House Of The Dragon: 'The Exiled Prince'

Chapter 17: 'Ascension In Motion'



| Author's Note:

Well… I didn't quite anticipate the heated and critical response the last chapter would receive.

I genuinely believed I was on the right track, but it seems I may have misjudged some aspects. Thank you to those who shared their thoughts,— both positive and negative... Feedback is invaluable, and I'll be reflecting on it as I move forward.

That said, I won't be bothering that much to care about anything anymore. You all like the story, great I fucking love that,— you don't like it, well... then please just give me a well intentioned critic, so I can better myself and the fanfic.

And for the last time, no, Alicent won't be in the Harem, at least not for some years, though I'm not even sure if she will ever be,— and no, the story won't follow the cannon route from around 2 chapters to come onwards.

Anyways, please have a good and enjoyable read.

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No quote today.

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| Alicent Hightower 3rd Person Pov:

The Red Keep loomed solemn and imposing under the pale morning light, its stone walls swallowing sound and secrets alike.

The soft patter of her slippers against the polished floors seemed unnervingly loud in the stillness.

Alicent Hightower moved through the labyrinthine corridors with measured precision, her hands clasped tightly before her, as though she feared they might betray the unease stirring within.

Her face was composed, the result of years spent perfecting the masks required of her-a skill honed under her father's unrelenting gaze. Yet, no amount of practice could suppress the air of quiet dread that clung to her movements.

She was but a girl, young and fragile, caught between duty and despair, her heart weighed down by chains she could not break.

Her purpose this morning was simple, to seek an audience with King Viserys. Her father had insisted she invite him to lunch, a gesture meant to foster warmth between them, yet even the thought of standing before the man she was soon to wed made her stomach churn. 'I don't want to do this again...'

She turned a corner, her resolve barely intact, when her steps faltered, for standing in her path, as though he had been waiting for her, was Prince Aenys Targaryen.

He leaned casually against the wall, his silver hair catching the faint light spilling through a nearby window, his violet eyes, so reminiscent of his brother's and yet so distinct in their sharpness, were fixed on her with a calm intensity.

The easy grace of his posture belied the weight of his presence, and her breath caught in her throat, as her thoughts raced.

'Perhaps he has come to take his due. If I were him, I'd be furious. I ignored his warnings, his orders...'

"Lady Alicent." His voice broke the silence, steady but carrying an edge of curiosity that made her shudder. "I had hoped to find you."

She dipped into a graceful curtsy, though her fingers tightened against each other until her knuckles turned white. "My prince!" she murmured, her tone soft but wavering under the weight of her unease.

He studied her for a moment, his gaze unflinching, and she was certain he noticed the faint flush on her cheeks, the way her eyes darted to the floor as though she could not bear to meet his, and above all, her fear.

Finally, he spoke, his voice gentler than she expected. "I was wondering..." he began, "If you might join me and Rhaenyra for lunch today, in the King's Wood." The suggestion hung in the air, surprising her as much as it terrified her.

Alicent's eyes lifted briefly, wide with something between astonishment and apprehension. "Lunch... with the princess?" she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes." His tone was steady, measured, as though he sought to put her at ease. "I know the bond you and my niece once shared ran deep, and I thought that some time together might be... healing, in these difficult times."

'Why...?' Alicent hesitated, her lips parting as though to protest, but no words came. The idea of sitting across from Rhaenyra, of facing the unspoken resentment that had grown between them in the last few days, was nearly unbearable.

Yet she knew refusal was not an option, her father's teachings echoed in her mind: "Do what is required,— be useful."

"I... I would be honored, my prince." she said at last, though her voice cracked under the strain. "If the princess is also willing, of course."

"She is." Aenys assured her, his gaze steady.

His calm demeanor only heightened her turmoil.

He must see through her fragile composure-the fear of Rhaenyra's anger, the dread of her impending marriage, the suffocating weight of it all.

"It will do you both good, I think." he said softly, his words carrying a gentle reassurance that contrasted sharply with her inner chaos. "As you say, my prince." She forced herself to nod, though the motion was stiff and mechanical.

Aenys offered her a faint smile, one that spoke of understanding and caution in equal measure.

It was not the smile of a man untouched by hardship, but of one who had learned to bear it. "The King's Wood, then." he said. "I shall send for you when it is time."

Alicent's throat tightened, but she managed a weak, "Yes, my prince." before he inclined his head and stepped past her. She stood frozen for a while, her hands falling limply to her sides as she watched his retreating figure.

For a moment, she allowed herself to wonder why he had extended such kindness to her, why he had not chastised her for her complicity in her father's schemes.

The weight of her decision bore down on her, heavy as the walls of the Red Keep itself.

She turned away, her steps faltering as she moved back down the corridor, her thoughts a storm of doubt and regret. 'I don't deserve it!' she thought bitterly, her nails digging into her palms. 'I don't deserve his kindness, or Rhaenyra's friendship. I'm nothing but a pawn, and I know it.'

The faint sound of her gown brushing against the stone floor was the only noise to accompany her as she disappeared into the shadows of the Keep, her heart heavy with unspoken words and fears she dared not voice.

'I want to die.'

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| Aenys Targaryen 3rd person Pov:

The King's Wood stretched vast and serene, a patchwork of sunlight filtering through the canopy of towering oaks and elms.

The air carried the faint, sweet aroma of grass warmed by the sun, mingled with the earthy undertones of distant moss-covered trunks. Yet, beneath the tranquil beauty, tension lingered,— a quiet storm brewing, palpable in the stillness.

Not far from the shaded grove where the meal was to take place, the ancient beast Vhagar rested, her colossal frame half-hidden amongst the trees. The occasional rumble of her breathing reverberated through the wood, a reminder of the unyielding power lying just out of sight.

Aenys Targaryen sat at a simple table draped with fine cloth, laden with dishes prepared meticulously for the occasion.

The soft clink of goblets and the occasional flutter of birds above punctuated the otherwise still air, as he leaned back slightly, his posture deceptively casual, though his mind churned with unease.

It was Rhaenyra who arrived first, her stride confident but her expression stormy, as if she carried a tempest within her.

Her silver-gold hair shimmered in the dappled sunlight, and her violet eyes seemed to pierce through the calm of the woods as she approached.

She glanced briefly at the table but said nothing, her gaze flitting toward the trees as though searching for an unseen threat.

"Good morrow, uncle." she greeted, her voice clipped, her tone edged with something between irritation and weariness.

"Good morrow, Rhaenyra." Aenys replied, his voice deliberately light. "I trust you slept well?"

She did not sit but stood by her chair, arms crossed tightly over her chest, a clear display of her displeasure. "As well as one can, knowing the company I am to keep." she retorted, her words laced with sarcasm.

Aenys sighed inwardly, choosing not to rise to her bait. Before he could respond, the sound of approaching footsteps reached them.

Aenys turned toward the path, and moments later, Lady Alicent Hightower emerged from the shadows of the trees.

She wore a gown of soft green, her hair carefully arranged, but her face betrayed the strain of a restless night. Her steps faltered slightly as she approached, her gaze flitting between Aenys and Rhaenyra with barely concealed apprehension.

"Prince Aenys. Princess Rhaenyra." Alicent greeted with a tentative curtsy, her voice was soft, almost meek, and Aenys noted how Rhaenyra's lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line.

"Lady Alicent." Aenys replied, his tone steady as he gestured toward the table.

"Come, let us not waste the food. The cooks went to great lengths for this meal." He noted Alicent hesitation, but she eventually took her seat, her movements slow and deliberate.

Rhaenyra followed suit, though her posture remained rigid, her tension radiating like a palpable force.

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint clink of goblets as Aenys poured wine for each of them. Clearing his throat, he spoke with a feigned casualness, seeking to steer the atmosphere toward something lighter.

"If I recall correctly, Rhaenyra..." he began, "... you once told me that you and Lady Alicent used to chase each other through the halls of the Red Keep. I believe the septa nearly resigned after the honey cakes incident, did she not?"

For a fleeting moment, Rhaenyra's lips twitched, an almost-smile threatening to break free, but she quickly stifled it, her tone cool as she replied. "I remember."

"Though I doubt Lady Alicent recalls it so fondly." Rhaenyra added, her words cutting, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips.

'This girl...' He thought, as Alicent glanced at her, startled, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Of course I do!" Alicent protested, her voice hurried. "Those were… simpler times,— better times."

"Were they?" Rhaenyra countered, her tone dripping with venom. "Before you began plotting your way into my family's affairs?"

"Enough, Rhaenyra." Aenys interjected, his voice calm and warm, but firm. His violet eyes fixed on her with a pointed gaze. "We are here to enjoy each other's company, not to air recently built grievances." Rhaenyra muttered something under her breath but said no more, while Alicent lowered her gaze, her cheeks flushing with shame and self-hate.

After a long pause, Alicent spoke, her voice barely audible. "Rhaenyra… you must know that I did not wish for any of this." Rhaenyra's sharp gaze turned to her, suspicion still etched on her face. "Didn't you?"

"It's true..." He interjected again, his tone softer now. "This was not her doing,— her father, Otto set her upon this path, not her own will. You shouldn't fault your friend so much." Rhaenyra hesitated, her violet eyes searching Alicent's face for any sign of deceit. "Is this true?"

Alicent nodded meekly, her gaze fixed on her lap. "Yes..." she whispered, her voice trembling.

The conversation faltered after that, the tension between them simmering just beneath the surface.

Aenys tried to ease the atmosphere with tales of his exile and childhood memories, recounting moments of levity he hoped would remind them of the bond they once shared.

By the time the meal ended, the sharpness in Rhaenyra's tone had softened, though her wariness toward Alicent remained.

And as they rose to leave, Aenys placed a hand on Rhaenyra's shoulder, his touch light but steady. "Give her time, Rhaenyra." he said, his voice low and meant only for her.

"And above all, do not speak of this to anyone else,— I will try to resolve this matter soon, and you will have your friend back. How does that sound?" Rhaenyra glanced at him, her expression unreadable, before offering a curt nod.

Alicent lingered a few steps behind, her hands clasped tightly as she watched them.

For a moment, it seemed as though she might speak, but no words came.

And so they made their way back to the Red Keep, the fragile truce hung in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

Aenys walked between the two women, the weight of their nearly fractured bond pressing slightly on his shoulders.

In the distance, Vhagar stirred as well, though no one seemed to mind her then.

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"Ser Criston." He called, his voice low yet commanding, carrying the weight of authority. "My prince?" And Cole replied immediately, inclining his head with the practiced respect of a dutiful knight.

"I have a task for you." He began, his tone measured, almost contemplative, as his eyes took on the figure of his white caped protector. "You need only command, my prince. My sword and loyalty are yours."

He offered the faintest of smiles at that. "I know, Cole, that is why I choose to entrust this to you. Greatness does not come from complacency, nor does success come to those who merely wait. Whether it is the life of a knight or that of a prince, one must strive, act, and shape their destiny, isn't that right?"

"You speak truly, my prince." Criston said, his tone even but laced with a genuine agreement that was easy to note. "What is it you would have me do?"

He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing slowly around his chamber, looking everywhere and nowhere as he spoke. "I intend to create something new, an organization bound to me and my house in loyalty and purpose. A force beyond mere duty,— I think I will name it 'Sword,' for they shall serve as the sharp edge of my will when the time calls for it." And his gaze noted the way that Criston's brow furrowed slightly in thought. "A bold vision, my prince. Do you find the Kingsguard... lacking, perhaps?"

"Not lacking, at least not necessarily." He replied, pausing to meet Criston's unwavering gaze. "The Kingsguard serves its purpose well, as it always has and will. Seven knights, sworn to protect the king and his family. But seven are not enough, not for what I envision in my future. My vision is much broader, grander, and for that to happen, the Targaryen house guards must evolve,— must become something more."

"I see..." Criston said thoughtfully. "And you would transform them into this 'Sword'?"

"Precisely." Aenys said, nodding. "A unified force, trained to embody unwavering loyalty, formidable strength, and the potential to grow into something unmatched in the realm. But for this, I need a leader, someone who embodies those ideals, and that is where you come in, Cole."

Criston straightened slightly, his expression sharpening with focus, and he allowed a small smile to form on his expression, as his white knight took to answer. "You wish for me to find such a man, my prince?"

"Indeed." He confirmed. "Today, you will search the streets of King's Landing, and look for potential. A man of strength, of skill, and with the capacity for loyalty that cannot be shaken easily. He need not be perfect, but he must have the makings of greatness, this someone will hopefully be the foundation upon which 'Sword' will be built."

Criston inclined his head. "I understand, it will be done. But, my prince, your protection,— who will ensure your safety in my absence?"

And he waved a hand dismissively, though his tone remained calm. "I have already seen to it. Ser Harwin Strong will take your place for the day, you need not concern yourself, this task is more important after all."

Criston hesitated, only for a moment, before nodding firmly. "Then I shall see to it. I will send for Ser Harwin and begin the search immediately."

"Good!" He said, his voice carrying a rare warmth. "I trust you, Cole. So do not disappoint me."

"You have my word, my prince." Criston replied, his voice steady with conviction, and he gave the incline of his head as a mere reply, signaling his dismissal. "Go, then."

Without another word, Criston bowed deeply and strode away, his armor clinking faintly with each purposeful step, and he watched him go, with a mind already turning to the future he was determined to carve.

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| A few hours later, Criston Cole 3rd Person Pov:

The air in the slums of King's Landing was a suffocating mix of filth and despair. The cobbled streets were slick with mud and waste, the remnants of a late-morning drizzle pooling in uneven cracks.

Shadows stretched long beneath the flickering glow of the now turned evening sun, painting the alleyways in shades of menace.

Cole adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword as he navigated the labyrinthine streets, his armor, though polished, felt out of place in a district where steel was more often wielded by cutthroats than knights.

And it was getting late through the evening,— with him not having found that one 'someone' that his prince had faith that he would. Until the sound of a scuffle snapped him from his thoughts.

A muffled cry, sharp and pained, echoed through the tight alleyways, followed by the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting bone.

He quickened his pace, his boots splashing through nuddles, the clink of his armor drawing eyes from the shadows.

As he turned a corner, the source of the noise became clear, a hulking man, his hair matted with sweat and grime, stood surrounded by four figures. At his feet lay the crumpled body of a man, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle.

Nearby, a woman shielded a young girl, her face streaked with tears as she clutched the child to her chest. "Back off!" the man roared, his voice a guttural growl.

His fists were bloodied, his chest heaving with exertion, and despite the odds, he stood his ground, his broad shoulders squared against the advancing assailants.

'Perhaps.' Criston didn't hesitate.

Drawing his blade, he strode forward with purpose, his voice cutting through the chaos. "That's enough!" The bandits turned, their sneers faltering as they took in the sight of the armored knight.

One of them, emboldened by desperation, lunged forward, and yet Criston's sword flashed in the sun light, a clean arc that left the man clutching his throat as he crumpled to the ground helplessly.

The others hesitated, their courage wavering, and Criston pressed the advantage, dispatching the second with a swift thrust of his sword into the chest, whilr he noted the remaining two fleeing, their curses echoing as they disappeared into the maze of obscure alleys ahead.

The scene that remained was one of carnage.

The man,— Hugh, as Criston would soon learn,— sank to his knees, his massive frame trembling, as his wife rushed to his side, sobbing as she checked him for wounds, while the young girl clung to her mother, her wide eyes fixed on the him, who had saved them.

And he choose to approach then, cautiously, his sword lowered but ready for anything.

"Are you hurt?" The man looked up, his eyes bloodshot but defiant. "We're alive, that's enough for me, Ser." Criston studied him for a moment, taking in the sheer size of the man, the raw power in his movements despite his clear exhaustion.

The bodies around him told a story of their own,— one bandit with a snapped neck, another whose spine was bent unnaturally, probably thrown against the nearby wall, if the blood on the latter was proof enough.

This man was untrained, but his strength was undeniable in his eyes.

"What's your name?" He asked, and the man made to answer, "Hugh." Was the reply that Criston got, the man's voice hoarse and pained.

"You fought well, Hugh. For a common, untrained man, that's no small feat." And he noted with amused eyes, the way that Hugh's jaw tightened. "Common and untrained, aye. That's all I'll ever be, though it seems it wont be enough to keep protecting my family in these slums..."

"Not necessarily." He said, his tone thoughtful, and a knowing look on his exoression that left the family in front of him exasperated. "I've been tasked with finding men of potential,— men who can rise above their station. You've proven yourself today Hugh, though unfortunetly through precarious events. With the right training, you could do more than survive, you could serve a cause greater than yourself, and perhaps end up being able to protect those you care about."

Hugh frowned, glancing at his wife and daughter. "Who are you? And what kind of cause is that?"

Criston sheathed his sword, extending a hand to help the man to his feet. "My name is Criston Cole, a Kingsguard to the Targaryen royal family. Prince Aenys Targaryen, the man that I serve, has a vision, a new order of soldiers and knights loyal to him and by extension, the crown, named "Sword". Men like you could be a part of it."

Hugh hesitated, his gaze shifting between his family and him, before finally deciding to clasp Criston's forearm, his grip firm. "If it means keeping my family safe, I'll do whatever's asked of me." Criston nodded, approval in his smiling gaze. "Good. Come with me, we'll start with a roof over your heads and a hot meal,— the rest will follow."

And as they left the alley, the wife and daughter trailing close behind, Criston allowed himself a small smile.

Aenys' vision was beginning to take shape.

In Hugh, he saw the possibility of a foundation of something greater,— a man who, though rough and unrefined, held the potential to become a strong soldier, and perhaps in the future, a leader in his Prince's new organisation.

Thus, the echoes of their footsteps faded into the early evening breeze, leaving the slums momentarily quieter, though no less ominous.

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| During the time that Criston Cole was out on his task, Aenys Targaryen 3rd person Pov:

The soft hum of distant conversation from the Red Keep's courtyards faded as Aenys strode down the dimly lit corridor, his steps echoing faintly off the cold stone walls.

A faint chill lingered in the air, despite the sun's slightly warm rays.

His thoughts swirled with the remnants of today's lunch and the small council that had taken place two days ago, with all that tension still knotting his shoulders.

He barely registered the hurried footsteps behind him until a familiar voice broke the stillness. "My prince!"

And he stopped mid-step, turning sharply.

Lieutenant Edrick Velaryon stood before him, his chest heaving as though he had sprinted the length of King's Landing, his armor bore smudges of grime from the city streets, his face pale under the sunlight.

"Edrick?" Aenys regarded him with a furrowed brow. "What's the matter? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

Edrick straightened, though his trembling hands betrayed his nerves. "I came as quickly as I could. There's… something I need to bring to your attention, if you'll permit it, my prince."

"You've already come this far..." he said, his tone laced with curiosity and a growing edge of concern. "Speak freely, Lieutenant. What has you so worked up?"

He noted the way that the young Velaryon swallowed hard, his gaze darting down the corridor as though afraid of unseen ears.

"I've uncovered something, my prince. Something… grotesque." And he stiffened, the weight of those words settling heavily in the air between them. "Grotesque?" he pressed, his voice hardening. "Out with it. What have you found?"

Edrick took a shaky breath. "A fighting pit, my prince. Not just for animals or grown men but… children. They force children to fight, it's monstrous." For a moment, Aenys said nothing.

The cold fury that swept through him was a force of its own, his jaw clenching so tightly that his teeth ached. "Children, you say?"

His voice was measured, controlled. "Are you certain of what you've seen?"

Edrick nodded vehemently. "I saw it with my own eyes, my prince. It's as vile as it sounds."

"Who else knows of this?" And the Lieutenant hesitated, his gaze dropping. "I… I reported it to Captain Rosamund, but she warned me to stay out of it. She claimed that meddling in such matters would only bring death. I fear she may be… involved."

"Rosamund?" Aenys repeated, his voice low and dangerous. "Are you suggesting treachery from your own captain, liutenent?"

"I would never accuse my captain lightly, my prince." Edrick said quickly, his voice trembling. "But her response was… troubling. I felt it my duty to inform you."

He studied the young man before him, his sharp gaze boring into Edrick's pale face.

Finally, he nodded. "Good, you've done well to bring this to me. For now, take some rest at the Goldcloaks' barracks here in the Red Keep, I'll have further instructions for you later."

And he almost smirked as he saw Edrick blink in surprise. "You'd allow me to stay here, my prince? Truly?"

"I would." Aenys softened his tone, though the steel beneath it remained. "You've earned it. Go and rest, Lieutenant, but hear me,— say nothing of this to anyone else, discretion will be paramount."

"Of course, my prince, you have my word. And… forgive me for not being able to do more in this situation." The young Edrick said quickly, though he waved off softly.

"You've done enough by bringing it to me." He assured him. "So leave the rest in my hands, will you?" Edrick bowed deeply, gratitude evident in his every movement.

"Thank you, my prince." Edrick said, and he nodded his head slightly. "Go now, Edrick."

The young man turned and retreated, his boots clicking softly against the stone floor as he disappeared into the shadows.

Aenys barely had time to collect his thoughts before another presence emerged from the periphery, silent as a shadow. Arthur, his spymaster knight, stepped into view with the ease of a man accustomed to blending into the background.

"My prince." Arthur greeted, his tone low and steady.

"I trust you heard all of that?" He asked Arthur, his gaze fixed on the spot where Edrick had stood moments before.

And Arthur inclined his head. "Every word."

"Do you think you can look into these fighting pits tonight? I need confirmation, details,— bring me whatever you find before morning."

Arthur's expression didn't falter. "Consider it done, my prince."

"Good." He then turned to face him fully, his eyes narrowing. "And what of the Hand's movements?"

"That's why I was here before the Lieutenant arrived." Arthur said, his voice unhurried but deliberate. "My men have observed a significant increase in letters being sent south-westward of the capital. All signs point to the Hand corresponding with Oldtown,— frequently and urgently."

"Oldtown, is that right...?" Aenys murmured, his mind racing. He began pacing, the faint echo of his boots filling the corridor. "I'll need proof, though. Can you intercept one of these letters? A single missing message wouldn't raise suspicion, provided it appears lost by accident."

Arthur allowed himself a faint smile. "A simple matter, my prince, I'll see to it personally. Shall I prioritize this task over the fighting pits?"

"No." Aenys stopped abruptly, turning back to him. "Both must be done by tonight. Divide your men as needed, but ensure the pits are scouted thoroughly. The letter can come later if necessary, but I want results on both fronts."

"As you command, my prince." Arthur bowed slightly, his movements fluid and efficient. "If there's nothing else, I'll take my leave."

"Go, Arthur. And may your steps remain unseen." With a final nod, Arthur melted back into the shadows, leaving him alone in the corridor.

He stood there for a moment, the weight of the realm's secrets pressed heavily upon him, but his resolve was unshaken.

He would uncover the truth behind the pits, expose the Hand's machinations, and ensure that justice, swift and unrelenting, came to those who dared defile his realm.

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| Fire & Blood |

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