Haven't I Given Enough? (Always The Fool) - Aemond Targaryen

1: The Beginning

She had long since grown accustomed to the screams of Harrenhal.

The lands were not known for their kindness, for their luck to all who entered. No—the tongues of those long passed had always whispered the tales of Harrenhal, how the land was cursed and all who crossed through its gates were soon to meet their demise.

But the screams that night were closer, more familiar.

Springing from bed in nothing more than her nightclothes, the young girl yelped as the door to her chambers slammed open. Heat blasted through the open doorway, the screams growing loader, and—merciful be the Mother—the smell. Burnt flesh, cloth, hair. Burnt, burnt, burnt.

"My Lady!" Ser Lathar, her sworn protector, yelled over the commotion as he bounded into the room. Far too much of the corridor was illuminated for the mere torches that were placed in the hallway. "There's a fire, I must get you out of here."

"Where is my father? My brother?" She demanded, not allowing the fear or heat or stench to turn her stomach. She knew a simple fire was not the cause for so much alarm—but now was not the time to show weakness.

"There is no time!" Lathar shouted, grabbing her by the forearm and tugging her towards the door. An uncontrolled spike of fear pierced her heart at Lathar's actions; for him to act so above his station with her meant things were worse than they seemed.

Outside her doorway, the stench worsened and the heat grew near unbearable. Screams tore from those around her, all servants or knights or kitchen maids. Lathar's movements were quick, but he was growing frantic, she realized, as he led her down corridor after corridor, all revealing nothing more than smoke and flame and causing them to turn back.

"He's dead! The Lord is dead!" A servant cried as she sprinted past, her own skirts on fire and choking on smoke.

The girl stumbled, gasping for breath. Lathar gripped her tighter, pulled her faster.

"The building is crumbling; you must get out of here!" He shouted, using his shoulder to muscle through a closed door and into a smoke-filled room. In a move brought on by frantic desire to get her safe, Lathar pulled her towards the window.

Breaking the glass with the hilt of his dagger, the world beyond the Lord's home came to life. Bells were chiming and men were screaming for water in the streets, but none would come in time to save them—not as a chunk of the ceiling fell a mere five paces from where they stood.

"We're going to die here," She whispered, voice cracking with a fear too great for someone as young as she.

"No, my Lady, we are not." Lathar shook his head determinedly, looking out the window for an escape. The view showed nothing but an empty alleyway, save for a few women running past screaming to wake more townspeople to help fight the fire.

Empty—save for a loaded hay cart parked on the opposite side of the alleyway.

She realized what Lathar meant for her to do quickly and stepped away from the window, from the dizzying height and the certain death if she did not make the jump correctly.

"No," She pleaded, shaking her head, but Lathar reached out, grasping her face between his hands to stop her from retreating further. "No, I-I can't—"

"You must, my Lady." He spoke hoarsely as more of the room caved in around them. The screams of the servants and guards, of her father and brother, filled her ears as she gripped Lathar's wrists tightly, fighting against the pulse of fear hammering in her every heartbeat. "I vowed to lay down my life in the protection of you. You must do this."

"I-I—"

"Listen to me very carefully, my Lady." Lathar spoke over her mutterings, ignoring the tears streaming down her cheeks as he pressed the hilt of his sheathed dagger into her hands. A final gift, a way of parting. "You need to be brave. You need to be brave everyday for the rest of your life. Let me fulfill my vow and get you out of here, but you must jump now."