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enchantedxrose · 4 years

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The Monster of West End: Chapter Four (follow the link to read on AO3)

A retelling of the fairy tale set in the early Victorian Era.

Viola Weston is desperate to pay off her family's debts. Stubborn and self-reliant, she would rather look for work than seek an advantageous marriage. She is utterly unprepared for her eccentric new employer's beastly appearance--but quickly charmed by his warm heart and cheerful disposition.

Albert Carlyle is lonely: cursed from birth with a monstrous form, but coldly tolerated by society for his wealth. People are afraid of him, no matter how hard he tries to make himself agreeable. He has resigned himself to a quiet life collecting butterflies and ignoring judgmental whispers--until Viola upends his comfortable, complacent existence.

Can Viola set aside her pride long enough to accept his help? Can Albert find the courage to make his affections known? Or will the cruelties of the world tear their budding relationship apart?

Miranda insisted on accompanying Viola to the courtyard, on the pretense of helping her carry her meager luggage. From the firm grip her sister kept on her arm, Viola knew she was hoping to speak privately to her. The intense questions began as soon as they were out of their father’s earshot, though the elder sister maintained a veneer of polite curiosity.

“So. Covent Garden. Your employer must be quite well off. New money, I expect?”

“I believe so. I didn’t interrogate him on the subject.”

“Does he have any family in London? Where are his people from?”

“I have no idea. All I know is that he lives alone, so I assume he is unmarried.”

Miranda raised her eyebrows. “A bachelor? Is he very old?”

“No, I shouldn’t say a day over five-and-twenty.”

Viola didn’t know why that reply had slipped out (in truth, it was difficult to tell Mr. Carlyle’s age given his unusual appearance) but she wished her sister would come to the point, instead of pursing her lips in silent disapproval.

Conversation halted as they came to the front gate of the prison. The gatekeeper nodded civilly to them both as he let them out onto the cobblestone street, where Eustace Stubbs was keeping a carriage waiting for them. As usual, Miranda hardly spared her drab, colorless husband a glance as he helped the women into the cab.

Viola had yet to unravel Miranda’s reasoning for marrying Eustace—she seemed to regard him with more annoyance than affection, and that was when she noticed him at all. He was a clerk in a solicitor’s firm, and in his seven years there, had yet to advance or distinguish himself in any way. He tended to blend in with the very wallpaper of their home.

Perhaps Miranda had simply allowed Eustace to rescue her from the family troubles. After all, she now had a comfortable enough roof over her head, and was able to send a few shillings to the imprisoned Mr. Weston every month. But now with a child on the way, Viola doubted they could even set aside that much.

“You seem to know very little about your new employer,” Miranda observed as they settled into their seats. It was a tight fit: the carriage was only meant to accommodate two passengers. “Did you not ask any questions about his background?”

Viola colored slightly, but she tried to maintain a cool demeanor. “It seemed impertinent to pry, and I didn’t wish to be rude. Especially not when he had behaved so graciously toward me.”

Miranda frowned, perplexed. “These are perfectly ordinary inquiries—why on earth should that be impertinent?”

Viola shrugged, trying to end the conversation by staring out the window as though fascinated. What could she say? She could not even find the words to describe her employer’s curious visage—her sister would think she had gone mad.

“Vi, please be careful,” Miranda said in a low voice. “Promise me. You’ve never been away from home for such a stretch of time.”

“You don’t need to worry about me so much. Mr. Carlyle is a gentleman and he’s been very kind to me already.”

“People aren’t always what they seem.”

That bleak warning hung in the air between them for a moment. They both knew exactly who Miranda was thinking of, though neither wanted to speak his name.

“It’s stopped snowing,” Eustace observed softly, more to himself than to Miranda and Viola. “Hopefully they can begin clearing the roads.”

Neither sister took up this feeble attempt at a new conversation topic. A frigid silence pervaded the rest of the journey.

“Vi, I know you can look after yourself,” Miranda said at last, twisting her gloves in her hands. “I know this must all sound patronizing from your point of view. I am only asking you to be careful. It’s a dangerous world for a woman alone.”

“I’m quite aware,” Viola snapped. Miranda’s direful warnings were not exactly encouraging, and Viola resented the constant reminders of her vulnerability.

But their father’s gentle admonition rang in her ears: Be kind to your sister. Through the haze of her annoyance, she felt a stab of guilt in her stomach. She inhaled sharply through her nose, trying to regain her composure.

“I’m sure you mean well, Miranda,” she said at last. “But things are finally beginning to look up for our family. I suppose I had rather hoped you would be more excited about my prospects.”

Before Miranda could respond, the carriage lurched to a halt. She peered curiously around the curtains.

“This is the house here? Number twelve, with the green shutters?” She appraised it with wide eyes.

“Yes it is,” said Viola, unable to suppress a hint of smug satisfaction: her sister was impressed at her employer’s house. “Well. Goodbye, Miranda, I shall see you for dinner on Sunday.”

“Eustace, will you bring her luggage to the door?”

“That’s—that isn’t necessary,” Viola said quickly, heart racing. What if they caught a glimpse of Mr. Carlyle himself? What would her sister have to say about that? She scooped up her carpetbag and jumped from the carriage before they could say another word. Her palms were sweating so excessively that her bag nearly slipped from her grasp as she strode toward the front door.

What had come over her? She wasn’t embarrassed of Mr. Carlyle, was she? Why had she been so eager to hide him from her family?

She felt suddenly sick with herself.

Viola’s abstraction prevented her from noticing that there was already a figure on Mr. Carlyle’s threshold: a young woman dressed in plain muslin, hunched over as she scrubbed something off the door. She seemed quite engrossed in the task, so Viola cleared her throat loudly to make her presence known.

“Good morning,” Viola called cheerfully. “I’m sorry to interrupt your work—”

The maid startled, clutching her heart. “I didn’t see you there, Miss.”

Up close, Viola could see now that the maid was just a girl—scarcely fifteen or sixteen—and though her hands were chapped and her arms quite muscular from hard work, she had a plump, cheerful face with dimples. Strands of red hair escaped from under her plain linen cap. The maid stood, wiping her hands self-consciously on her coarse apron.

“I wonder if you could show me where the servants’ entrance is,” Viola said. “I should hate to make a poor impression on my first day.”

The girl’s face brightened with understanding. “Oh, you must be Miss Weston!”

“I take it I’m expected, then?”

“I’m Molly, the housemaid. I would shake your hand, but…” She held up her dirty hands sheepishly. “If you’ll just follow me, Miss Weston, I can take you to the servants’ hall.”

As Molly stepped away from the door, Viola realized she had been halfway through washing away what appeared to be graffiti, scribbled in childish writing with a piece of coal, a half-faded word in all capitals, stark against the bright green paint: MONSTER.

Molly followed her gaze. “It’s…neighborhood children, I think,” she said in an undertone, twisting the rag in her hands. “They don’t know any better. But I always try to wash it off before Mr. Carlyle sees.”

Viola frowned. “Does this happen often, then?”

“Often enough.”

Without another word, Viola took out her handkerchief and helped Molly erase the rude message from the door. She then followed the maid around the back of the building, to a set of stairs leading to the garden-level door.

“Please call me Viola,” she said as they entered the servants’ hall. “We are going to be working in close quarters, after all.”

Molly’s eyes widened. “Oh, Mrs. Hutchinson wouldn’t approve of that, Miss. I’m only the housemaid, you see—it would be impertinent if I spoke to the upper-servants on terms of equality.”

Viola sighed. It seemed there were rules of etiquette in this line of work of which she knew nothing.

Molly lowered her voice to a confidential whisper. “First time in service?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Don’t fret about it. Mr. Carlyle is a very patient employer and he doesn’t easily take offense. It’s Mrs. Hutchinson you must be careful of.”

Viola chuckled, some of the tension in her shoulders relaxing. This assurance fit into her early impressions of Mr. Carlyle’s character, but it was nevertheless a relief to have it confirmed by someone who knew him better.

“How long have you worked here?” she asked.

“Three years this February.” Molly drew herself up proudly.

“How many other servants are there, apart from ourselves?”

“There’s Mrs. Palmer, the cook, and Eliza the scullery maid, and Mr. Stockington, the groom—but you shan’t see much of him, as his rooms are above the carriage-house and he never takes his meals with us.”

“No butler? No footmen?” Viola’s knowledge of service was admittedly limited, but she knew it was a bit peculiar for a gentleman of means not to have a proper manservant. “Surely Mr. Carlyle has a valet, at least?”

Molly shifted her weight from one foot to the other, biting her lip. “Perhaps I ought not to mention it. I don’t want you to think I’m a gossip…”

Viola suppressed a grin. It was evident that Molly in fact longed to divulge the story and would do so with very little encouragement. “I promise to be discretion itself,” she said solemnly.

Molly dropped her voice to a stage-whisper. “There was a valet, up until a year ago. But he was dismissed”—she paused dramatically—“for stealing.”

Viola raised her eyebrows.

“Poor Mr. Carlyle did not want to believe it at first,” Molly said, shaking her head. “He kept insisting the ivory cufflinks had only been misplaced. Then his gold watch-chain went missing—and a silver teaspoon—the evidence kept mounting until even he couldn’t deny it any longer.”

“Good heavens. What a dreadful situation.”

“And even after all that, Mr. Carlyle couldn’t bear to dismiss him without a reference. Said the man would never find honest work again without a reference, and he’d have no choice but to revert to his criminal ways. Mrs. Hutchinson was fairly apoplectic about having to give a sneak thief a glowing character, I can tell you.”

“I can imagine,” Viola muttered darkly. It was no wonder Mrs. Hutchinson was so protective of her employer—he was determined never to think the worst of people, even when they gave him ample cause to.

Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of another servant—a broad-shouldered woman that Viola deduced from the flour dusting her apron must be the cook.

“Molly, have you been given a holiday that the rest of us don’t know about?” the cook barked. “I cannot think of another reason you would dawdle about in such a way.”

“No, Mrs. Palmer.” Molly quivered under her glare. She added in a whisper to Viola, “Come along. I’ll show you around, so that you can get settled.”

Molly led her on a quick tour so that Viola could begin to familiarize herself with the house. It was all just as comfortable and charming as the rooms she had already seen, but there were indications of Mr. Carlyle’s solitary bachelorhood: the stately drawing-room looked seldom used (indeed, the chairs looked so pristine that Viola doubted anyone had ever sat in them since the day they were purchased); and the guest bedrooms smelled stale, as if no one had ever set foot in them.

Mr. Carlyle also seemed to have occasionally eccentric tastes. The cavernous dining room, dark and shadowy with the curtains shut tight, was decorated with an odd centerpiece of interlocking antlers. It was hardly unusual for an ordinary man to display hunting trophies, but Viola found it curious for Mr. Carlyle. She couldn’t imagine him taking pleasure in killing creatures for sport.

Finally, Molly opened a door across the hall from Mr. Carlyle’s study. “This is to be your workroom, Miss Weston.”

Viola’s carpetbag fell from her fingers to the floor, disregarded. “This is for me?”

Molly smiled. “I’ll leave you to examine it, then. I must get back to my work, or Mrs. Hutchinson will have my guts for garters.”

“Of course,” said Viola, distracted. “Thank you, Molly.”

It must have once been a morning room intended for the lady of the house, for it had large east-facing windows that bathed the daisy-flecked wallpaper with golden sunlight. To her delight, she found it had already been repurposed as a workroom for her. There was a long table in the center, where she could cut and measure fabrics. A basket at the end overflowed with spools of thread dyed in every imaginable color, prickly pincushions, and tailor’s chalk.

She pulled open a drawer in the oak bureau and found it stuffed with bolts of fabric. She ran her fingers longingly over the black satins and jewel-toned velvets.

This will be perfect, she thought with a satisfied nod. It was a small room, but her supplies were higher-quality than she had ever worked with before. Her employer really seemed to have thought of everything. There was even a rocking chair in the sunniest corner, so that she could take advantage of the light when embroidering fine details.

She knocked on Mr. Carlyle’s study door with only a hint of trepidation. When there was no response, she called his name.

“Come in, Miss Weston,” he responded in a distracted tone, and upon entering she understood why. He was hunched over his desk, intently studying a tiny object with a magnifying glass: a squirming beetle with iridescent orange wings, which he had trapped in a jar. He was sketching its likeness onto the journal spread out before him.

He did not look up from his beetle at her entrance, but he must have known she was approaching, for his long ears swiveled ever so slightly in her direction.

She craned her neck to look at his sketch of the insect. “That’s quite an accurate likeness, sir.”

Mr. Carlyle glanced up at her with wide eyes. “Do you think so, truly?”

Viola shrugged. “I’m hardly an expert, so I suppose one ought to take my opinions with a grain of salt. What exactly is that you’re sketching?”

He took a deep breath, as if to launch into a detailed explanation—but his enthusiasm deflated an instant later. “I won’t bore you with all of that,” he said quickly, shutting his sketchbook and turning his chair around to fully face her. “I trust you had a more pleasant journey back to us this morning than you did last night?”

Viola suppressed the urge to reply, Not exactly, since I had to ride with Miranda. “I did. Thank you, sir.”

“And do you have everything that you require, Miss Weston? I confess I’m not terribly knowledgeable on the subject and there was a certain amount of guesswork involved.”

“I believe so, sir. But today I shall take a proper inventory of all my supplies, and then I can inform you if I’m lacking anything important.”

“If you draw up your list tonight, I can give you money in the morning for anything you still need.”

“Oh.” Viola froze, taken aback. That Mr. Carlyle would trust her with any amount of his money, after knowing her so short a time—after learning of her family’s sordid history—was surprising to say the least.

“Unless you’ve some objection,” he added quickly, brow furrowed in concern at her hesitation.

“No, no,” she assured him, moving toward the door; “I’ll begin right away.”

#beauty and the beast #my fiction #monster of west end #sorry this update took so long #i wasn't happy with the first draft and ended up rewriting a bunch of it #also real life was kicking my ass for a bit

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let-love-run-red · 5 years

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Vaehra Rahthone

Since being sent back to the wall, life had been much less, exhilarating for Jon Snow. He had been in wars, seen life after death, fought the army of the night king, and ridden dragons. Nothing could compare to that, not even the wilderness of the far North.

He trudged through the snow, leading his horse through the trees as he scanned the surroundings, watching for anything of interest.

"I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory." He was Jon Snow, born a Targaryen and raised a Stark. He had known power, known women, held lands. The celibate life of the knights of the watch didn't fit him anymore. He was grateful to be back in the North, where he felt at home, where Ghost could roam free and the wind whipped his cloak through the air. But there were certain things he missed.

He missed his sisters, Sansa ruling the North (which he had his apprehensions about), and Aarya sailing West of Westeros, likely about to sail off the edge of the world by now. He missed his father, not the Targaryen prince he'd never known, but the man who raised him. He loathed he was not the one to kill Joffrey Baratheon, the spoiled cunt who had ordered his father's head removed, his mother the reason the war started, he wish he could've driven a sword through her heart rather than hear Tyrion relay how she and Jaime had been crushed by rubble.

His horse chomped at the bit behind him as he walked, shaking it's head to brush off the light snowfall that was filtering through the trees.

He missed Winterfell, the noise of the courtyards, the sound of arrows piercing into targets, the huffs of horses, the laugh of Bran and Rickon as they ran through the courtyard while Robb walked with their father.

He missed Bran's innocence most of all. He hated to call the new King anything but his brother, but, Jon wasn't sure Bran was the same Bran he'd known all those years before. Before Jaime pushed him from the window, before his trek through the North, before he became the three eyed raven, before, before, before. The wars had changed him.

Though, there was nothing the wars hadn't changed.

Jon was lost deep in thought as he walked, focused on following the footprints Ghost left in the snow as the direwolf trotted ahead of Jon and his horse.

Kings landing, now a pile of ash and rubble from when his queen, his beloved Queen Daenerys, had burned it to the ground with her dragon. The war changed her most of all, he believed. Jorah Mormont had told him stories of the Queen, stories of when her dragons were just eggs and she rode across the great grass sea with one of the greatest Dothraki hoards. Stories of when her dragons were young and she liberated the slaver cities of Essos, striking down her enemies and showing nothing but mercy and justice.

Oh how Cersei's actions had changed her.

Jon hadn't realized that Ghost had stopped in his tracks and almost tripped over the large wolf. Jon stumbled and swore, his horse jerking it's head against the reins Jon held in his hand. Jon straightened himself, turning to look at his horse and running a gloved hand over it's thick dark coat. He looked around the woods, realizing the sounds had stopped.

There were no howls of direwolves in the distance, no chittering of the white foxes, the birds made no sounds, not even the trees dared to whisper their names in his ear. He suddenly felt uneasy, glancing around warily. He slowly turned to his horse and mounted the saddle, settling himself on the horses back and turning the horse back the way he had come, whistling for Ghost to follow.

As he rode, he listened for the sounds to return. but it only seemed the further he went, the quieter he got. Until he heard the horn of the wall sounding loud and clear through the sudden silence.

One burst

two bursts

three.

That was impossible, white walkers were gone, Aarya had killed the night king with a shard of dragon glass through his heart and the rest of the dead had gone with him. Jon kicked his horse into a gallop, following the sound as he headed towards the wall, his black cloak whipping behind him as the horse pounded through the heavy snow. Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that faced him when he arrived at the wall.

Dragons. There were dragons everywhere, in every color he could imagine. A blue dragon swooping through the air, dodging the spears and arrows thrown and launched in its direction, a black dragon perched atop the wall, watching as the blue dragon swooped through the sky, a gold dragon hovering in the air just out of spear range, and so many more. Green, red, gray, orange, yellow, even purple. Jon continued his gallop towards the gate, guiding his horse around a large snowdrift.

His memory kicked into overdrive as the snow began to move, reminding him of how Drogon had risen from the snow drift before he had killed Daenerys. But this dragon was most definitely not Drogon. It was white, for starters, and it also had four legs with two wings protruding from it's shoulders. The dragon stood tall, shaking the snow off it's wings and whipping it's tail around before raising it's head and breathing a jet of fire into the sky. Jon's horse startled, rearing backwards unexpectedly and throwing Jon to the snow. Ghost ran to Jon's rescue, positioning himself between Jon and the dragon and snapping his teeth. The white Dragon sprang into the air, beating it's enormous wings to raise itself further into the sky. Jon scrambled to his feet and continued his run to the wall, banging on the gate and yelling in the feeble hope he'd be heard above the noise of dragons and the men yelling atop the wall.

Jon risked a glance behind him at the dragons flying low, spotting something glinting off the chest of one green dragon. Looking closer, it appeared to be armor. Armor that covered the dragons chest and underbelly, ran up it's neck to join to a headpiece that rested between the dragons' eyes, armor that wound around the dragons tail and legs. These dragons weren't wild as Jon had thought, they belonged to somebody.

And the closer he looked at the dragons the more obvious that became. They flew in formation, dove together, rose together, followed a lead dragon. And as Jon looked even closer he could see saddles on the back's of the lead dragons. Jon pressed himself against the wall as the same white dragon as before came to a rolling halt in the snow, a giant's spear protruding from it's shoulder. It howled and chittered pain, attempting to scramble away as the men fired more arrows and spears towards it. Why wasn't this dragon wearing any armor?

Jon made a move to push himself away from the wall and run towards the dragon. He couldn't bear seeing it in pain. Yes, dragons were fearsome and destructive creatures, but as Jon had learned from Drogon and Rhaegal, they could also be benevolent and loving. None of these dragons had caused any damage to anything, they had just flown about castle black.

As Jon took a step towards the white dragon the ground in front of him exploded in a flurry of snow and ice. Jon covered his eyes, only to look up and see the large gold dragon that had previously been hovering above the action had landed next to the white dragon, large wings covered in metal plates spread as an umbrella over the dragon and the person now standing next to the white dragon.

The person working to pull the spear from the dragon's shoulder, glancing back to the gold dragon occasionally. Now that Jon could see one of the dragons without it moving, he could see that this dragon was easily twice as large as Drogon had been. Powerful muscles rippled beneath it's scales as the dragon shifted it's wings to cover the white dragon and rider more.

Jon shifted his attention to the rider. They were wearing a thick fur cloak, the ruff around their neck a deep red color, that of a fox's fur. On their head was a large helmet that mimicked a dragon's head. They wore trousers with leather patches on the seat, obviously made for heavy wear while riding, and a thick tunic. Jon watched as they wrapped their arms around the spear, bracing their foot against the white dragon's upper foreleg and pulling with all their weight. The white dragon let out a screech and a burst of flame that hit the gold dragon's wing. The gold dragon just shifted it's wing.

Jon made a haste decision, running towards the rider and the white dragon, darting between the gold dragon's legs. The gold dragon whipped it's head around to look at Jon, rearing it's head back and beating it's wings. Jon could see the fire forming in it's throat as Jon reached the white dragon, Startling the rider as he grabbed the spear and started to pull with the rider. The rider turned to the gold dragon.

"Vilor keligon!" They called, the shape of their helmet causing their voice to come out as a growl. The gold dragon swallowed it's fire and shook it's head with a resounding warble. Jon helped the rider pull the spear from the white dragon's shoulder. The dragon scrambled to it's feet with a few huffs and shook the snow off it's body. The rider turned to Jon and voiced their thanks, rushing back towards their dragon.

"Wait!" Jon called, the rider turned to look at him again. Jon found he had so many questions, yet none of them would come out.

"I'm Jon, Jon Snow." Jon called instead. The rider squared their shoulders and stepped towards him slowly, examining his features. The helm made it look like a small metal dragon was watching him rather than a human. The rider suddenly let out a shrill whistle, and the white dragon whipped it's head around to look at them. The rider said a few words to the dragon before the dragon lowered itself onto it's belly, flattening one wing against the snow.

"Go, go!" The rider shoved Jon towards the dragon's wing. Jon stumbled over the large limb, falling flat onto the outstretched webbing of the wing. The dragon chortled quietly as Jon stood on it's wing, the mysterious rider bustling him up the wing of the white dragon. Jon did as he was told and settled onto the dragons shoulders between it's wings, gripping the spikes that protruded from it's back. The dragon sprang into the air suddenly, and pumped it's powerful wings through the air as it rose, swooping over the wall towards the South. Jon suddenly had a great regret.

"tolvys jikagon!" He heard the rider call. The gold dragon rose into the air after the white dragon, letting out a bellowing roar to the rest of the flock of dragons and moving ahead of the white dragon. Jon glanced behind him to see the mass of dragons rising into the air, following the gold dragon towards Kings Landing.

Jon shifted uncomfortable on the white dragons back. This dragon was much larger than Rhaegal, and he was unaccustomed on how to ride the dragon with little to no discomfort. Looking to the others, he could see they were obviously comfortable on the backs of the dragons. Looking at the rider on the gold dragon, the same one who had pushed him onto the back of this dragon, they looked like they'd been born on the back of a dragon. He realized that with this person that was definitely a possibility. With any of these people really.

He heard a few chitters from the dragons around him as they glided through the air, wingtips brushing as they warbled and hummed to each other. He looked up to the white dragons head, watching as it looked around. Suddenly the gold dragon surged upwards, followed by the rest of the dragons. Jon startled and grabbed onto the spikes in front of him as his dragon rolled and tumbled through the air. Jon heard roars of laughter from the other riders as he looked around to see the other dragons flipping through the air, folding their wings to dive only to snap them open at the last second and surge upwards once again. His dragon was doing backflips through the air, swishing their tail and chattering to the gold dragon.

"tolvys ilagon!" He heard the rider of the gold dragon call. The gold dragon let out another bellow before folding it's wings and tucking into a dive. The rest of the flock followed, including Jon's dragon. Jon gripped the spikes, squeezing his eyes shut and lowering himself against the white dragon's back. He heard wind whipping and branches snapping before the dragon landed on the ground with a thump. He risked a glance up to see a large lake in front of them, a rocky shore on the far side. The dragons had bundled themselves into the forest, doing their best not to knock over trees. They must be at Long Lake, he realized. So close to home.

Looking up Jon realized the gold dragon no longer had a rider. He worried for a split second that the rider had fallen off in the dive, until he saw the rider near the river. The white dragon he was riding approached the rider with a few low warbles. The rider turned and held out one gloved hand. The white dragon chuffed and pushed their nose against the riders hand. The rider stroked the dragons nose, humming lowly to the dragon. Jon sat up higher in an attempt to see over the dragons shoulders, only to have the rider snap their attention to him.

"Come down Jon Snow, you're in no danger." The rider said, their voice masked by the reverberation of the helmet. Jon slowly swung one leg over the dragons back. The white dragon craned it's head around to glance at him, shaking it's head before stretching one wing from where it was neatly tucked down to the ground. Jon walked down the wing, standing on the ground and looking back at the dragon. The dragon shook itself as it folded it's wing before springing into the air again and doing a lap around the lake.

"Dont go far!" The rider called as the dragon flapped away. The rider turned back towards Jon, clearing their throat and reaching up to remove their helmet. The gold dragon appeared behind the rider, folding its legs under itself with it's head next to the rider. The rider removed their helmet, allowing long brown hair to tumble down her back. Jon felt himself taken aback at the beauty he saw, unrivaled by even that of Daenerys.

"Jon Snow, it's time I finally introduced myself." She said, removing one glove and offering it. Jon shook her hand, unable to swallow the lump in his throat long enough to speak. The rider pulled her hand away, walking to the gold dragon and hanging her helmet off a hook on the dragons saddle.

"I, It's lovely to meet you." Jon said, finally managing to speak. The woman turned to him with a smile.

"How do you know it's lovely? You've barely met me." She quipped. Jon stumbled over his words as she let out a burst of laughter.

"Relax, Jon Snow. It is lovely to meet you too." She said, a glint in her honey brown eyes. Jon let a soft smile cross his face.

"I am Queen Vaehra dragonborn of the house Rahthone, first of her name, rider of Vilor the gold, the fire walker, Queen of the dragons, the riders, and the shapechangers, protector of the shadowlands, the grey waste, the Mossovy forest, the old Valyria, the new Valyria, and the thousand islands, bringer of light, and voice of the earth."

Jon immediately dropped to his knee, bowing his head and taking a deep breath. Why did he have to fall for another queen? He heard Vaehra laugh, followed by the deep chortle of a dragon. He looked up to see the gold dragon's throat bobbing as if it were laughing at him.

"Rise Jon Snow, that is not necessary, I am not your queen." Vaehra said, offering her hand to Jon. Jon gingerly took it, and Vaehra hauled him to his feet with surprising strength. Jon stumbled and caught his balance.

"I know your bastard name, Jon Snow, but you are something else aren't you?" She said. Jon hummed deep in his throat before clearing it and opening his mouth to speak the title that was fit for a king, but belonged to a knight of the watch.

"I am Aegon of Houses Targaryen and Stark, Sixth of His Name, the Resurrected, 998th Commander of the Night's Watch, the White Wolf, rightful heir to the iron throne." He spoke. Vaehra looked at him with approval.

"The lost King, the last Targaryen." Vaehra said. Jon looked to the ground as a blush covered his cheeks. There was suddenly a loud spash in the lake next to him. He looked towards the lake, only for Vilor to throw his wings around both he and Vaehra to block them from the wave of water. Once the water had subsided, Vilor lifted his wing for Jon to see the white dragon paddling in the water with her wings spread to either side of her.

"Dessaly, what on earth are you doing?" The rider snapped. The white dragon paddled to the shore, climbing out and shaking like a dog. Vilor once again raised his wing as water droplets splashed against the armor.

"Dessaly?" Jon questioned, it was not a name he had heard before. The white dragon trotted towards the group, lowering itself to it's belly and butting it's head against Jon's back. Jon turned and rested his hand on the dragons nose, looking into her deep amber eyes.

"Yes, Dessaly. She's one of our speed attackers, which is why she doesn't have armor." Vaehra explained. The dragon, Dessaly, hummed deep in her throat and opened her mouth wide in front of Jon. He started and backed away, only for Vaehra to chuckle and step forward, grabbing his hand and placing it palm down on Dessaly's tongue.

"She likes you." Vaehra said. Jon felt the air from Dessaly's breath whoosh around him. It smelled of fire and charred meat and Jon wrinkled his nose. Vaehra started rubbing the roof of Dessaly's mouth with her gloved hand, gesturing for Jon to do the same. Dessaly hummed contedly before Vaehra pulled her hand away. Jon moved his hand as Dessaly slowly closed her mouth, huffing a breath in Jon's face before pressing her nose against his chest.

"I had no idea dragons liked that, Dany's never did that with anybody." Jon said breathlessly. He never thought he'd touch the inside of a dragon's mouth. He looked to Vaehra to see her face fallen.

"Yes. I know." Vaehra said curtly. Jon could sense that he had touched a nerve. Vilor pushed his armored head against Vaehra and she rested her non gloved hand on the dragons nose.

"Your so called 'dragon queen' was nothing but a fraud. The dragons she had? Were wyverns, not dragons." Vaehra said. At the mention of the 'dragon queen' the rest of the riders on the shore turned from what they were doing, walking towards Vaehra to listen to her story.

"The eggs stolen from the shadowlands belonged to a flock of wild wyverns. They were furious when they discovered the eggs missing, and of course assumed my kingdom was the one responsible. They didn't get past the border, we felt horrible, they just wanted their eggs back. We sent one of our trackers after the eggs to see if she could find them, she returned with the news that the eggs had been gifted to one Daenerys Targaryen."

"At first, I was overjoyed, a Targaryen at last! the lost family, the ones who had left Valyria and been wiped out in their new Western playground, but as soon as they hatched I realized she had nothing but ill will for them. I should have known from the beginning, I should have stolen the eggs back, shattered them, something." Vilor hummed in his throat and Vaehra rubbed his nose.

"Wyverns cannot truly be a dragon. You can sink as much training, love, will, into them but they remain wild inside. All the times they snapped at her, I never thought they'd stay with her through their juvenile years. And when she chained them, when she chained them it took my entire queens guard to keep me from breaking their chains." Vaehra growled and Vilor mimicked the growl.

"We followed her movements with scouts, I watched her while she was in Essos, left the running of the kingdom to my council, but when she crossed to Westeros there was no way I could leave my kingdom so far behind. I left, and sent my stealthiest scout to keep tabs on her. He sent regular updates, he's, and Bran the Broken, are the reasons we're here."

"We've met with Bran the Broken, he agrees that dragons, true dragons, need to be reintroduced to the world. That is why we are here." Vaehra finished her brief explanation.

"The Queen believed her dragons were true," Jon started. The riders surrounding them whipped their head towards Jon, every one of them on edge. The dragons surrounding them also turned their heads, some baring teeth.

"That belief does not change her actions. Don't you agree Jon Snow?" Vaehra asked. Jon swallowed. Daenerys was just doing what she thought was best, but at what cost? Jon had promised, she would be his queen until the end of his days.

"She was just attacking her enemy. Taking her rightful place." Jon explained. Vaehra stood taller, squared her shoulders, hand on the hilt of the dagger resting at her hip.

"One does not burn the herd to expose the wolf." She hissed. Vilor stood to his full height, shaking himself off. "Especially not when the herd is willing to throw the wolf to the flame." Jon listened to the armor clanking against the dragons scales as he stretched his wing to the ground. Vaehra stepped onto the base, walking up the wing as Vilor lifted it and started to fold it in.

"We are traveling to the lake near Torrhen's Square. We will set up camp there for the night, then continue to King's Landing in the morning." Vaehra said, replacing the helmet atop her head. The rest of the riders nodded, clambering onto their dragons and positioning themselves in the saddles.

Dessaly hummed at Jon, lowering herself to the ground. Jon sighed and walked up Dessaly's wing, settling himself on her back and gripping the spikes in front of him as Dessaly followed Vaehra and her dragon into the sky.

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katlyn1948 · 5 years

Text

An Unexpected Journey: Part 10

Now before you read, I just want all of you to know that I appreciate your likes and reblogs of this series! I love you guys! And also, not to be the bearer of bad news, but we only have 3 more parts before I finish it! Anyway, I hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

*************

Chapter 10: The Liege Lords of the Stormlands

Arya was the first to enter the Round Hall of Storm’s End. The liege lords were all neatly seated at a long table facing the dais that a throne was perched upon. Beside the throne was a smaller throne like chair that Arya gladly took her place on. The looks from several of the liege lords were a mixture of confusion or disbelief. How could anyone, even the Night King Slayer, be so bold to take their place beside the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands? Yet, not one of the liege lords questioned her. They were either too afraid for too unaware to speak up.

Gendry entered shortly after Arya. The once playful smile that was on his face was now one of concentration and dread. He truly hated these weekly meetings with the high lords. They were necessary, he will admit, but that did not mean that he truly despised hearing the complaints that each lord had from the week prior.

This week would be no different. In fact, it would probably be worse, considering they were talking about the rents and taxes that were due this quarter. Since the destruction of King’s Landing, taxes around the seven kingdoms had to be raised to help repair some of the damages. The people of the Stormlands were struggling to even pay half of what was due. Gendry had been a lenient these past months and a few of the high lords were beginning to take notice.

“Welcome Lords. We have some things to discuss about this month’s recent rents. As you all know, I took a week to travel around the Stormlands to see what is happening with our people. It is not looking good. There have been more rains than normal this year, rendering a lot of the crops overwatered and useless. The people are struggling while we sit here in our castles not caring. I can no longer do that.” Gendry was assertive and this took Arya by surprise. She had no doubt that Gendry would succeed as Lord Paramount, but she had never heard him take charge like the way he just did. It made her proud; to see him up on the dais showing his house words with pride: Ours is The Fury.

“And do you suppose we fix this situation?” A young man had spoken. He couldn’t have been more than 20 name days. He had pale blonde hair and dark blue eyes that could appear purple in the slightest change of lighting.

“Thank you for asking, Lord Dayne. Well, I supposed that we, as high lords, can make sure that we cut the cost of some of the rents to our people.” There were a few grumbles that came from some of the lords. Arya could see that Gendry was beginning to struggle, so she quickly took charge.

Rising from her seat, she made her way to stand in front of the high lords table.

“My Lords, perhaps we can see which parts of the Stormlands that need the most help. From what I’ve gathered from my time in King’s Landing, the Island of Tarth is still prospering.”

“Aye, it is. There is no shortage of food and the people are prospering.” Lord Tarth announced. There was no denying that he was Ser Brienne’s father. Although significantly shorter than his daughter, Lord Tarth and Ser Brienne looked much the same. Their hair was the same coloring and their features were strikingly similar.

“I purpose we have the prospering houses pay slightly higher taxes, giving the poorer people of the Stormlands the chance to recover as well as lowering the cost of some of the rents.” She suggested.

Gendry turned to Ser Davos, who was seated at the table with the other high lords.

“Will this work?”

Ser Davos shrugged, “I suppose it could. I would have to run some of the numbers. But it could work.”

A throat cleared and all heads turned to Lord Swann, “I do not mean to be brash, but Lady Arya, you have been here for no more than a day. How do you know what is good for the Stormlands? Aren’t you a northerner yourself? How could a northerner presume to know anything on how the south works?”

His words were like venom. He was trying to get a ruse out of Arya; to see how she would react to his harsh words.

Arya took a steady sigh, “Lord Swann, is it? I may be of the north, however, I was a Lord’s daughter. I remember my father facing a similar situation when I was younger and this was his solution. It had worked. As for knowing how the south works, well it really isn’t that different from anywhere else in the world. And believe me when I say, I would know.”

Her voice was calm. She did not raise her voice or even try to be curt with the man; she had simply stated facts and that seemed to irritate the man even more.

“Who do you think you are, parading around here giving orders like you are the Lady of Storm’s End? You are no more than a traveling wench who forgets her place!” His face turned red with anger.

Gendry stepped towards the old lord looked him square in the face.

“I suggest you apologize to your future lady! You do not wish to make an enemy of her, Lord Swann. For any enemies of hers are enemies of mine.” Gendry said in a low voice. Arya could see his fist clench and his jaw tighten. He was trying his hardest not to knock this ignorant lord on his arse.

“Future lady!? You expect her to help you rule the Stormlands!? We are truly doomed.” Lord Swann huffed. He rose from his chair and exited the Round Hall.

“I want every remaining lord to listen!” Gendry was now furious. “If any one of have a problem with Arya Stark becoming my wife, then I suggest you keep it to yourself. For any loose lipped lord will have his titles stripped and his lands dispersed.”

With that Gendry stormed out of the Round Hall. The remaining lords began to whisper before they realized that Arya was still in the room. The whispers hushed and the lords began to disperse, heading to do whatever lords did.

Arya walked up to Ser Davos, who was conversing with Edric Dayne. She had heard of Lord Dayne before he had been a lord. If she recalled correctly, he was the young Squire to Beric Dondarrion before he joined the Brotherhood Without Banners. It seems he had made a name for himself in the years since.

“Ser Davos, if I could interrupt.” She cautiously asked.

“Of course, my dear.” He turned to Lord Dayne, “Please excuse me, Ned.”

“It is no bother, Ser Davos. And it will be a pleasure for you to be our new Lady Paramount, Lady Arya.” Lord Dayne bowed and turned to talk to another nearby lord.

“How can I be of assist, Lady Arya?” Ser Davos asked.

“Are all liege lord meetings that eventful?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Sometimes, it can be worse. The boy has done good these last five years, but he still is learning.” He admitted.

“How so?” She asked.

“Well, he’s gotten better at reading, and that’s with me teachin’ him. He managed to somehow use a fork properly and the people love him.”

“But…?”

Ser Davos sighed, “But, there are some Lords who think someone can do better.”

“Lord Swann.” Arya stated.

“Aye, that fat pig and his son are trying to take it from him. I have managed to keep most of the lords at bay, but the Swanns are an old and powerful house with support. I’ll keep my eye on them, if I were you.”

Arya nodded, “Do not worry about that, Ser Davos. I always keep my enemies close.”

“Oh, I also suppose a congratulations are in order. Betrothed? Finally, I thought he would never marry again. And look at ya! You are already playing the part. Never thought I’d see Arya Stark in a dress.” He teased.

“Don’t get used to it. As soon as my things arrive, I will be in the same old trousers you’ve seen me in before. Dresses are torture devices made to hinder women’s abilities to move. I truly cannot wait to take it off.” She answered him truthfully.

Ser Davos let out a laugh, “Still the same, you are. And your things arrived early this morning. Sent my men out to your boat as soon as the morning bells rang.”

Arya sighed in relief. She would finally be able to rid herself of this dress and be comfortable.

“Thank you, Ser Davos. I will change and look for Gendry.” She said as she turned on her heel to leave the Round Hall.

Ser Davos quickly said to the young lass, “He’ll be in the-“

“I know where he’ll be.” And with that she left the Round Hall and the remaining lords to their devices.

*****

Gendry had made his way to the forge. It was the only place he could truly think like his old self. The feel of metal beneath his hands was a warm familiar feeling that he could savor forever. The other smiths knew that when Lord Baratheon enters the forge, that they need to scurry like mice and avoid him at all cost.

He was hammering a piece of steel into a perfectly shaped sword. With every swing his anger would dwindle; calming the bull within. Nearly every week he would make some type of new weapon fashioned from his frustrations. Every time he would meet with the liege lords it would always end up with Gendry in forge until the wee hours of the night. He wouldn’t sleep, eat, or interact with anyone. Tonight would be no different; except it was. He now had a woman waiting for him in his chambers. His betrothed. The very same woman that Lord Swann had disrespected.

Gendry’s anger bubble all over again and he took another swing and the searing hot steel. The sound of metal against metal did little to quench his angry, but the small shadow that had appeared in the arch way of the forge had.

“How did you find me?” He asked her.

Arya arched her brow and walked to stand beside him.

“Because you’re still the same. I know you, Gendry. That means I know where you would go to blow off steam.”

He looked at her and gave her a small smile. He noticed that she was no longer in the dress from this morning, but rather her familiar tunic and breeches.

“I see your things have finally arrived. Couldn’t wait to get out of that dress, could you?”

Arya chuckled and gave him a small peck on the lips. “You know me, too.”

Gendry smiled and began hammering the anvil once more.

“Once you’re finished, come find me before supper. There are things we have to discuss.”

Gendry was now the one that lifted his brow. “Should I be worried?”

All Arya did was smile and she turned out of the forge, walking towards the courtyard.

Gendry shook his head and returned to his work. He didn’t know how she did it, but she could tame the wild bull within him with just one look.

It was strange that even after all this time apart, they still managed to find a way back to one another. Sure, there were things that were different, but most everything that was there remained the same. His feeling sure didn’t falter, not even after five years and it seemed like Arya was becoming her old self once more.

It reminded him of their earlier days on the king’s road. He would tease her for being a girl and she would pout saying that she wasn’t a lady. It was nothing but light hearted fun back then and it was beginning to feel like that again.

Gendry clanged the steel for what was hours. He hadn’t realized the time until the bells rang and it was near supper time. He cleaned up his area and headed to his solar. He was covered in soot and needed to get cleaned before he took his evening meal. There was no celebration tonight and he didn’t feel up to dining with his liege lords. All he wanted was a simple family meal with the two women he loved most in this world.

He entered his solar and dumped his belongings onto the table by the fireplace. A tub of clean water had been drawn for him and he quickly soaked his aching bones. The water felt nice and he couldn’t wait to clean off the forge from his body.

When he was nothing more than a smiths apprentice in Flea Bottom, he was lucky if he got a bath once a week. Being the Lord of Storm’s End, he got a bath nearly everyday. It was a luxury he didn’t know he needed until it became common. Now, he wouldn’t know what to do if he didn’t have his daily bath.

He had finally finished bathing and dressing when a soft knock came from his chamber door.

“Enter.” He stated as he finished fastening his belt to his waist.

A mop of brown curls came running towards him and little Lyra nearly tackled him to the floor. Fits of giggles escaped the young girls mouth and Gendry couldn’t help but smile.

“What are you doing here?” He asked her as he picked her to place her on the bed.

“Arry saved me from Septa Joanna.”

��Did she now? I bet you were excited.”

The little lady nodded her head fiercely, sending her curls in all directions.

Gendry turned to look at Arya. She had a smile present on her face that he hadn’t seen before. It was different kind of smile from the ones she had given him. This smile showed something more than just happiness. It showed overwhelming love. Because that’s what it was, love. Arya was in love with this child and Gendry could tell.

“What’s going on?” He asked her.

Arya pulled her gaze from the child on the bed. “Well, she wanted to do something with the three of us, so I brought her here and informed the maids that we would be taking supper in your chambers tonight. I’ve had enough of Lords and Ladies for one day, and I had a feeling your would be too.”

He pulled her into his arms, “So this is what you wanted to discuss?”

“No, what I wanted to discuss can wait until after we dine with Lyra.” She said as she placed her arms around his neck. She reached up and gave him a long sweet kiss, completely unaware of the child staring at them from the bed.

“Does that mean my papa is your friend-boy?” Lyra suddenly asked.

Gendry and Arya pulled apart and gave her a questioning look.

“Lyra, what is a friend-boy? You had said it earlier today, but your Septa stole you before I could ask.” She asked the little lady.

“Septa Joanna said that Lady Rena couldn’t be my new mama because she already had a friend-boy, Lord Archie, and papa couldn’t be hers.” Lyra had said matter of factly.

Arya hadn’t meant to laugh, but the innocence the child was portraying was truly delightful. Lyra looked at Arya with confusion. What had she said that was so funny? Even her father was trying to hide a laugh.

“Why are you teasing me?” She asked the adults on the other side of the room. Her eyes began to fill with tears and her lips began to quiver.

“Oh, no we are not teasing you, Lyra.” Arya quickly rushed to the child and sat beside her on the bed.

“But you were laughing at me.” She accused.

“No, sweet girl. We were not laughing at you, just at the thing you said.” Gendry cut in.

Lyra looked even more confused.

“What your father is trying to say is that,” Arya paused, trying to find the right words to say. “Yes, your papa is my friend-boy.”

Lyra’s eyes lit up with excitement. She jumped onto Arya, tackling her into the bed, giving her a giant hug.

“Does this mean that you will be my mama?” Lyra asked as they sat up.

Arya was taken aback by the question. She never really thought of it, but she was going to be Lyra’s mother when she married Gendry. The thought scared her. She didn’t know what it meant to be a mother and wasn’t sure she would be any good at it. For so long she had to only think of herself and not have to worry about the well being of another human. Let alone a child. But the more she thought, the more she realized that parting from Lyra would be more painful than parting from Gendry. Perhaps she could be a mother after all.

“I suppose it does, if that’s okay with you?” She asked the little lady.

Lyra gave Arya a toothy smile and gave her another hug. “Don’t tell Lady Rena, but I think I want you to be my mama.”

Arya chuckled, “Your secret is safe with me.”

She gave a glance at Gendry and notice that his eyes were welling with tears. Great, I’ve made the stupid bull cry, she thought, not realizing that her own tears were streaming down her face.

#gendrya #arya stark #got #jon snow #gendry waters #jonerys #daenerys targaryen #gotspoilers #d&d #arya x gendry

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