Chapter Text
To say that Rhaenyra has been eagerly looking forward to it since she was a small girl was an understatement. Girlhood dreams eventually gave way to a more mature scenario, more womanly desires, and yet the groom never changed face.
The white leather and silk painted in gold hugged her frame gracefully. Carefully wrapping her body's slim waist, the golden pauldrons, gauntlets and poleyn were not real gold, as Daemon had said it would be foolish and too ornamental without any real function, but the visual was stunning.
“Alright, the pants are a little more uncomfortable than I had anticipated. I forgot to account for softer leather.” Rhaenyra complained, and yet a smile still graced her face.
“Well, you did not almost give yourself a black eye because of the pauldrons of your amor.”
Rhaenyra swirled to see Daemon awkwardly messing with the shoulder pad straps. The raised metals were perhaps a little too big and she could see how he would almost give himself a black eye.
Despite its impracticality, “You look extremely dashing.”
Her drawing gained life in front of her and it looked better than she ever imagined. Rhaenyra brightened under his admiring eyes.
“And you look like the Goddess Syrax.”
Rhaenyra laughed. “We don’t even know what they looked like. Actually, weren’t you the one who told me and gave me the book that said that half of them had no faces and no physical form but the ones we conjure? Syrax, I believe, was one such a goddess.”
Daemon smirked. “You always had a good memory.”
“I suppose I ought to say that you look as intimidating and as fierce as the God Caraxes.” Rhaenyra teased.
“Dripping in blood and with clawed nails.” Daemon agreed.
They laughed at the silliness.
Rhaenyra sighed then. “Is it hindering the movements? I admit that I prioritized the design over what it was intended for, riding our dragons, when I drew and chose the materials, but maybe it is a bit too cumbersome?”
“Better than my usual helmet.”
Rhaenyra almost guffawed at the reminder. “The wings on the helmet were truly inspired.” She tried to control her amusement.
“Indeed.” Daemon answered with solemnity before smirking. “These are good, Princess.”
“I merely do not wish to be accused of something nefarious if you do not keep up.” Rhaenyra blinked innocently and yelped a laugh as she was grabbed by the waist.
“Rhaenyra.” Amanda did not shout but she sounded so exasperated that she might as well have had.
Daemon carefully put her back on the ground. Rhaenyra did the best she could to rearrange her dress and the white and gold riding leather underneath.
“It is not like it will survive unwrinkled.” Daemon rolled his eyes.
“No,” Rhaenyra agreed, “but it does need to remain unwrinkled at least until we reach the dragons for the guests to see.”
Being on Dragonstone, none were surprised that the groom and the bride, now husband and wife under the Faith, would arrive on their dragons.
Word was quick to spread of the obvious plans. But Rhaenyra has heard more than once that she was trying to flatter Princess Rhaenys, that she had no original ideas of her own, that maybe this will insult Princess Rhaenys enough to make her turn from Rhaenyra. The last one was so ridiculous that if Rhaenyra had any doubts on the identity of the one creating the gossip, that erased them.
She rolled her eyes. Alicent, under Patricia Redwyne’s guidance, finally had her hard head cracked open to the opinions and counsel of her household. Old habits were hard to let go, however, and Rhaenyra knew that better than most. The threat of Alicent Hightower will grow in time, but for now Rhaenyra was forced to hear the fancy tales that would not be out of place coming from children. Easy to dispute, quick to be answered with a laugh.
Still, it was a pleasant procession until they reached their dragons. Words of exclamations of admiration and flattery reached Rhaenyra’s ears, for her celebration, for the marriage, for the dress especially.
“Have you ever seen something so amazing?”
“Stunning!”
“Majestic indeed.”
“The exact color of her dragon’s scales too.”
“I did not notice that! And Prince Daemon is donning red.”
“I thought that today was supposed to be the hunt before their Valyrian ceremony?”
“It was… maybe it will be later?”
“I have never seen a Valyrian wedding before. I wonder if their dragons will do anything.”
Her smile widened in triumph at the same time that Syrax and Caraxes roared. Both formidable and almost about to spit fire at the cheering crowd that apparently could bravely clap to the enormous creatures if everybody was doing it too instead of running in fear as they have done for the last few days.
Discreetly rolling her eyes, Rhaenyra smiled and waved to the increased excitement. She quickly climbed to her saddle and it was good that she hurried for Syrax was clearly impatient to join Caraxes who was already flying.
The nobles were carefully organized and led to their seats where they could see the couple showcasing their skill in dragonriding.
Laughing in ecstasy, Rhaenyra had no need to say anything as they circled the area. Widely enough to really exhibit what they could do, not too far away so their guests could no longer see what they were doing.
While Daemon could change directions thanks to Caraxes’ sinuous body at a speed that made the onlookers dizzy, Syrax was much nimbler and could make the loops that Caraxes simply could not, at least not easily. With a huge smile, Rhaenyra did just that. For the moments that she was upside down, she almost had the urge to extend her arms up above her head, down for those watching.
Caraxes and Daemon twirled and flew around them. Caraxes would roll his body sideways, quite literally laterally in a way that Rhaenyra never saw before, she felt her eyes widened.
Daemon laughed at her. Shaking her head to try and put her thoughts into order, Rhaenyra spurned Syrax forward, Caraxes and Daemon were quick to follow. A race then!
Syrax was still smaller than Caraxes by a good margin, but no longer was she completely dwarfed by the war dragon. Rhaenyra shouted in happiness as the speed increased and so did the wind hitting her.
The sound of the horns being blown on twice was the signal they were waiting for.
They were flying just low enough to hear the announcement for the guests watching the marvel of power and skill.
“I proudly present Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Princess of the Blood of House Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne, Princess of Dragonstone and her Royal Consort, Prince Daemon Targaryen of House Targaryen. Prince of the Blood of House Targaryen and King of the Narrow Sea. They now open... the hunt on dragonback!”
Ser Robert Quince’s voice reached all corners of the giant open field they had organized for this. Loud exclamations of surprise were heard before the music started then. The drums were rapid, the trumpets were blown almost every other minute. All the instruments produced quite the effect. Very loudly and energetically and the choir of women started to line for their own part. Something unthinkable if this was a conventional hunt for any noise would scare the game.
The cheers grew increasingly loud. So much so that they could hear it even from the distance they were.
With feral grins, Daemon and Rhaenyra waited impatiently for the sheeps and cattle to be released, a herd of deer soon followed. Swooping down, Caraxes made quick work of his first cow, burning the unfortunate creature before his jaw snapped shut around it. Before the Blood Wyrm could even start to chew, Syrax had taken a sheep in her powerful claws and with a movement of her entire body, she threw the sheep up, burned it until it was coal black and caught it with her teeth mid air.
“Braggart!” Daemon’s amusement was clear even through the wind and flapping wings.
As Syrax finished her meal, Rhaenyra turned to smile at him, throwing her arms up as if the equivalent of a shrug.
And yet their first kills of the hunt on dragonback, an activity whose very existence no one could have anticipated, seemed to be the cue the herald needed. The horns sounded once, twice and then three times.
Dragons roared in the distance. For the rest of the nobles, even to Viserys’ long unpracticed ears, they sounded the same as they always did since they arrived on the island. Daemon and Rhaenyra could recognize most of them and most of the feeling behind each sound.
Defiance, challenging or in greeting, happiness and maybe sometimes a cooing sound when they would fly together.
This time it was thunder. Death and power in one. Different enough to be told apart if one was to properly learn them.
Ser Robert announced then. “Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, Princess of the Blood of House Targaryen, Lady of House Velaryon. Ser Laenor Velaryon, Heir of House Velaryon, Blood of the Dragon. And Lady Laena Velaryon of House Velaryon, Blood of the Dragon!”
First, as they had expected, Meleys came literally parting the clouds. So fast that to the people below she looked like a blur of red across the sky. Then came Seasmoke, his grey scales almost completely masking him amidst clouds and light grey skies. Finally, almost blocking the very sun, came Vhagar. Majestic and gargantuan and, if Rhaenyra was to be very honest, ugly. Her scales, now hardened to an impossible degree and able to protect her from even scorpion bolts, were dulled, no longer the brighter green with coppery hues described in their history of the Conquest. The almost complete lack of spikes and the sagging of her neck denoted her age and also conferred her lack of looks. Something that Rhaenyra would never say even with a sword at her neck. As unappealing as Vhagar was in appearance, she made up for sheer might, her roar made those watching wince and duck even being very far away from the legendary dragon, the last of the Conquerors’ mounts.
The shouts of the audience reached them just as Ser Robert yelled out yet again.
“Prince Vaegon Targaryen, Prince of the Blood of House Targaryen, Archmaester of the Citadel. Princess Saera Targaryen, Princess of the Blood of House Targaryen and Princess Rhaella Targaryen, Princess of the Blood of House Targaryen, Septa of the Faith.”
Aside from his thunderous voice, there was another reason Rhaenyra had insisted on having Ser Robert announce them all. He, after all, was already aware of the presence of their long forgotten kin.
Behind Dragonmount surged yet another group of three grown dragons. Pearlescent white with not a single other colored scale, Aegarax would never be able to camouflage himself in the clouds like Seasmoke could, shining as he did in the sun. He also had grown in the time he became Vaegon’s mount and was renamed from Grey Ghost but he was still smaller than Syrax and Seasmoke both. The next one, who quickly gained on and surpassed Aegarax’s flight was Dreamfyre, her light blue scales gaining a silvery sheen out in daylight. Her growth was stunted after so many years living chained and in the Dragonpit, and at almost more than forty years older than Caraxes and Meleys, she was larger than them by a small amount.
By far the biggest of the newcomers was a bronze monstrosity, almost as big as Vhagar herself, Vermithor roared. Unlike Vhagar, he still possessed spikes around his face and down his spine but the shape of the head was similar enough that one could imagine how Vhagar looked in her youth and where Vermithor was heading as far as appearances went.
Vhagar, slow and yet an unstoppable force, did not bother with fire. It was a good thing too for her fire could melt stone itself. She was also too overwhelmingly large to fly too close to the ground. Her landing would shake the earth, send the game toppling off their feet and birds flying even from the farthest trees.
Rhaenyra had to hide a wince. Even well hidden on Syrax’s back and away from prying eyes, she could not grimace at the display without being seen. She knew that more than one spectator possessed Myrish eyes.
Deer, cow and sheep… Vhagar likely did not even feel them go down her throat as used as she was to leviathans that strayed into the Narrow Sea. For the day, Laena had to probably order the ancient being into munching on something that she would spend more energy on catching than she would get by eating it.
Saera cackled like a madwoman. Similarly to Vhagar, Vermithor was simply too big to fly so low to the ground for extended periods of time but he was less clumsy on his feet as he managed to close his jaws on two sheeps at once. For a moment, Rhaenyra worried when the two titanic beings snapped at each other, clearly not happy at the other’s presence. To feel threatened was certainly an unusual occurrence for those two.
Cannibal, Sheepstealer and the then Grey Ghost did not dare to encroach on Vermithor’s territory, especially since he nested with Silverwing who was almost as big as he was. And Meleys and Seasmoke were too small to gather much of Vhagar’s attention before she became more familiarized with them.
Not to mention that the former mounts of Queen Visenya Targaryen who held the then Prince Jaehaerys hostage ought to have some residual memories and feelings of the time.
Still, Saera was well taught by Daemon for as short a period of time as it was, same as Laena by Rhaenys. The command to be calm and to serve were given with strength and authority. They knew what they were doing despite the lack of experience. Colossal jaws closed shut and with disgruntled roars, the dragons separated.
Aegarax’s jaw snatched around his first victim. An average sized sheep that the young dragon threw in the air and burned entirely. The choice of a smaller animal was a reasonable one for Vaegon did not intend to land his dragon. He looked almost lazy upon Aegarax, bored. Rhaenyra almost laughed. As if this was a court feast he was socially obligated to attend and was going through the motions.
Dreamfyre on the other hand burned two deers at once and did not seem to overly mind that Vermithor got one of them as she munched on the other. Rhaella gave an excited shout as Dreamfyre never landed, instead she grabbed her charred meal with a claw and, much like Syrax, threw it in the air to eat it.
None could match Meleys’ raw speed, certainly not in a straight line. All knew it. It was a good thing, then, that in a hunt there was no reason to go in a straight line. Rhaenyra smirked as Syrax bunked hard from her descent, graceful as she changed directions so violently and so low to the ground that some of the smaller trees were uprooted by a hanging paw which extended as Syrax aimed at a deer. Much like she had done before, Syrax threw her prize, burned it to her satisfaction and started to eat it still midair not minding the pieces that were falling to the ground, so scorched was the animal that there was not even blood to speak of.
Syrax was still happily chewing on her prey when Seasmoke and Laenor almost hit them head on. Cursing, Rhaenyra and Syrax dodged at the last moment, Syrax snapping at the heels of the speeding dragon as Seasmoke breathed fire down on a particularly grumpy and big bull and yet, before he could do much more than approach his meal, Caraxes had already snapped his jaw shut around it flying so low that sometimes his belly and wings touched the ground before he rose once more.
Laenor shouted something definitely impolite at Daemon’s amused and retreating back. But if Laenor was annoyed, Seasmoke was enraged at having his meal stolen, his roars unusually vicious as both rider and dragon turned around to aim at another prey.
Laughing alongside her husband, Rhaenyra patted her Golden Lady. Usually the dragons hunt for themselves and have no need for all the theatrics.
Epic and unforgettable, but theatrics and unneeded for the dragons to eat either way.
Still, there was a reason The Crown supplied a steady and constant line of ships full of game for Dragonstone. The lair of dragons had such big mounts that they sometimes would eat their own weight in meat in less than a week.
In the Dreams, Rhaenyra knew that Syrax would be kept chained and well fed. She grew formidable but the lack of hunt and freedom cost her Dear Lady her wilder and more violent instincts. Not anymore.
Rhaenyra could feel through their bond. As Rhaenyra grew bolder, so did Syrax. As freedom helped to augment Syrax’s strength and growth, Rhaenyra walked with her head held higher. As Syrax’s hunting increased in frequency, so did her taste for it. It quite reminded Rhaenyra of the times she would watch jousts and melees and look on in fascination as blood was spilled and bodies hit the ground.
Other ladies and nobles would flinch, cringe and cover their very faces. Alicent by her side would end with her fingers completely destroyed, but Rhaenyra was simply unable to avert her eyes, her heart racing as she clapped and cheered.
“Do you wish to compete more?” Rhaenyra kept petting her dragon.
Syrax slowly, deliberately, turned her head around to lay a baleful stare to her rider. Without even looking where she was going, Syrax started to fly even faster towards where the other dragons were still trying to outpace each other.
Rhaenyra giggled to herself, rider and dragon sped up. This time, Syrax had her eyes set on one of the biggest deers left and, not letting Dreamfyre even get close, she closed her jaws around it. Not quite yet big enough to swallow the creature whole, but Syrax was too stubborn and too territorial to let the reality that she hated raw meat stop her. Blood dripped down her jaw and neck.
There was no competition for Meleys when she was on a free fall, her wings tucked in so she was even faster. Fire came from her maw and a sheep disappeared behind fearsomely big teeth. The crunching of bones was terrifying as was the savage look on Rhaenys’ face. Rhaenyra almost mourned the fact that none but the dragonriders could see it. Vaegon and Rhaella were circling ahead, containing the rest of the prey.
Before long, they were all gone and the mythical display served its purpose.
With an exhilarating feeling of triumph, they landed their dragons.
~*~
Alicent was shaking. She knew she was, just as much as she knew that her father was glaring at her to stop the pathetic display.
Of everything he had warned and tried to caution her about… this was never within even the realm of imagination.
It was almost easy the day before, when all Alicent thought about was to make everything shine less. Patricia and Bethany were quick in making pointed comments here and there. The lack of imagination and the shallow flattery for sure would land nowhere near the arrogant and prideful Princess Rhaenys. Alicent could not imagine The Queen Who Never Was would be all too happy in aiding Rhaenyra when her son could be marrying a princess and, because of Rhaenyra’s spoiled nature, was not.
And yet, Alicent now also knew that just because someone was not fond of Rhaenyra did not mean they were fond of Alicent herself. She had sighed but did not let her smile slip as she and Viserys talked to the next group of nobles.
Nothing seemed to shake Rhaenyra and that was almost making Alicent pull not at her cuticles but at her hair. She recalled her husband’s unhappiness at the fact that Daemon was wearing a crown, but what Alicent did not know was that it had other meanings when a roman from royalty did the same.
It was Daemon asking for her favor all over again.
“I have to admit that this is a huge success.” Patricia uttered under her breath that night.
The walls of black stone were much thicker than those of the Red Keep, but Dragonstone was Rhaenyra’s. Completely and so absolutely under the Princess’ control that even Alicent’s father was wary of speaking too loudly in any of its rooms.
Bethany blushed bright red but she could not help but run her hand on the soft silk she purchased from a Norvoshi that evening. Alicent did not fault her. She had also grudgingly bought some for herself as well.
While most of it was not a novelty precisely, the experience itself of being to select specific pieces for themselves was more than worth it. Alicent cursed for not having thought of it for her own wedding anniversary.
Cassandra had snorted. “If you couldn’t even figure out that you had to go to the cooks for the preparations of food then contacting an Essosi to organize something like this is so beyond your skill set that it is almost a fantasy.”
Patricia rolled her eyes and gracefully ignored Cassandra’s attitude and the redness in Alicent’s cheeks. “This does imply contacts in Essos, Alicent. We would be capable of it, but not at such a reduced price as Prince Reggio was able to offer through his friendship with Prince Daemon.”
That was the other thing. Thanks to Daemon’s connections, there were no taxes in any of the products made available which only ever attracted the nobles more.
“Now what?” Alicent asked.
“So far there have been no mistakes committed that we could capitalize on.” Bethany sighed as she folded her purchases.
Patricia, on the other hand, was staring at Alicent.
“I was always a bit… confused about the purpose here. The Lord Hand has been quite ambiguous as he is well used to play with words.”
“What are you talking about?” Alicent stared back.
“This may get interesting.” Cassandra uttered as she finally started to pay attention.
“Alicent… do you intend on making Aegon heir?”
No wonder she looked so serious. Alicent knew well that she and her father spoke of treason as she was doing so again then.
“Yes.”
Cassandra’s eyes widened and she even exchanged glances with Ysabel. Bethany took in a deep breath while Henrietta worried her lips.
“You understand then that there is a difference between shoring your position and weakening Princess Rhaenyra’s?” Patricia pointed out.
“I thought we were doing both.”
“We were. We are. But that's mostly because you were crossed with her.” Patricia cleared her throat. “There is some value in strengthening yourself by weakening your enemy but just that will not be enough for your purpose.”
“Because you were already quite weak so it would be a bunny fighting a bunny if you tried and succeeded.” Cassandra explained, unnecessarily, sarcastically and with a smirk on her face.
“Now, mayhap, I understand why your father has been so absent.” Patricia hummed. “I was wondering about it.”
Alicent pulled at her cuticle particularly hard and winced at the sting. The truth was that she was beginning to resent her father. Otto Hightower was a busy man. That was obvious as Hand of the King, the second most powerful man in the realm, but if he truly did not wish to have his grandson’s blood spilled then he was doing a poor job in helping her in the endeavor.
Patricia seemed to understand her dilemma, her eyes were kind as she noticed Alicent’s nervousness. “The first step is to obtain the royal titles, Alicent. Without them everything else is impossible. Even if the Princess is disinherited, the King will have to name you queen and then Aegon a prince, that is a lot of changes and a lot of work being undone. It can displease a lot of people that are already unhappy. The transition of power will be more smoothly if you are already queen and Aegon a prince before Princess Rhaenyra is set aside as heir.”
Cassandra was smirking as she plucked a grape into her mouth. “Oh to hear that particular conversation… those particular conversations. No wonder your father almost disappears.”
Alicent closed her eyes. It made sense didn’t it? And yet, at the same time, it sounded like an impossible goal.
Her marriage to Viserys displeased everybody except House Hightower and the only reason the other nobles did not voice their opinions – any louder that was – was to abide by the solution Viserys already put in place. Not being queen and not siring any princes and princesses. To undo it, as Patricia said, would be to take away the only thing that calmed the realm.
“Would it even be that bad to ignore their feelings about my station?” Frustration colored her voice. “So the nobles would be offended, they already are offended, at least with a title I could do something about all the… the stares and whispers and… everything.”
Cassandra snickered on the other side of the room but Alicent was growing used to ignoring her after she saw how calmly Patricia did it. Who was looking back at Alicent as if unsure what to say. It was Bethany who voiced it.
“Cousin… what would you even do if you were queen? The situation with… with the scandal surrounding your marriage would be the same. If you were queen, what would you do about the gossip?”
Alicent opened her mouth and then she had to close it again. “I do not know.”
“That’s a novelty.” Cassandra uttered with her eyebrows raised, sarcasm dripping from her words, but she seemed distracted by the tome on her lap.
Bethany rolled her eyes but she was still focused on her cousin. “Do not take your eyes off the prize, Alicent. If the goal is to make Aegon the king then you need to keep that in mind. The sensibilities of the nobles being respected is part of it. Truly, Uncle Otto has a lot to occupy his mind and time if he is to find a way to mollify potential allies and still make you queen.”
“The truth is that your ascension would have been heavily scrutinized either way.” Ysabel started quietly. “Let’s put aside that you… uh…”
“Have a pitiful dowry.” Cassandra completed with a smirk that was anything but innocent.
“That there were better prospects for the King of Westeros.” Ysabel tugged at her sleeves in a sign of nervousness. “You are also the daughter of the Hand of the King.”
“What does that influence anything? Shouldn’t that mean that I’m considered a bit more valuable than a daughter of a second son?” Alicent tried her best to leave her embarrassment unheeded.
“Specifically answering your question, yes, it does.” Patricia confirmed. “But as Ysabel mentioned, it would also invite scrutiny. The King of Westeros has a Hightower as Hand of the King, the second most powerful man in the realm, and he also has a Hightower as his consort? The most powerful woman in the realm?” She seemed to consider something. “I actually think that even if you were queen and Aegon was granted the title of prince even then King Viserys would keep Princess Rhaenyra as heir.”
“That would go against law and tradition.” Alicent protested.
“We already are going against law and tradition. In truth the Targaryens have forever gone against law and tradition.” Cassandra pointed out, exasperatedly tired as if she was dealing with an ingratitude of children all day long.
“Because then King Viserys would have a Hightower Hand, a Hightower queen and an heir with Hightower blood.” Patricia explained, brushing aside their comments. “Grasping would be the least of what you would be called.”
“That hardly sounds fair. House Velaryon has often boasted of many titles close to the King. From Master of Ships to queens and Hands at the same time!”
Patricia was not the only one to hush Alicent. They waited for a bit, straining their ears but nothing seemed to stir on the other side of the chamber’s doors.
“House Velaryon is Valyrian. One of the three Houses that survived the Doom. They have intermarried with House Targaryen for generations in order to preserve the blood. Even before the Conquest.” Ysabel explained patiently.
“Do you really believe in that explanation for their queerness?” Alicent felt her nose scrunching in disgust.
But Ysabel shrugged. “I do not know. But the realm has long since grown used to seeing Velaryons beside the Targaryens. I’m going to assume that the same could be said of the Celtigars if they are to be included. The same cannot be applied to your House, My Lady.”
Cassandra laughed and they all ignored it yet again. Although Alicent could not help but send an annoyed glare her way, not that the girl noticed as she tried to contain her mirth.
“Either way, it would make things… difficult if King Viserys was to so heavily show his preference for a House that is not at least Valyrian which The Crown would have a precedent for.” Patricia redirected the conversation for the topic.
Alicent slumped back, the voice of Septa Marlow correcting her posture far away. “If it is truly that hopeless then what can even be done? Is it not better to just… weaken Rhaenyra as it is? Why waste energy if shoring up Aegon’s succession is impossible?”
“By the gods.” Cassandra’s whisper was also far away.
“Because the Princess herself is shoring up her succession. She increased her household, adding important names from all over Westeros under her yoke.”
“In comparison all you have done is moan about the keep sometimes to us and sometimes to your father.” Cassandra completed Bethany in a tone that was so falsely helpful that Alicent could not help but sigh.
“Regardless, it will prove a smoother path if we take initiative now. Approach allies now. As bitter as some of the Houses maybe be–”
“Most if not all the Houses.” Cassandra interrupted but Patricia continued as if she had not said anything.
“–a considerable number are also likely balking at the idea of a woman on the throne. That is why the Princess is working so hard in her own position. It was not so long ago that Princess Rhaenys lost in the Great Council. Twenty-seven Houses voted on King Viserys for every single one that voted for Princess Rhaenys. It is not hopeless.” Patricia used the same word that Alicent did.
Wasn’t it? The memory of the conversation did little to nothing to assuage her. Alicent swallowed as the dragons finally, finally landed. After a bloody display of savagery that had those around her cheering as if those monsters had not painted the grass red. With music as if making a spectacle of the carnage.
The first ones to climb down from their mounts were the couple being celebrated. Syrax’s size had almost doubled, Alicent noticed absently as Rhaenyra no longer could so easily dismount, she was almost hidden by the dragon’s horns as well now.
Alicent felt her eyes widening. Rhaenyra’s hair, always looking windblown after a flight, now was carefully braided. More delicately than was her usual style and now strands of gold decorated it. If Rhaenyra’s wedding dress was a piece that was still being constantly talked about, then her dress of the day would have songs composed for it. To call them riding leathers felt almost like an insult. The gold and white fabric delicately fell around her, somehow still perfectly arranged despite the flight on dragonback they were subjected to.
Her own creation, most likely. Alicent thought, recalling the many evenings the Princess had spent perfecting her skills in sketching what was only in her imagination.
By Rhaenyra’s side, Prince Daemon looked somehow more intimidating than he ever did. He took his sword from somewhere strapped to his wild beast to tie it around its customary place by his hip. The black and red armor with the Targaryen heraldry made him look ready to command troops to war. Caraxes, malformed and temperamental, shook his head and shrilled at the humans staring at him, framing his rider, it only even enhanced the fear in her very veins.
The Velaryons were next. It was the first time Alicent was seeing Vhagar, the so-called Queen of Dragons and she felt like she was but a few seconds from throwing up. The mount of the late Prince Baelon and Queen Visenya. The creature was so massive, so very huge that she looked more like a mountain than a dragon. Alicent had always been fearful of Syrax but in comparison, Syrax looked almost adorable and Alicent watched as Rhaenyra now had to use the straps on the saddle to get down from her dragon as opposed to when she used to simply slide off her wing. And yet they all had to literally wait a while as Lady Laena Velaryon had to climb down from her saddle.
Alicent could not stop shaking. She simply couldn’t. Fear was more predominant but then something darker grew when Lady Laena joined Rhaenyra and Daemon.
She was taller than Rhaenyra, not by much, just enough to be visible when she stood side by side with the Princess and already she was growing a womanly figure to complement the height. The green leather made everything and more to show that much. Lady Laena’s silvery hair was carefully coiled and nothing seemed out of place despite just coming back from riding a dragon, jades and emeralds keeping it from obscuring her view. Her coppery skin was flushed and had a golden sheen to it that made Alicent purse her lips. It just had to be some of those embellishments some women like to apply to the skin. The color of the pale purple eyes seemed almost enhanced against her darker skin.
“If it was not clear before, mayhap now the King will see the huge mistake he made in marrying who he did.”
The words, quiet as they were, and as muffled by the cheering crowd as they were, still reached Alicent’s ears and made her wince. Bethany grabbed her wrist almost in a vice grip.
Calm. Alicent could almost hear the word. There were hundreds of brown haired women in attendance and due to the nature of the display there were no formal seats for the royal family. They did now know that she was there, not unless she did something about it and attracted attention to herself.
Her musings were interrupted as the ground shook once more.
Meleys, the Red Queen, that used to be the dragon of Princess Alyssa Targaryen and was now Princess Rhaenys Targaryen’s was just a bit smaller than Prince Daemon’s misshapen monstrosity. The crown of horns around her head which had earned her, her moniker seemed to move with the shifting muscles underneath. She was a sight that Alicent was a bit more used to, Princess Rhaenys frequented the Red Keep just often enough for it.
The same for Seasmoke who was roughly Syrax’s size as well. They were among the smaller dragons in front of them all. Which was no comfort considering how much they have grown in recent times. Alicent swallowed as the next three unknowns approached.
There was simply no space for both Vhagar and the one called Vermithor if Alicent was not mistaken. So it was only when Vhagar started to fly, uncomfortably close to them all, that Vermithor approached.
“The Bronze Fury.” Bethany hissed on her other side, her eyes wide. “It was King Jaehaerys’ dragon.”
And now it was in the hands of his disgraced daughter. Saera Targaryen, infamous and never mentioned except as a cautionary tale, dared to show her face in Westeros again, riding a legendary dragon as if she had any right to it.
Alicent has heard enough of the woman for an entire lifetime. During King Jaehaerys’ years of convalescence, during the scandal surrounding her marriage. Her hands formed fists on her lap.
Tall and with a sinuous body, Saera joined Princess Rhaenys. Perhaps the difference in height between those two were the same between Lady Laena and Rhaenyra. Princess Rhaenys was just tall enough for it to be noticeable. Alicent did not quite recall their ages but there doesn’t seem to be much difference between aunt and niece. And while Princess Rhaenys was dressed more practically, Saera saw no problem in exhibiting skin. The bronze armor shined and it only emphasized the deep neckline and her full breasts.
Why wear armor if it was to expose half of her chest? Despite her fear and increasing anger, Alicent scrunched her nose.
The closer Saera got the more details could be seen of her face. Still perfectly preserved and one that would not look out of place on a much younger woman. Her features were sharp, from the aquiline nose to the big slanted eyes. There was humor in the periwinkle shade. She was as imposing as Princess Rhaenys but in a different way than her niece as well.
The next dragon to approach was not as formidable as the rest of them. Smaller even than the dragons of Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor’s.
“I think that’s one of the wild dragons of the island.” Patricia uttered under her breath, she was frowning in concentration.
Alicent could not help her. She did not know the names of every single dragon there ever was after all. Especially the ones that have never been claimed.
This one was pearlescent white. Glistening against the occasional ray of sun. Completely white with not a speckle of another color anywhere. Its silvery eyes were calmer and yet more intense than its bigger kins, the man that jumped down from its back was almost lost amidst the scales. Pale, white hair and white clothing.
Vaegon Targaryen. Alicent frowned in disapproval. The herald had announced the man as ‘prince’ but he had not only relinquished the title but also the name of his House once sworn into the Citadel.
Once again, the Targaryens flaunted the rules. He even dared to make a mockery of the learned men he was supposed to be amongst, some perverted version of the robes was how he was dressed. In white, of course. Alicent could well see the pattern of colors. No links, of course not. She almost sneered, did he even earn them?
Almost as tall as Prince Daemon but leaner, he did not have the body of a warrior. They certainly had quite the difference in age although very thin lines marked his face. And yet, as he neared, Alicent could discern sharp magenta eyes that did not seem happy with what they were seeing as they surveyed the crowd. Most of which was still standing and still clapping enthusiastically. She could have sworn those unsettling eyes landed on her, narrowing before Prince Daemon got his attention. Alicent swallowed.
The last one, Alicent could also recognize the dragon, was Dreamfyre. She remembered the fear that almost paralyzed her when her father brought the news that the dragon had escaped. Images of being consumed by fire as a dragon flew over King’s Landing assaulting her mind. Alicent could almost laugh at herself, there was something hysterical in the feeling as well.
“I thought your father said she escaped the Dragonpit.” Bethany was still slowly clapping, as if she could not help herself when the guests were still making their own palms pink doing so.
“Now we know where she escaped to.” Ysabel took a deep breath.
Alicent knew that Dreamfyre was older than the mount of King Jaehaerys. Certainly older than Caraxes and Meleys, and yet she was roughly their size, bigger than Syrax and Seasmoke but surprisingly not by that much.
The woman that climbed down from the pale blue dragon wore an equally pale blue set of leathers in a pattern that looked like scales. The neckline was more modest than Saera’s… Alicent felt her eyes widening. She recognized it for the design Rhaenyra had once made for her own mother, when she had confessed to Alicent that she wished Queen Aemma would claim a dragon. Now it came to life as they fell gently around the elderly woman.
Much like Vaegon Targaryen, Rhaella Targaryen should not be addressed as princess, not even as Rhaella Targaryen. As a septa, much like those sworn into the Citadel, she gave up her titles and left behind her House.
It was inconceivable to Alicent that someone of the Faith would disregard its sanctity. The septa – was she even one? No matter what the herald called her? – was not as tall as Princess Rhaenys or Saera Targaryen, but there was some difference between her height and that of Rhaenyra’s or Lady Laena’s.
Time had left its marks but there was a small, kind smile formed by still full lips. Big, mauve eyes looked soft as fell into step with the rest of the women. Her silvery hair, that Alicent was not sure whether the color was due to her family or because of age, was elegantly pulled up, no jewelry keeping it place.
Alicent tried to fight the growing anger inside of her. It did not work. There was a sort of heat, ever increasing, ever burning, seething. It stayed her hands even as it made her lips tremble in emotion.
She was surrounded by monsters. Covered in blood, maws filled with teeth, ready to tear her down. Roaring their challenge, they circled above them all. Not like the creatures of myth and conquest, but like vultures ready to feast on the flesh of the dead.
There was no need for armies with eight dragons.
“To secure her claim, she'll have to put your children to the sword.”
Alicet had been a fool for doubting Otto Hightower.
