Ser Barristan Selmy
Ser Barristan Selmy pressed a hand to his brow as the sun beat down on the Red Keep's stone courtyard. The wind was hot, dust curling under his boots as he strode back from the stables.
"Have you found him, Barristan?" came the gruff voice of Ser Gerold Hightower, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, looming like a white wall in polished plate.
"Not yet, Commander," Barristan sighed, dragging a glove off to rub at his temples. "The Queen and the Princess will have our heads for this."
"We haven't told them yet," Gerold said pointedly.
"Good," Barristan muttered.
Gerold clapped a gauntlet to his shoulder. "Then you'll have the honor."
"Wha—?" Barristan blinked. "Surely you—"
But the White Bull was already gone, armor rattling as he turned on his heel and strode toward the Tower of the Hand.
"…Seven hells," Barristan muttered.
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"That wyrm! I'm going to kill him, I swear." Shaena Targaryen huffed, stomping her slippered foot hard enough to make the rugs shift. "He left me alone with that cursed septa for an entire hour. An hour, Ser Barristan!"
Barristan Selmy stood stiff-backed in the solar, looking both amused and exasperated as the young princess fumed. Rhaella, seated nearby with her knitting momentarily paused, raised an eyebrow but said nothing — content, for now, to let her daughter vent.
"Do you have any idea where your cousin might have gone, Princess?" Barristan asked, folding his hands behind his back with knightly patience.
Shaena sniffed, arms crossed. "Of course. Have you checked the godswood?"
"Yes, Princess. Twice."
"Hmm. The library?"
"Also searched."
She narrowed her eyes, thinking. Her silver-gold brows furrowed as she turned her gaze to the fire crackling in the hearth. "The… dragon skulls?"
"The dragon skulls?" Barristan echoed, uncertain.
Shaena turned to him with a dead-serious look that was rather fearsome for a girl of her years. "He'll be there."
Barristan blinked. "We haven't searched the skulls yet."
"Then you're wasting time," she said, already turning on her heel. "If he's not pretending to be Balerion, I'll eat my history scrolls."
From behind her, Rhaella gave a soft sigh, setting her knitting back in her lap. "Please don't do that again, dear. The maester was in a state for days."
Shaena didn't even turn. "Then I suggest someone finds that fool before I do."
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"Aerion," he said quietly, almost reverently. "If you're hiding, now is the time to stop."
A giggle.
He stopped mid-step.
A flicker of movement behind Meraxes' skull — a silver-blond head ducking lower.
Barristan sighed. "I see you."
"No, you don't," came the muffled reply.
Barristan folded his arms. "Prince Aerion, come out. Now."
Another pause. Then a little voice said, "Only if you promise not to tell Shaena."
Barristan raised a brow. "That's not how this works, Your Highness."
There was a dramatic sigh, followed by the scuffling of boots on stone. Prince Aerion Targaryen, hair tousled and cheeks smudged with dust, emerged from behind the great skull.
"I was pretending," he explained, wiping his hands on his tunic. "Meraxes and I were having a conversation. She said I'd make a better Dragon rider than Rhaegar."
Barristan blinked. "Did she now?"
Aerion nodded solemnly. "She said Rhaegar sings too much."
Before Ser Barristan could muster a reply, the doors creaked open again — and Shaena Targaryen strode in, dress lifted slightly off the ground in her small fists as she marched across the hall.
"You!" she shouted.
Aerion paled. "Seven hells."
"Don't you curse in front of me," Shaena snapped, storming toward him. "You left me with Septon Fussy-Face while you played with skulls again!"
"I wasn't playing," Aerion said with all the indignation of a boy cornered by justice. "I was… studying!"
Shaena rounded on him and jabbed a finger at his chest. "You owe me one full hour of no whining, no running off, and no skulls."
Aerion opened his mouth to object—
"No skulls," she repeated with deadly finality.
Ser Barristan cleared his throat. "Shall I escort the prince back to the Queen?"
Shaena nodded with all the gravitas of a princess. "And he walks. No carrying. That's his punishment."
Aerion groaned. "This is treason."
"This is punishment," Shaena chirped, then added under her breath, "and you deserve worse."
Barristan hid a smile as he turned, motioning them forward. "Come, Your Graces. Let's not keep Her Grace waiting."
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The doors creaked open, revealing Ser Barristan flanked by two pint-sized royals: Shaena, grinning like a cat who'd cornered a mouse, and Aerion, dragging his boots like a prisoner headed to the gallows.
Queen Rhaella didn't glance up from her embroidery—a needlework of a dragon devouring what looked suspiciously like a lemon cake. "Ah," she said mildly. "The throne room phantom returns. Did Meraxes teach you any useful curses, or was the lesson purely treasonous today?"
Rhaella set her hoop aside with a sigh that could wilt roses. "Prince Aerion."
He froze. "Yes, Mother?"
"Come. Here."
He inched forward like a snail sentenced to soup.
"Closer."
Three more steps. Now he stood before her, a dusty, disheveled storm cloud in velvet. Rhaella tilted his chin up, her gaze sharp enough to slice bread. "You are aware," she said softly, "that when princes vanish, their mothers invent new forms of punishment? I nearly wrote to Dorne to borrow scorpions."
Aerion's eyes widened. "Live ones?"
"The pinchy kind."
He gulped.
Then—attack.
Rhaella descended on him like a kissing kraken. Smooch! One for his ash-smudged cheek. Smooch! Another for his startled nose. Smooch-smooch-smooch! A rapid-fire volley across his forehead as he flailed.
"Mama, stooop—it's embarrassing—"
"Hush. This is your penance." She trapped his squirming face in her hands. "Kisses for frightening me. And—" tug, she pulled his ear "—this for abandoning a princess." Tug-tug.
"Ow! Shaena likes Septon Walys!"
"Lies!" Shaena chirped. "He smells like mothballs and regret!"
Rhaella ignored them, dusting Aerion's shoulders with brisk swats. "You'll write apologies to the guards who missed dinner hunting you. And—"
"Noooo—"
"—You'll bathe. Twice. You smell like a dragon's sneeze."
Aerion gagged dramatically. "That's not a real smell!"
"It is now," Shaena said, fanning herself with exaggerated horror.
As Aerion slunk away, grumbling about "tyrant queens," Rhaella turned to Ser Barristan. The knight stood statue-still, but his mustache twitched suspiciously.
"Your Grace," he said, voice strained.
"Oh, laugh, Barristan. I know you're dying to."
He laughed heartily, and the two Targaryens joined in.
"I'll remember this!" a shout echoed, and they laughed harder.
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Aerys Targaryen POV
The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long shadows across the royal bedchamber. Aerys slipped through the door, quiet as the hour demanded. The hall beyond had long fallen silent, save for the soft clinking of distant guards in white plate. He expected to find her asleep — the children surely were — but she sat upright in bed, her nightgown pale against the crimson sheets, a book resting forgotten in her lap.
"You're still awake," he murmured, shrugging off his cloak as he eased onto the bed beside her.
Rhaella turned to him, brushing a strand of silver-gold hair behind her ear. "I tucked them in myself. Rhaegar, Aerion, and Shaena. All sound asleep."
He nodded absently, leaning back against the carved headboard with a weary breath. She watched him for a moment, studying the tension in his jaw, the way his hands flexed as if grasping for something unseen.
"You're troubled," she said, placing her head on his chest and slipping her arm around his waist. "Something happened."
"A raven came from Lannisport." His voice was low and flat.
She stiffened at once. "Oh."
He didn't need to say more.
"Let Tywin draft the reply this time," she said tightly. "Deny her again. Make it sharp. Perhaps that will silence her for good."
Aerys tilted his head, gaze fixed on the dying embers. "She'll never stop. Not while we have her son."
Rhaella's expression darkened. She sat up straight, voice rising. "My son. Aerion is my son — not that whore's. Does she fancy herself Alyssa Velaryon reborn? The Whore Queen of Driftmark?" Her lip curled in disgust. "She didn't even wait until our brother's ashes were cold before spreading her legs for Tywin."
He didn't argue. There was nothing to say. They had spoken of this too many times — and yet it festered.
"Fine," he said, after a long silence. "I'll make Tywin write the reply."
Rhaella exhaled slowly and lay back down, though her body remained tense against him.
"Make sure it cuts," she whispered. "Let her bleed with it."
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Joanna Lannister's POV next Chapter.
That was the First Chapter. I hope the writing style is adequate. I know there is not a lot of content, but I hope I will try to make it better in time.
Thank you for Reading.
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Also, be sure to point out anything missing or any grammatical errors.
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