Chapter 37: Harrenhal
The 1st Moon of 127AC, Harrenhal
After weeks of traveling through the Crownlands, when they finally touched down near the Gods' Eye, Lilyanna had only one thought.
This is both the coolest and ugliest castle I've seen yet.
Even from far away, one could make out the castle's enormous curtain walls, its five equally large round towers, each one bent, lumped, and cracked, and the blackened color of the stone the entire structure was made out of, although whether the color was purposely chosen by the castle's creator or due to Balerion's flames remains a truth lost to time.
The Targaryens were not the first to arrive in the Strongs' lands, as the area surrounding Harrenhal was covered with tents and crowded with knights, horses, and carriages.
Nyx growled beneath its rider, and through their bond, Lilyanna could feel the dragon's agitation, simmering with unease as they stared at the castle.
"Calm down, Nyx," Lilyanna murmured, rubbing Nyx's scales. "Even if this place is haunted or magical, I doubt there is anything with Harrenhal's lands that can harm a creature such as yourself."
In the last few weeks since Nyx had forcibly taken her to Dragonstone, there had been several more instances of Nyx ignoring her commands outright and letting their emotions get the better of them, although to her relief, none were as frightening or took her away from the mainland.
However, if anyone else, especially Alicent, could hear her thoughts, they would most certainly disagree with her after what Nyx tried to do to Larys Strong while they were in Maidenpool.
"That's Harrenhal? It's huge!" Lilyanna heard Lucerys exclaim from atop Seasmoke, staring at the castle with awe.
Laenor looked down at his son with a smile on his face, removing the chains that kept them tethered to his dragon's saddle. "It is not called the largest castle in Westeros for nothing. Thousands could fill its halls, and there would still be room for thousands more."
Lucerys' eyes widened further at that, delight sparkling across his face.
Nyx suddenly turned her head, her eyes narrowing as she stared at the space behind Lilyanna.
"What is it?" Lilyanna asked as she turned around, seeing The Conquerors sitting there.
Well, at least I didn't get the shit scared out of me this time. Lilyanna thought, waiting for the trio to explain themselves.
"It seems that time has only made this nexus stronger," Visenya murmured, ignoring Lilyanna outright as she stared at Harrenhal.
"I know that I'm going to regret asking, but what is a nexus? And how is Harrenhal one?" Lilyanna whispered as she began to unchain herself from her saddle.
"Places of significance where magic is said to naturally gather in large amounts. Some sorcerers have even theorized that nexuses can gather magic because they are the points where the supernatural and mortal worlds meet," Rhaenys explained, and Visenya stared at her blankly. "What? I have always paid attention when you lose yourself in discussing your hobby."
"Sorcery is not a hobby, you little brat," Visenya scoffed before looking back at Lilyanna. "There are very few places in Westeros that could be considered nexuses, especially after the Andals' invasion."
"The burning of the weirwood trees," Lilyanna said quietly, subconsciously turning her head in the direction of the Gods Eye, staring at the island that sat in the middle of the lake.
The Isle of Faces was a sacred island, one of the few known locations to still have weirwoods south of the Neck. During their war with the First Men, it was said that the children of the forest magic used known as the hammer of the waters from this island to break the Arm of Dorne, and that the isle was where the First Men and the children signed the pact that ended their centuries-long feud with each other. In celebration, every weirwood on the island was given a face, so that the gods would witness the pact.
After the pact was signed, the Green Men, a sacred order, were entrusted with the guardianship of the isle and were apparently the reason why thousands of years later, the Andals were unable to land there during their invasion, leading to the belief that the isle was inaccessible to all outsiders.
Lilyanna could see the seemingly never-ending forest that made up the island, and a shudder ran down her spine as she stared at the blood-red leaves at the tops of the trees.
"There exist nexuses in Westeros that have never had weirwood trees despite the trees being destroyed. Dragonstone, Oldtown, the lands beyond the Wall, Old Wyk, High Heart, and the Broken Arm are such examples. But I would say that Harrenhal is different, the energy here far more potent, not just because of the Isle of Faces but because of the efforts Harren the Black employed to build Harrenhal and Aegon setting the castle aflame with Balerion." Visenya said.
Lilyanna blinked, quickly turning to look at the former King. "Wait, what?"
Aegon did not look at her; his gaze fixated on the warped towers of the castle. "My sister is referring to all the souls lost in both events."
Aegon could still remember Harren Hoare, the last King of the Isles and the Rivers. The old man's arrogance knew no bounds, believing that any of his Ironborn and castle would be a match for Aegon's army and dragon. He allowed the victory two of his sons achieved during the Wailing Willows to strengthen his pride, forgetting that earlier the Ironborn had lost at the Battle of the Reeds. His two sons did not live long to savor their victory, being killed by Balerion, and that the many of the river lords revolted against Harren and joined the Targaryens' side.
The screams of Harren, his remaining sons, and every other person who had occupied Harrenhal when Aegon flew above the outer walls burned the castle lingered in Aegon's mind for a time, but he quickly moved past the event, focusing on the rest of Westeros.
He felt no pity or guilt; the Ironborn were a plague on the mainland, and House Hoare was especially known for their cruelty and dishonor. Once Harren refused to submit to his authority and become Lord of the Iron Islands, Aegon was out of mercy to give, refusing to allow anything or anyone to stand in the way of his conquest.
Westeros was to be ruled by him and his line, by dragons, just as his dream foretold that only a realm united by their line could withstand the dark and the cold.
"The thousands of slaves that labored and died over the forty years it took to build Harrenhal, the weirwoods that were cut to provide rafters and beams, and the lives of Harren the Black, his family, his men, and servants that were taken by Balerion's flames, blood contains some of the most powerful of all magic. So much was spilled here, so much suffering and pain; it would be impossible for these lands not to be affected by it. And you would know this if you were paying attention when I was explaining this to you." Visenya expounded, staring at Lilyanna pointedly.
"I was paying attention," Lilyanna muttered, thinking back to the few lessons that the elder Targaryen had given her.
So far, these lessons consisted of Visenya drilling as much information into Lilyanna's head as possible, using the book she had Lilyanna take from Dragonstone.
I used to think studying for my USMLE was a fucking nightmare, but Visenya Targaryen is a slave driver of epic proportions.
"Lilyanna!" The princess looked down when she heard Aegon's voice, seeing her brother standing a few feet from Nyx. "What are you still doing up there? The carriages are here!"
Lilyanna lifted her head and saw that riders and carriages were heading towards the dragonriders from the direction of the castle, and that she was the only member of her family who was still on top of her dragon. And in the distance, Lilyanna could make out the rest of their party making their way along the road that connected Maidenpool to Harrenhal.
Lilyanna sighed as she started to climb down Nyx's side, pushing away thoughts of blood sacrifices and little magical people.
Ser Simon Strong stood alongside the rest of his house outside the walls of Harrenhal, waiting to welcome the royal family to their home and to reclaim the remains of his nephew and grandnephew.
At his age, Simon had already experienced loss, had learned to accept the Stranger's hands that seemed to take his loved ones away from this mortal coil, never once looking in his direction. He had lost his parents, his two older brothers, his wife, his eldest son, his good son, and now Lyonel and Harwin were added to the list of those taken far before their time.
"Why must we stand here for this mummer's farce?" Simon heard his grandson, Paxter, mutter under his breath.
Paxter's elder brother, Germund, knocked Paxter's shoulder with his own, staring at him with reproach. "Show some respect, brother. The King honors us with his and his family's presence and has come personally to return what is left of our blood."
"After several moons," Paxter scoffed. "We could have had Lyonel and Harwin's funeral before the year ended, but we could not due to-"
Germund frowned. "An investigation was needed to discover the traitors who orchestrated the murders of our cousins, so of course, time was needed, along with their bodies, to be sure of who was behind this tragedy."
"Do you truly believe three peasants could have been behind this plot? Even when that dastardly creature, Larys, was there seemingly-" Paxter's words were cut off with a wince when a hand suddenly reached for his ear, twisting it painfully.
"Enough, Paxter!" Mayra Blanetree hissed, glaring at her son. "I will not hear of you speaking such baseless lies, and certainly not when the lord of this house arrives."
"Good daughter, I'm sure the boy has learned his lesson," Simon said softly, watching as she twisted poor Paxter's ear harder.
After his eldest son, Tristifer, died over a decade prior from the shivers, Mayra had never been the same, her grief hardening into iron beneath her skin and becoming fiercely protective of what remained of her family.
"It's not as if my nephew has said anything that the rest of us have not thought about, father," Simon frowned as she turned to face his second child and only daughter.
Like Mayra, Milah was also widowed, having married Lord Lychester's seventh and youngest son, Hectar Lychester, who had died three years earlier after being thrown from his horse during a hunt, leaving her alone to care for their five sons. It hurt Simon sometimes to meet his daughter's gaze, often being reminded of his late wife when he did.
She had never taken to her younger cousin, always questioning how someone like Larys could have come from Lyonel Strong, and had seen the hunger in his eyes that his father, brother, and sisters had always failed to.
Milah folded her arms as she regarded her brother. "You wonder the same thing, don't you, Dormand?"
Simon's youngest child and second son, Dormand, took after Simon and the rest of their House the most in appearance out of his three children, but the least in temperament, rubbed the back of his neck before answering, clearly wishing he had been spared the question.
"I wonder many things," Dormand admitted slowly. "But wondering and speaking are two very different matters, especially when those words may reach ears that would not appreciate them."
"How about you both speak, wondering and speaking about things you don't understand, cousin?" Simon fiddled with the rings on his hand when he heard one of his grandnieces speak from his left side.
Avelley and Camyla Strong had an age difference of about three years, but you would think they were twins with how nearly identical they looked to each other. They had the same heart-shaped face, dark brown eyes, long curly hair, and broad shoulders; the only difference between them was that Camyla, the younger sister, was half a head taller.
Nearby, Simon could see House Strong of Talsworth, the main branch of their house, looking in the direction, no doubt having heard what his nieces, children, and grandchildren were saying, and judging them for it.
A faint murmur passed through the gathered members of House Strong, and before Simon could say anything to quiet them down, the head of the royal procession had finally approached the gates of Harrenhal.
Simon straightened his posture as the riders drew nearer. At the head of the column rode the Kingsguard, their white cloaks stirring in the wind. Behind them came the carriages bearing the King and his household, followed by the dragonriders who had arrived ahead of the procession.
Simon's gaze lingered only briefly on the royal banners before shifting farther down the line until it found two carriages with the sigil of House Strong above them; the second one surrounded by burly and vicious-looking guards.
Simon looked away once the King exited his carriage, followed by the Queen, and he and the rest of his household moved to bow to the royals. "Your Grace, Harrenhal is yours."
Viserys smiled faintly, leaning against his cane. "Ser Simon, I wish that I had come to Harrenhal under happier circumstances."
Simon inclined his head. "As do all of us, Your Grace."
Viserys' remaining eye swept across the gathered members of House Strong, lingering briefly on the younger faces among them before returning to Simon.
"Lord Lyonel was one of the finest Hands to ever serve the Crown, and one of the greatest councilors I ever had the privilege of having by my side," The King continued, his voice quieter now. "He was a loyal man, and an honest one; his loss and that of Ser Harwin has wounded the realm deeply."
Simon bowed his head again, though the words did little to dull the ache that had settled in his chest since reading the letter that had arrived moons ago. "You honor their memories by bringing them home."
Viserys gestured weakly toward the first carriage bearing the Strong sigil, and at once, several guards moved forward and opened their doors. Two wooden coffins were carefully lifted down and carried toward the waiting family, and the courtyard fell silent.
Paxter's earlier irritation vanished as he stared at the simple wooden boxes, Germund's jaw tightened, and Mayra pressed a hand over her mouth. Even Milah, who had spoken moments ago with such sharp certainty, lowered her gaze.
Camyla let out a choked gasp, tears beginning to fall down her face as Avelley placed her arm around Camyla, drawing her close and holding her steady as they stared at the coffins.
Dormand brought his own sons close to him as the men carrying the coffins approached, their footsteps echoing against the blackened stone of Harrenhal's yard.
Simon stepped forward first; his movements were stiff, and when the coffins were placed before him, he rested a trembling hand upon the nearest lid.
"Welcome home," He said quietly.
Viserys watched the scene, his face heavy with regret. "The men responsible for this crime have been found and executed; they will trouble House Strong no longer."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Avelley said as she and her sister joined her granduncle beside the coffins, her voice steady despite the tears on her face.
Viserys inclined his head to his eldest daughter's handmaiden, acknowledging the young woman not merely as a servant of the Crown Princess, but as blood of the house that had served him so faithfully.
"Your Grace," Larys Strong said once he had left his carriage and made his way to the gathered members of his house, leaning heavily upon his cane as he approached the coffins. "My kin and I are honored by your presence, and I know that tomorrow the Riverlands will gather to mourn my father and brother properly and remember them as they deserve to be remembered."
Alicent ignored the way Larys' gaze shifted towards her, refusing to acknowledge the silent understanding that existed between them, keeping her eyes on the coffins.
"And if it pleases you, we will take them inside and have the Silent Sisters prepare them," Larys said.
Viserys nodded. "Of course."
At once, the guards stepped aside, allowing the Strong men to lift the coffins themselves. Dormand moved forward first, joined by Germund and two others; their faces set with grim determination as they bore Lyonel and Harwin toward the castle proper.
As the rest of their family led the royals into the castle, Simon, Avelley, and Camyla approached Larys.
"Brother," Camyla said, moving to hug her older brother, clutching at him as if she feared he might slip away as Lyonel and Harwin had.
Larys stiffened slightly when her arms wrapped around him and began to quietly sob against his chest. After a few seconds, he returned the embrace, placing a hand on his sister's back.
"I apologize for not returning sooner," Larys said as he looked at Avelley and Simon. "The King was adamant about himself and the rest of the court bringing father and Harwin back home; he believed it was the only fitting way to honor their service to the Crown."
"We should have been there when it…" Avelley trailed off, her gaze falling to the ground as she held her arms by her sides, clenching her fists.
She and Camyla had been given leave by Princess Rhaenyra and had come to Harrenhal shortly before the royal family had traveled to Dragonstone, wishing to visit their family. When they had learned that Lyonel and Harwin had been in a terrible accident and had fallen from the Hand's balcony, they had been hundreds of miles away, unable to do anything but wait for further word from King's Landing, especially when Larys later wrote to tell, telling them to stay put.
"It was better that you weren't, Avelley. Father and Harwin, after they fell, they… they were not in a state that anyone should look upon."
Camyla pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes, though she did not fully release her grip on Larys. "But they were our father and elder brother too."
Larys' expression softened. "Perhaps, but I would not have wished that sight upon you. And if both of you had been in King's Landing when their plot against our family took place, the perpetrators may have seen fit to assassinate you two as well."
"It is fortunate then that you managed to have survived such treachery, nephew," Simon said carefully. "Especially with what we have heard."
"Yes, very fortunate," Larys replied, turning to face his granduncle. "And what whispers have reached Harrenhal?"
"About the King's baseborn grandson," Simon answered.
"I see, I cannot say that I am surprised that the realm knows the truth, despite the King's best efforts," Larys said mildly, regarding his granduncle without blinking. "But enough of that, tell me, uncle, how goes the governance of Harrenhal in my absence?"
"As well as it can, as you know, Harrenhal has never been an easy castle to rule." Simon said, "But, I will be here to assist you in your lordship, so when you return, it will be a smooth trans-"
"I will not be staying here, and once the funeral is done and the royal family prepares to leave for the Vale, my sisters and I will be joining them and the rest of the court."
"We will?" Avelley and Camyla asked in unison, equally surprised by the declaration.
What? Simon blinked. "I assumed that with what happened to Lyonel and Harwin, there would be nothing to keep you and your sisters in the capital and-"
Larys could not keep the smile from appearing on his face, genuinely happy. "In another lifetime, you would have been correct, but as of two days ago, King Viserys has made me his Master of Whisperers."
For the entirety of his reign, Viserys had left this position on his small council open, mimicking his grandfather's small council, not seeing use for the role, especially with its connection to Maegor the Cruel.
The third Targaryen monarch was the one to create the position, the only one that did not originate from Aegon the Conqueror, and gave it to his third and most feared wife, Tyanna of the Tower. The Mistress of Whisperers used her newfound power to accuse and torture many enemies of the Crown, including her fellow wife Alys Harroway, Prince Viserys Targaryen, and her many lovers.
But after the trial of Perkin, Blood and Cheese, and his maneuvering of the situation when Lilyanna had nearly succeeded in revealing that he was the mastermind of his father and brother's murder, Viserys had truly started to see the worth of Larys unique talents. More than he ever did when Lyonel was still alive, and Larys would give most of the secrets he learned to his father for Lyonel to tell Viserys.
"In light of recent events, the King believes the realm would benefit from what I have to offer it," Larys continued. "And I intend to prove His Grace correct."
Simon lowered his head slightly; he had known Larys since the boy was born, had watched him move through Harrenhal's halls, quiet and overlooked beside his larger, louder siblings. Yet the man standing before him now did not resemble that boy and had not in quite a long time.
As much as he hated to admit it, there had always been something off about his nephew's younger son. Most would simply attribute Larys' enigmatic behavior and friendlessness to his twisted foot; being a cripple in Westeros was considered by many to be a curse that twisted both body and spirit, a mark of weakness that shaped a man's place in the world from the moment he drew breath.
Simon had never believed that, but Westeros was not a place that dealt kindly with broken things nor one that forgave weakness, whether real or imagined. And most of his family was no different, treating Larys with the minimum amount of respect that was to be given to the son of their lord and a trueborn blood relation, but avoiding and ignoring him beyond that, looking upon him with pity, disdain, or embarrassment.
Simon studied his grandnephew as the man spoke calmly with his sisters, offering them quiet reassurances.
The realm believed Larys to be weak and amicable, but it was a mistake that had served his nephew well. But Larys could not truly hide the malicious glint that flickered behind his polite smile, and the unease that his presence would inspire within those who truly interacted with him.
And the incidents that used to occur between Larys and other children unfortunate enough to cross his path certainly did little to ease Simon's belief that something was deeply wrong with him.
"Come," Larys said softly to his family. "We would not wish to keep the royal family waiting."
The Stranger took the wrong son. Simon thought as he followed the others, knowing that the future of their house was on unsteady ground.
Hours Later
In the bedroom that had been given to her, Lilyanna stoked the flames of the room's hearth, staring deeply into the flames.
Despite what she had told Nyx when they landed by the Gods Eye, Lilyanna could not stop feeling as if there was something off about the castle, and this apprehension only grew stronger the more time she spent here.
Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys practically confirmed that this place is magical and that the curse that was rumored to exist here is real. I really shouldn't have been surprised, knowing my luck, there was no way that it couldn't be true. Lilyanna thought, sighing deeply.
She severely hoped that the extent of Harrenhal's curse would only show itself in strange dreams and visions rather than a terrible death as it had for all of the houses and people that would come to and have controlled the castle.
"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I hope that at worst, I just experience what fucking Daemon did," Lilyanna said to herself.
Before she could think more about that controversial season of television, Lilyanna heard a few loud knocks at her door.
Lilyanna's brow furrowed as she slowly stood up and went to see who was coming to her door at this hour of the night. When she reached her door, she did not have time to fully open it herself before her twin came barreling through, muttering under her breath as she did so.
"Helaena? What's wrong?" Lilyanna immediately asked.
Helaena shuddered, digging her fingers into her palms as she stood at the foot of Lilyanna's bed. "I couldn't sleep, I... there's something wrong with... with this place."
Lilyanna walked to her sister and slowly reached out to hold one of Helaena's hands. "I know, Nyx sensed it, and Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys told me about it. Apparently, Harrenhal is a place where magic naturally gathers, but none of that can hurt you, can hurt us."
"I know... I just can't wait for us to leave," Helaena said, shuddering again. "Can I stay with you tonight?"
Lilyanna sighed. "You know mother is going to-Hey!"
Helaena ignored her twin and crawled into Lilyanna's bed, wrapping the blankets and furs tightly around herself. "Thank you."
Lilyanna rolled her eyes and was about to join Helaena when someone else knocked on her door, causing Lilyanna to let out another tired sigh. "Now look what you have done, Hels."
Helaena giggled as she watched Lilyanna open the door and reveal their brothers standing on the other side of it.
"What are you fools doing here?" Lilyanna asked, leaning against the doorframe.
Aegon pushed past her without waiting for an invitation, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Couldn't sleep in my room, it's too cold."
Lilyanna stared at him flatly. "Then light a fire in the hearth."
"I tried, it didn't work," Aegon shrugged, already kicking off his boots before turning to Helaena, flicking his wrist at her. "Make some room, Daenys reborn."
Helaena rolled her eyes at the title but moved to the center of the bed so that her brother could lie down next to her.
Lilyanna resisted the urge to punch her elder brother. "Aegon, you know how to light a fire. Or did you forget that Ser Criston taught you, me, Aemond, and Daeron how to do so all at the same time a few years ago?"
Aegon pursed his lips. "What can I say? The wood here in the Riverlands must be far different than what I am used to."
Lilyanna turned to Aemon and Daeron. "And what excuses do you two have?"
Aemond allowed Daeron to enter the room before him, following more slowly, and shutting the door behind him with deliberate care. He refused to look his sister in the eye, keeping his gaze on the floor as he crossed his arms. "I could not sleep, I'm not used to being in a new castle."
"You did not have this problem at Rosby, or Duskendale, or Maidenpool, but you now have it here?"
Aemond frowned. "Yes."
When Lilyanna turned to look at Daeron, she found her youngest brother shaking in place, tightly squeezing the pillow he brought with him.
"I heard some servants say Harren the Black and his sons still walk the halls," Daeron said quietly.
Lilyanna groaned. "Oh, for the love of-"
"What if it's true? Every family that has held Harrenhal has become extinct; what if it's because the Hoares have killed all of them? What if they try to do the same to us?"
"Why would they do that?"
"Because we're Targaryens! They'll want revenge!" Daeron exclaimed, his eyes darting across the room as if expecting Harren the Black himself to step out of the shadows.
Lilyanna rubbed her temples. "Daeron," she said slowly, "Harren the Black and his sons were roasted alive inside this castle nearly a hundred and thirty years ago. If they were going to haunt someone, it would have happened long before now."
"But-"
"And if ghosts could actually kill people, then half the castles in Westeros would already be empty," Lilyanna continued. "So, you all should remember that."
"And who are you referring to when you say 'all'? I know it can't be me, unlike those two," Aegon said while pointing at their younger brothers. "I did not come here because of some ghost stories."
"Right, because you're the man of this family who is so strong and completely fearless, and just so happens to only be here right now because he does not know how to light a fire," Lilyanna said, sarcasm dripping with each word that left her lips.
Aegon nodded his head. "Exactly."
"Aemon, Daeron, just get in the bed," Lilyanna said, just wanting to go to sleep.
Daeron did not need to be told twice, scrambling into the bed beside Aegon and Helaena with obvious relief.
Aemond followed more slowly, climbing onto the far side of the bed with far more dignity than his younger brother had managed. He kept his back close to the wall, and his arms folded across his chest as if daring anyone to comment again on the reason for his presence.
"This is my room," Lilyanna muttered to herself, staring at the four now occupying her bed.
"Your room, our bed," Aegon said without hesitation.
"And if the ghosts do come, you can protect us more easily," Daeron added.
"Glad to know that if murderous Ironborn ghosts appear, that you all will sit back and watch me try to fight them off instead of helping," Lilyanna replied.
Helaena giggled beneath the furs, and Lilyanna pinched the bridge of her nose before walking over and climbing into her bed, taking up the last remaining sliver of space.
The room slowly grew quiet after that, and one by one the others began to drift off. Helaena's breathing softened first, followed shortly by Daeron's, and then Aemond's. Aegon held out the longest, spending the last few minutes muttering complaints about the cold before eventually falling silent.
The wind howled faintly outside, slipping through cracks in the ancient stone. Lilyanna stared up at the ceiling, finding it harder than her siblings to fall asleep.
She shifted slightly, careful not to wake the others as she stared at the hearth, and for a moment, she could swear the shadows near the fire were moving strangely.
Lilyanna shut her eyes tightly, shaking her head as she tried to force herself to fall asleep and convince herself that it was only her imagination running wild and a trick of the light.
The Next Day
"We look strange," Daeron said softly the moment he left his bedchamber and saw his siblings waiting for him in the hallway.
Today, the assembled nobles of the Riverlands and those traveling amongst the King's party would be seeing the late former lord of the castle and his eldest son and heir finally laid to rest in the crypt built at the far end of Harrenhal's grounds after the ceremony.
"What is so strange about our appearance?" Aegon asked as they began walking down the hall, towards the bedchamber that had been given to their mother, their guards walking behind them at a short distance.
Daeron lifted his arm and pulled on the sleeve of his doublet. "We're wearing black!"
Aegon scoffed. "Have you gotten slow, Daeron? We are about to attend a funeral, of course, we are wearing the color black, it's only proper."
"I think our brother means that we do not usually wear colors outside of green," Aemond said. "I heard mother commission more clothes to be made for all of us."
"No green?" Aegon asked.
Aemon shook his head. "No green."
Daeron nodded his head vigorously. "See? When have we worn anything else?"
"The last time would have been the feast held for Aemond's second name's day," Lilyanna answered, yawning into her hand.
"Really?" Aemond asked; he was not truly questioning his sister, as he and the others knew better than to doubt Lilyanna's memory.
She had the uncanny ability to remember even the smallest details long after everyone else had forgotten them, and things most people never noticed to begin with.
Lilyanna hummed. "Father was adamant about it. He wanted to show family unity and hoped it would help with the tension between mother and Rhaenyra, but it didn't work, given how stubborn they both are."
Lilyanna was sure that Otto had something to do with this current change, but could not definitively prove that such was the case, not unless she asked Alicent, and Lilyanna already knew that her mother would not give her an honest answer.
"I suppose it is strange that we're not wearing Hightower colors for once," Aegon said, looking down at his own outfit.
"Grey and white are House Hightower's colors, not green," Aemond said, staring at Aegon blankly. "A house's colors are on its coat of arms, brother."
Aegon huffed, rolling his eyes. "Then why has mother been so adamant about-"
"Green is the color that the fire on the top of the Hightower is changed to when House Hightower goes to war," Helaena said softly.
The five children fell into a brief and awkward silence, not a single one of them naïve enough to not know what war House Hightower would think it was waging, not after the things they had heard Alicent, Criston, and her supporters say over the years.
"Isn't this a good thing?" Daeron asked. "If mother is finally deciding to-"
"We shouldn't be talking about this here," Lilyanna said, keeping her gaze forward. "You never know who can be listening."
Besides, who knows if mother will change her opinion once we reach Oldtown and she meets with her father again? Lilyanna thought, knowing how tenuous everything was at the moment.
When they turned the corner and came across their mother's bedchamber, Ser Criston was standing guard outside the door, watching the hallway with his usual stern expression.
The knight inclined his head when he saw the royals approach. "My princes, my princesses."
"Is mother ready, Ser Criston?" Aegon asked.
"She will be shortly," Criston replied.
As if summoned by his words, the door behind him opened. Queen Alicent stepped into the hallway, followed closely by two handmaidens adjusting the sleeves of her gown. She was dressed in a black gown that matched the style of the ones her daughters were wearing; her hair had been done into two braids starting from the nape of her neck and then wrapped around her head, and a delicate brooch shaped as the tower of her paternal family rested on her chest.
A small smile appeared on Alicent's face as she looked at her children, her gaze briefly lingering on each of them, pride softening the sharpness that had settled in her features since arriving at Harrenhal.
"You all look very proper and dutiful," Alicent said.
Aemond straightened at the compliment, holding his shoulders back proudly. A crooked grin on Aegon's face, clearly pleased with himself. Daeron smiled softly for a moment before looking down at his sleeves again as if still uncertain, while Helaena brushed her fingers along the side of her dress, and Lilyanna simply watched their mother quietly.
"Although I wish it were for a happier occasion, I am sure House Strong will appreciate the respect," Alicent said, her gaze lingering on them for a moment.
Her thoughts became muddled as the King emerged from his chambers, absentmindedly kissing her husband's cheek and gently holding his arm as they all walked through the castle.
She hated that ever since the conversation she and Larys had that night, she had been unable to assuage the guilt she would feel whenever she thought of Lyonel and Harwin Strong.
Larys was the one who created and implemented the murders, but she could not stop herself from thinking that if not for her seeking out his services or had not stopped their arrangement, then Larys would not have gone as far as he did in his twisted attempt to regain her attention.
But for moons, the new Lord of Harrenhal had not sought her out, had not attempted to resume their previous relationship, nor asked her for anything.
And this silence unsettled her far more than any other interaction she ever had with him.
"My nephew and grandnephew were good, honorable men, loyal to their King and steadfast in their duties to both the Crown and realm," Simon said, his voice carrying across the gathered crowd.
Dark cloaks stirred in the cold morning air; grey clouds hung low above the gathered lords and ladies standing in solemn silence as Simon Strong spoke before the open doors of the crypt.
The entrance to the crypt was lit by torches lining the wall, but only a small portion of the hallway was visible from the outside as it sloped downward into the black depths beneath Harrenhal.
Behind Simon, the stone biers had been prepared for Lyonel and Harwin's coffins, ready for their descent underground. Both caskets were covered with runes that had been carved into them, and behind each was a pole that held Lyonel's personal coat of arms; a tripartite of blue, red, and green on white representing the three forks of the Trident, extending from a white, right hand that was within a black boarder to represent the man's time as Hand of the King, and the completely golden banner of the Gold Cloaks.
"The words of House Strong are Old roots, Old rivers, meant to show the pride we have always held in our First Men heritage and our enduring bond with the lands and waters that have sustained our house, carrying our blood through countless generations since the Age of Heroes. My nephew, Lyonel, honored those words in every action of his life. As the lord of this castle, as Master of Laws to two great Kings, as Hand of the King, and as a man whose wisdom and fairness earned him the respect of both great lords and smallfolk alike." Simon paused, his eyes moving briefly across the crowd, meeting Larys' eyes for a moment before looking away.
"And his son Harwin, though just like his father, was taken from us far too soon, carried the same strength of spirit. Many knew him as Breakbones for his prowess in battle, but those of us who knew him best understood that his loyalty to his family and his friends ran deeper than any river of the Trident, and that his strength was never meant for glory alone, but for the protection of those he loved. Today, we lay them to rest beneath the stones of Harrenhal, beside the families who once laid claim to this castle and the generations of Strongs who came before them."
He then stepped aside, and at once, the eight pallbearers moved forward, lifting the coffins from the stone biers.
Next to the biers, standing beside the rest of his household, Larys watched everything in silence. His cane rested lightly in his hand as the coffins disappeared into the crypt.
Those who glanced at him saw only a grieving brother, but none of them noticed the quiet satisfaction lurking beneath his solemn expression.
Lilyanna, standing beside the rest of the royal family at the front of the crowd, lifted her head and saw that Larys was not watching the crypt, but was staring at her.
The Lord of Harrenhal smiled when their gazes met, a small curve of his lips as he had been waiting for her to notice him.
Lilyanna's face was expressionless as she held his gaze, refusing to give him the reaction he wanted.
Larys inclined his head slightly, his smile widening before looking away, turning to speak to one of his sisters.
"Why were you and Lord Larys staring at each other?" Aemond asked his sister, leaning close enough that their parents would not hear him.
Aegon smirked, inserting himself into the conversation. "I'm sure the new Lord Strong is simply remembering how close he came to death when Lilyanna ordered her dragon to attack him."
"I didn't order Nyx to attack him; it was just a misunderstanding," Lilyanna said flatly.
"A misunderstanding?" Aegon asked dubiously. "Is that what we're calling it?"
Days ago, before the progress was preparing to leave Maidenpool, Lilyanna and her siblings had been spending time with their dragons, when Larys had emerged from the castle gates inside his carriage.
As usual, the lord had been surrounded by the group of guards that Larys had been keeping close by ever since Lilyanna had discovered the truth about him, a way of circumventing another attempt by her on his life.
Lilyanna was not sure what Larys had been doing or trying to go at the time, but all she knew was that seeing him moving about without a care in the world had filled her with a sudden, blinding fury. And unfortunately, Nyx felt that anger through their bond.
The dragon's head snapped toward the carriage instantly, Nyx's wings unfurled with a violent rustle, her long neck lowering as a low growl rumbled deep in her chest.
The guards surrounding the carriage froze when they heard the sound, their faces draining of color as Nyx's growling grew louder.
"Princess-" One of them began, but Nyx surged forward with a deafening roar as her claws tore into the earth, and she advanced several paces, her jaws opening as if to swallow the carriage whole.
The men scattered at once, several of them drawing their swords even as their horses stumbled backward in panic; the gesture was utterly meaningless against a creature of Nyx's size, while others threw themselves behind the carriage or were knocked off their horses when the animals ran away.
"Nyx, stop!" Lilyanna yelled, running after the dragon.
The dragon ignored its rider, their massive head lowering as its jaws opened wider, a wave of hot breath washing over the carriage.
Lilyanna just barely made it to Nyx's side, placing her arms on the dragon's enormous neck, squeezing it as hard as she could. "Nyx! Obey me! Leave the carriage alone!"
The dragon hesitated; her jaws hovered only a few feet from the carriage, the heat of her breath making the lacquered wood creak softly.
Inside, someone shifted, and Nyx growled again, glaring at the carriage.
"Nyx!" Lilyanna pressed her forehead against the dragon's scales, forcing her own emotions through their bond. "Enough."
Slowly, Nyx's jaws closed, staggering back a few steps, though the rumbling in her chest did not fully fade.
The carriage door creaked open, and one of Larys Strong's guards stepped out first, pale and shaking. Larys looked similarly, but Lilyanna did not know if Larys had been truly scared or if he was pretending to be.
When her parents had learned what happened, Lilyanna was forced to give Larys a formal apology, and Larys had accepted it with the same mild smile he wore now. She then had to endure her mother berating her ever since for losing control of her dragon and almost allowing them to harm a lord of the realm.
Lilyanna would be lying if she said that she never considered having Nyx feast on Larys Strong's flesh, or even using her flames to burn him to ash, but Lilyanna knew that Larys would never place himself within Nyx's reach, and that she would be decried as a murder across Westeros if she brought Nyx to the man, while that would rid of the problem that was the Master of Whisperers, it would also bring her a host of new ones.
I'm not Rhaenyra or Daemon; I would certainly be punished by Viserys if I openly murdered a man without just cause, no matter how much he deserves it; Viserys would never overlook it. Lilyanna thought.
Aegon let out a snort as he turned his head and caught sight of a specific group of people, pointing at them. "Look, Lily, I just found your true family."
Lilyanna turned in the direction that Aegon was pointing towards and saw several people of various ages standing at the other end of the courtyard.
Out of all of them, the four standing at the very front of the group held her attention the longest, two men and two young boys.
The first of the men was very elderly with a long white beard, clouded eyes, and only fringes of white hair left around the sides of his head. He was the only person at the funeral who was sitting in a chair, a thick cloak wrapped around his thin shoulders, his age clearly forbidding him from standing with the rest of them.
On the elderly man's left side stood a tall, gaunt man with a severe face, long auburn hair, and brown eyes. He wore a cloak clasped with the sigil of a silver, leaping trout, and never moved his right hand from the back of the elderly man's chair, standing watch protectively over him.
And on the elderly man's right side, two young boys around the same age as Aemond and Daeron. They looked like the other two men, except they both had deep blue eyes and their auburn hair was curly instead of straight and was cut quite short.
That has to be House Tully. Wait, aren't they supposed to be pretty important? I know the Riverlands outside of the Brackens supported the Blacks from the beginning of the Dance. I think two of them were the reason why a couple of important battles were won, and didn't one of them kill Borros Baratheon? God, what are their names? I know they're named after something stupid, but what was-the Muppets!
Lilyanna put a hand over her mouth, but could not stop the chuckle that escaped her lips as she struggled not to laugh as loud as she wanted to in that moment.
"Aegon," Alicent said strongly, this time having heard her eldest son's words.
They all knew how much the Queen hated remarks made about Lilyanna's appearance in comparison to their Valyrian family. Even though Aegon was only teasing Lilyanna with his comment, most who said similar things did not.
Lilyanna's hair was one of the things used to note her as different from the rest of her house, as another way to mock and belittle her, and to a lesser extent, had been a way to question Alicent's virtue.
The Queen's child, and the Queen's bastard, they used to call Lilyanna when she was younger, ignoring her purple eyes and the streak of silver-gold running through her bold red hair, just to ostracize her further. Alicent thought to herself bitterly.
"I only meant it in jest, mother. Besides, Lilyanna thinks it was funny," Aegon said, unaware that the comparison sought to make between Lilyanna and the Tullys was not what was making her laugh.
"But they don't look like Lily, the only thing they have in common is that most of them have red hair, and even then, their hair isn't the right shade," Helaena said thoughtfully, not understanding the joke.
In Helaena's opinion, Alicent's hair was a closer match to the Tully's auburn locks, although her own hair could sometimes be mistaken for brown in certain lights. Lilyanna, on the other hand, had hair that was such a vibrant, intense shade of red that it seemed almost unnatural beside the softer auburn of the Tullys, making the latter look dull by comparison.
"Aegon was just exaggerating for the sake of his jape, Helaena," Lilyanna said quietly once she was finally able to calm herself down, tearing her eyes away from Grover, Elmo, Kermit, and Oscar Tully.
"It was a poorly made jape that has no place at a time such as this, or ever," Alicent added sharply.
Aegon rolled his eyes but wisely held his tongue, knowing that pushing his mother further would only earn him a sharper reprimand once they were back inside the castle.
After some time, men who had carried the coffins of Lyonel and Harwin Strong emerged from the crypt, the stone doors closing with a heavy thud, signaling the end of the ceremony.
As the mourners began to head toward the castle and the great hall, Lilyanna found herself staring at Larys once again, hating that he was able to move about pretending to grieve the two lives that he took without remorse.
The Hall of a Hundred Hearths once again proved just how truly massive Harrenhal was, and as Rhaenyra stood at the front of the great hall, speaking with the various lords, ladies, and knights who had come to pay their respects to House Strong, the sheer scale of the chamber swallowed the sound of hundreds of voices beneath its blackened rafters.
Contrary to its name, the great hall only had thirty-five hearths, but each one was large enough that the fires within cast long shadows against the warped stone walls. And even so, the immense chamber still felt half-empty, as if it had been built for giants rather than men.
Servants moved through the crowd with trays of wine and bread while the gathered nobles spoke in low voices, offering condolences to the new Lord of Harrenhal and his family, quietly discussing the deaths of Lyonel and Harwin Strong, or discussing other matters of the realm that demanded attention even in the light of such a tragedy.
"Sometimes, I long for the days when I was a simple lordling who could hide behind my parents in such matters. Now I am the consort of the realm's illustrious heir and must stand by her side, smiling prettily as the most envied stallion in the room," Laenor teasingly said in High Valyrian, leaning his head down to whisper in his wife's ear once Lord and Lady Smallwood had walked away.
Rhaenyra snorted under her breath, lifting her goblet to hide the smile tugging at her lips. "What a terrible burden you have been forced to endure in siring my heirs, dearest husband. If I had known that you would suffer so much by my side, I would have fought harder against our fathers betrothing us."
Laenor felt proud of himself that he had managed to get Rhaenyra to laugh, even if only for a moment. Ever since Viserys' progress had begun, Rhaenyra had worn the same careful mask she always did in court, keeping it on tighter than before in the face of the grief she felt over Harwin and the worry she held regarding Viserys' health.
He knew that Rhaenyra did not want to allow anyone to doubt her capabilities and to have others write her off as a weak, emotional woman if she allowed the image of the perfect heir to slip.
Sometimes it felt like Laenor could do nothing for his wife except stand beside her and pretend that the man they were both mourning was nothing more than another loyal knight lost to the realm, instead of their lover who helped them have their children.
The princess turned away from her husband slightly as another group approached, her polite smile returning to her face. She could tell by their heraldry that they were of House Blackwood's delegation, and that the dark-haired man leading them was their lord.
"Princess Rhaenyra, Ser Laenor," The lord said in greeting, bowing with the rest of his kinsmen before the two royals.
"Lord Samwell," Rhaenyra greeted, inclining her head gracefully. "You honor House Strong with your presence. I thank you for coming to Harrenhal to pay your respects."
"Of course, the loss of Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin is keenly felt throughout the Riverlands, Princess. From what I knew of them, they were men of honor, and the realm is poorer for their passing. The Riverlands will remember them with respect, Princess. House Blackwood certainly shall." Samwell said.
"Your words are kind, my lord," Rhaenyra replied.
Lord Blackwood then went on to introduce the rest of his family, who had accompanied him from Raventree Hall, including his wife, several cousins, and sworn knights who bowed respectfully as their names were given.
Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow when Samwell introduced his younger brother, recognizing him when she heard his name. "You had come to Storm's End during my wedding tour, did you not, Lord Willem?"
Willem Blackwood stood straighter at once, clearly pleased that the princess remembered him.
"Yes, I did, princess," he said quickly. "My brother was already betrothed to my good sister at the time, so he remained at Raventree Hall, and I was sent in his stead to represent House Blackwood."
"Ah, yes, I remember," Rhaenyra said, amusement gleaming in her purple eyes. "You spoke of the long relationship between House Blackwood and House Targaryen, and of your house's deep roots in Westeros."
Willem's cheeks became flushed as he remembered that day in the late Lord Boremund's hall, but he did not look ashamed, his heart racing at the smile the princess had given him. Time had only made Rhaenyra Targaryen even more beautiful than the first time he saw her, and Willem suddenly felt very aware of how young and foolish he must have appeared back then before the realm's future Queen.
Before he could say anything else, Willem felt someone forcefully knock their shoulder against his own, sending him stumbling back half a step.
"What do you think you are doing?" Samwell growled as he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder to steady him, glaring at the man who had purposely bumped into him.
The opposing man was taller and more muscular than the Blackwood brothers and had a red stallion upon a golden escutcheon, on brown, emblazoned on his tunic and cloak, just as the others that had come with him.
"It was a simple accident, Blackwood," He sneered at Samwell, and the older man next to him placed a hand on his shoulder before turning to face Rhaenyra and Laenor, bowing to the couple.
"Princess Rhaenyra, Ser Laenor," The older man said smoothly, dipping into a courteous bow. "Forgive my son for his clumsiness. It seems the hall is rather crowded today."
The man who had shoved Willem gave a small snort but did not contradict him, folding his arms across his chest as he glared at Willem with a burning hatred.
Willem returned the glare, resisting the urge to draw his sword and answer the insult in the only language the Brackens ever seemed to understand.
"Allow me to present myself and my son," The older man continued. "I am Lord Humfrey Bracken of Stone Hedge, and this is my eldest son and heir, Amos. We, too, have come to pay our respects to House Strong."
"And what would any of you know of respect?" Willem muttered, loud enough for the Brackens to hear.
"What did you say?" Aemos Bracken demanded, his head snapping toward Willem instantly, and taking a step forward.
Samwell's hand tightened on his brother's shoulder before Willem could respond, but the younger man did not lower his gaze.
"I said," Willem replied coldly, "That respect is a strange word to hear from a Bracken."
A murmur rippled through the nearby lords, all aware of the over-millennium-old feud that existed between the two houses. Although none would think that the Blackwoods and Brackens would allow their hatred of one another to bleed over here.
"It's quite humorous to hear the fool who murdered my brother speak of us not knowing the meaning of respect," Amos spat, his lip curling with open contempt.
Humfrey clenched his fists; he could still remember the feeling of Jerrel's blood slipping through his fingers as he held his boy's dying body in his arms.
In that moment, Humfrey had wanted nothing more than to rip Willem apart limb from limb, but the boy's fellow Blackwoods, guards, and Boremund Baratheon himself stood in his way, refusing to allow more blood to be spilled.
"Your younger brother welcomed the possibility of death when he accepted my brother's challenge," Samwell said coldly. "He could have walked away when my brother first unsheathed his sword, but instead, he willingly pulled out his dagger and fought. Do not pretend it was murder simply because your Gods did not favor him."
"Enough," Rhaenyra had not raised her voice, yet every man in the small circle fell silent as the Princess of Dragonstone fixed them with a cool stare.
"This is a funeral," she said calmly. "If you wish to settle grievances, you may do so elsewhere, and at another time, Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin deserve better than having their remembrance turned into another chapter of your ancient quarrel."
Amos Bracken held her gaze for a long moment before finally lowering his hand from his sword, and Willem did the same a heartbeat later.
Lord Humfrey bowed stiffly. "You are right, princess. My apologies."
Lord Samwell inclined his head as well, though the look he gave the Brackens promised the matter was far from finished.
The two parties then withdrew in opposite directions soon after; the crowd slowly resumed its conversations as if nothing had happened.
Laenor sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he watched the two rival houses retreat to opposite sides of the hall.
"And here I thought the dragons were meant to be the most dangerous creatures in the realm," Laenor murmured. "I heard a rumor that a Blackwood had killed a Bracken during your tour, but I did not think it was true at the time; it seemed too outlandish."
"Unfortunately, it is true," Rhaenyra said, allowing the faintest smile to appear on her face. "If dragons were ever so quick to attack each other as the Blackwoods and Brackens are, the world would have fallen to ruin long before now."
Laenor stared at the two houses, watching them continue to put as much distance between themselves as they could.
Yes, it's definitely a good thing. Laenor thought.
"Come," Rhaenyra said as she took Laenor's hand in hers. "Let us go check on our boys."
"Have you grown tired of speaking to your future subjects?" Laenor teased.
"Extremely so," Rhaenyra dryly admitted, making Laenor laugh.
Together they weaved through the crowd and walked toward the throne behind them. The boys had spent most of the gathering chasing one another between the long tables before settling atop the stone seat.
Jacaerys sat on the throne proper while Lucerys sat on the very top of its steps, talking to one another.
Jacaerys was the first to notice their parents approaching, smiling at them. "Mother, father."
"What are you two up to?" Laenor asked, running his hand through Lucerys' hair.
"We were-"
"Mother, father! Is it true that the Old King sat on this throne when he chose grandfather to be King?" Lucerys excitedly asked, cutting off his brother.
"Is that what you were talking about?" Rhaenyra asked.
Her eldest son had given his brother a look before lifting his head to look at her. "We were thinking about what it must have been like to witness the Great Council."
Lucerys nodded his head. "You were there, weren't you? What was it like?"
"I was four when I came here for the Great Council, my sweet boy. You will be better off asking your grandparents," Rhaenyra said.
Rhaenyra vaguely remembered playing with Laena and Laenor in the godswood of Harrenhal a few times while their parents, Daemon, Rhaenys, Corlys, and her great-grandfather focused on the Great Council.
She could also remember how much her short life had changed in the days after the result had been proclaimed. Rhaenyra found herself more alone but also under more scrutiny than ever before. Her cousins, who had been consistent companions, could no longer come to play with her, and when she had told her mother about Corlys sending her away from their apartment and the look he had given her when he did so, Aemma had looked at her sadly before holding her close.
She had told her then that some choices made by great lords could have some choices made by great lords could have a profound impact on the realm and that Lord Velaryon was simply contemplating those choices.
Rhaenyra had not understood what her mother meant, but now, as a woman grown, a mother, and the heir to the throne, she saw clearly the weight of the Great Council's decision to make Viserys Jaehaerys' heir.
And with Viserys reinstating Otto Hightower as Hand of the King, Rhaenyra could not stop herself from thinking that just like Rhaenys, her throne may be ripped out of her hands.