Chapter Text
Aerion,
The first time you wrote and cried to me, it was only two weeks after your wedding. You accused your husband of marital rape. You used the most desperate words to illustrate the unbearable pain in your cunt, which made your legs unable to close for days. In a moment, I could see you lying limp on the bed, crying for my help and begging for my presence. It ached my heart. You are my son, though unruly, but my child after all. My heart was quenched with sorrow and regret when I had to marry you off to those far isles. You are sixteen, folks around advised me, my own father commanded me, that you were of age for marriage. But to me, you are always the little pup who once was on Daeron’s tail and demanded that I take you to go fishing. Thus, once I received your letter, I immediately ordered a longship to sail to the Iron Islands. I had stood on the deck, my eyes fixed on those distant isles, my heart beat hastily, my fist hardened. “House Codd shall answer to me for what they have done to my beloved son”, I think so.
But once my ship entered the waters of Great Wyk, a war galley approached, armed to the teeth. My heart raced. I was travelling on a longship with kingsguards and sailors, not too few in number, yet definitely not enough against a horde of belligerent seafarers. I could not do anything but calculate, many thoughts flashed through my head achingly, like raging waves crashing against the rocky headland. Eventually, I decided to yield first, if this were a rebellion from the Ironborns, led by the Greyjoys. They were far from the royalty and always dreamed of their own independence. I could retreat to King’s Landing instantly, warn my father about the matter and ask for assistance. But that was equal with risking your safety. I am a father, I would rather surrender to see my child safe. In a moment, I thought of death, and saw this as the divine punishment for my wrongdoing at Ashford. But I had prayed to the gods, had asked late Baelor for mercy. I needed to live, not because I cowardly clung to life and feared death, but because of you. If I died, who would protect you? Who should you seek help from?
If I were to die, then at least let me die as a hostage at the Iron Islands, in exchange for your safety, and let my retinue deliver you back to King’s Landing.
Therefore, when the war galley cruised abreast my longship, close enough for them to moor their ship to mine, none of my retinue made a move, on my command. The Ironborns started taking over the authority and rummaged around. I had almost knelt, but the last fragments of pride left within me forced me to stand high. However, I did not dare to lift my chin high and vainly, as I humbly asked the very first Ironborn who came to me. I asked for you. I asked about your situation. I asked so compulsively that he could not cut in. Anxiety had filled my voice and my words dripped with fear. I wanted to shout in his face, demanding him to take me to see you, but I had to stay sober, or else they might harm you.
What I had in return was a suppressed snicker. The fucking insolent Ironborn dared to laugh at my face! But I dared not punish that impertinence, as I worried for you more. The Beta then bowed and greeted me respectfully, though there were still hints of flippancy, which made my blood boil. Then he called for you. My heart was unclenched as I was looking for your presence with anticipation.
My boy. My son. My child.
You walked along the deck of my longship so confidently. You looked whole and well. You dressed extravagantly in red and black, the colour of our house. I tried to detect any harm, any injury, any distress that plagued you, physically and mentally, just to find none. You were ablaze like a radiant flame amidst the wretched and barbarous Ironborns. You eyed me with such a haughty expression before briefly turning to the Beta Ironborn and ordering him to leave us alone. He obeyed you like a lap dog and retreated. Then you faced me, with your stupid cocky face, and you laughed. So loud and intrepid. Then you turned around and ordered those Ironborns to stop ravaging. I was dumbfounded. So did every kingsguards and sailors. And you found this dumbfoundness dumb enough to amuse you as you burst another roaring laugh.
It was a play. It was a hoax. You told me so before continuing to poke fun at my palely dumbfounded face. You said frivolously that you had been bored and wanted to test the response of royal fleets, to see if they could respond quickly enough when a rebellion broke out. You saw my silence as ceding and continued boasting. To my shock and anger, there was no marital rape, not any fucking sexual abuse. This war galley was your wedding gift from your husband, who loved you to the moon and back. You walked around me like a ridiculously proud peacock, as you bragged about how important you were now, as a captain of a war galley. When I finally recovered my composure and asked you about your husband, you shrugged and told me that he was on a voyage to get you something exotic from Essos. And you were bold enough to continue flaunting about your bridal night and every other coitus of yours, using the most obscene words. You spoke so nonchalantly while ignoring my scowled face that flushed with both disgust and fury.
In the end, I gave you a goddamn clout in the ear, along with a long berate. At that time, I was still relieved that after that chastisement, you still showed signs of repentance. You quickly commanded all the Ironborns to retreat, whom I supposed were all your husband’s men, before returning your gaze to me. I asked you to look into my eyes to apologise and promise, just like how we had always done when you were a little boy, after you made mistakes or pulled shenanigans. You did so, with those gaping and rueful eyes, and to me, that meant you were still salvageable. I soothed myself, mitigating my wrath and even felt regret for being too harsh to you just seconds ago. You were just sixteen, yet I forced you into marriage too soon. Maybe I should have sent you to Essos, exiled you instead. You were young, you should not burden yourself with marital duty so soon.
I was even glad that Morgo Codd was not a stern man who would lay his hand on you because of your insolence and childish manner. He indulged you. He loved and cherished you. After all, I wanted my Omega son to be happy with a good husband, even though this marriage was meant as a punishment foremost. Therefore, in the end, I did not write a letter with severe words to rebuke Morgo Codd for having pampered you, as I had intended. Instead, my words were gentler but remained firm, as I entrusted him with disciplining you and helping you become a better figure. He had read it and agreed, as your next letter to me told me so, along with many more letters that either bragged about your luxurious life or whined how boring was the life on the isles.
The second time you wrote and cried to me, it had been three months since the last incident. I should have learned the hard way from your previous prank. But I am a father, and my fatherly instinct kept telling me something was off. Your letter told me about a tradition of the Ironborn, the drowned feast. When the captain of a ship invites other captains to their ship and dresses their spouse in mermaid attire, that indicates a drowned feast. At the drowned feast, the guests will drown the host into slumber with wine, and the one who succeeds will have the host’s spouse for one night. The said spouse must not resist and tend to the winner’s needs, even if it is against their will. Needless to say, I was absolutely disgusted by this fucking barbaric custom, though I am no stranger to those Ironborn’s savage peculiarities.
My intuition had been proved right as I read the letter. My trust in Morgo slowly grew unsettled. You said that your husband had recently owed a huge debt to Lord Urragon Farwynd. A drowning man would clutch at a straw, so he had coaxed you into wearing the mermaid attire and serving Lord Urragon’s needs, in exchange for paying off his debt. You said that you had refused and resisted, but your husband’s patience was running out and soon or not, you would end up in that vulgar attire and be forced to do dirty things against your will. But no one helped you. No one had interceded for you. Because you were Morgo’s spouse, he had absolute authority over you. You told me that the drowned feast was going to be held on the twenty-fifth day of the fifth moon, and by the time the raven delivered your letter to me, it was already the tenth day. My heart was burned with anxiety and indignation. How dare Morgo Codd? I had never so regretted. He was Ironborn, after all, of course he would go back on his words once my back was turned and I left you on those vicious islands.
I had commanded a war galley this time to sail to the Iron Islands. Heavily armed. I had planned to bring along a royal fleet even, yet eventually did not do so. Those Ironborns could be aggressive, yet their skills were nothing compared to the kingsguards. This time, when my galley approached the waters of Great Wyk, a longship greeted us. Much smaller than my galley, still I stayed alert. The quartermaster of the ship spotted me first and called his crew to prepare for my arrival. When two ships were bordering closely and moored, I called for three kingsguards to accompany me to that longship, while the rest stayed vigilantly, preparing for the worst outcome.
As I walked to the captain’s room, what surprised me was the host. It was not Morgo Codd. He introduced himself as the future heir of House Farwynd, a Beta named Veron. He invited me to his feast. I was too distracted and depressed by the concern for your well-being at the moment, hence I could not catch that Beta’s hidden snicker and the suspicious details of this feast. When I asked about you, Veron Farwynd promised that he would take me to see you after the feast. How stupid I was to interpret that act as a coercion: I had to attend his feast, or else I would not see you again. So I followed him calmly and sat down at my honour seat at the table. There was a bunch of Ironborns, all of whom looked neat and courteous in their own way, yet I could still smell the fishy, salty and dreadful scents emanating from them.
They could dress so refinedly for a notable feast, yet all of those perfumes and clean clothes still could not smother their true natures: crude, fiendish and barbaric. In a moment, I regretted again that I had not defied my father’s order. He was grieved and crushed not only by Baelor’s death, but also by the fact that it was I who had done it and it was you whose action indirectly led to it. He was too blindly irate, I guess, that he did not even consider sending you to Great Sept of Baelor anymore, but married you off to an Ironborn.
The feast began, though I did not even have the mood for it. I carefully watched around, until my gaze dropped on the spouse of Veron Farwynd. A young woman who dressed in an exquisite yet obscene attire. I had thought that was how, in an ironic way, every Ironborn woman formally dressed, because their husband forced them, because the extremely uncivilised culture on those islands had been indoctrinated into their poor minds and made them no better than lowly whores. I never thought she was wearing mermaid attire. I could only pray to the Seven that you would not be indoctrinated and slowly become like these pitiful women. I was too pensive to notice that Veron Farwynd had come next to me and pointed at the cup of wine that had been filled for me but I had not touched. With a boozy voice, he suggested that in their culture, it was obligatory for the guest to offer the host a cup of wine, out of hospitality. I followed his request, though deep in my heart I despised these people. “My son married an Ironborn, I should show signs of respect or else my boy would end up in the worst situation,” I kept reminding myself so as I took the cup and handed it to the Beta.
Veron immediately collapsed thuddingly on the floor, which startled me. He began to snore while I was bewildered. All the other guests then cheered. One of them dared to throw his stinky arm over my neck as he started explaining the situation. My heart skipped a beat and my blood ran cold when he told me this was a drowned feast. Everyone started shoving Veron’s poor spouse toward me, urging me to claim her as she would attend to my needs. I did not fucking need any of these fucking filthy servings. My patience ran out and my wrath erupted. I screamed for the guards to shield between me and this Beta woman, and stop the Ironborns from stepping closer. Seven hells, one of them was already drunk enough to make a fucking insolent comment that I should enjoy myself here, as this was their special welcome for a royal member. The Beta woman seemed compliant, but I was sensible enough to sense how her willingness was compelled.
I had mourned for your mother the day she died, and I had sworn to the gods that I would remain a widow and mourn her for the rest of my miserable life!
The scene was chaotic, filled with turbulent screams. These Ironborns yelled at me, trying to coax me into practising their disgusting custom. I hollered back at them, telling them to fuck off. My kingsguards shouted as they tried to shoo the imprudent horde. Amidst the chaos, I was looking for you, but found nothing. The seafarers kept pressuring me, the kingsguards tried to drive them off, fucking hell their bellows twisted and created a cacophony! Then an idea flashed through my mind. I screamed at the woman, asking her about you. If they wanted me to do something to her and her to serve me, then so be it!
There was a moment of freezing silence until the sound of clapping shattered it. My nose caught your scent and I never felt so relieved. But my heart was only unclenched when you finally appeared, walking so calmly and cockily as you clapped. I immediately realised how I had, once again, fallen for your fucking shenanigans! Yet before I could scream at you, you nonchalantly turned around to face every Ironborn and started declaring. My teeth gritted furiously and my brain wanted to explode as you revealed everything.
You had a fucking bet with these Ironborns! All of you fucking bet on me! They said that no man or Alpha could resist beautiful women or Omega, and greed was human nature. You had defended me, my dignity, by claiming that I had always stayed faithful to your mother even in her death. Oh, how kind of you, Aerion, but why did you have to fucking stage a play in which you made me, your own fucking father, a fucking fool? All of which just to secure your win in this bet? In the end, I commanded every seafarer to leave that woman alone while she carried her husband by the shoulders back to their private chamber.
How lucky it was when this time, your husband was here, as we found him on the deck. Morgo Codd was frightened as he saw me and immediately bowed to apologise. He confessed that it was he who came up with this idea. Good! At least this time I knew my blow would not land on your ears! My blood boiled like fucking magma. I stomped toward him and raised my arm.
Only to see you run faster and shield him from me. You claimed this to be your idea instead. Fucking hells! Should I feel happy that you and Morgo Codd truly and passionately loved each other, or should I slap both of you for having fucking made me a joke? Your husband no longer just indulged you, but spoiled you! He betrayed his words to me!
In the end, I could not slap either of you because oh, you two had to be such a lovely uniting couple who kept covering for the other, had you not? I had to give in, which I still regret. But I still berated both of you, because fucking seven hells, this was not how this marriage was supposed to work! Morgo promised me, again of course, that he would lambaste you and these shenanigans would not recur. But you, Aerion, though you had apologised as well, I had seen hints of insolence glint in your mischievous eyes. I could not help but come to realise that marrying you off to faraway isles not only meant you were beyond my reach regarding protection, but also supervision and inculcating!
I had to travel back to King’s Landing with the most fucking sulking face while constantly threatening the kingsguards to not slip out any words about this, or else Aerys would have a fucking laugh for months while smallfolk saw me as nothing but a fucking royal jester!
After that, another three months of your letters flooding my table. This time you even found a way to enrich your whining by saying how the Ironborns were so uncivilised that they could not make a proper cup of tea, could not fight elegantly, always gawked or ogled at you. Unfortunately for you, boy, I no longer could be fooled! I had learned the hard way from your fucking shenanigans! And for each of your whiny letters, I wrote to Morgo Codd too, asking him about your situation. At least he acted more mature and gave me a fairer and more honest perspective.
The third time you wrote to me, you no longer cried. Instead, it was great news. You announced that you were with child. I had no doubt this could be another prank, because I had trusted you, believing that despite your childishness, you did know how momentous was this milestone. Pregnancy was surely a thing you would certainly not use as another shenanigan. Or at least I had expected you to do so.
My longship weighed its anchor at Lannisport on a fair day. The sky was crystal blue and sunlight danced warmly on my skin. The gale favoured my voyage as it billowed all the sails, while the sea current benefited the speed with its powerfully favourable flows. All of which suggested an auspicious beginning. For my voyage. For your life and marriage. I stood straight and proud on the deck, as my gaze delightfully looked for the faint silhouette of Great Wyk. I had thought a lot. About my grandchild’s name. About your health. About my decision to ask for permission to take you back to Summerhall during your pregnancy, because I knew those dilapidated islands were not adequate places for your bed rest. You would need more family support during this especially sensitive time. Your husband could come and visit once in a while or stay at Summerhall as well.
However, trepidation started filling my heart as I got closer to Great Wyk. The clear blue vanished bit by bit, as grey clouds permeated the sky. There was capricious thunder and lightning, both of which only grew more vivid and constant as we sailed further. The navigator warned me of a storm ahead once we reached the border of Great Wyk’s water. The longship could withstand the storm, but my retinue did not want to risk it. With a firm and roaring voice, I commanded them to continue, though my heart beat hastily as well. Not because I feared the storm, but because of the ominous feelings that hooked my heart and haunted my mind. In a moment, I felt like all the memories of your past shenanigans had been washed out by the raging waves below. I remembered nothing but only those letters you had sent me over three months ago, and began to regret. What if you did not whine? What if you actually told the truth and sought my help? And instead of answering to your plea, I chose to write to your abusive husband?
And now the gods were punishing me for that? Was this storm indeed a bad omen?
It was not a huge storm, as my longship could make through it, though with difficulty. But the rain was severe, whipping everything cruelly, and the kingsguards had urged me to shelter in the cabin. But I stayed on the deck, carefully watching through my lens once Great Wyk was within my sight. I did not know what was I looking for. These lenses could not magically help me see through every house, every castle, searching for the Codd castle to see your current situation. Then why did I keep standing here and looking through the lens like a fool? Perhaps in that moment, it was the only way to soothe my trembled soul.
Then I saw you. My mouth agape. There was no way. You were standing on the harbour’s stairs, as if waiting for us. The rain was pouring devastatingly yet no one, not even a servant, was here to cover you. My retinue shouted your name while calling me. Those idiots! I had spotted my boy even before they could catch a glimpse. Through the lens, I even saw how your clothes were soaked with rain and clung to your skin, and your belly, seven hells, your belly was slightly swollen! What a gut-wrenching scene for a father! The very first thought that flashed across my mind at that very moment was annuling your marriage. Fuck the punishment! Fuck this arranged marriage! Fuck the political reasons! This was my son and my son was suffering!
When my longship moored in the harbour, I was the first to rush down and run up those stairs. The rain still fell restlessly and dampened everything, which made me slip a bit as I ran hurriedly, but I did not feel hurt. I only worried about my child. My boy. You saw me struggling on the wet stairs and immediately dashed down to help me while calling me. I had to shout and warn you to stay still. These stupid slippery stairs! You were pregnant! A fucking risk!
My fear came true when you made a misstep and slipped. Thunder roared and rain pounded, yet the thudding sound of your fall was louder than anything, as it pierced through my heart, aching more than millions of spears. “My boy! Aerion!” I had screamed so while clumsily stumbling toward you. And when I could finally lift you and embrace you in my arms, my heart skipped a beat and my blood ran cold when I saw it.
Blood.
Blood was gushing from your abdomen, blending with the rain and spreading its glaring redness. I was no stranger to this. Especially after several miscarriages in our family. But I could not cry, though my eyes started burning with tears. Because I knew at the moment, you would definitely be a trillion more depressed than I once you found out. I tried my best to calmly soothe you, to distract you, but gods be damned, how could I divert your attention from the sharp pain that was rising in your abdomen? You hissed woefully and when your eyes caught the red between your legs, you shrieked. You bewailed. Your agonising wail grated on my heart, and I could not do anything but tighten my embrace. Ache was devastating both your body and your mind. I could not believe this was happening to you, as millions of questions flashed achingly through my head at once.
How could my son end up like this? Where were all the servants? Where was your husband? What did they do to you? Why did they leave you, alone and unprotected, in this damn storm? Did you run away from them? Because they had abused you? And you had waited on these stairs, at this harbour, for me, for my presence?
My fist clenched hard until my knuckles turned white. I could not look into your eyes, as now you were burying your face against my chest and sobbing, but I had sworn to you. I would take you back to the Summerhall now. I would annul this marriage myself, even if it was against my father’s will. No, I would show your grandfather your situation so he himself could learn the hard lesson and finally spare you. King Daeron could never bear witness to his own kin’s misery.
Then your wail slowly died off, replaced by a laugh, which only sounded clearer and louder, more deafening than the thunder. I was bewildered. My rationality was hitting my head like an anvil, yet I stubbornly and stupidly ignored it. Because I refused to believe it. I refused to face the fucking reality that I might have fallen for your trick again! I would rather believe that this was indeed a hysterical laugh resulting from your woe than a fucking snigger! You could play with my face, my dignity, not that I cared, because had you not done that a thousand times in the past? But using your child, your own fucking child, Aerion! You sacrificed your pup just to pull a shenanigan on your own father!
You got out of my embrace, still laughing. When I saw your face, my heart shattered when I realised this laugh was genuine. You were sniggering at me. There was no sign of a woeful hysteria, which I had hoped for. I sat there dumbfounded. Thunder hollered and rain fell against my skin like whipping, yet your snigger deafened my ears more than any thunder, your cruelty wounded me more than these cold raindrops. What had I done wrong? What had I forgotten to teach you when you were a child? You could be cruel and mad, I knew and could find a way to accustom, because madness had always been a repulsively rooted trait in our family. But never, ever, in a thousand years, a mad Targaryen could kill their own child to entertain themselves! Not even your uncle Rhaegel who was rumoured to be a mad one.
Then you slid your arms under your tunic. I did not know what to expect. My mind was empty at that moment as I sat there in shock. You pulled out a chunk of meat, or something that looked like it. It was too nasty in both colour and material that I did not want to remember how it looked. But most importantly, it was bleeding.
Your snigger softened as you started explaining. It was a seal’s placenta. A giant seal’s placenta. You said you just wanted to test my reaction, and now you were satisfied with the outcome. You praised me for being a good future grandfather, but gods be damned, I could hear drips of sarcasm in your voice! My mind was no longer empty and my heart no longer weighed with anguish. Rage began to take over both my head and my heart. But I found myself not screaming or slapping you. No. I was impotent. Another clout in your ear, along with another scold, I had always done that. But it did not change you. It could never change you.
My father was right. Your grandfather was right. Even when it sounded controlled and conservative, marriage duty was the only thing that could change you.
Your husband and the servants finally came when we were standing and facing each other in a strained silence. Morgo Codd awkwardly apologised for being careless and letting you cause trouble again. He promised me that he would not let this occur again. I could only spare him a dry chuckle. This was the third time he swore, so I guessed the third time was the charm. I talked to him alone, with a calm manner that was unbelievable even to myself, and warned him about this marriage. If he could not fulfil his duty, then this marriage should be annulled, and you would be sent to a more strict lord who knew how to tame bratty Omega, even if they were your grandfather’s age.
You were yelling and throwing a fit during our entire conversation, but I played deaf. After Morgo bowed respectfully and swore dutifully, I returned to my longship, completely ignoring your tantrum. I could not remember what you had said during your whine and nag. I could not remember what you had written to me after that incident. I just recalled how your letters flocked and flooded my desk all at once, while I was writing this letter. I did not read any of them and should have chucked all of them into the fireplace. But your little sister Daella said that was too heartless. So I locked all of them in a restricted cabinet. No one would be allowed to see them. Not even Daeron, Daella or Rhae.
And this rule shall apply to any of your following letters, from now on.
Aerion,
I do not want to be a cruel and strict father. My father advised me. My older brothers admonished me. Everyone pointed out how problematic you are. But I ignored them. I turned a blind eye. How much worse could my little boy become? They all express disappointment toward you, but within my presence, you act so chivalrously. More importantly, all because I love you. You are my son. Even the strictest sire has a soft spot for their children. I tried my best to teach you in the most lenient way, even if I had to indulge you. Because I want you to know how unconditionally I can love you, so when you marry, you must always expect your mate to do the same.
Aerion,
Your mother, when on her deathbed, had reminded me to be mindful of you the most. She could not know if your younger siblings might be revealed as Omega, but still she forced me to make a promise. Your mother said that you were the most rebellious yet also the most sensitive child. She had shed tears for your ironic fate. An Omega is a blessing to House Targaryen during this miserable period, but your mother disagreed. She said that your freedom and your chance to be a great knight had been taken away since your twelfth name day. It hurt her heart, and she always took it as a responsibility to compensate for your lost dream, your lost freedom. It did hurt my heart too, ever since that day, and when she said it, the memories of your crying at the name day’s feast only squeezed my heart tighter.
After all, you are the one who resembled her most. I know your mother would be the one who would oppose this marriage most, had she been alive. Which was why I had always attended to you most.
Yet you overlooked it. You took it for granted. Therefore my love and efforts to shape you into a better figure were like fishing in the air. Of course I will still love you, Aerion, but I can no longer do it unconditionally, after the incident at the harbour. I had loved you for my entire life and risked everything to protect you and your dignity, only for you to cause more disasters, which ultimately led to the Ashford incident.
No, I could not blame you, Aerion. It was I who swung that mace. And now the gods are punishing me. However, I must admit, during this punishment, the gods also forced me to open my eyes wider to see through your true nature. This enlightenment is not delightful, but bitter and tragic even. I can no longer love my son the way I used to.
Now, I shall repeat my chastisement upon you.
I shall not respond to any of your letters. All the coming letters in the future shall be locked up in a restricted cabinet. In return, I shall not send you any letters either. Do not act surprised and blame me for being heartless, as I no longer interfere with your marriage or write back to you. You do this to yourself, boy. However, in order to keep up with all the news, I will keep in touch with your husband instead. I shall not write to him, but Morgo Codd shall write to me and be the one to whom I respond to all the letters, if he sends any. I entrust him to teaching and taming you.
One last thing, Aerion, there is a rumour about a new sickness that began to spread. The maesters suspected it came with the foreign traders. So take care of yourself. Stay away from every harbour.
Your sire,
Maekar Targaryen