(please do not ghostread)

As the cold weather settled over Ashford, hanging low to the earth and curling against the tents, it wasn't the only thing that rendered the anticipation to the trial a silent morrow. In the hours leading up to the trial of the seven. Cellese had gone mute. She refused to speak after the truth had settled between them. The revelation that she was carrying Aerion's child. 

Cellese swore on that morrow she had broken her mind on the decision she had to make. It was too reminiscent on the first revelation she had when she was with child. Only instead of having mud under her boots, she was lying in a pool of blood. 

Her second husband was Armond Caswell, lord of Bitterbridge in the reach. He was a formidable ally to the Targaryens and even greater friend to the Lannister as the three houses fought alongside each other during the first Blackfyre rebellion. He was an old surly historian that had been gifted with the charm of a blade. 

Lord Caswell in many was as close as a brother to Damon Lannister. Both boys who grew up playing with wooden swords and shields into men that shaped their houses strengths and legacy in Westeros. Lord Caswell was a man Cellese, Tybolt and Geralt knew to be a familiar face at weddings and feasts. He was more than an ally, he had a kinship to Damon, that fact alone made Cellese's skin crawl.

But his love for the philosophies and history did not make him meek. He was a man that was adorned by women for his charm, his strong but greying body and despite his beard still rivalled an attractiveness, even his son often found him jealous of. 

When rumor spread that Cellese's first husband had died in his sleep, both Damon and Armond rushed to retrieve Cellese from Braavos. Their ties to the Iron Bank be damned. 

A great irony? Armond was adamant that Damon not marry Cellese off to her first husband. 

He argued that she was too young, and he was a man the age of their father. He argued that Cellese deserved to be a child, guarded and safe. But Damon's ambitions weighed heavier. 

He wanted as many Lannister hands inside the Iron Bank and he would not stop until the plates on his table were made of molten gold.

When Cellese was retrieved from Braavos, it was Armand that offered her a safe heaven from the speculation and rumor that she had killed her husband. 

Fortunately for her, she was not the only girl in Braavos desperate to kill her husband. Her first kiss, first hold, first bedding was an old man that made frequent visits to the highest paying brothels in the free cities of Braavos. 

His order? Young but growing girls, beautiful but not smart enough to question him. His biggest mistake was inviting those girls to be Cellese's ladies in waiting, even worse not expecting Cellese to befriend them.

Being the youngest daughter Cellese had first hand exposure to the cruelty daughters suffer in a house where men reigned supreme, and husbands were no different. Her ladies were loyal to her, kind to her and loved her. 

After a night of drunken torture while he crawled on top of them, on the morrow her and her ladies would lock themselves in her chambers while cleaning the cuts and bruises on her skin. Cellese knew her father had no care for what happened to her, if he did he'd never agree to send her to Braavos, but Armand did.

He wanted Cellese safe. He wanted her kept. Armand often attested that Cellese was a beautiful child that would grow into an even more beautiful woman. 

That she was a girl who would give men all their trouble. To Armand, Cellese was a duplicate of her mother Cerrisa Brax. Before marrying his wife, he harbored a child like love to Cerissa when they were knee high. Though he congratulated Damon at their wedding, Armand had always held a candle lit for her. One she never returned for him.

But Cellese was different. 

She was vulnerable, but strong. One would have to be to have slain their husband at fifteen years of age. She had a fire in her eye, a spark in her heart and a mouth that dripped poison. The weeks Cellese had spent in Bitterbride brought more fire to their house, than his wife had ever done in her life. 

His wife was a dutiful woman, and she died that way. She never so much as inched to kiss Armand if it wasn't for the need to produce an heir, and to her regret she was only ever able to give Lord Caswell one heir.

But Cellese had potential and Armand Caswell seized at the opportunity. There were mentions in court that his son and Cellese would be better suited, but his son Joffrey Caswell was an infuriating lad. Joffrey was thin, a poor rider and even worse knight. He much rather took to a bottle of wine rather than a sword. 

After all Cellese had endured, she deserved a husband that could provide for her, strengthen the Lannister name but most importantly keep her safe.

Damon had his doubts, but reluctantly agreed to betroth Armand and Cellese. He was a man of forty one and she a girl of sixteen. Damon believed their union would be one of title. That his oldest friend would never lay a hand on his youngest daughter. 

A pity he was wrong.

As soon as the announcement was made Cellese pleaded one single request. Though she was enraged that her father had sold her off to the highest bidder again, she demanded she would only agree to the marriage if Armand appointed her ladies in waiting from Braavos. 

Most of them were girls from houses where there was not a coin to their name, that their mothers worked with them in brothels until eventually they were bought by higher madams. 

Her girls protected her and helped her import tears of Lys to poison her husband, Cellese desperately wanted to repay a debt and what better than offering them a home far from men who hurt girls.

As soon as Lord Caswell married Cellese, the sooner she found herself bed bound. He was a man running out of time and desperate to produce an heir. 

He'd bed her so much that Cellese learned to take to the bottle as soon as the sun set to numb her body and her mind. But one day she refused. She had bled, but Lord Caswell argued it was a sign of luck. That when a woman bled, she is more fruitful to have child. 

When he held Cellese down on the bed, she reached for the dagger one of her ladies had gifted her on her sixteenth name day. An old family heirloom. A gold encrusted, violet sapphire encrusted Valyrian steel dagger. As Armnad clawed his way to take her, Cellese reached for her dagger and cut him and she made sure not to miss.

She cut out his eye.

Lord Caswell did not take too kindly to this. As the guards of the castle stormed their way up the stairs, Cellese's cries echoed through the halls. Like a child Lord Caswell beat her until she was sure she had lost her hearing that knight. 

He'd kicked, punch and dragged her across the room until the floorboards were painted in Cellese's blood. When the guards and maesters finally stormed into the room, Lord Caswell surrendered his attack. 

He turned to them and said "This is a matter between a wife and her husband. Should one dare to charge his chambers again he'll have them flayed with their cocks sent to their mothers."

The next day at breakfast, Cellese sat with a swollen face as he kissed her cheek and asked if she slept well. A fortnight later, she was confirmed to be with child.

It was then Cellese knew she'd have to make of herself a widow again.

The knight of Lord Caswell's death she adorned herself in a revealing black lace with a pendant around her neck. A clear liquid in the heart pendant as she waiting for her husband to retire to their bed. 

She welcomed the news that she was with child as she kissed Lord Armand Caswell for the last time, offering him a cup of wine. 

When he took his last swallow, it was instant. His skin was greying, the veins in his face turned purple as he gripped his chest. He still managed to call Cellese a vengeful cunt as he fell face first on their bed. Thrashing and gasping for air before one of Cellese's ladies crawled from underneath their bed and helped her hold the pillow to his face.  

When he drew his last breath Cellese took the pendant off of her neck and drank moontea, ensuring that no child of her attacker would ever come from her womb.

That was the last time Cellese was threatened with the possibility of a child.

But now things were different. Now it was Aerion Targaryen, after years of marriage, after years of patience and reluctance, their endless knights and morrows of passion after two years resulted in a child. But unlike before Cellese held reluctance. 

Now, she didn't feel so heavily pained at the thought of being with child because it was Aerion. Aerion who loved her in his own demented way, Aerion who called for one's eyes and tongue for daring to scowl at her or make gossip of her. 

Aerion who for better or worse, had been the only husband Cellese enjoyed having in her bed.

But it was also Aerion Brightflame. The menace and mad prince of house Targaryen who sought to spread misery and torture to those who crossed his path.

And though he vexed her, Cellese's waking thoughts and touch in the morrow was his lips trailing down her neck.

How could she make a decision when their fates were left so undetermined? For the sake of her peace, she said nothing. She needed to keep her mind in tact, at least until after the trial. From then on, she would make her decision, but one thing was certain. She would never let Damon Lannister ever determine her future, ever again.

Inside of the Targaryen pavilion, everything around her was a blur. Cellese stood in front of Aerion as her fingers laced his breastplate tighter. That morning it wasn't the cold wind that left a shaking tremor in her hand. 

The metal of the seven knights caught the dim light but all she could force herself to focus on was Aerion's lilac eyes.

Aerion said nothing. His silence unlike his wife's was not calm. It was simmering, like it always was.

Across from the tent, Maekar watched. His sharp gaze moved between Cellese and Aerion. He noted how pale she looked, the shake in her hands. It was a rare sight to see uncertainty and dare he say fear in Cellese. 

What neither knew is that Maekar had heard the revelation Cellese brought to Aerion the night before.

He passed their chambers when he heard, and for a moment Maeker was stuck in his track. A child. Aerion and Cellese's child. The weight of the idea alone sat heavier on his chest than his armor. Now he only hoped Aerion futile needs violence would result in an ending fitting for them all.

As Cellese's hands tightened the knot, her hands paused when Aerion stepped closer to her "Cellese, enough of this." Aerion looked down on her with cold eyes "You will speak to me."

His words a request as his hand came quick around her waist. His fingers dug in with a bruising force as the steel of his armor pressed between them. The edge of the steel kissing the soft silk of her gown. When Cellese raised her chin, his jaw tightened at the challenge 

"You tell me to fight for my life and then you fall into a meek silence like some pious fucking widow already in mourning?" Aerion said his voice low but terrifying "This is beneath you, beneath us."

Her gaze lifted to meet his, when Aerion noted the harshness in her eyes he felt his cock hardened. Her eyes carried no softness in it, no fear. Exactly how he wanted her "I told you what my demands are."

Aerion's grip tightened "Demand?" he arrogantly repeated "You think you are in any disposition to make demands, wife? In your..." He leaned closer his breath ghosted over her lips "Sensitive state?"

Cellese groaned placing her hand over his lips and pushing hum back "I mean it Aerion. I will not allow you to lose this battle."

Aerion scoffed "You will not allow... Gods, I've made you arrogant haven't I?" He leaned closer again, the faint smirk on his face cruel and sharp "And how do you intend to ensure my win, wife? Will you bravely step onto the fields and shield me?"

Cellese's expression hardened. After all that she had endured in life, she refused to be handed another wave of shame and regret by a man "Aerion, either you die." she placed a chaste kiss on his lips, her hand trailing down his armor to the hilt of his raised crotch, her hand grazing his hardness as her lips trailed to his ear "Or you win."

"You think your threats weigh heavy against me?" Aerion snarked, his hand trailing to the back of her neck as he held her "You speak of my threats being futile, when yours are no better." he tone darkened.

"If you fail today, I will make sure our child will never know you." Her hands pressed against his steel plated chest "If you shame me again, you risk becoming a stranger to me and your child. You will lose me, and I will make no attempt to continue salvaging this farce we call a marriage." 

Aerion stilled, now his something flickered underneath his arrogance. Something only Cellese. Malic and uncertainty "And if I live? Will you cheer for me, seeing as you are such a devoting and loving wife, wench?"

"If you win, then you will remember what you stand to lose, my prince." Cellese refused to fall under his threatening hold, instead she stood still. She rose onto her toes as she kissed him. 

Not softly or gently. A kiss that was edged in her threat, her anger and resentment. Her fingers curled slightly against the metal, as if Cellese cold hold him. Aerion stiffened for a moment, and like always he answered to her lips.

Fiercely and desperately, his hands to the back of her neck as he pulled her in closer deepening the kiss into something burning and consuming. There was an unspoken truth in their kiss, that perhaps it could be their last. 

Cellese felt it too, his pull on her as her chest was pressed against the cold steel. But she refused to become overwhelmed on the absurdity that was her feelings to Aerion.

Her teeth sank into his lips, hard enough to remind him of her. When Aerion drew back, just slightly she felt it before she she saw. That familiar and infuriating arrogant smirk that lingered on his mouth, even as death awaited him.

Then she let him go, the distance between them now cold and unwelcoming. Aerion did not reach for her. He only looked at his wife committed to the sight of her before she turned her back on him and exited the tent.

That morrow the rain had all but as the fog settled over the grounds. The horses and armor clanged and chattered over the mud as the lords and ladies held their gaze over the ground. History was to be witnessed as the first trial of the seven would be invoked. 

Only the second in Westerosi history after Maegor the cruel once called for it. Lord Ashford's men had removed the barriers, and the tourney field was of mud and torn grass. 

The smallfolk were drifting toward the field as well, and hundreds of them already stood along the fence. So many come to see the Hedge Knight die.

Cellese ignored the chatter between Anya, Kierra and Valarr. Unlike her friends, it seemed that only Valarr was as ill at ease as her over the events to come. Even through the mist the ends of his ears were red as his cheeks. On a better day she'd ask him his reasons for concern judging by how hard his brows were furrowed but all Cellese could do in that moment was pray.

A part of her felt guilty, by praying for Aerion to be victorious it meant condemning Ser Duncan to a death he did not deserve. A warrant for his arrest and a sentencing he was innocent of. 

The roars of the crowd bellowed through the air. At the north end of the meadow, a column of knights came trotting outof the river mist. The three Kingsguard came first, like ghosts in their white armor cladded in their long white cloaks trailing behind them. Even their shields were white.  

Behind rode Prince Maekar and his sons. Aerion who was mounted on a dapple grey, red andsilver that flickered through the slashes in the horse's stride. 

Daeron was armored in overlapping black and gold scales. A green feather trailed from Daeron's helm. But it was their father who made the most fearsome appearance, however. Maekar in black curved dragon across his shoulders, along the crest of his helm, and down his back, and the huge spiked mace strapped to his saddle. 

If there was ever need of proof of Targaryen arrogance none looked further than Maekar and his sons. Their lilac eyes cut piercing as Cellese couldn't help but scoff at the thought that in that moment perhaps Aerion carried a smirk. An arrogant display of Targaryen excellence.  

Ser Dunk rode slowly along the fence. The viewing stand was crowded with knights. "M'lords" he called to them "do none of you remember Ser Arlan of Pennytree? I was his squire. We served many of you. And eat your tables and slept in your halls." He looked to Manfred Dondarrion seated in the highest tier. 

"Ser Arlan took a wound in your lord father's service." The knight said something to the lady beside him, paying no heed. Dunk was forced to move on. "Lord Lannister, Ser Arlan unhorsed you once in tourney."

Cellese refused to look to her father, her body felt riddled and crippled with anger as her eyes lingered to the Lannisters as Ser Duncan desperately called for one single knight to join his side. But the Grey Lion examined his gloved hands, refusing to raise his eyes.

" He was a good man, and he taught me how to be a knight. Not only sword and lance, but honor. A knight defends the innocent, he said. That's all I did. I need one more knight to fight beside me. One, that's all. Lord Caron? Lord Swann?"

Lord Swann laughed softly as Lord Caron whispered in his ear. Dunk reined up before Ser Otho Bracken, lowering his voice "Ser Otho, all know you for a great champion. Join us, I beg you. In the names of the old gods and the new. My cause is just."

Guilt settled over Cellese. She more than anyone knew of Ser Duncan's innocence. In her eyes there was no claim to accuse him of high treason. Not when Aerion's uncontrolled rage and echo is what forced Ser Dunk to attack him. To protect Tanselle. Even hedge knights such as himself were sworn to protect the innocence. For once Cellese's observation over a man was right. Ser Duncan was an honorable knight, more than any knight she'd ever met in her life. 

More than her father.

"That may be" said the Brute of Bracken "But it is your cause, not mine. I know you not, boy." he spat at Dunk. Determined, Dunk wheeled Thunder and raced back and forth before the tiers of pale cold men. Despair made him shout "ARE THERE NO TRUE KNIGHTS AMONG YOU?"

But silence answered him.

Across the field, Prince Aerion laughed "The dragon is not mocked!" he called out.

But then the heavy doors to the tourney field swung open, cladded in black and silver came a voice. "I will take Ser Duncan's side." On a black stallion, a black knight on his back. Cellese recognized the dragon shield, and the red enamel crest upon his helm with its three roaring heads.

Both Anya and Cellese turned to Valarr and Kiera, suddenly his disposition was clear. Cellese sat forward, a tightening in her chest as she looked to him "Oh Valarr, what have you done..." she shook her head.

The black knight lifted the visor of his helm. Baelor the hammer Targaryen. Prince Baelor Targaryen, hand of the king and heir to the Iron Throne offering his sword to defend Ser Duncan. Cellese felt sick to her stomach, the risks too high.

She knew in her bones, that in that moment no side could win. Should Aerion win, Ser Duncan will wrongly be slain along with the heir to the Iron Throne. The crown put at risk because of her husbands senseless acts of violence. The realm now risks losing perhaps the only true heir Westeros had seen.

The accusers were thrown into confusion, that much was clear for all to see. Prince Maekar spurred his mount forward. "Brother, have you taken leave of your senses?" He pointed a finger at Dunk. "This man attacked my son." 

"This man protected the weak, as every true knight must." replied Prince Baelor "Let the gods determine if he was right or wrong." 

AUTHORS NOTE:

the concept of threatening someone with a kiss... I honestly forgot how freak nasty I write Cellese and Aerion.

The way I was reading asoiaf books before caring to understand chemistry and physics is the only reason I was able to pull House Caswell out of my ass. Ser Caswell, I am very sorry for slandering your name but honestly he's such a blank page in the books that i just had to take him. I swear he's not like this in the books (well technically he isn't anything but a name in the books). 

Also if you guys ever find yourself reading the hedge knight novella, oh my fucking God!! It's the way GRRM wrote all the knights armor and their horses like it's a review of NYFW. Bro was writing like we're at the front seat of a fashion week, it's too good.

I swear everytime I write about Cellese's first two marriages I feel like taking a shower that's how nasty the men I write make me feel. Like damn I'm noticing now I actually put Cellese through wayyy too much. But yeah, I really wanted to show why Aerion calls her a Black Bride, not only because he's such a fanboy to Maegor but also I want Cellese's husbands death to be as cold and calculating as possible. The tears of Lys is painless, scentless and tasteless but ehhh the men deserve to SUFFER!! 

also she needed to get her lickback after being married to those pigs, and moontea... perhaps my favorite thing about asoiaf bc there's no way I am forcing any of my asoiaf characters to bear children to their abusers. That's the one difference between me and canon, and I won't apologize for it. GRRM constantly have my girls going through horror :(

anyway part one is coming to an end, and I would love to hear thoughts so far and any predictions you guys might have for part 2?