The Devil In The Dark
It's often told of the Malfoy family that you will never find one at the scene of crime, though their fingerprints might be all over the guilty wand. "Did you do it?" His mother's voice was barely a whisper, even if the panic in her warm eyes screamed at him through the megaphone. "Ser Larys?" She clarified, the mounting edge of hysteria sounding in her voice. "Are you the reason for his... condition? "
"I have told you, Mother," Aegon's voice was just as low and unexpectedly hard. The unapologetic glint in his eyes remained steady even when he saw the overpowering rush of horror it brought his mother at his admission to the crime. Poison was not a way of the warrior but of a coward, but Draco never liked to fit himself in the boxes someone else created. He was a Slytherin at the core, and he used every means he wanted to achieve his goals. "If I find him staring at you any more brazenly, I'd not let that insult slide. He'd have done well to remember to never reach above his station, much less vie for his Queen's affection with total depravity."
Affection had been far from what Larys Strong had in his mind, but his lady mother needn't know that. Draco wanted the bastard dead as soon he came across his sick mind and the sullied thoughts about his mother. "And now he'll sleep forever and wither away on Maester's bed where they would no doubt plan to give him a quick death, while all the little birds he collected will work for their new master."
The flames of the torches cast a flickering light across the hard angles of her face, creating deep shadows in the austere flesh of her cheeks. Alicent Hightower swallowed hard. It took her a long time to speak. When she did, it cost her a great effort, Aegon could see, to force her frenzied mind back to the present, back here to where they were now, back to the truth of the atrocity he committed.
"What were you thinking?" Her tone was impassioned, frantic. "Have you any idea what would have happened if someone had seen you? If Larys knew of your plan beforehand? How could you be so careless - to do something of this scale without anyone at your side to fall back on?"
"I was thinking good riddance," Aegon's voice rose, the monster raging beneath his skin alit, and he had made no attempt to soften his words. "I was thinking, Larys is a fickle bastard who could have turned into a traitor if it served his purpose. And people like that are not what we need or want or can afford to trust." His mouth twists in an unbridled rage. "His interest in you is sick and perverse. I merely gave him a merciful death he did not deserve. You should be glad I hadn't had his head cut off and made a spectacle for everyone in the keep to see the cost of one's insolence."
The ginger-haired woman lifts her dainty hand to Draco's face, harshly brushing his cheek with her fingers, and the young boy feels her touch like a white-hot brand searing through his flesh and bones. "My sweet boy," It was a quiet sound of the women's despair. He sees his mother's tear-stained cheeks, her hollow sadness. "You do not need to sully your hands for me or tarnish your honor. You do not need to fight my battles for me. I may not have your father's backing or power as the Queen of the seven kingdoms, but I - "
"This is not the question of honor or dignity, Mother," Draco stops her, hands grasping at her shoulder, asking her to understand honor is nothing but a fool's prize, a burden only the righteous could bear. "This is me defending what's mine. This is me protecting my family in the way I can. It might not be what you wished for your children, but this is who I am. And I cannot change it. Nor do I want to, Mother."
He expects a slap or a scream. Instead, tears brimmed in her eyes, distraught and confused, regret coiled beneath it all, and soon she was falling into him, holding him so tightly like a swimmer caught in a tide reaching for a raft to stay above water as the world she knew spiraled out of control. She clung to him and wept, long, aching sobs that rattled her bones and choked the breath from her lungs as his hands smoothed her hair, one rough, soothing stroke at a time, comforting.
Because comfort was all he could offer her. "It's going to be okay, mother. It's going to be okay. My soul has long been condemned to hell. There is no need to waste any tears. You should know it by now - I'd go to a great many lengths to protect those I love."
It was clear since day one that Larys was on a path that would eventually lead him to become a hulking shadow, one that his family would need to distance themselves from in order to avoid being overshadowed by his brutality, greed, and rapaciousness. Larys is completely self-serving and solely focused on fulfilling his own desires. He's a person who will stop at nothing to achieve his personal ambitions, even if it means disregarding the loyalty and trust of his masters or anyone else who stands in his way.
That is how he is, and maybe in another life, in another place, Draco would have respected his penchant for manipulation, deceit, and will for survival. But not when he remained an ever-present threat to his family. So when he learned he had sent a few prisoners with their tongues cut off to eliminate his own father and brother, Draco knew it was time.
It won't be long before Clubfoot hangs the atrocity he committed steadily over his mother's head in an attempt for authority and control. And Draco could never let the man have such power over his sweet mother. Because if there was anything he learned in his previous life, it's that, he failed his family by trying to walk the tightrope between what's good and evil. He would not do so again.
Because he had learned people are beyond good and evil. Beyond right and wrong. You cannot fit them into a child's standard vocabulary. Instead, Draco feels he could identify them as either brave or scared. That's what they are. They are multifaceted beings who often act out of self-interest or in response to their circumstances. And Draco would be damned if he let something like honor and vice deter him from doing what's best for his loved ones.
It is an ill fortune to look on the face of death. Mother would have told him that if she saw him looking at the procession as the silent sisters prepared Larys for the grave. But his mother was in the sept, probably praying to her gods for forgiveness, not for herself but for him. She had, understandably, not been happy with his decision, he knew. But Draco knows it's a necessary thing to do even if his mother can't fathom the reasons for his swift and brutal action. It hadn't been something he had done on a whim, nor was it needless. He had long prepared for this day, even if the timeline had moved up quite a bit.
Larys Strong's body is sewn into a cloak of the finest silk, decorated with a three rivers sigil of House Strong. The timing could not be more perfect. The fact that Larys, Harwin, and Lyonel Strong met such misfortune on the same day, could that be mere happenstance? No one could ever know, even if it did place Ser Simon Strong, Lord Lyonel's uncle, the castellan of Harrenhal and now the Lord of Harrenhal, in a perplexing and precarious position with smallfolk and liege lord.
"May you rot in the ground, Ser," Aegon whispers into the wind. He took comfort in the fact that eventually, all that would remain of him were his bones, condemned to haunt the suffocating blackness forever. "Know that I took everything you built and made it my own. Know this is the price you pay for entertaining the idea that you could go against whats' mine."
"Brother, is that you?" Aegon turns his gaze away from the woman beside the cart, shrouded in grey, as they loaded the corpse into the wagon, his frosty appearance melting away in a flicker of shadow. He smiles a soft smile when he notices his sister. Rhaenyra was a semblance of grace; her face was patient and mild. And the gentle waves of her pale blond hair grant her a halo in the morning light.
"Sister," He greets her, walking up to her after glancing at his guard, a silent command to stay and observe until the end of the proceedings and then report to him. He's soon standing next to her, offering his hand, which she takes with a familiarity they developed over the years. "You are up early. I was sending off an old friend. How about you?" Dawn was still breaking in the east. It was unusual for anyone to be awake at this hour.
"I could not sleep," She answers. It was truthful, but it's edged with something else. The desire to peak in her mind was strong, but the eldest son of King Viserys restrains himself from doing so. He had always made it a rule to draw the line at his family, but sometimes his magic impulsively reacts, and still, to this day, he wrestles for control of his gift. Sometimes the thoughts and emotions of others are so overwhelming that sometimes he doesn't know where they begin and he ends. "I did not realize Ser Larys was being sent to Harrenhel today."
"Well, it has been quite a month," Draco says with an understanding look as he dismisses her lack of knowledge in the happening of court kindly enough. He did not know if Nyra loved Ser Harwin as much as the late Commander of the city watch did. Though, truthfully, his sister was also not someone who would take a paramour she wasn't satisfied with or held some semblance of affection for. "The Maesters decided there was nothing they could do for Ser Larys. None of their treatments got a response from him. They say it is almost as if he's cursed to sleep forever. So Father decided a quick death would be more merciful than whatever hell he was going through."
They walked amongst the torchlit corridors silently, moving without purpose and direction. Soon they were crossing the outer yard, passing under a portcullis into the inner bailey. "Do you think this was an accident?" His sister asks after a while. "That Lord Strong and his two sons died on the same day?" And suddenly, he could understand what's truly keeping the Realm's delight up at night, gripped with the unassailable conviction of whether Ser Harwin died for her and her children's safety or for the sake of someone else's ill-found need for revenge and greed.
"I could not say," He says, the lies falling from his lips so effortlessly. "But it all does look suspicious. Reports say Lord Simon Strong had a good relationship with Lord Lyonel and his son. That the late Lord Hand trusted him. But everyone knows men are fickle creatures, sister. No one can guess what motivates someone to commit such monstrosity if they did do it. To kill off an entire line in one night. Well, at least, Lord Strong's daughter Alys Rivers lives. Although Lord Simon Strong had her thrown in cells, proclaiming she was a witch. Says she's the reason for Lord Lyonel and their son's misfortune."
"Is she?" Rhaenyra asks. Draco didn't know whether she was truly interested in the answer or if his sister just wanted to think about something to keep her mind busy. "A witch?"
"Might be. If the ravens were to be trusted, they say the woman's potions and poisons help the smallfolk in their ailments unnaturally well. Though, the Septon seems to think Alys Rivers lays with demons and brings forth dead children as payment for the knowledge they gave her," Draco says, a sound at the back of his throat at the cynicism he felt after reading the reports Larys's spies gathered for him now.
It had been a tedious process to remake the shadowy organization involving spells, oaths, and unforgivables, but they were his in no time. And he was satisfied with the results. "But as I said, men are weak-minded. They believe the world's natural order is to please him. They can never imagine how a woman could get better of them and the years of training and knowledge they amassed in their dusty towers."
Nyra snorts, caught out in her stateliness with surprised amusement. Draco distantly thought his mother would have something to say about it if she were there. He wondered what exactly happened between these two friends, about the cause of their severed relationship. He knew enough to understand the gist of it, but there were still fragments of their lives he wasn't privy to.
"But I doubt he'd do anything to her, though," He continues after a comfortable silence, a comforting hand on her arm. "Not when he's already under persecution with how things turned out with Lord Lyonel's whole family. She's still his kin, unwanted or a witch. And Kinslaying was worse than kingslaying in the eyes of gods and men."
"It is laughable, sometimes," The heir to the throne shakes her head, her hair tumbling around her bare white shoulders. "The idea of people fearing a god they cannot see."
"One could argue that it is precisely because of this invisibility that he holds such immense power over us," Draco says, a thoughtful look on his face. "Absence can sometimes be more fearsome than presence. He's something we can neither comprehend nor control. For most, it is a humbling realization, but also a comforting one - for in their vulnerability, they are reminded of their need for faith and reliance on something greater than ourselves."
"Do you believe in the Gods, little brother?"
"If my mother were here, I would have said yes in a heartbeat," He shoots a teasing glance at the older woman. "But no, I don't find solace in religion. I find it in beauty, wonders of nature, in pursuit of knowledge, in my family. Believing in gods is a way for people to cope with the uncertainty and unpredictability of life, to give meaning to their struggles and comforts in times of distress. But the notion of an all-powerful being controlling our fate seems too inadequate and rather preposterous - no? And I can never trust someone who does not suffer the indignities of grief."
"It baffles me how you possess such wisdom beyond your age," She murmurs. "It is as if you have lived a thousand lifetimes, yet you cannot reach my shoulders."
"Oh, no. I would go mad under the weight of a thousand lifetimes. One is more than enough. Anyway, how are you, Nyra? Are my nephews being a nightmare?"
"No more than usual."
"I apologize, once again, for my mother. She's a stubborn one. Even if the heavens were to fall down, she wouldn't change her opinion. It would've been a good match, though - Jace and Hela. He'd have treated her well." Rhaenyra doesn't say anything to that. The mulish, defiant jut of her jaw was so much the same as his mother's that his heart throbbed painfully to see it. To see the two important women in his life so diametrically opposed to each other's affections or presence, unable to bridge the gap between them.
"I don't know why you both are like this," A sharp exhale of annoyance leaves him. It was maddening to see a problem and not be able to mend it when it so clearly needed it. "You were inseparable, weren't you? Like two peas in a pod, or sisters even. Your bond was unmistakable, and I dare say; it even bordered on love."
The Princess of Dragonstone stiffened in his arms, the movement in her limbs stilled, and Draco with her. He knew, at least he had predicted it to be so after many hearsays, and Nyra's reaction had all but confirmed it. And now, he was facing her fully in the middle of a courtyard overgrown with twisting vines and tiny green grapes. On the ramparts, a guardsman in a gold cloak walked his rounds, far away to hear anything they were talking about. "Could you not tell me what happened? What could I possibly do to fix this hatred between you two."
"We do not hate one another, Aegon," She pauses, her lips twisting when she takes in his dry expression. "At least, I hope not," She rectifies herself, quickly continuing. "And what transpired between us - it cannot be rectified by a single action or individual. It takes two for forgiveness. And your mother is clearly not ready to put the past behind us."
There's a blast of cold air, bringing with it a swirl of dead leaves. The Silver-haired princess shivered and pulled the coverlet higher and tugged one end over her shoulder. "As you said before, Alicent's set in her ways. I could sooner push a boulder up an endless mountain than move your mother's heart. It's an exercise in futility that I resolved not to attempt any longer than I already have." She paused again. This pause was longer than the one before, and when Nyra spoke again, her voice was different somehow, edged with a shadow. "I have decided to move to Dragonstone."
"You are leaving." He knew that, of course. His spies were extensive. They lurk within the castle walls, their ears attuned to every whisper and their eyes watching every move. No secret can escape his grasp, and no plan could be hatched without his knowledge.
She squared her shoulders, moving again with a determined stride, Aegon beside her. "I should've done it years ago." And he knew there is nothing he'd say that'd deter her. So he nodded.
"We should take Syrax and Sunfyre for a ride before your departure then," Draco suggests, his eyes brimming with old merriment. "It's been some time since they've soared the skies together."
Rhaenyra laughs, a brief and short sound as she shakes her head slightly. "You always manage to read my mind, brother. Sure. We will take a flight together soon."