[center][h1][u][color=6ecff6]Lord Guy Baelish- Harrenhal[/color][/u][/h1]

The sky flew dark over Guy and his men, Ser Daven Connington, who had been beaten bloody, Ser Gregory Lorch, who had done it, Sers Pate and Lomas Barrowbridge of Darry, and Lord Tambur the Wull, all chosen from the king's court to be sent on this very special mission, apparently due to their skill at arms and their trustworthiness. Guy hated every single one, they all thought with their cocks or with their muscles, and they were very touchy-feely, Guy didn't like being touched, never had, never would. Women were a mystery to Guy, his brothers had all taken wives, his brother, Rorys, the castellan of the Drearfort, had taken five! Yet Guy hadn't, and never planned to, he just hadn't ever felt what it was that made men so agreeable around women, and he felt that was the reason that King Aegon had brought him to court, many a temptress had been taken aback by Guy's asexuality, and those that weren't were easily played, as they were quick to believe that Guy had fallen to their wiles when he had not. Guy liked pitting people against each other, apparently his ancestor Petyr had shared that trait, but Guy was not fooling himself into believing he was the next Littlefinger.

The towers of Harrenhal pierced the clouds, but impressive they were not, burned and twisted things, seemingly abandoned, but upon them flew the flag of House North, a white spider upon a field of black, next to them flew the lord's personal arms, a red knight on a checkerboard pattern of green and yellow cyvasse pieces. Lord Osney North was an impatient man, he acted for himself, not his family, considering his only child was a simpleminded son who pleasured himself during court. Guy could relate to that, as he knew that eventually his feeble lands would pass to his brother's line, so he'd made it his mission to see as much in his life as he could, but he'd learned quite quickly that there really wasn't much to see, whether it be the rock of the Vale, the flowers of the Reach, or the plateaus of the Westerlands, there always remained people, and people had a habit of ruining things.

The group reached the outer gates of Harrenhal, and were met by a man with hair as white as snow, but lacking the classical Targaryen eyes, instead he had blue sapphires for pupils, he wore a surcoat with the image of a dragon crossing a large castle with a bridge spanning them. He was short and weasel-like, holding a standard with Lord Osney's personal arms upon it. He walked over, his standard flapping in the evening breeze, a sound that Guy found pleasing to his own ears. "Hallo! I am Ser Aemon Rivers of house Frey, how may I be of service?" The man spoke loudly, and in an odd way that made Guy suspect he was simple, but Guy could tell something was hiding behind his sapphires. Guy's men began grumbling behind him, he heard a few "Targaryen"s, and even a "Blackfyre" or two, so to put it to bed, Guy decided to ask. "Targaryen?" Aemon chuckled and shook his head. "They always ask that, neither actually, I'm a Frey bastard." Guy suspected there was more to his story than that. "Frey? Your hair tells a different story." Aemon shook his head again, rubbing into his forehead. "Well, if you must know, I'm a generation removed from a dragonseed, but I'm more Frey than Targaryen anyways." Guy lifted an eyebrow and looked back into his own head as he thought. One generation removed? Was legitimization still possible? But Aemon seemed to tire of waiting, beginning to guide the others into the main hall, situated at the feet of the Kingspyre tower.

"So, what brings you here, Lord Baelish?" Guy had been given orders on what to say to this, but he found no reason not to tell why he was truly here. "Dragon hunting." He grunted out wrongly, his intonation bothering him long after the words left his lips. Aemon looked puzzled. "There aren't any dragons here, how long have you been looking?" Guy groaned, the only part of the screaming inside of his head that left his lips. "Months now, still nothing." 
"Months? Have you not sent back to the Red Keep yet?"
"We were given orders not to send back until the dragon was found and slain."
"That's odd, have you checked the other Lord Paramouncies?"
"We checked a bit in the North, but Lord Stark pushed us out before we could find anything." Aemon had only a surprised grunt to answer to that.

The large door that stood before them was wood, darkened with age and metal to appear black as night, no light snuck under it's metal frame. Aemon stood to it's left side, reaching over with his off-hand to push it open. "Lord North will see you now." The warmth of the hearth hit Guy like a punch to the face, and the dim light from the room immediately filled the immediate area. The lord of the house sat in a wooden throne, facing the door with his house's banner above his head, the orange light of the fire illuminating the right side of his face. He looked at Guy, motioning him and his group in. Once they had entered, he spoke in a voice befitting of a king, his chest vibrating as he spoke.

"Lord Baelish, I was told you would come, I've found your dragon."

[hr]
Aerys landed at the steps of the Red Keep, and his vision went blurry as the pain at his side returned, mayhaps he should have informed Ser Royce of his wound, but it was too late for that now, all that Aerys knew was that he was dying, maybe he could reach Lord Garland, but why would Garland help him? He thought he was mad, they all did, he knew  that they'd just leave him there to die, Aegon wouldn't have done it, Aegon was kind, Aegon was a father to him in ways Daenys never was, he was happy with Aegon when he never had been.

It was then that Aerys realized that he had collapsed, shortly after landing upon Aegon's High hill, right at the doors of the grand keep, no guards were there to aid him, and the blood really stated coming then, he found it hard to breathe with the amount of blood pooling on his eyebrows and dripping down into his mouth, he felt a chunk of something fleshy fall cold against his cheek, filling his mouth with the taste of iron, his hair falling over his eyes, stained pink with blood.

He'd taken a hard hit to the head, but had managed to hide it with a pilfered helmet, but further combat only left him more and more injured, he'd barely made it to Drogon before they had taken off. Speaking of, where was he? Aerys could not lift his head to look, but he heard the screeching of his dragon and another, and the burning of dragonfire through the air. Huh, a dance, he'd always wanted to see that, who was the other? He wanted to ask, but his head ached too much to even think anymore, he felt tired, so tired, the colors hurt, the brightness hurt. The world flowed like a river, before it went dark, and he was taken into a sleep he doubted he'd ever wake up from. [/center]