Are you suggesting, Ser Jaebeom,” Jeongin asked as her frown grew deeper, “that my grief drove me to order the decapitation of a child?!”

“I merely thought, perhaps, an action taken in haste,” Jaebeom shot back drily.

“Mind yourself,” Leo mocked, refusing to take her eyes off of the king-consort. After a brief moment, Jeongin let out a displeased sigh and sat back down. As she took a glance back at her husband, it became clear to her, doubtlessly, where his true intentions lay. She took another look at Minho, and the look of unadulterated disgust she shot him would’ve deterred any other sane man. Yet the Rogue Prince looked back at his wife, with a cold and impenitent stare.

—

“Did you send assassins to murder children in their beds?!” Jeongin questioned Minho in her private chambers.

“I sent the queen’s vengeance for her son.”

“And what did you tell this ‘vengeance’? What did you say to him?” The queen glared scathingly at the king-consort, her affection for him nowhere to be seen. “Minho, a boy lies dead and I am wrongfully accused of killing it!”

“Taemin provided me with names and a subterfuge,” Minho asserted. “I was clear in my instructions: Felix, the brother of Hyunjin the Usurper. I can not be responsible for a mistake.”

“Can not be responsible?” Jeongin echoed incredulously. Minho sighed in annoyance and impatience. “And if Felix was not to be found, what were your instructions then?”

“They did not concern you in any way, that of a little child.”

“You said it was your aim to spill Hightower blood, and if not Felix, then anyone would do!”

“No!” Minho fervently denied.

“You have wounded me!” Jeongin bemoaned, “Weakened my claim to the throne, my ability to raise an army, my standing among my own council!”

“I said no,” Minho shot back.

“I don’t believe you.” Jeongin turned his back at him, lamenting the direness of their present circumstances. After a long moment of thought, she turned to face him again, regretful and overcome with pure disdain. “So we come to it, at long last.” Minho focused upon her gaze in stony silence. “I can not trust you, Minho. In truth, I’ve never trusted you, wholly… much though I wished to, willed myself to. But now I have seen that your heart belongs only to you! And when I was only a child, I took this as a challenge! But I am older now! I have challenges enough!”

“I have served you faithfully,” Minho argued.

“Have you?! Or have you used me as a tool with which to grasp at your stolen inheritance?!” Minho threw his cup of wine at the ground so violently, Jeongin was nearly bemused that it did not shook beneath them. She flinched as he rushed forward, again with that look of unadulterated rage that came whenever he had been reminded of his former station. They stared at one another in a painfully long silence, the queen unknowing if he was about to put his hands on her with ill intent as he did before. But no hand was raised, and the silence was mercifully broken.

“When Ser Jackson brought you the crown,” Minho said, “did I myself not place it upon your brow?”

“Yes,” Jeongin replied, “but before that you sought to lead a council of war while I labored alone in my bed chamber. And afterward, when I thought it meet to consider the terms our foes put before us-”

“A folly!” Minho jeered, “A folly! To give up my dear brother’s throne to the traitorous lies of that serpent, Ken Hightower!”

“My throne, Minho! Mine!” Jeongin said bitterly. “I think you used my words as an excuse to take your own revenge! To indulge the darkness you keep sheathed within you like a blade!”

“You think me some kind of monster?” Minho coolly questioned.

“I don’t know what to think of you! I don’t know what you are, or who it is that you serve!”

“Wha- Ho- Wh-” Minho stammered in frustration and anger. “Am I not on my way, even now, to Harrenhal to raise an army in your name, Jeongin?! Yours!” Jeongin turned away again, shaking her head in disbelief. Tears began to gather in her eyes. All the years she spent as her father’s heir believing she was to inherit the family dynasty, yet she stood there now: Her throne stolen from her by her unruly half-brother, her father, son, and only daughter dead, and uncertain of her closest kin and ally’s loyalty. Surely, it all had to be part of some sort of a twisted dream, or so she desperately desired. But she stood there nonetheless, and war was upon them. She turned, yet again, to confront her dear husband, whom she had grown so attached to in more ways than one.

“Do you accept me as your queen and ruler… or do you cling, even now, to what you think you lost?” Minho raised his head in utter incredulity and offense.

“What I think I lost?”

“You did not lose it!” Jeongin said, “You gave it away, because you thought ever and only of your own glory, and not of my father in his grief who needed you!” Minho’s brow furrowed, eyes beamed with anger once more, mouth twisted into an unpleasant sneer.

“Your father was a coward who knew I was the stronger son! That I was the leader of men and he was afraid to be seen in my shadow!”

“Is that what you understand of your own brother?!” Jeongin questioned.

“Oh,” Minho sneered, “you know him better than I do, who was raised at his side? Do you really believe he made you heir because of your great wisdom? Because of your virtue?”

“How dare you?!” Jeongin uttered with sheer contempt.

“Or did he use you as a tool to put me in my place because he was afraid of me? Because he knew your legacy, unlike mine, would never outshine his own!”

“He was not afraid of you, Minho!” Howled Jeongin. “He could not trust you, any more than I can trust you!”

“He was a fool!” Minho coldly and scornfully mocked. “He who sought greatness but shrank from spilling blood to achieve it! And I see now you will suffer the same fate!” The queen’s tears, at last, escaped from her eyes. She looked at him, at the verge of crumbling and losing all faith.

“You struck down a child.” Minho shook his head back, once again in denial.

“It was a mistake.” Jeongin’s face relaxed, though not in relief, but rather despair.

“You’re pathetic,” she murmured. Spent and dejected, she took a seat at the table in her room. Pained and resentful, Minho stormed out of the room without so much as a word of parting, slamming the door violently on his way out, Jeongin flinching slightly as the door shut. And so the queen sat alone in her quarters, to linger in grief and self-reflection.

Chapter Text

Yongseung thought ‘bout many things as she passed through the many halls of Dragonstone, not least among them revolving around her father. It was no secret to her that he had not been his usual self since King Hongbin’s passing. Though Minho was never the figure with the purest of hearts, he still had a remarkable capacity for love and joy, however unusually he expressed them. But recently, those two traits had seemingly disappeared, and he appeared to be in a state of constant fury and wrath. Perhaps, it was why the moment was tense, when she saw her father passing by her without a word as she made her way to the queen’s chambers. “Father,” Yongseung fruitlessly asked. Though she was not fully aware of why he seemed so distressed, she knew regardless that he was likely heading out to Harrenhal to claim support from the Riverlords to their cause. So she continued on, paying no heed to him, and entered the queen’s chambers. There, Jeongin sat in woeful silence, still distraught from her dispute with Minho. “You wish to see me, Your Grace?” The queen slowly raised her head in Yongseung’s direction, refocusing her gaze and unclouding her mind.

“When morning comes,” said Jeongin, “take Rayvania and keep a watch on King’s Landing. I must know which course they take next.”

“I will be vigilant,” Yongseung accepted, diligently, the task. The queen nodded back in approval and gratitude, eyeing her step-daughter intently.

“I depend on you, Yongseung. Stay high and keep your distance. We can afford no further mistakes.”

“And my father?” Jeongin stared back in a few moments of silence, trying her best effort to conceal her lingering sorrow and discontent. Her gaze hardened, and she spoke more firmly and composed to Yongseung.

“He must follow his own path now.”

—

That evening, Minho finished his preparations and set about flying out of Dragonstone to the Riverlands to draw support to the Blacks. Mounting his old and trustworthy friend, Layros, he sighed and let out a deep breath before giving the command. “Sōvēs,” he uttered softly. Layros took several steps away from the dark cavern he called home in the Dragonmont, nearing the skylit waters of the island. Minho held on to his saddle tightly and braced himself for travel. The red wyrm-like dragon then descended from the cave and took to the evening sky above the water, flying away from the castle and towards the west leading to the castle of Harrenhal. And so his journey to bring the Riverlords and their houses to heel began, a journey far from home, far from his dear wife, and far from the remnants and discomforts of his former inheritance.

—

Having returned from his violent and vengeful activities in the Red Keep’s dungeons, Hyunjin wandered aimlessly about the castle’s many halls. Still unappeased by the spilling of the murderer’s blood, he sought to engage in further acts of retribution for the death of his son and heir. After seemingly endless hours of walking and walking, he stumbled across his sister-wife staring out a window near the stairway. Taehyun moved her head towards him as she heard his footsteps, at a lack of knowledge of how to express her grievances with him. “Brother,” she murmured softly. The king stared back at her speechless and with a lack of showing that he, perhaps, was grieving the loss of their child the same way she was. Without a word, affectionate or not, from him he left her side from the stairway and made to the inner towers for his apartments. The queen barely reacted and simply continued looking through the window without much protest or denial.

—

Still wrought with guilt over Prince Jongin’s demise and his inability to prevent it, Heeseung had gone to the dowager queen’s chambers that night to seek forgiveness and a path of repentance. He waited tirelessly outside the door awaiting her answer. It felt to him like he had sullied his honor once more with his bed activities with the king’s mother, and inevitably needed to restore it again. The stain of his failure to the king needed to be washed out, in some form or another. As he stood guard at Beomgyu’s door, he toiled in thought over the anguish and regret he caused her. It had not gone unnoticed to him that in their intimacy with one another, she had also “sinned” just as he did. Perhaps, it would not be an anomaly for her to blame him for influencing her to such unbecoming acts. Soon then, he heard the door to the room opening, and out came Beomgyu, who appeared less than pleased to be graced with his presence. “Have you told anyone?” She nervously inquired. Heeseung sighed and stared back as shame beamed through his weary eyes.

“What do you take me for, Your Grace?” He questioned back at her, gentle though still. Beomgyu stared back accusingly at the knight.

“One who seeks absolution.” Heeseung steadfastly, though courteously, shook his head.

“There is none for what I’ve done.” Receiving his answer lukewarmly, Beomgyu slowly and gently closed the door to her quarters. Lacking the will for argument, Heeseung merely stood guard at the door as he contemplated his atonement.

—

The day after, Ser Heeseung had gone to the kingsguard’s barracks seeking answers from his fellow knights. In their shared duty to the crown, they had failed to protect the king’s heir and disgraced him and the queen. Their honor was to be restored, through whatever means needed of them. There, his mind and attention focused on Ser Gackson, the twin brother of Hyunjin’s former sworn shield and now traitor to the crown. Gackson was eating his supper when Heeseung stopped behind him at his seat. The knight turned his head back to look at him, who was intently eyeing the white cloak adorning his silver armor, which had been greatly stained at the bottom. “What is this?” Heeseung coldly questioned. Gackson took a look down at his dirtied cloak, before turning his gaze again to his fellow brother-in-arms.

“A reminder of yesterday, I think,” he said. “The procession was muddy. I’ll replace it hence.”

“Do it now,” Heeseung bluntly ordered. Gackson let out a soft, yet tired, groan.

“The night was long, Ser Heeseung, and I had not eaten in-”

“You defy my authority, Ser Gackson.” Startled, the knight stood from his seat at the table in defense.

“I do not, ser.” Heeseung did little more else but glare back at him, undeterred.

“The white cloak is a symbol of our purity,” he said, “our fidelity. Kingsguard are a sacred trust. Will you so easily sully our ancient honor?” Gackson pondered for a few moments before standing from his seat and nodding back to the commanding knight. Around them, the other knights were muttering to themselves about their Lord Commander, and his rather open guilt with failing to protect the king’s son.

“I have erred, my lord,” Gackson responded. “I shall remedy the error.” Heeseung, however, was not appeased, and went to confront Gackson once more as he was about to leave the room.

“Where were you when Jongin was murdered?” Slowly and hesitantly, Gackson turned again to face the knight, losing the patience to entertain any further quarrel.

“With King Hakyeon.”

“And still you couldn’t prevent the crime when the rats were outside his doors,” Heeseung bitterly mocked.

“His Grace was tired,” Gackson argued, “he demanded my full attention.”

“But if you had thought to go outside to the queen’s quar-”

“And where were you, Lord Commander?” Gackson shot back, now tired of the accusations. “And why has Taehyun, the queen, been granted no sworn protector? Surely when she and Hakyeon ascended, she should-” Heeseung furiously slammed his fist on the table and began to shout ungraciously at the knight.

“Your brother is a thief and a traitor to the crown!” Startled, the other knights began to leave the room, not wanting to suffer another one of their commander’s outbursts. Gackson sighed as he watched them exit and turned back to Heeseung yet again.

“You well know how it pains me.”

“How are we to know that you do not secretly share his sentiments?” Heeseung questioned.

“I denounced him before the king,” Gackson asserted, glaring fiercely and standing steadfast before his fellow kingsguard. “We were one soul in two bodies, yes. But if I’d shared his sentiments, then I would have simply fled with him.” Heeseung let out a light chuckle, which morphed into laughter that was as mocking as any laugh could possibly fathom. Then he continued scowling at the knight, resolute in his anger and conviction.

“First your brother betrays us, and then the young prince is murdered… on your watch!”

“You are mad, ser!” Gackson protested, “Mad! You can not think that I did this!”

“What I think has no relevance!” Heeseung yelled out. Gackson suddenly paused as the tension between the two increased greatly. “You have brought disgrace upon our ranks.” Heeseung continued as his eyes fixed intently on the knight. “And now you must restore it.”

“And how am I to do that?” Gackson questioned. Heeseung let out a sly smirk and brought him over to a corner just outside of the room near the entrance, where they now stood alone in the hallway. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard shot Gackson a look that seemed nearly as if it would pierce through the knight’s sacred armor.

“You will go to Dragonstone and strike down Jeongin in her own halls. The way she sought to do with Felix. We will pay the princess back in her own bloody coin.”

“Alone?” Gackson asked warily as he returned Heeseung’s gaze with suspicion.

“Does your courage fail you, Ser Gackson?” questioned Heeseung fiercely.

“It’s not a matter of courage, ser,” Gackson shot back. “The castle is well-guarded against all enemies, now especially. How would I enter?”

“Your twin serves there at the pleasure of the so-called queen, they will mistake you for him if you play the part,” Heeseung reassured the knight, who still stood anxious and hesitant.

“We are sworn to serve forthrightly, not to traffic in deception!”

“Put down the pretender and you will end a war before it begins!” Gackson shook his head steadfastly, unwilling to take on the task of his own volition.

“If they see the two of us together-”

“You must not let that happen!” Heeseung coldly demanded.

“You would send me to my death!” Gackson woefully bemoaned.

“Or to triumph,” Heeseung murmured back, more softly, at the knight. “And glory.” The knight stared back for a moment, pondering over his fellow kingsguard’s order. “Now, will you go, ser? Or must I question your loyalty to the king?” Reluctantly and with resignation, Gackson dutifully nodded back, electing to prove his unwavering allegiances to the crown.

“As you command, my lord.” Gackson then left the room, leaving Heeseung with a small inkling of validation and a self-sensed path to atonement.

—

Following the gruesome and unjust murder of his dear nephew, Felix had gone to one of many of the various brothels in the Street of Silk seeking comfort. There, he lingered at the couches near the far end of the brothel with its owner, who had rather intimately taken the prince into her arms. Naked and vulnerable, he reflected on the state of his relationship with his family and how his actions have doomed them to fight an inevitable war. Admittedly, he believed, the attempt on his life by the “whore of Dragonstone” and her uncle-husband had shaken him quite a bit. “Minho sent them to kill me,” he muttered to Somi, the brothel’s owner. “I was out.”

“You were with me,” Somi responded as she gently rubbed the prince’s legs. Felix lightly chuckled.

“In truth, I am proud that he considers me such a foe. And that he seeks to murder me in my bed. He’s afraid of me.” Somi looked back at him adoringly, not nearly unlike a mother would to her own son.

“As well he should be, my prince. The boy is now grown into a man.” She attempted to make some advances, but the prince calmly refused.

“No, no. Not here,” he said, settling back down into the woman’s laps as she caressed him softly. It was all he needed in that moment, a small amount of support he would not have been given elsewhere. Not even in the vicinity of his own dear mother, though only recently were it so. “I do regret that business with Sunwoo. I lost my temper that day, and my good family paid for it. I am sorry for it.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Somi responded as she smiled at Felix, resuming comforting him in his moment of sorrow and guilt. Felix closed his remaining eye shut, seemingly drifting off into a peaceful slumber, and began to murmur softly.

“They used to tease me, you know? ‘Cause I was different.” Somi began to stare back more sympathetically, but also more worrisome, as though she knew the consequences of one’s own temper upon the world.

“I would remind you only that when princes lose their temper, it is oft-times others who suffer. Such as the smallfolk… like me.”

—

“How is she?” San asked his wife, Rin, about their daughter, who had been battling with illness closely since the start of the new king’s ascension.

“Much the same,” Rin replied with bitter despondency. San went over to his daughter to check on her state of being and he, too, became burdened with displeasure at the stagnation of her recovery. He sighed as he left the daughter’s side at her bed and walked towards the fireplace in their small home in the crowded and unclean streets of King’s Landing. “The markets have been running low since the blockade,” Rin informed as she was finishing the preparation of their meal.

“Surely the city can not yet be short of food,” San remarked.

“I think not,” said Rin, “but people are afraid. Those with means are hoarding everything they can. I walked two hours today to find a chicken for the pot and paid three times as much as I should have.” San let out an abrupt scoff as he went to take a seat at the table, his sick daughter coughing in the background.

“The selfishness of people,” he groused. Rin then joined him there with the stew she had prepared for them, far from magnificent but such a thing does not warrant concern when meat is scarce and costly.

“I can’t blame anyone for doing what I myself would do if I could,” she understandingly stated.

“Hm,” San chuckled, “I don’t think you’d let children go hungry while you filled your own cellars.”

“Well, lucky, I suppose, we don’t have enough coin to find out.” The two sat at the table for a long moment, eating their supper in silence, before San took another stern look at his wife.

“The king has promised us some relief.” Rin looked back at him, returning his gaze with an anxious look of her own.

“Did he say when?” San, however, said nothing back and turned his attention to their daughter, concealing his inner misgivings from his beloved. “I’m afraid, San,” she said to him as she stared aimlessly into the open space of the room, uncertain of whether they’d be able to secure enough to survive the forthcoming fighting to come.

Chapter Text

On the slopes of the mountains at Dragonstone, the Lady Yongseung Targaryen practiced her archery with a crossbow, distracting herself from her grievances and dismay. With her father gone from home, it was her duty to further the standing of her house and to guard her step-mother’s claim to the throne. A task, perhaps, too great for a young princess like her, though well-accompanied she may be. As she practiced, Prince Juyeon watched from behind at the very same slopes, gaze fixed and relaxed upon her. “You missed supper,” he pleasantly remarked. Yongseung smiled back tiredly at him.

“I wasn’t hungry,” she said, reloading her bow with another arrow.

“I don’t think anyone was, really,” Juyeon responded. “Too many empty seats.”

“Do you know where he went?” Yongseung asked, pondering over the whereabouts of her father, the king-consort.

“Harrenhal, I would think,” Juyeon said as he walked over to her side. Yongseung laughed slightly as she loaded her crossbow with another arrow and prepared to fire it at a piece of wood meant for target practice.

“Sometimes, I think I hate him,” Yongseung snarked, firing the bow at the wood.

“Well, it is rather hard… with fathers,” remarked Juyeon as he zealously watched his betrothed train with the arrow and bow. Yongseung looked away from her target and back to the Velaryon prince.

“What do you remember of my dear uncle?”

“He taught us to catch fish,” Juyeon fondly remembered, “and sing sailors’ shanties. And he had a weakness for cake.”

“And Ser Hyunjae Strong?” The prince paused for a brief moment.

“He was gentle… and fierce. They called him ‘Breakbones.’ He loved us, I think.”

“Of course he did, Juyeon,” Yongseung insisted. As Juyeon reminisced about his childhood more and more, his smile began to fade, thoughts returning to the memory of his late dear brother. He took a deep breath of yearning for the long past days of their youth together.

“I miss Sunwoo,” he said regretfully. Yongseung placed a gentle hand on his shoulder to comfort him, and soon they drew themselves into a hug.

—

Jeongin stared through a window in the castle out into the mountains of Dragonstone, gaze relaxed on her eldest son and step-daughter. She had little else she could occupy herself with to calm her mind, apart from seeing to it that her two youngest sons were well and safe from harm. Her attention drifted back and forth between them, heart still aching from the sorrows she endured since her throne was stolen from her. Eventually, she went over to Yeonjun and Seungmin, caring for them in the absence of her husband. “You’ve both been through a lot, lost so much in your young age,” she said, fighting back tears threatening to build up. The boys turned their heads to her, with shyness and grieving alike.

“Is Sunwoo with the gods now, mother?” Yeonjun curiously questioned, with a hint of pain in his voice. His mother’s tears became even harder to keep from escaping her weary eyes.

“He is free from the sorrows and injustices of the world,” Jeongin breathed out. “Alas, he is at peace now, son.”

“But where did father go?” Seungmin asked suddenly, leaving Jeongin in stunned silence. After she would not answer back for a long moment, he asked her once more. “Is father coming back?” This time much more sorrowful. And again, the queen said nothing back to her son, instead moving her eyes nervously back towards the window. Compulsively turning her fingers about each other. Seungmin and Yeonjun sadly walked to the other side of the chamber, leaving them and their mother apart from each other to lament the misfortunes and losses the gods brought upon them.

—

Mingi resumed his work as a servant to Lord Ravi Velaryon on the ports near Driftmark, silently keeping to himself as he focused clearly on his tasks maintaining the ships around him and the other servants. Though he had not forgotten the gratitude he had received for saving Ravi’s life during their fighting in the Stepstones, he wasn’t much comforted with such thanks. As he coolly asserted to the lord himself, it was merely his duty. Rather, to him it was an oddity that the Lord of Driftmark wished to flatter a lowborn sailor like himself. One that he was not like to grasp even when the years had passed and he no longer drew breath. As he was working, he noticed another silver-headed figure approaching him in the peripherals of his vision. The sudden change of expression on his face hinted that Mingi knew the man enough to greet him a smile, and as he drew closer it became clear that the man was more than just a friend of his. “Brother,” the man joyfully greeted Mingi, “it’s been months. I’ve almost never thought I would see you.”

“Nor I,” Mingi pleasantly remarked, though not without a sigh of regret. “I missed you too, Wooyoung.” Wooyoung chuckled weakly back at him.

“I did not think it of you,” he japed, “I wagered that you concerned yourself more with slaying pirates at sea.”

“Oh,” Mingi muttered, “I have slain many. More than you, to be sure.”

“Ha,” Wooyoung barked, “a jest. One you may regret as you’re supping alone tonight.” Mingi scoffed in slight annoyance.

“I regret it already, brother. I’ve broken my teeth enough on hard tack. Do please reassure me that you have a pot of your goat stew simmering at home.”

“You’re in luck,” Wooyoung said, smiling brightly with his violet eyes at his brother’s own. “In more ways than one.” That the two shared the same hair and eye color as many others of Valyrian descent drew many whispers among the sailors and workers about their parentage. They then walked about the docks, continuing their first conversation since many turnings of the moon. “I hear Lord Ravi himself has commended you for your service to him.”

“He did,” Mingi nodded indifferently.

“Then will you sail with him when his ship has been repaired?” questioned Wooyoung. “I am one of a dozen shipwrights now called from Hull to attend with all speed to your fleet.” Mingi remained composed and lukewarm.

“He made no offer. And truth be told, I’d rather he didn’t.” Wooyoung frowned slightly.

“Oh, don’t be foolish, Mingi. To serve with the Sea Snake is to make your fortune. Had I such a chance, I would leap at it.”

“That’s only because you haven’t seen what I’ve seen,” Mingi shot back fiercely. “There is a war brewing, Wooyoung.” His voice now turning more grim. “A real one.”

“Another opportunity to distinguish yourself,” Wooyoung insisted. “Remind him of your worth.”

“Hmph, I need no favors,” Mingi bitterly remarked.

“But, brother, he owes you, he owes us.” Wooyoung and Mingi turned to face each other more clearly, stopping in their tracks near the port. The latter, sensing he had no eagerness for an argument, chose to change the subject.

“Does the stew have carrots in it?” Mingi asked more gently. Wooyoung’s gaze relaxed and, again, he smiled back softly at his brother.

—

At High Tide, Leo and Ravi lay in bed in the morning at their private quarters, gossiping about many matters considering the royal court, not least of which was the queen’s husband. “I mistrust this silence,” said the Velaryon lord, somewhat at unease. “Minho flies when we most need his hand at the oar.” Leo sighed, bemoaning the sudden and unannounced absence of the king-consort and his dragon.

“Devotion has never sat well with him. Wherever he goes, he wishes to be his own master.”

“Well, he is the king-consort,” Ravi reaffirmed calmly.

“But he is not the king,” Leo asserted.

“Nor am I a king myself,” responded Ravi, “and yet here I am now. I’d say I manage well enough.” Leo made a noise, seemingly expressing doubt and worry.

“I too have felt the crown pass over me, dear husband. My father was Jongin’s first heir to the throne. But in the end, his brother and his brother’s son were both destined for it before me. It is a hard thing to accept.” The princess’ face turned with gloom. “And now Hongbin is dead and all claims are in doubt.”

“You do not think, perhaps, Minho would challenge her?” Ravi asked warily.

“Not as such,” said Leo, “but neither can he permit her to command him.”

“Pity,” murmured Ravi. “I have, on occasion, found that to be quite enjoyable.” Leo chuckled as they continued laying in the comfort of bed, though not completely at ease.

“Let us take the prince at his word. If he can claim Harrenhal for Jeongin, she might forgive him. In the meantime, she has me. And Cirkis.” Leo slowly closed her eyes, and whispered softly. “We will not let the queen falter.”

—

In his desire for vengeance against the murderers of his son, the king ordered the execution of all of the Red Keep’s ratcatchers. He had not wanted to waste time learning which of them was the apparent accomplice in his son’s death. Their bodies were hanged that morning from the walls of the Keep, intended as an example of what awaited traitors. If Hyunjin had expected cheers and applause, he did not receive it. What he got instead was many cries and curses from the wives and mothers of many of those ratcatchers, and the revulsion of the other smallfolk in the city. But no other man was more displeased with the king’s order… than his Hand himself. Seething with a cold rage, Ken Hightower stormed into the king’s chambers, demanding answers from His Grace. “What have you done?” Hyunjin, who was with Ser Heeseung, stared back confused at his grandfather. This only made the Hand of the King even more furious. “The ratcatchers!” Ken bellowed.

“Oh, I had them hanged,” Hyunjin said, more assuredly. “That maggot who took my son confessed to an accomplice. Hm, he could not say for certain who it was so-”

“You idiot!” shouted Ken once more.

“Beware how you speak to your king, my lord,” Heeseung warned. But Ken’s face contorted in anger, the savage look of which Hyunjin had never seen before from his grandsire.

“The king is my grandson, and my grandson is a fool! He’s worse than a fool! He’s murdered innocent men!”

“And one guilty one,” Hyunjin tranquilly argued.

“And hanged them from the walls of the Keep for all to see!” Ken resumed. But the king did not shrink in the face of his Hand’s jeers.

“Plot against the king, and I will pay it back a hundred times more,” asserted Hyunjin.

“They are fathers and brothers and sons! And their wives and their children now gather at our gates to weep and curse your name!” Ken’s outburst did little more to the king than earn a basic glare at him. Hyunjin felt he had truly brought justice for his son and heir. The Hand, maybe not wanting the rest of the castle to hear, closed the door to the chambers before placing his attention again on his grandson. “With your child’s blood, we bought their approval. With your mother’s tears, we made a bitter sacrifice against the deprivations to come. And yet, you’ve thrown it all away. After all I’ve done for you? Thoughtless! Feckless! Self-indulgent!”

“Well, at least I did something,” Hyunjin retorted. “I have not answered injury to the crown with, what? Wailing and currying favor with the fishwives? I will not be thought of as weak.”

“Even now,” Ken began again, paying no heed to his king’s justifications, “news of Jeongin’s monstrous crime spreads through the realm. The great houses falter. They can not but come to our side.”

“Thrones are won with swords, good lord Hand, not quills,” Hyunjin contended. “My aim is to spill blood, not ink. We must act if we are to prevail against the pretender and her foolish supporters. Ser Heeseung Cole has certainly acted as such.” Upon hearing this, the Hand’s face had gone paler than he ever thought possible. As he turned to face the kingsguard’s lord commander, so leisurely that time almost appeared to have stopped abruptly, and then back to the king, he shot an appalled look. The look of a man who had witnessed something so horrible that he had seemingly lost any sliver of hope he stored within his heart.

“And what,” Ken asked despairingly, and quite irritably, “has Ser Heeseung Cole done?” There was a tense pause before the king answered again.

“He has sent Ser Gackson to slay Jeongin,” Hyunjin affirmed, glancing back at Heeseung, who nodded. Ken breathed slightly, dreading the answer to his next question.

“Alone?” questioned the Hand once more. The king smirked proudly at him.

“He’s pretending to be his own twin. How brilliant.” It was just as the Hand of the King feared. Ken rolled his eyes and turned away in utter disbelief. How could they have plotted something so stupid? He thought endlessly as his sanity began to slip away the more he heard his grandson speak.

“Gods help us all,” he helplessly cried out.

“It’s time the bitch queen paid a price,” Heeseung jeeringly remarked with a sneer. Ken then turned back again to Hyunjin, shaking with alarm and more fury.

“And you acceded to this- prank without consulting me or the council? Instead of judgment, you display impetuousness, and now you have diminished us in the eyes of our enemy! Ill-considered, trifling!” Ken faced the closed door to the room, now stricken with sorrow for the loss and absence of his previous king… and close friend. “Do you never think of your father, Hyunjin? His… forbearance, his… judiciousness, his… his- dignity.”

“Fuck dignity!” Hyunjin barked. “I want revenge. You think me pliable just as my lord father was? He’s dead, grandsire.” For once, Ken actually agreed with his grandson at that moment.

“He is, indeed… And we are all the poorer for it.” With that, Ken looked at Hyunjin with a certain form of disdain and contempt he only occasionally reserved for Minho. “He was right about you.” The king felt his composure decreasing ever so slightly, and at a need to reassert his authority.

“But he made me king, grandsire.” Ken’s laughter echoed all throughout the room, stunning both Hyunjin and Heeseung. He gazed toward Hyunjin, this time smiling in mockery of his grandson’s authority.

“Is that what you think, boy?” Finally losing his temper, Hyunjin’s face twisted and he scowled as he focused his stare back at Ken, who was preparing to leave through the door.

“Remove your badge at once, Ser Ken!” Ken’s smile quickly faded as he faced the other direction, aghast. “You were my father’s Hand, not mine!” He then looked back at his grandson, still glassy-eyed, pleading.

“You wouldn’t dare,” said Ken. Hyunjin, though, felt a wide smirk growing on his lips, brow firmly furrowed.

“Hahahaha, I have dared… and I find it actually stimulating.” Hesitantly and bitterly, Ken heeded his king’s command with absolute dejection.

“Insolent pup,” he muttered. “You think yourself so clever, but without a strong Hand at your side, to guide?” Hyunjin then faced Heeseung, intention as clear to him as a premonition.

“Give the badge to Cole, Ken.” Heeseung took in the news with rapid astonishment and fear.

“Your Grace?” said Heeseung nervously.

“In this hour,” Hyunjin declared, “you have proven yourself of more worth than a hundred old men. My new Hand will be a steel fist. We are done with writing letters.”

“Mark my words, boy, you will regret this.” Ken furiously warned, hurling the badge of the Hand of the King to the ground beside Heeseung’s feet. He then gave one last cool and hateful glare towards the king and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard before leaving through the door, once more dismissed from court. Hyunjin stared back as he left the room, not displaying or sensing any worry or doubt in his decision.

Chapter Text

Alone in her office at Dragonstone the queen sat at her desk, her eyes swiveling about, still mulling over the piercing words her dear husband had said in their quarrel. Indeed, there was a time when she was young that Jeongin believed that her father chose her as heir as a means to deny her uncle his birthright. So to hear it from Minho elicited a distinct aching within her heart. When she had needed his undying fealty the most he had acted behind her very back and seemingly abandoned her, and she was not quite certain of his return. Her pondering was soon interrupted by the Lord Commander of her Queensguard, Ser Kevin Darklyn. She looked above slightly to face the knight, concealing her worry with a serious look. “The Lady Taemin, Your Grace.” And Taemin, who had been with Kevin, stepped forward.

“You’re aware of what transpired in King’s Landing a few days ago?” questioned Jeongin, who eyed the White Worm warily.

“I am,” Taemin responded as her eyes closely met that of the queen.

“Then tell me what part you played in their unfolding,” Jeongin said.

“I had nothing to do with it,” Taemin asserted. But Jeongin remained glaring at her, not yet willing to believe what she had to say.

“I know you are entwined with the usurpers, and that you aided them in denying me my birthright.”

“I merely took profits from an inevitably,” Taemin steadfastly argued. “I regret it now.” The queen scoffed.

“I’m sure you do,” Jeongin remarked. “Who are you exactly, might I ask?”

“A prisoner,” Taemin said woefully. “I gave Minho two names. That is the extent of it. And I did not wish to do that much. He said it was the price of my freedom. Does he say otherwise, Your Grace?”

“He’s gone,” replied Jeongin.

“For how long?” asked Taemin curiously.

“A week… or forever. I do not know.” The White Worm’s face drifted slightly down, remorse and sympathy marked clearly.

“He does do that… does he?” The queen’s gaze turned back to Taemin, and a moment later she stared in astonishment. Taemin looked at her as if she understood the queen better than anyone else among her own council. “So you remember me now.”

“He said he would marry you,” Jeongin uttered. “He said you carried his child.”

“Not everyone found the jest funny,” Taemin bitterly remarked. “And now it seems he’s done it again, made a promise and then slipped away.” Perhaps instinctively, Jeongin nodded back, though she did not relax her stare.

“You trade in the secrets of the Red Keep. Your web runs unseen through King’s Landing. And now, when my enemy coils himself to strike at me-”

“I can do nothing now but ask you to honor your husband’s words,” Taemin insisted. The queen pondered over such a request.

“But it would not serve me well to set you free,” said Jeongin. “At best, I lose an asset to my cause. At worst, you betray me in some foul way.”

“I have no interest in betraying you, Your Grace,” Taemin said sincerely.

“Hmph, so you say,” the queen murmured, barely convinced of the lady’s purported loyalties.

“I was brought to Westeros with nothing. I toiled in service, I stole. I sold my own body for coin or bread. And above all, I listened. I collected confidences, and I made myself more valuable to powerful men. Bit by bit, I earned my living. A house, a household, a home. Then they set it all aflame.”

“Who did?” Jeongin questioned.

“The Hightowers, I presume,” Taemin affirmed. “The Hand… did not like it much when I bared my teeth. But I thank him for it. For too long, I have made it my aim to be of consequence. But now, I see that was the foolish wish of a child. Minho Targaryen. Ken Hightower. Makes no difference. They will never accept me.” She let out a pained chuckle. “I might as well remained a whore. One with only dark secrets to reassure her.” Jeongin frowned slightly in bafflement and intrigue.

“What ‘dark secrets?’” The White Worm smirked slyly, but said nothing back as Ser Kevin escorted her back to her cell.

—

The sun shone brightly and the sky was clear as Wooyoung carried on with his daily tasks at the seas surrounding Driftmark. So focused as he was, he did not anticipate anything that would interfere with his job. Which is why the sudden distant roar of a dragon came as a shock to the dedicated shipwright. Wooyoung peered at the riderless dragon’s wings as it flew above him, and upon further inspection realized that the dragon was one that once belonged to a member of House Velaryon. The apparently deceased Ser Dongheon Velaryon. Eromon.

—

“I do not know if I trust you. And I sense that there is danger in you yet. But I will keep the word of my house if you say that it was given.” Taemin nodded and bowed gratefully at Jeongin. It had been later in the day, and the sun was now descending in the sky. “You may go now.”

“Your Grace,” Taemin said respectfully as she was let outside of her cell by Ser Jackson.

“There’s a Velaryon ship in the harbor bound for Myr by way of Pentos,” Jeongin assured. “I will see that you are given passage. I’m not so unworldly as to let you fly free.”

“I am- Thank you.” As Taemin nodded again the queen turned her head back to her queensguard knight.

“Ser Jackson, Taemin will be leaving us. Let her collect her things. Then have someone take her down and secure her berth on the ‘Corwyn,’” Jeongin commanded.

“Your Grace,” Jackson said as he prepared to lead Taemin out of the castle and find her an escort. Luckily, the knight was able to find her one without much disagreement. As she made her way beyond the walls of the castle and out into the sands of the island, Taemin was rather delighted to be set free. However, she could not completely shake off the all-too-familiar feeling of uncertainty. What would be her true purpose now? She was not sure if she truly wanted to revert to being little more than a wandering whore in the ports of Myr. Destiny, it seemed, demanded a greater purpose for her. Nearly lost in her thoughts, she noticed an unusual figure exiting the Corwyn as she approached the ship. It looked suspiciously like Ser Jackson, but how? She remembered that Jackson remained in the castle after he was done with arranging a proper escort for her. Growing increasingly wary, she alerted her escort about the person she noticed leaving the ship, and heading towards the castle.

“A moment, please,” Taemin said, eyes anxiously focused on the suspicious figure.

—

Ser Gackson braced himself for this moment ever since he was given this task by Ser Heeseung Cole. He could not fail now, not when the opportunity to end this war loomed so transparently above him. Though he had been mistrustful of the plan’s effectiveness, he would sooner perish than break an oath he swore and sully his white cloak. He made it to the castle gates, where the guards watched him intently. “Ser Jackson,” one of them called out, “I thought you were within. A sorry lack of vigilance.”

“The enemy is about, good ser,” Gackson replied dutifully. The guards permitted his passage through the gate. He had successfully infiltrated the castle and now made his way into the hallways, mistaken for his twin brother who was now sworn to the “pretender queen.” He made haste and moved about until he found his way near Jeongin’s private quarters. Standing outside by the door on guard was Ser Jacob Marbrand, another sworn “traitor” to King Hakyeon, Second of His Name. As Gackson drew closer, Jacob turned to look at the advancing knight.

“Ser Jackson,” he said.

“It’s been a strange day,” Gackson responded to Jacob. “I’m restless. Allow me to stand this evening’s duty.” Jacob nodded and left the door to retire for the evening. Alone and all obstacles in his path removed, Gackson snuck quietly through the door to the quarters, where he found the queen in her bed preparing for the night’s slumber and her lady–in-waiting, Haeah Massey, elsewhere in the room. And as he walked inside and closed the door, Jeongin shot up from her bed and stared cautiously at him.

“Ser Jackson,” Jeongin stated, puzzled. Gackson sighed regrettably and cleared his throat to speak.

“Forgive me,” he muttered. “I had no choice.”

“I don’t understand-” But before Gackson could draw out his sword, the door to the chamber spontaneously burst open and in-walked into the room… Ser Jackson.

“Brother!” Jackson cried out, drawing out his sword and pointing it in the direction of his brother. In turn, Gackson turned around and drew out his own, and the twins stood glaring fiercely at one another. “Do not do this! I beg you!”

“You were the one who betrayed us, Jackson,” Gackson said, fighting back tears. Jeongin and Haeah watched, the former sitting as still as stone and the latter ducking and hiding behind a table, both paralyzed with shock and fright. For minutes the two brothers stood there, eyes tensely focused and swords tilted against the other. Eventually, Gackson charged towards the bed, and Jackson blocked his assault before it could do any harm to the queen. Upon the first clash of steel, Jeongin wasted no time in warning her lady-in-waiting.

“Run, Haeah! Run and find Ser Jacob!” Haeah heeded her command and sprinted out of the room through the open door. Jeongin remained in her bed, refusing to look away from the dueling knights as they fought. Gackson managed to slash Jackson’s leg, and with his brother down to the floor his attention turned to the queen once more. Jeongin got up from the bed and ran as Gackson swung his sword at her, decisively missing. He went for another strike that was better-aimed, which missed the queen narrowly as Jackson rose up and intercepted Gackson. As they continued fighting, Jeongin cowered away from them, her back rested against the wall and legs planted firmly on the ground. There she waited too long as the brothers fought until Jacob came and she was given protection.

“Your Grace!” Jacob shouted.

“Ser Jacob!” Jeongin cried out, as Jacob went and pulled her out and away from the crossfire. She went straight for the door on the other side of the room, but it was locked. Jacob drew out his sword, preparing to strike, but was presented with a bothersome setback.

“Which one is Jackson?!” He questioned worriedly, unable to distinguish the twins apart. And so he stood and watched, with Jackson managing to wound Gackson on the knee just as Jacob was bringing Jeongin to safety. Gackson overpowered his brother, pinning him against the wall and choking him. He was no longer even attempting to fight back the tears building up.

“We- wer- were born together,” Jackson breathed out weakly.

“You parted us!” Gackson said mournfully, finally giving in to his emotions. “But I still love you brother!” Jackson then grabbed at Gackson’s wound, the knight yelling out in pain and releasing the hold. The two brothers fell to the ground and they both crawled for their swords. They rose up and Gackson stormed towards Jackson, but missed. Jackson plunged his blade into his brother’s chest, and Gackson fell back lifelessly, blood pooling around him. Jackson stared, pale-faced, at his brother while Jacob and Jeongin watched without the strength or will for words. After a while, he collapsed to his knees sobbing with sheer remorse in every fiber of his being. He then looked back at the queen, eyes wet as the seas of the Blackwater Bay.

“Your Grace,” Jackson murmured faintly.

“Ser Jackson,” Jeongin uttered meekly, close to tears. The queensguard knight raised his sword again and pointed it sideways against his own neck. Jeongin and Jacob’s eyes widened in immediate protest.

“Forgive me!” Jackson said before slitting his throat, and the hilt of his sword slipped from his grasp.

“No!” Jeongin helplessly cried out as Jacob restrained her and Jackson fell to the ground. His body laid right next to his brother’s, free of the living soul inhabiting it. The queen and her protector stood still in the room, in pure shock of the evening’s events.

—

“It is ignorance and vanity!” bemoaned Ken as he met with his dear daughter in private. “You know as well as I do that Hyunjin must be kept in check. As does Ser Heeseung. The two of them together…” Beomgyu eyed her father with pity and regret. To be dismissed from court twice now must be unthinkable and humiliating, she understood.

“Ser Heeseung is not temperate. But his devotion can not be questioned. If it does come to war-”

“He’s ensured it!” Ken jeered. “He's young and unschooled! His faith is in steel and bone, and he has not the long view! None of them do. They wish now not for the good of the realm, but for the petty and useless satisfaction of vengeance.”

“Hyunjin is still malleable,” Beomgyu asserted. “It is the death of the child that has unstrung him.” Ken, however, only shook his head slightly.

“I can’t stay here. Exiled from the council. Witness to the blundering of our plans. I have no other choice but to return to Oldtown. Our house still has strength there, my nephew is gathering men as we speak, and you have a son there who will take more kindly to instruction. Bangchan may yet help us in the weeks to come.”

“Go rather to Highgarden,” Beomgyu suggested. “The Tyrells must be taken in hand. Their bannerman are wavering. While you’re gone, I’ll speak sense to him. His blood will cool. In time, you may yet return.” Slowly, Ken’s face turned to a faint smile, one that was tired yet desperate for faith all the same.

“The young are peacocks… all shrieking and feathers,” Ken remarked solemnly. “But we will prevail and bring forth peace, I still believe it. As long as you and I hold fast.” Though Beomgyu herself did not smile back. There was still a great worry that she felt within her bones. She felt she needed to tell her father what she had done, and what it meant for their family.

“I- I ha- have sinned,” she stammered. Ken looked intently into her eyes, his smile still etched around his lips.

“I do not wish to hear of it, dear daughter,” he said very gently. Amazed, Beomgyu got up from her chair and left the room. She decided to go see her son before she would retire for the night. When she arrived at his room, she found Hyunjin crying in solitude. The pain of his son’s demise was still strong as ever. She considered comforting him, but she could not muster the courage to do so. She went back to her quarters, where she found Heeseung sitting on her bed. The raw desire on his face revealing his clear intentions. Vexed with the knight’s audacity, Beomgyu slapped him in the face, but it only seemed to arouse Heeseung further. He drew her into a kiss and she fought the temptation only briefly. They then took off their pants and sought to pass the night’s time in pleasure, refusing to be hindered by the tragedies of war.

Chapter Text

The esteemed and powerful House Hightower had been anticipating war for many weeks since the ascension of King Hyunjin. Lord Minhyuk had been raising an increasing army of men in preparation for the inevitable bloodshed to come. Since the death of his lord father, Sandeul, Minhyuk seamlessly assumed his lordship with impressive zeal and vigilance. And after Sandeul’s passing, he kept Prince Bangchan Targaryen as squire and cupbearer in the Hightower. With countless men and a grown dragon defending the city, Oldtown stood as among the most well-defended cities in the Seven Kingdoms. Landing an assault on such a place would be a fool’s errand, even for the best-trained of armies.

It was a clear morning, and Bangchan had woken up to prepare the cups for the day’s meeting. While he was working, his uncle had entered the room quietly, carrying a letter in his right hand. “Good morrow, uncle,” Bangchan politely greeted Minhyuk as he turned to face him directly. As he looked, he caught eye of the parchment he was holding. “What word?” He asked calmly.

“Your grandfather has informed me of his dismissal from court,” Minhyuk responded. “...And his return to Oldtown.” Bangchan raised his brow slightly in confusion.

“Ser Ken,” he uttered. “If he is coming back here, then…” Minhyuk nodded back readily.

“Yes, he no longer serves as Hand of the King. Hyunjin has given that responsibility to Ser Heeseung Cole.” There was a moment of silence before the prince spoke again.

“What did he do to upset my brother?”

“I can not say,” Minhyuk said. “But anyhow, we must be prepared to receive him upon his arrival. I take it he did not react kindly to his removal as Hand. You have to forgive him if your grandsire’s spirit is low.” Annoyance grew heavily on the young prince’s face.

“My brother is an insatiable and petulant child,” remarked Bangchan.

“Well, he is the king after all,” Minhyuk countered reasonably. “Whatever he says now is the truth, and it is our duty as kin to follow him wherever he goes.” The Hightower lord gazed curiously at the prince as he paced about the room in deep thought with his arms folded behind his back, stopping near the window where much of the great city could be seen. “Have you received any word from your dear brother, Felix?”

“I have, but…” Bangchan reflected sadly, lamenting the years that had passed since he had last seen his brother. “This was the first time in years that I read what he had sent me. It wasn’t a joyful address. He blames himself… for Jongin’s demise. He believes if he hadn’t lost his temper at Storm’s End, we would not be at war right now. I don’t blame him. What Sunwoo did to him was unforgivable, and yet…” He let out a weary sigh, regret felt in every bone of his. “I wish I’d known before. He’s been trying to get a word out of me all this time. I think I may be the only one he has left.”

“Nonsense,” Minhyuk contended. “The tragic fate of Prince Jongin besides, he still has plenty of family still around him.”

“That is true, well, would that it were. In a sense,” said Bangchan with a sorrowful look. “I’d wager mother isn’t rather pleased with him now. Hyunjin has never been much kind to him either. Taehyun must be losing herself now that her son has passed. And my grandsire has always been only concerned with the matters of the realm as a whole. I, myself, have neglected him as well. I became too occupied with learning and my duties here that I did not write back to him.”

“Felix is a strong one, Bangchan,” Minhyuk argued, though not in a chastising manner. “Why else do you think Vallamor chose him? If he truly longed for you, then do you not believe he would have flown here for at least a visit?” The prince looked back at his lord uncle for a short time, considering carefully his words.

“Mayhaps, you are right, uncle. Be that as it may, I long for him myself. I do not intend to keep Felix waiting for much longer.” Somewhat unexpectedly, Minhyuk turned from the window back to his nephew and smiled, warmly.

“I know you do,” he said gently. “And you will see him again one day. There is no need to hastily put your want for his presence above your obligations to your house and to the realm.” Bangchan smiled back at him and nodded gratefully.

—

Among the many houses throughout the Riverlands, perhaps even all of Westeros, few of them have known war and bloodshed as well as the Blackwoods and the Brackens. The feud between these two ancient families dates back to the Age of Heroes, long before the coming of the Andals and even far longer before the Targaryens set foot in the Seven Kingdoms. It is said that throughout various points in history, both the Blackwoods and Brackens ruled as kings in the Riverlands, and fought each other for dominion over one another and the region. Upon the Discovery of the Seven amongst the Westerosi, House Bracken found new faith in them while House Blackwood held true to the Old Gods. Though various attempts through the years were made for peace between the two rivaling houses, all proved fruitless in the end. Even now, in the onset of what could very well be the most terrible and tragic war in recent memory, the Blackwoods and Brackens remain once more divided. One proclaims a king as its ruler, and the other a queen.

In the lands near the border between House Blackwood and House Bracken while some knights of the latter stood about bantering to one another, other men of the former, led by Hanseok Blackwood, approached their land, clearly not seeming ready for a peaceful dispute. “Bracken!” shouted Hanseok as he and his men confronted the knights. “Put the boundary stones back!”

“You are mistaken, my lord,” Ser Taehyeon Bracken contested. “We did no such thing.”

“Aye, then I suppose you believe that the stones moved on their own then,” Hanseok jeered. “Just rolled their way over so you cows can fill your bellies on our grass. No, I think that the lot of you have all forgotten yourselves. This is our land!” This did not sit well with Taehyeon, who went closer to Hanseok and shot him a glare as cool as the icy lands beyond the Wall.

“It’s you who has forgotten yourself, babe-killer! This land belongs to Bracken.” Hanseok, who was far from peaceful to begin with, grew even more agitated and eager for violence.

“You dare to accuse me of a crime that I have not committed?” The Bracken knight scoffed and laughed back at him.

“Your false queen, Jeongin, is a kinslayer and murderer of children. And what does that make you, I wonder?”

“Ha, I heard that your uncle declared for the usurper,” Hanseok shot back. “Well then, allow me to enlighten your ignorant mind. Hakyeon Targaryen is no true king… just as you are no true knight.” His face turned from a smirk to a bitter snarl as his eyes scanned Ser Taehyeon. “You are both craven, little cunts!” And so sword was drawn and the fighting commenced. The nearby riverside mill was put to the torch during battle, and the soldiers fought beneath the red light of the flames. Countless lives were lost, including Lord Blackwood who met his end through the sharp sting of Ser Taehyeon Bracken’s blade. Taehyeon would soon follow him to the grave, as the hole in his helm surrounding his eye invited a flying arrow that passed through to his skull. No victory was obtained in the battle, leaving behind only a mill on fire and the closeby waters painted red.

—

In the morning following the attempt on her life, the queen arranged for a modest funeral for the knights Ser Jackson Cargyll and his brother, Ser Gackson. She was joined by her eldest son, Princess Leo, and Sers Jacob and Kevin of the Queensguard, although Prince Juyeon was not thrilled in the slightest to be present. “He is the basest of villains,” he scornfully remarked about Ser Gackson. “He sullies the grave of his brother.” Respectfully so, Jeongin shook her head back.

“I can not say, my good son, that I fault him for keeping to his oath. He was a loyal knight to the end of his days.”

“Loyal to a usurper,” Juyeon irritably retorted, and afterwards stormed off the gravesite. Jeongin would then soon excuse Kevin and Jacob, and they and the prince went back to the castle at Dragonstone. Left in private with the gravediggers, Jeongin and Leo stared solemnly at the bodies of the twin brothers. Leo could not shake off the feeling of dread that lingered within her bones, all-too-numb from violence and death.

“Ken Hightower would not on his worst day have allowed this to happen,” she said. “Hotter blood has regrettably prevailed, I think. The young men have taken the bit in their teeth. They wish to punish, to avenge. Soon they will not even remember what it was that began the war in the first place.” Jeongin looked back at her, almost accusingly.

“That is easy enough, the usurpation of my throne by Hyunjin.” The princess sighed softly back, merely partly agreeing with the queen.

“Yes, that is one answer,” Leo said. “Or perhaps was it when Jongin was beheaded?” Those words drove the queen to ponder slightly. “Or when Felix killed Sunwoo… or when Sunwoo took his eye? In any case, we teeter now at the point where none of it will matter. And the desire to kill and burn takes hold and reason is forgotten.” She turned her eyes to Jeongin, her face spelling out the grimness of the situation. “There may be another way, Your Grace.” The queen’s gaze towards the princess grew more intent. “Beomgyu Hightower.” As the gravedigger continued to dig and fill, Jeongin chuckled quite dismissively and mockingly.

“When last we met, Beomgyu said I would be a fine queen. You’ve seen for yourself what has happened since then.”

“She came to me in the hours after your lord father’s death,” Leo responded. “She knows better than anyone else around her that war is coming, and that it’ll be savage beyond compare.” Leo then reflected sadly, the chaotic events through the years never ceasing to make her even wearier. “There is no war so hateful to the gods, as a war between kin… And no war so bloody as a war between dragons. I do not believe she wants it.” Yet the queen remained hard as the stone protecting Casterly Rock.

“Beomgyu sent a raven to me. But I do not care to read her message,” Jeongin said bitterly. “What she did-”

“It is not her but the men around her who seek bloodshed,” countered Leo.

“She permitted it,” Jeongin said without so much as a pause.

“As you permitted the murder of a little boy in his bed,” Leo shot back bluntly. Though she did not give a direct response, Jeongin spoke defensively again, anger brewing effectively on her face.

“Beomgyu is in King’s Landing. Her son sits my throne!” She then looked back towards the near-finished grave of Jackson and his brother, steadfast as ever she was. “There is nothing more to be said, Leo.” Jeongin herself then stormed off back into the castle, and Leo stood alone and stared out into the sunlit morning sky, anticipating more senseless tragedies to come.