The Gods are Prisoners ♢ Chapter 2
Aegon x Aryana Stark (OC) x Aemond
Tags ♢ arranged marriage, romantic tension, eventual polyamory
Wordcount ♢ 4,065
While touring the Seven Kingdom, Prince Aegon meets his intended, Aryana of House Stark. While he expected an austere woman, he instead finds a fiery young lady with an unexpected affinity for dragons. However, he isn’t the only Targaryen prince to take an interest in her…
In this chapter, Aegon and his intended finally meet under the careful eye of King Viserys and Rickon Stark. However, neither is how the other expected...
Masterlist
Chapter 2 ♢ The Godswood
It was as though time had stopped in the courtyard, people standing still in the quietly blowing wind, the royal carriage having been spotted and its estimated arrival was a mere few minutes.
There was a strange sort of atmosphere, a mixture of excitement and exhaustion, as a royal visit was a grand affair and this specific one had been years in the making—it was no simple visit, but the confirmation of the betrothal between House Stark and House Targaryen.
In the center of the courtyard, the Warden stood with his children, brother and nephews, and the handful of northern lords who had made the journey to Winterfell to meet their king. Most of them were present to witness this new alliance take its first steps, others to petition their sovereign, if he allowed it. What was at stake hung over their heads like a cloud, particularly heavy on Aryana’s shoulders.
Still, she stood with pride, bust held straight and chin tilted high. She would make her House and kingdom proud, she vowed to herself, no matter who she would meet today. She might meet a man she could eventually fall in love with, or at least come to admire, but she knew she could just as well meet someone she would never see eye to eye with, and they would have to rule together despite their differences.
Aryana was pulled out of her thoughts as the assembly gasped—a great shadow suddenly flew over them, plunging the yard in darkness for a few seconds before the walls trembled and the ground shook, rattling the windows. A great chill went down her spine and the back of her neck prickled with excitement.
She had read about dragons in the years prior, but she had never seen one, and she wondered if the sight of a winged beast would be enough to satisfy her if Prince Aegon was a disappointment.
The courtyard was silent in the minute that followed, before the King’s carriage passed the gates. Soon it was stopping a few feet away from them, and Aryana’s stomach twisted in a knot.
She threw a glance at her brother who stood on the other side of the father, and his encouraging nod settled her nerves slightly. No matter who Prince Aegon was, she would still have her family as support.
Aryana breathed through parted lips as the king came out, walking down the couple of steps out of the carriage with slight difficulty—he looked a bit tired, or perhaps even sick, and she thought to herself that the sight of the dragon king was quite underwhelming. Still, she held her judgment for later and curtsied low as her father greeted the king appropriately.
The words they spoke to each other were lost on her as she kept her eyes on the carriage’s door, her heart beating wildly in her chest as a young man came out, following the King’s footsteps.
He was shorter than his father, slim and well-dressed in the colors of his house. The black and dark red made his golden white hair stand out, and as he looked up from the steps, his piercing gaze searching the assembly, Aryana took a single step forward.
He was handsome, and that was a small relief, she thought to herself. His hair was cut below his chin, thick waves that framed his chiseled jaw and rounder face, the curves of youth still present in his cheeks. The look on his face was one of reserve, neither shy nor enthusiastic, and before Aryana could decide what she truly thought of him, her father introduced her.
“Prince Aegon, may I present you my daughter, Aryana,” Rickon introduced solemnly, reaching for her hand.
Aegon planted his feet into the hard ground as his own father turned to him, watching him like a hawk, and the young prince swallowed his nerves. He held onto the words of encouragement his brother had given him earlier, keeping his face neutral.
The young woman at the right of Lord Rickon stepped forward, dressed in black and brown, muted colors that made her fiery hair stand out, and Aegon could not help a smile pulling at his lips.
She was lovelier than he could have ever expected—while he had spent months if not years picturing an austere, plain woman, he was instead faced with an intriguing beauty. Her pale skin was freckled like a splatter of stars upon the sky, in accordance with her formidable red hair and rich brown eyes.
Out of the two brothers, Aemond was the poet and the more romantic at heart, but in this instant Aegon understood the appeal of well-chosen words and great declamations. His relief was so that he could not find his voice, and after a breathless chuckle that warmed Aegon’s chest further, the young lady spoke.
“It is an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Prince Aegon,” she said with a proper curtsy, slow and low, her lower lip caught under her teeth. A subtle squeeze of her father’s hand and she released it, looking up at Aegon under her lashes.
Aegon’s heart picked up speed when he saw the look in her eyes and realized with excitement that what was surely being mistaken for shyness by the rest of the royal party was a carefully constructed image, and behind her demure attitude lay a character that he found himself curious to discover. Mischief sparked in her dark gaze and Aegon grinned.
“The pleasure and honor are mine, Lady Aryana,” he recited in a careful tone, and he could practically feel his brother roll his eye behind him. His cheekbones flushed slightly as she seemed pleased, looking up at her father with pride.
At his side Viserys clapped him on the shoulder firmly and for once, was looking upon him with satisfaction. He knew it would take much more to deserve his father’s pride. “This way, your grace, we have much to discuss,” Rickon invited, and King Viserys followed him.
Walking side by side behind their fathers, Aryana kept the appropriate distance between her and Aegon while holding her head high, stealing glances to her right.
“I hope your journey was pleasant,” she offered much too carefully for it to be natural, and Aegon’s grin came back slightly. He understood she was playing a game, much like he was, certainly having been taught what to say and encouraged to rehearse words beforehand—there would be time for honesty later, now they had a part to play.
“Most of it was on dragonback. Pleasant doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he still decided to reply honestly, and for a split-second wondered if she would take his answer as arrogance, but she only breathed a laugh.
“How exciting it must be, to be able to fly,” she exclaimed, her voice taking on a musical tone. It was deeper than most women’s, with a rumble he found utterly charming. He allowed himself a step slightly to the side and their shoulders brushed minutely—she was as tall as him, perhaps even an inch taller.
“I suppose that in time, I could take you with me,” Aegon offered, fully knowing his question was a bit forward and that most people would be intimidated by the idea of riding a dragon, but he was eager to know what sort of northern lady she was.
“I would love that,” she replied warmly, her complexion brightening under her excitement, and Aegon felt a boost of pride in his chest. It was rare that he made a good impression, and it was a good feeling. “The great beast that flew over us, is it yours?”
“I’m afraid you shall have to settle for less,” Aegon answered, slightly bitter—perhaps a good impression was unattainable after all. “This formidable beast is my brother’s dragon, Vhagar. Mine is smaller, with golden scales.”
“Golden scales suit you more,” she added with utter certainty, and Aegon stopped in his tracks, genuinely surprised. She looked straight at him as he turned to face her, the party following a few feet behind stopping as well, allowing them the illusion of privacy.
“Your hair,” she replied, obviously taking his stunned silence as a question. Her gaze followed the line of his nose up to his forehead and his hairline, giving the ample opportunity to Aegon to look into the details of her face—her button nose scrunched slightly as she examined the color of his hair. “It’s less white than I expected. It has gold in it.”
Aegon felt his chest swell at this simple observation, the fact that she had thought of him enough to have expectations as elating as it was frightening, but he wished to know what else she had imagined him to be.
“Your hair is less brown than I expected,” he returned the observation and her answering grin smoothed the scrunched skin at the bridge of her nose. He took a moment to look at her thick mane, and the color reminded him of the falling leaves in the Red Keep’s gardens when autumn hit the capital.
The royal party was invited to settle into the guest quarters while the king and Rickon Stark talked in the small hall where the Warden usually received his petitions. Neither Aryana nor Aegon were allowed, and while she smiled easily and made herself scarce, no doubt seeking her brother, he found himself swallowing nerves.
He wondered what terms were being discussed while he changed from his traveling clothes—he had been put into a fresh doublet during their last stop, barely an hour away from Winterfell, and his hair combed, but to clean up and rest in a real bedroom was still very much welcomed.
“She is lovely,” he whispered to Aemond in passing as they were led to their respective rooms, and the young man appeared pleased for him.
Aemond took less time freshening up, barely a swipe of a damp cloth at his throat and the back of his neck, and a change of doublet—the smell of dragon could be offensive to some, but he carried the scent with pride.
As he came down into the main hall where chatter was coming from, he found a luncheon offered to the royal party as a welcome, and he was glad for the cup of mulled wine a servant put in his hand.
He settled himself on the edge of the room, looking at his father’s advisors mingling with the northern lords who had made the journey to Winterfell to greet them. Near the large hearth, Rickon Stark and Viserys were deep into what seemed to be a serious conversation.
As he was two third into his cup, he saw Lord Rickon look up and beckon someone over. Before Aemond could turn his head and see who was outside of his field of vision, Aryana appeared, walking over to her father with confidence.
From the corner of his eye, Aemond observed the young woman. She seemed perfectly at ease speaking to the king, smiling easily and holding herself with assurance. He was relatively pleased with what he had seen of her so far, and was hopeful she would make a fine companion for his brother.
Soon he was pulled into conversation by one of his father’s advisors and put aside his musings, focusing on the task at hand, the one he had been brought into the tour for—managing Aegon’s image, and painting a better picture of his brother.
By the fire, Aryana had a difficult time focusing on her conversation with the king. She was eagerly awaiting Aegon’s return among the party, and she found herself wondering if her betrothed hadn’t fallen asleep in his room.
After a short while, Viserys called the name of his second son; Aryana followed his gaze to where the tall man was standing among a small party conversing excitedly.
The prince turned on himself, arms still crossed behind his back, Aryana was momentarily struck by his appearance—she had seen him in the royal party, standing closer to the king and Prince Aegon than anyone else, his white hair giving him away, but seeing him up-close was an another experience altogether.
He was leaner than his brother, with sharp features that were harmonious despite their cutting edges. A scar seemed to run along the left side of his face, from his eyebrow to his cheekbone, hidden by an eye patch that contributed to his unusual appearance. “Lady Aryana,” he greeted, her name rolling smoothly on his tongue, and she was utterly intrigued.
“Prince Aemond,” she replied, a bit more curt than she would have liked, still puzzled at how different the two brothers seemed to be. “Might you know where my betrothed is? I think it would be fitting for me to spend some time with him.”
“Last I saw him, your brother was showing him the way to the Godswood.”
Aryana excused herself politely, and the king encouraged her to seek Aegon, his brow furrowing as he realized his eldest son was absent from the luncheon. She hurried out into the cool air of the afternoon and walked to the Godswood decidedly. The canopy of trees enveloped her as she stepped into the enclosed forest, the familiar smell of earth and leaves soothing her nerves slightly.
She found Aegon easily, not far from the entrance, and she stopped in her tracks as she found the prince was not in the company she had expected. Cregan was nowhere to be seen, and seemingly unafraid or uncaring, Aegon was sitting atop a large tree root and petting Aryana’s wolf, Nymeria.
“You are either bold or a reckless fool, as she could easily bite off your hand,” Aryana announced herself.
Aegon barely looked up before he grinned, his pink lips stretching to reveal his white teeth. “You seem to have forgotten what beast I rode here,” he said with unconcealed pride. “What is a dog compared to a dragon? No matter the size of the dog, it doesn't compare.”
“Hardly a dog,” Aryana laughed, a deep rumbling sound that made him want to hear more of it.
In that spirit, he pushed the taunting humor, eager to see how far she would allow him to jest, or if she would take it as an offense. “It has four legs, fur and fangs. What would you call it, if not a dog?” he asked with a grin.
“She is a Direwolf, and her name is Nymeria,” she introduced. “Comparing her to a dog would be comparing your golden beast to an eagle or a hawk.”
Aegon’s grin widened and he shook his head as she sat beside him, tucking her heels against the root. He looked up from her low boots to where the hem of her dress had ridden up, exposing her ankles and legs almost up to her knees. She was dressed in a dark brown gown with maroon embroideries, a simple dress with a high, modest collar.
“You haven’t answered my question,” she said after a while, uncaring that she was being observed. “Are you bold or a fool?”
“I will let you answer that question for yourself,” he replied with good humor, and they shared a conniving smile.
“Afraid of revealing yourself so soon?” she asked in what was meant to be a teasing tone, but his brow furrowed and she had the inkling she had pushed him too far. His casual hint of arrogance amused her and she far preferred it to false modesty, but now she wondered what it was hiding. “I thought Cregan was escorting you?” she quickly asked, unwilling to let the first question fester between them.
“He did. I asked for a moment alone,” Aegon replied. “These woods are peaceful.”
“Indeed they are,” she agreed, stretching her legs in front of her and looking up at the thick canopy of trees. “I often come here, when I need a moment to reflect. Do you have such a place, back in King’s Landing?”
“Not strictly in King’s Landing, no,” he said. Then smiled some sort of private, secret smile when she made a questioning sound. “The skies.”
Later in the day, the luncheon turned into a merry banquet that celebrated what they all considered to be a promise of stability and prosperity for the crown. The lords of the North were confident that having a Stark near the throne would improve their prospects in the next few years, and in time profit the whole region when Aegon became king and Aryana would come to rule at his side.
She bore on her shoulders hope for her entire people and beyond—the North didn’t stop at Castle Black, and in the secrecy of her own heart, she carried the circumstances of the death of her birth father.
The whole assembly went silent and stood in respect as Rickon Stark proposed a toast. He stood with his back to the fire, and with his long hair and beard streaked with gray and his cloak lined with pelts, he looked like an old wolf, or an old warrior. “I would like to toast to this unprecedented alliance and thank his grace King Viserys for this honor,” he said, raising his cup above the line of his shoulders.
At his side, King Viserys smiled, looking pleased. He nodded before raising his own cup.
“A toast to my son Prince Aegon and his betrothed, Lady Aryana. I am sure you will make us all very proud,” he responded, and Aryana couldn’t help but notice how the king’s gaze quickly passed over his own son to set on her, where he lingered for a moment as he gave his compliment.
The smile on Aegon’s face was tight, and Aryana quickly thanked the king, eager to get the attention away from them. When they sat back, Aegon was uncharacteristically quiet, his back ramrod straight and his fingers tight around his cup.
He sighed in obvious relief when Cregan stood from his seat and walked around the table, coming up to him to ask his permission to dance with Aryana.
“I would request one last dance with my sister before your grace whisks her away,” he said with good humor but a hint of defiance that had Aryana roll her eyes.
As men and women, adults and children alike, filled the space with merry dancing that was very different from the dances customary in the capital, Aryana was swept away into the crowd with one last look to Aegon. He forced himself to keep his composure as long as he could see her, but as soon as she disappeared into the mass of bodies, he stood up and drained his cup, excusing himself.
He found a hallway that led to the outside, to a covered inner courtyard where he took a few deep breaths to settle his emotions. The humiliation stung, and he wondered how many people in the crowd had noticed the blatant way his father had dismissed him, obviously giving his blessing to Aryana alone.
Hot tears stung the corner of his eyes but he held them at bay, until familiar footsteps came behind him.
“I am simply taking some air, father,” he justified himself before the king reached him, startled when he was grabbed by his shoulder and turned to face his father.
“Your betrothed is waiting for you,” Viserys reprimanded, anger etched on his face, and Aegon tried to free himself from his hold. “Again.”
“I shall go now, then.”
However his father’s grip only tightened and his mouth turned downward. “I held my tongue when you disappeared during the luncheon instead of seeking your intended, but I cannot and will not let you make a bad impression of yourself.”
Aegon kept his silence, desperately wanting to defend himself, to assure the king that Aryana had not been offended by his seeking the quiet of the Godswood. He wanted to tell him of their conversation, of their finding common ground under the sacred wood’s canopy, but he wished to keep this moment for himself.
“Do you think it brings me joy to reprimand you this way?” Viserys pressed, and Aegon shook his head silently. “Answer me!” he snapped at his son’s silence, startling Aegon.
“No, father,” he quickly replied, hot tears coming to his eyes again, and this time he knew he could not fight them.
“Jaehaerys would have not tolerated your ways the way I have. It is time for you to obey and to conform to what is expected of you,” the king insisted, despite the humiliated tears that streaked his son’s face now.
Jaehaerys would have been just, and he would have been proud of any son and heir, no matter the woman he was born to, Aegon thought in the privacy of his mind, regretting bitterly that the old king had passed before his birth. He spoke none of these words, knowing what awaited him if he spoke his own disappointment—a strike across the face, sharp and stinging, with the back of the hand.
The rings on his father’s hand had split his lip more times than he could count, and he often blamed himself for how he had provoked his king, that he would need to resort to physical violence as words didn’t seem to register with him. He was beyond explanations, a lost cause that could only understand violence.
“You will not drink a drop more than what you have tonight for the remainder of our stay here,” the king commanded. “And you will spend every waking moment either with me, or with your intended. Am I clear?”
Aegon’s voice wobbled when he spoke and he curled his hands to stop their shaking. “Yes, father.”
As the king released his son, the young man made a wounded sound and scampered away, unaware his humiliation had had an unexpected witness.
Leaning on the railing of the balcony atop their heads, in the quiet and darkness of the night, Cregan had found some air after his dance with Aryana, holding his breath the moment he realized what was taking place a few feet away.
He remained still as stone until the king left as well, and the words he had heard stayed with him all throughout the night. “Cregan, are you alright?” Aryana asked as she came to find him later, after a few dances with Prince Aegon. “What is it?”
“I’m not sure,” he whispered, taking Aryana by the arm and leading her away from the noise. She followed him into one of the hallways, and she took a sip of wine while waiting for him to speak.
“I stumbled upon a conversation between the king and Prince Aegon, earlier. It was rather tense,” he started to explain, the words he had heard visibly still echoing in his head.
“I suppose the prospect of his eldest son’s marriage is putting pressure on the king,” Aryana said quietly, filling the silence in the time it took for Cregan to find the words to elaborate, her brow furrowing.
“Far from me to criticize the king and how he raises his sons, but in this instance he seemed overly harsh and unjustly so,” Cregan said, looking concerned. “He treated him like a boy.”
“Father still treats you like a boy sometimes,” Aryana pointed out, and they both smiled in tenderness at the mention of their father.
“Father would never humiliate me to make a point,” Cregan murmured, and Aryana’s stomach twisted in a tight knot. Viserys seemed of mild character, neither too soft nor too harsh, and even though Cregan would never repeat words he had overhead, she was glad he was sharing his impression with her.
Aryana wondered if what she had noticed during their conversation in the Godswood was more than a simple uncomfortable moment, if it held issues she was unaware of. “Aegon has the righteous arrogance of a royal prince, but a self-deprecating sense of humor,” Aryana murmured, almost to herself. “I’m unsure what to make of it.”
Left reeling by their first meeting but uneasy about Aegon’s true state of mind about their union, Aryana struggled to find sleep that night.
She realized that, foolishly, she had never considered that even though the match had been at the initiative of the Targaryens, her prince might not look forward to such an alliance. Still, she forced herself to wait until she made her judgment.
Dividers by @saradika
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