Desires Be Damned • Aemond Targaryen

Chapter Eight

Dyaena

Any semblance of moisture that was once in her mouth was gone in an instant as her heart thumped furiously beneath her ribs. She didn't know who she was expecting to be the voice's source, but leaning against a pillar behind her was the person that made her thank the old gods and the new for their mercy that he was the one who happened upon her.

Ser Harwin was no longer wearing his armor she had seen him in earlier--instead replaced with a dark tunic and pants that helped to conceal his presence--and as far as she could tell in the dim light, his face was not that of anger, but of good humor.

The kind man walked over and stood on the other side of the arrows across from her, kneeling down to inspect them. "You've improved much, princess."

Dyaena didn't know how much more shock her heart could handle that night. "How long have you...?"

"I've known since I saw the bowyer working on a commission that, suspiciously, our master-at-arms did not order. After inquiring who the bow was for, he simply handed me a roll of parchment that contained its specifications written in a penmanship I recognized. You write the letter 'A' with quite a unique flourish, so there was no mistaking the bow was to be yours."

Dyaena cursed under her breath. "I can't believe this. I thought I bought his silence."

"Well in all fairness, princess, he didn't say a word, only just passed along a written order, so his end of the bargain was honored." Ser Harwin did not speak to her condescendingly, but Dyaena still wished to kick herself for being so daft. Why hadn't she thought to disguise her handwriting?

"You've done well on your own, so far," he said while pulling each arrow out and walking over to replace them in the barrel, "but, if you would allow me, I can give you some pointers."

"I don't need help, I wanted to do this on my own," she said stubbornly, resting the bottom tip of her bow on the ground in front of her feet. Ser Harwin chuckled jovially.

"You are more like your mother than you will ever know." He smiled at her, a smile that she had seen many times before, but not always on Ser Harwin. It frustrated her to no end that she couldn't place it.

"How so?"

"Both of your wills are strong, strong enough to even put yourselves in risky situations in order to obtain what you want."

After letting his words absorb for a few moments, she wondered how much she didn't know about her mother, what stories of her youth she kept locked away from her children.

"Example?" she asked, her curiosity bettering her caution. Ser Harwin thought about it for several breaths.

"How about a trade? Allow me to give you some instruction in your archery, and I will tell you a story from years past," Ser Harwin proposed with an outstretched hand her way.

Dyaena happily strode over to the man and grasped his hand. "I accept."

Ser Harwin's instruction, though she didn't like to admit it to herself, proved beneficial. He showed her which muscles she needed to relax more and better ways to follow through with her shots. After taking his advice to heart, she fired off several more arrows, their grouping on the target much more precise, though her accuracy still needed work.

"Nicely done," he said proudly, patting her shoulder from beside her. "Now if you just hone your aim, you may outshoot even my best soldiers someday," he praised.

"Well maybe my aim would be better if I could practice during the light of day," she retorted.

"You show promise," he said as he went to retrieve the arrows, "so I'll speak with Princess Rhaenyra and plead your case."

"How close are you with my mother that you could request such a thing?" Ser Harwin's motions paused so briefly that she thought his hesitation was just in her head. Dyaena's question had been made half in humor, but seeing the effect it had on him had been the key that locked all the scattered puzzle pieces into their places. The smile that he often wore while around them, the one that had seemed so familiar elsewhere, his dark hair that cascaded in curls, the deep brown eyes, even the shape of his nose, they were all features she had seen in Jace and Luke, some even staring back at her in a looking glass.

How could I have been so blind?

Dyaena was thankful his back was still towards her; her face betrayed the horror that told she now understood why whispers and stares always followed her and her siblings throughout the Keep. Whispers that were unintelligible before, but could have been shouts for how loud they now echoed in her mind. Around every corner, every closed door, some even as bold as waiting only when their backs were turned, the word "bastard" was muttered with disdain, and she now knew with an instinctual certainty that it was true.

"Your mother and I," he began slowly, choosing his words carefully, "have known each other well for quite some time." He kept his eyes away from hers as he brought the arrows back.

Very well, I'm sure, she wanted to say. "Can I have that story now?" she went with instead.

"Of course, but you have to promise to not tell another soul, especially your mother, all right?" She nodded. "The night was like any other. I wasn't yet Lord Commander of the City Watch--that title was still held by your great-Uncle Daemon at the time--but merely a captain. I was patrolling the streets, keeping the order, when a street rat ran past me down an alley. Thinking he was up to no good, I stopped him in his tracks. But when I looked upon the scoundrel's face, I saw who he, or rather she, really was. It was your mother, disguised in rags as a lowborn boy. To say I was surprised would be an understatement. But she wasn't alone. The mystery of who she was out-running did not remain so for long, for her pursuer was none other than Daemon himself. So, I freed her from my grasp, they proceeded to walk their way to continue their revels together, and I walked mine, pretending to be none the wiser that I just saw the heir to the Iron Throne wandering the city with her uncle at night."

After Ser Harwin concluded his story, Dyaena came face to face with several harrowing facts: the first being that what she knew of her mother was merely a scrap of the truth, and the second was the advice Rhaenyra had given to Dyaena during her labors earlier that day was purely hypocritical. Several sparks of different emotions flitted within her, each fighting to overpower the others, confusing her in the process.

Is everything I know a lie? No, I can't think like that. That question isn't for me nor for tonight. That answer will have to come from Mother herself.

"Thank you for the story, Ser Harwin. Tonight was very... illuminating." She was fiercely biting her tongue to keep her true thoughts from slipping through her lips. "I will be heading back to my quarters now. Goodnight."

Dyaena didn't realize she still had her bow firmly in her grasp until after she had slipped through the secret door that opened into her chambers. Her thoughts had her entirely distracted while her legs carried her all the way on their own. Tossing it haphazardly onto a nearby table, she quickly changed into her shift and threw herself onto her bed. In the quiet of her room, she was helpless to the onslaught of her mind's musings.

When sleep finally took her, dreams of wandering the dark streets of King's Landing--her imagination filling in the blanks of what she would see in them--while being chased by a mysterious cloaked figure manifested. Though she was seeing it through her own eyes, Dyaena wasn't in control, like she was trapped in her own mind, helpless to her body's whims. She didn't feel threatened by her pursuer, instead a sense of giddiness shot through her nerves like lightning, excitement rushing through her veins with each look over her shoulder. They were closing the distance no matter how fast she ran, but despite her actions, Dyaena knew she wanted to be caught.

Suddenly, as soon as she turned down a narrow alley, a warm hand clasped onto her arm, turning her around abruptly and planting her against the stone wall of a building. She knew it was the cloaked person before she saw them. Their hood covered most of their head, shrouding the rest of their face in darkness. Still, she wasn't frightened. Breathing heavily from exhaustion, and maybe from the thrill of the chase, she lifted a hand to their hood, yearning to reveal their identity. But just as the tips of her fingers touched the dark fabric, she jolted awake, their face remaining a secret for a while longer.