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assortedseaglass · 6 months

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Borne & Bound

Aemond Targaryen X Geowyth Beridan (Shieldmaiden!OFC)

[Masterlist]

Story Content: Strong Language, Violence, Slow Burn, Smut, Canon-typical Sexism, Mentions Canon-typical of Incest

Notes: Aemond and Geowyth meet in the training yard.

Mearl thundered across the glade at the edge of the kingswood. A flash of green whirled in the dark aspect of his eyes, and his long mane of raven hair flew in the wind. So dark was his coat that the very landscape seemed to tear as the great beast cut his way across the green.

Geowyth knew she was driving him hard. He hadn’t been ridden since their arrival into King’s Landing, and she was permitted to visit him only twice during her busy stay at the capital.

It was easy to exit the keep that morning. A great many attendees of the King’s council and feast were leaving for home, and in the hubbub of servants preparing their house’s journeys, Geowyth was able to slip into the stables and saddle Mearl in the awakening dawn.

Across the Blackwater estuary and away from the city, from her brother, she drove him hard as dawn turned to day. In the few days since she had ridden, Geowyth had not forgotten the thrill of speeding across grassland, coast or cliff with her mighty companion, but memory and dreaming could not quite equal the exhilaration of the real thing.

The cold air of the morning chilled at her face as Mearl’s unbraided mane whipped before her in long tendrils. Her knees were tucked into the round barrel of his ribs, and with every stride she felt the ripple of muscle there. Occasionally, he cast his head side to side as he ran, huffing and whinnying as he did so. It was in those moments, that Geowyth knew he had missed this as much as her. Together, they flew across the grassland, their two bodies alert utterly free.

Geowyth’s angry tears had dried the moment she rode Mearl over the shallow water of the estuary’s opening. What a difference fresh air and freedom makes. In truth, when Geodred told her that she would be staying in King’s Landing a while longer, she hadn’t been entirely angry. Staying with Helaena was the primary reason, in fact, that Geowyth hadn’t taken her dagger to her brother’s throat. A companion to a princess. She’d be lying if the little girl within her didn’t jump with pleasure when she heard those words.

No, it wasn’t that which made her angry. It was the way Geodred skulked to her chamber door late in the evening to tell her. That he had not consulted her before arranging it with the Queen. His reasons, that she could learn about court life from such a household, remain with Helaena and have the freedom to be a young noblewoman that life in Braedel had not, and soon will not, afford, did little to quell Geowyth’s anger. It seemed that despite their brief stay in the capital, Geodred had learned much about the way things were done here. Namely, duplicity, secrecy and order that relied not on the merit and skill of a person, but their gender.

‘Tis no wonder Princess Rhaenyra left.

When Geowyth flung these accusations at her brother, he’d softened. His bright eyes darkened and he’d held a hand to her face. It was no use, trying to hide herself from the person she loved most.

“I should have told you, but when confronted with the Queen and her machinations, ‘twas hard to back down. I am just as nervous here as you, sweoster. I know,” he had continued lowly and stepped into her room. Alma had left only a few minutes before, and Geowyth had half hoped she had seen Geodred on her way to the servant’s hall. Alma was not good at disguising her appreciation of Geodred. “I know that you are worried about our uncle. But I swear to you, I will send for you the moment our father beckons him home.”

Tears threatened to fall once more, and Geowyth blinked a few times against the wind, focusing her mind on the stamping of Mearl’s hooves. Somehow, the earth beneath them sounded different here. In Braedel, beyond Eobarrow, across the mor and harad and along the brimlad, Geowyth knew every knoll and mound like the back of her hand. Here, the land was a stranger, just as she was.

The sun had risen yet the chill of night remained. From atop Mearl, Geowyth looked at her surroundings. The trees on the edge of the kingswood were dark, their boughs tinted pink by the early morning sun.

Red sky at morning, shepherd’s warning.

Deeper in the wood, she saw some of them rippling, like wind across water. Mearl veered suddenly to avoid a trough in the land and Geowyth looked forward. Ahead, hills covered the horizon like sleeping green giants, and Geowyth wondered how long it would take to ride there. A day, at least. Perhaps she could convince Helaena to take her there one day. Helaena and Dreamfyre, she and Mearl.

Though she was yet to see the dragon, Helaena had told Geowyth much about Dreamfyre. Of her silver and blue scales that shimmered in the sun like the fish of Blackwater Bay. How she flew with grace and speed, and that her spirit possessed a lightness that seemed to soar when in flight. When Geowyth remarked how well matched Dreamfyre and her rider were, Helaena had blushed proudly. “I will introduce you to Mearl before we leave,” Geowyth had told her. Helaena shook her head furiously, fear flashing in her eyes. “Princess,” Geowyth took her hand. “You are a dragon rider.”

Geowyth smiled at the memory, and patted Mearl’s strong neck. “How could anyone be scared of you?”

At once a great roar, like the felling of a great tree, split the air. Mearl bolted, and Geowyth fought to calm him, all the while looking around.

“Sy swige, Mearl, y heore!” “Be still, I am here!”

He stopped his weaving course and settled into a steady run, yet Geowyth could sense the tension humming throughout his body. The very air around them seemed to swell under the weight of their worry, pressing down on them from the skies. Geowyth rode Mearl to small tor on the edge of the wood, and together with heaving breath, they waited for the storm to pass.

If the air had been chill on the ride out of the city, it was nothing that compared to the cold that swaddled them now. It was just as Geowyth leant over Mearl’s sleek neck, attempting to soothe him with whispers of home when a great shadow fell across the valley. Mearl whinnied and rose onto his back legs, spooked by the sudden blackness that swept across the ground.

In terrified awe, Geowyth looked up. She had heard rumours, of the beast that lived beyond the city, too large for the dragonpit and ridden by the bravest and most merciless riders. But to see her on the wing, a goliath against the sky, eclipsing all light as she flew, was another matter entirely.

Vhagar.

Excitement and terror prickled Geowyth’s skin in equal measure, and a shiver ran down her spine. The same seemed to have happened to Mearl, for the shackles of his neck and mane were alert to the creature overhead.

Geowyth watched as Vhagar rose higher into the sky, her bulk never seeming to diminish. From her battle-worn belly to the holes of her wings, the great she-dragon was utterly beautiful, and Geowyth felt an instant kinship to the dragon. Mearl bristled restlessly as though reading his rider’s thoughts, and Geowyth patted his neck once more as they both watched the sky.

Time stilled as Geowyth watched Vhagar circle ever higher. She was transfixed by the slow beating of her wings, the elegant way she glided through the air, her tail cutting the cloud like a knife. Of his own accord, Mearl moved off the tor and onto the plain of grassland. He stopped in the centre of the glade Geowyth had ridden him through, as though the open landscape gave her a better viewpoint to watch the dragon. Still, he pawed at the ground impatiently.

“Ungeara, min lufu,” “Soon, my love,”

Geowyth returned her gaze to the sky just as Vhagar turned sharply on her wing. The sleek hair of her rider caught fire in the pink morning light and Geowyth’s excitement turned to envy. For those fleeting minutes, Geowyth had forgotten that Prince Aemond Targaryen was Vhagar’s rider. How lucky of him, to be so entwined with the dragon. She wondered if he new how lucky he was. Judging by the attitude he had displayed throughout her stay, she doubted it.

By some strange coincidence, the prince seemed to have spotted the Braedel shieldmaiden far below at the same time she noticed him. There was a distant cry that Geowyth knew to be High Valyrian, and with surprising speed Vhagar changed direction and entered a dive towards the earth. Reacting instinctively, Geowyth kicked her heels into Mearl’s side and the stallion galloped into action.

The shadow Vhagar cast grew larger as she approached the earth. So too did the echoes of her rider, laughing and shouting words Geowyth did not understand. Mearl, sensing the dragon’s approach, ran harder in the direction of the keep. It was about time Geowyth made her way back to her duties, but why not have a little fun before she did so?

She wasn’t scared. Quite the opposite. Geowyth knew she was safe. The prince may not be able to hide his dislike of her with the skill that she managed to hide hers, but it wouldn’t do for a prince of the realm to kill one of their visiting guests, let alone one with whom his family was trying to make an allegiance. If not for the political fallout, the terror of his mother’s fury was surely enough to put that idea from the young prince’s mind.

And so, beneath the shadow of Vhagar, Mearl and Geowyth rode with freedom until the breath from the beating of the great dragon’s wings whirled around them. Geowyth cried out with glee, her shriek transforming into raucous laughter when Vhagar flew low overhead before sweeping away towards the capital.

Just to witness her in flight was to feel a freedom unlike Geowyth had ever known. Onward she rode, basking in the path Vhagar had flown, toward the city with a renewed vigour in her spirit. Perhaps staying in the capital would not be so bad.

People nodded and smiled to Geowyth as she strode through the keep’s corridors towards her small guest chambers. Alma would be there now, drawing a bath and fresh with gossip from the other servants. Some were surprised to see her awake so early, such was the life of a noblewoman, while others glanced at her dishevelled state. When she gave them a broad smile, her amber eyes alight with happiness, they either looked away, startled by their hue, or beamed back. Whatever their reaction, Geowyth found she did not care.

After her early morning ride, felt almost herself again. The smell of sweat and early morning dew clung to her cloak, and her riding boots left a muddied trail in her wake. It was like being at home; up before her uncle and Geodred rose, taking to Mearl with other riders of the Renward.

By the time she reached her chamber doors, a few other visiting ladies were leaving their rooms for an early breakfast. One of the Baratheon girls, the timid one, smiled to Geowyth as she passed, and a beautiful Tyrell girl swept after her.

“Morning, Alma.” Geowyth smiled as she entered the room and removed her riding gloves.

“Morning, Geowyth,” Alma had been instructed to abandon formalities almost at once.

“What news?”

Alma sprang to life in an instant. “It’s been such a night! Willow, one of the scullery maids, said that Rouncewell, one of the grooms, disappeared in the middle of the night. How she knows, I can’t guess,” Alma clicked her teeth and hurried to add rose petals and rosemary to Geowyth’s steaming bath. “And then Myonette, she’s a lady’s maid, said that she saw him sneaking off from the Tyrell lady’s room!”

“Well don’t you go revealing anything to anyone, other than me of course,” Geowyth had removed her dirtied outer layers and was making away with her undershirt.

“Course not.” Alma held her hand and helped her into the copper bath. Geowyth sighed as the warmth eased her aching muscles and Alma continued her tales. “Maryam, the cook, said that Barbary was in such a state yesterday evening. Barbary’s another scullery maid,” Alma added, moving somewhere in the room. “And then, guess what!? This morning, she was gone. Bed turned down, no note, nothing. Maryam reckons she’s got herself in a bad way and done a runner. You wouldn’t catch me losing my virtue and doing a moonlight flit-” She tutted again.

Geowyth leant an elbow against the bath and looked to where Alma stood by the writing desk. “Not all women have a choice, Alma. Surely, your mother told you about the evils of men?”

Alma hung her head. “She did, my lady.”

“And let us not forget,” Geowyth turned around in the tub. “Women are hot-blooded creatures too, with wants and desires. Why are we not allowed our share of fun for fear of tarried virtue?”

“My lady!” Alma gasped and Geowyth giggled. There was silence a while, and Geowyth could almost hear Alma thinking over her words. Suddenly, the maid gasped. “I almost forgot, this arrived for you not long before you got back,”

Alma appeared before Geowyth and held out a folded piece of parchment. Geowyth took it hastily from her hands and water sloshed over the bath’s side. “Sorry, Alma. Pass me the knife on the table there,” Alma made to grab a cloth and returned to clean the mess, handing a small dagger to Geowyth. With one fluid motion, Geowyth broke the wax seal and settled the dagger on the edge of the bath. It had once belonged to her mother, Finwyth. Geodred had inherited their father’s sword and rank, Geowyth, her mother’s dagger and countenance.

She need not read the signature to know who it was from, she recognised the writing and the seal emblazoned with a horse’s head.

Deorling maeg (darling girl),

You will never know the joy your council brings me, whether in person or written form. I had not expected to hear from you so soon into your stay, but by all above and below did it lift my spirits. I would happily read pages of your account of life in the capital.

All is well here. Folchild and her parents visited from Stanas Isle to go over what remains of the wedding. Remember you and I talked of how she seemed brighter and happier each time we saw her? Well, she seemed reserved these last few days. I put it down to her missing Geodred and the worry of the wedding and all that it will bring, but her father was in foul mood and her mother barely spoke. Hrodan suspects her father is regretting her betrothal to Geodred. I can’t see why, Stanas Isle is a place of little influence and her marriage to Geodred will see her elevate her rank while having to fear in the way of war. And anyone can see how she adores your brother.

Hrodan has been helping me run things in Geodred’s absence. I know you do not like him, Geowyth, but he is a shrewd and astute fellow. Let this be my next lesson to you. Not all people you dislike are the enemy, their flaws my even work in your favour.

Perhaps this is something to put to the test with your new acquaintances. You were right in your assumption, Geodred had not written, though I received word from him not two days ago about your extended stay. While it seems you need no help with the princess, why not be more attentive to the princes’ merits? The heir apparent you say is a wastrel but bonny fellow, and Geodred tells me that Prince Aemond has been giving him private tutelage in mainland history. List me two more of their virtues with your next letter.

I will miss you, deorling maeg, but I cannot tell a lie. Geodred and the queen are right that you should stay. I want you time to be a young woman of the realm before taking Geodred’s place as commander. We do not have long until that day comes, and I will not have you waste your life on this ill old man. I am in good hands. The cooks keep me well fed, I take a walk with Galepan each day (even if I am not fit to ride anymore), and Hrodan oversees the council. Mawe has even taken to sleeping by my bedside. It is the chicken you told me to feed him. Straight from the table, just as you said. He shall be my companion when you return, not yours!

I will you see you soon, do not worry. And if for whatever reason my forebears come to take me early, know that it is with you in my heart. I will tell your father of your grace.

Merits, my deorling maeg, and manners.

Eower tyme eam, (your devoted uncle)

Galan, Cyng (Gallan, King).

Geowyth stared at the letter. Silently, she held it out for Alma to take. Merits and manners? Not a thought for her wants, just like Geodred. The moment Alma turned her back to place the letter on the writing desk, Geowyth stood, bath water rippling around the tub.

Alma hurried over with a cloak. “You’ve been in not five minutes-”

“A walk,” Geowyth said to herself. “I’m sorry, Alma. I need a walk.” With no other word, Geowyth redressed in a clean smock and a tunic of Braedel blue and brocaded bronze. Tucking her mother’s dagger in the hidden pocket of the tunic, Geowyth put on her muddied boots and made for the gardens. It had worked that morning and it shall work again. Fresh air would set her mood right.

Gallan had said nothing untoward in his letter, yet Geowyth felt he was scolding her somehow. Surely, if he had met the princes he would be in agreement? They were two people about whom there was little good, and even “good King Gallan” would not be able to find such.

As she stormed towards the gardens, her footsteps became heavier. How dare he. How dare they. Geowyth’s cheeks flushed. Not two nights ago she had boasted that Braedel did things by merit, not gender. And here she was handed off to be a royal plaything by her brother and uncle without so much a thought to her feelings.

The day was bright when she forced open the door to outside. The sun was not quite at its zenith yet. Before noon. Geowyth still had a few hours until she was to meet Helaena. Perhaps this would be the day she introduced her to Mearl. It seemed as though an entire day spent out of doors was the remedy Geowyth needed.

Geowyth made directly for the Godswood, yet something paused her steps. The dagger tucked in the secret pocket of her skirts. It burned there, the cold metal. Turning swiftly on her heal, she made instead for the armoury and training yard. If Herumbrand and Geodred were not there, and the Seven knew she wished to fight him, then some other rider of the renward surely would be. All she needed was an hour to exorcise her frustration, and a partner with whom to do so.

Cole was slow that morning. Unusually so. Aemond could see his attacks coming almost before the knight had decided on them. When Ser Criston swung his morning star in the prince’s direction, it slipped from his hand and plummeted into the ground.

Aemond hissed in annoyance.

“Forgive me, Your Grace.” Cole’s sentiment was quite at odds with his face, which was stony as he glared at Aemond. The prince hummed in reply and swung his sword as he jumped from foot to foot.

Aegon had retired a few minutes ago and was currently stood beside his wife. Helaena, for all her angelic beauty, seemed despondent as she listened to him prattle on in her ear. A few metres off, Ser Harrold stood in conversation with Ser Herumbrand, who was flanked by riders of the Renward. Each watched the prince and Cole with interest.

There was something about Ser Herumbrand that Aemond found disconcerting. From his battle-scarred visage to his imposing height, there was much to be wary of. But Aemond was not intimidated by the brute’s size. It was the slow way his eyes followed Aemond’s every move, a smile playing at the corner of his thin mouth. Beside him, Ser Harrold was indicating certain movements and whispering to this counterpart, who nodded, his eyes never leaving Aemond all the while.

While Cole regathered himself, Aemond’s eyes cast around, and landed on Helaena. She’d turned away from Aegon, who uttered one last sentence and made his way up the steps to the royal apartments. Helaena’s seemed to follow him, but when Aemond looked they were not on her husband, but the woman passing him.

Aegon took a step closer to the shieldmaiden but she stepped away. As she stomped down the stairs, Aemond was reminded irresistibly of his nephews. Of the petulant way they stomped about the keep, longing for it to be theirs. Her dark frizzy hair, usually hanging long past her shoulders or in front of her face, flew behind her. The bronze brocade of her skirt caught light in the midday sun and her eyes blazed fire. She was angry.

When she reached Helaena, Geowyth bent down and whispered in her ear. Helaena smiled kindly and took Geowyth’s hand as if to calm her, running her thumb across the back of her hand. Just as Aemond did to soothe her. Helaena too came alight before Geowyth, but due to happiness, not anger. Aemond huffed and bounced more vigorously on the balls of his feet. Cole was taking forever.

His eyes followed Geowyth as she let go of Helaena’s hand. She made her way to stand next to Ser Herumbrand. In a move Aemond had not seen between a noble and a knight, at least not in view of others, Herumbrand placed his arm around the young woman. Ser Harrold and Ser Criston both bowed, and together the four talked lowly.

Aemond hissed again. He was anxious to spar. He was in full swing just as Cole dropped the ball and, as yet, did not have another partner.

“Cole!” Loathe as he was to admit it, Aemond wanted the attention to turned back to him, not the angry woman Cole now conversed with. The knight looked in his direction. “Another spar?”

Ser Criston placed his hand against the breastplate of his armour. “My Prince, you are becoming too proficient a fighter for me. Soon we will have to find you a new partner!”

Ser Harrold smiled. Ser Herumbrand continued to stare. Geowyth had moved to talk to some women of the renward. Aemond scoffed. Then, an idea swam into his mind. Spinning his sword elegantly in his hand, Aemond stood still and called across the yard.

“Lady Geowyth,” he watched as she turned slowly to face him. Her amber eyes still blazed with agitation and he knew he was right in his idea. “Your brother commanded I spar with you, owing to your ‘wits’, as he put it. And you yourself demanded I owe a spar or dance.”

As he spoke, Geowyth picked a sword from the armoury rack and slowly approached him, nostrils flared. She raised the weapon as he continued.

“The latter of which I wish to avoid,”

“I shall ignore that, Your Grace,”

Aemond laughed, though it did not reach his eyes. Instead, he watched how she held the sword. Certain, strong. At that, she was confident. He looked for other weaknesses. The lady was nearly as tall as him, but still smaller. Geodred had said he outranked her in strength, not wit. Even if only a spar, he had betrayed his sister. Aemond would make quick work of this.

Geowyth had stopped in her tracks and the sword she held was now at her side. It was a long, its pointed tip just scraping the yard dirt. The way she held it there, loosely in her hand was almost nonchalant. Her eyes had shifted from that blazing fury to something more dangerous. Confidence. She leant against the weapon as if leaning on a walking stick, waiting for Aemond to strike first.

Her second weak point; complacency. Aemond made a plan. A defensive attack, playing on her confidence. Let her think she was winning. Then, launch a dominant offence when her guard comes down.

Aemond’s biggest advantage was his eye. Or lack, thereof. Since the very incident that struck it from him, he and Cole trained tirelessly to develop a combat style unlike any other. Let no opponent underestimate him; two eyes or one, Aemond Targaryen was one of the best swordsmen in the realm.

It seemed, however, the Braedel’s did not know this. Geodred was confident in his sister’s abilities, and stood as she was, the maiden seemed to agree.

Aemond raised his sword. So too, did Geowyth. For a while they circled each other slowly, and the surrounding crowd stirred with excited anticipation. A prince fighting a lady! From the corner of his eye, Aemond saw Harrold and Herumbrand still watching. Cole, too, had his eye on the prince, though this was more of an assessing gaze than admiring one. Let’s see how well I’ve taught him.

The air stilled. Geowyth’s eyes narrowed to slits. Aemond heard the faint caw of a rookery crow. Senses alert to all around him. This was it.

With one great stride, Geowyth swung the sword above her head, bringing it down hard over Aemond. He blocked it just in time; he hadn’t expected an attack such as this to open their spar. No matter. He pushed her away and once more they circled. Geowyth span the sword in hand and made for him again.

Much like his own fighting style, Geowyth’s was not like any he had encountered. Though she was tall she was slighter than Aemond, and compensated with a light-footedness to match his own.

Over and over their swords clashed. Aemond spinning away so that his good eye was always trained on her, the action causing Geowyth’s arm to twist uncomfortably. She in turn span circles around Aemond, making sure to dizzy him as he fought to keep her in focus.

On and on they fought, so long that a few uninterested onlookers left for other activities. The renward remained to watch their future commander, and so too did Cole and Princess Helaena. Far from being worried for her brother and newly found friend, a delighted smile crossed her face as she clasped her hands happily.

Geowyth was charging at Aemond now, all her might focussed on putting him on the back foot. He let her. It would not do to embarrass is parents’ guests, even one so irksome as this.

Underestimating your opponent is a mistake. In battle, a fatal one. In a spar, embarrassing. Geowyth was so forthcoming with her quick attacks, and Aemond so keen to fool her, he had not noticed she’d pushed him to the edge of the fighting circle. His foot slipped on the well-worn path that cut around the training yard and he fell to one knee. A few things happened simultaneously.

Just as she had begun, Geowyth swung the sword high above her head. Some watchers in the crowd gasped, one woman let out a faint cry. Ser Criston drew his sword. Aemond, from his position on the ground watched, as if in slow motion, as Geowyth brought her sword down above him. With one arm, the muscle burning with her weight, Aemond managed to block her. To hold her off. They were both panting, neither sure who would make the next move. When Aemond looked up into her red face, he was astonished to see her smiling. His dragon blood boiled. Does she really think it over? That she has won?

With great effort to push her off, Aemond tried to stand. Geowyth’s small laugh prevented him and he looked at her in anger.

“Be careful, my Prince,” she whispered, looking down. Following her eyes, Aemond glanced at her other hand. A dagger, glinting in the midday sun, was held beneath his ribs. “You can yield to me,” Geowyth said in light tone. “Or I can save your blushes and pretend you have bested me. Maybe a little more fight for show-”

Geowyth was not allowed to finish. With a ferocious growl, Aemond pushed himself to standing and ended their dance. How dare with horse maid mock him. Assume to think she is better than he, a prince.

Aemond wasted no time. The barrage of hits he bore down upon Geowyth were relentless, brutal. Madness flared in his eyes as, teeth bared, he struck the sword from her hands. She stumbled quickly backwards, a flicker of fear flashing in her mesmerising eyes.

“My prince!” a voice was calling out to him but he did not hear it. “Prince Aemond!” He had her. She slipped on her skirt and Aemond took his chance. With his own hand he knocked the dagger from hers. It clattered to the ground and all was quiet but for its metallic ringing and their panted breaths.

They stared at each other. Aemond’s eye fuelled by hunger and pride, Geowyth’s with shock and consideration. He raised his sword perilously close to her neck. She did not budge.

“AEMOND!” The voice bellowed. Ser Criston was at his side. “They are watching,” his eyes gestured to the crowd, staring with horror and trepidation. Aemond shrugged him off and lowered the sword. Still, the prince and the shieldmaiden stared at each other.

Then, slow as time turning, Geowyth curtsied, her eyes never leaving Aemond. “Well fought, Your Grace,” she said quietly, turning her back and leaving the training yard as though nothing had happened.

The bustle of the yard resumed, and a few people glanced at Aemond warily as they went about their business. All, except Ser Herumbrand, whose pointed stare was unrelenting. Unnerved, Aemond watched him.

“She had you rattled there, son.”

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