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Chapter Text

Fire and Blood.

It was ironic that her family’s words were what was scaring Rhaenyra so.

Everywhere she looked. King’s Landing. Dragonstone. Driftmark. Claw Isle. All aflame. The castles and ancient keeps crumbling to dust. Banners burning. Dragons flying over and then falling as arrows and lances struck them down.

Rhaenyra thought she saw temples, enormous beings standing above, too big and too bright, but before she could truly discern any details, everything was blurred, and everything changed.

The past. Aemma Arryn dying in agony. ("The childbed is our battlefield.")

The present. Being named heir. Alicent marrying her father. Having his children.

The future. Being usurped. Losing her children. Losing everything.

It all started with Fire and ended with Fire.

Blood was born and slain.

And then nothing.

Lilac eyes snapped open and then closed again.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

"Does it bother you?”

“Of course, it does. But I understand the order of things.”

“I'm not sure you do.”

“If you mean to elicit some anger from me, you should know that you're failing, Princess.”

“Quite the opposite. Whether it's to my daughter or to someone else's, your father will remarry sooner than late. His new wife will produce new heirs, and chances are better than not that one of those will be male. And when that boy comes of age and your father has passed, the men of the realm will expect him to be heir, not you. Because that is the order of things.”

Rhaenyra was silent but for a few moments. She made no attempt to hide the sleepless nights that led to this encounter. “Walk with me, please?” the unusual politeness was an afterthought if genuine in that moment.

Raising an eyebrow, Rhaenys nodded her assent and was visibly a bit surprised in being led to the Princess’ chambers.

Rhaenys was clearly not sure what she expected to find but the rooms hardly contained objects that denoted the younger Princess’ youth. There were no dolls, no pastel colors, it was… almost impersonal if not for the big and very expensive jewelry at her dressing table.

Rhaenyra closed the door before her sworn shield, Criston Cole if Rhaenys was not mistaken, could properly arrive. Yet Ser Harrold Westerling and Ser Erryk Cargyll stood vigil inside.

Seating herself in one of her couches, Rhaenyra did not do much more than motioning with her hand to offer Rhaenys a seat. “My father is a weak king.”

It was said before Rhaenys could even adjust her skirts and, was she anyone else, would be enough for her to lose her seat and end up on the floor. “I beg your pardon?” she was painfully aware of the two Kingsguards with them.

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “They have my trust… we can speak plainly. And… if not a weak king, then a foolish one.”

“Princess, we…” Rhaenys was not even sure how to begin.

“I’m not quite sure about my father’s actions before the Great Council of 101, so I cannot speak of such. Do not take this as flattery because I never had much patience for it and right now I have very little energy to do so. But if only to appease the Velaryons, my father should have named you Hand.” And Rhaenyra waited.

Rhaenys was still at a loss for the way the other Princess seemed to be rapidly changing the subject, but had enough wits about herself to snort, quite un-lady-like. “Oh? Why do you say that?”

But Rhaenyra didn’t spend all those years as her father’s cupbearer learning how to serve men their wine. Keep them guessing. “How much do you believe in our family’s magic, Princess?”

Rhaenys by that point was getting used to the mercurial twists in topic and did no more than blink. “In what way? The connection to dragons? The Dreams? Something more obscure probably lost to the Doom?”

“All of it… none of it. What exactly is it in our blood that allows us to bond with dragons? Why do we have Dreams warning us of horrible futures?”

The older woman returns her gaze. Mauve clashed with lilac.

Rhaenyra knew enough that Rhaenys was reassessing her. She was certainly keeping Rhaenys on her toes. She couldn’t even dismiss Rhaenyra for fickleness for every answer requested was patiently waited for, interest and focus on everything Rhaenys had to say.

It was a disservice to the other princess to say that Rhaenys was humoring her, by that point curiosity was eating away at her. “Magic is, maybe, too shallow an answer. But it is the best I have to give. As I mentioned, too much was lost to the Doom. The practices of anything deeper than merely speaking Valyrian so the dragons bond with us is out of our reach.” The sadness she expressed was small but present.

“I never questioned it. Whatever is it that allowed us to bond with dragons. The mightiest beasts to ever grace the land or sky. I just accepted it as our due.” Rhaenyra looked as if she regretted her own lack of interest.

And now Rhaenys’ own was consuming her. “Forgive me, Princess. But I fail to see the connection of it all.”

Rhaenyra was always hard to read. And she knew that Rhaenys was aware of it. It was easy to predict Daemon’s tiring rage and Viserys’ frustrating need to please, but Rhaenyra often held her own thoughts to herself. Snarky and wild she may be, but she knew that Rhaenys could admire a very much needed and often ignored skill.

Rhaenyra smirked without any feeling behind it. “I can almost hear the sneer in my Uncle’s voice… dragons may have made us kings…” she repeated his words… words he had yet to speak, “but it was Dreams that saved us.” Her lilac eyes steeled.

“If not for Daenys, Aegon and his sisters would not have been alive to conquer Westeros.” Rhaenys agreed.

“Your words were not needed to tell me what is to come… although I am grateful.” Rhaenyra would have been considered rude by many, but Rhaenys was well used to it. Bluntness ran thick in their family. “Honesty from a noble is not something I am used to. Aside from my own uncle that is, although being honest is, often, not his intention when choosing his words.”

“I imagine not.” Rhaenys almost laughed at the thought and did not comment about the rest of it. There was no need it seems.

The look in Rhaenyra’s eyes, however, stayed her. “But Dreams were needed to open my eyes. I know you expected to see a spoiled princess who gave no more thought to what she will face once her father produces male heirs than to what she will wear for the next banquet, and you’d be right.”

“You claim to have Dragon Dreams?” Rhaenys was not skeptical so much as confused. Why tell her this?

But Rhaenyra merely waved the matter away. “That is hardly the matter at hand.”

“Is it not?” Rhaenys couldn’t hide the way her words were bland if she cared to try.

“As I said… my father should have made you Hand.” Rhaenyra squared her shoulders.

Rhaenys blinked once again at the change in subject and seemed to almost laugh at the tight curves Rhaenyra was sending her onto. “There is no precedent for a woman as Hand.”

“Just like there was no precedent for a ruling queen?” Rhaenyra challenged. “Clearly gender was not my father’s issue with it.”

And Rhaenys finally sneered for the first time in the conversation. “He is faithful to Otto Hightower.”

“More than to his own flesh and blood.” Rhaenyra agreed and then hesitated but for a breath. “Laena will not be chosen.”

Rhaenys’ eyes narrowed. “How can you be so certain?”

“Because my father learns all the wrong lessons from his mistakes. My mother married him when she was one and ten. Too young and, he believes, as… common sense dictates, that her age was the factor that led to so many stillbirths and miscarriages. As result…” She trailed off.

“As result, he will see Leana, three and ten, and think her too young.” Rhaenys completed with disgust.

Rhaenyra plucked a few grapes from the table beside her before offering the basin to her cousin who rolled her eyes but accepted them with thanks. “Disregarding the fact that the match would help sooth the tensions created by the decision of the Council of 101 and his indifference towards the situation in the Stepstones, dismissing Lord Corlys’ concerns and that the betrothal could be a long one.”

“Disregarding also that Laena is of Valyrian blood, her heritage is pristine, she is the only daughter of the wealthiest House in Westeros, and the rider of the biggest dragon of the realm.” Rhaenys almost snarled.

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “I offer my congratulations. I was not aware Laena had already claimed Vhagar. She often spoke of her desire to do so.”

Rhaenys huffed, still annoyed but slightly mollified at the genuine respect and awe in Rhaenyra’s voice. “Thank you, Princess. She would speak of nothing else for moons now.”

“I can imagine. Still, I’m afraid the insult does not stop at the lack of righting wrongs and Lady Laena’s impeccable bloodline.” She forewarned.

Rhaenys sighed and absently ran her fingers through some of the loose hair at her neck. The rest of it elegantly pulled away from her face as always. “What more can there be?”

“If you must know… Lord Otto sent his daughter, Lady Alicent to the King’s chambers night after night for the last three moons, ostensibly to… comfort him after the death of the Queen.” Rhaenyra’s voice was even and calm and that did nothing to stop the rage that filled Rhaenys’ eyes and heart.

“Hightowers.” Rhaenys almost snarled, “How is it possible that the more years pass the more often I hear that accursed name?”

Rhaenyra huffed a small laugh. “I want to blame my father, and while he certainly carries quite a bit of it, the truth of it… is that… things have become… strange long before my father was crowned king.”

“A second son of a minor House became Hand of the King.” Rhaenys commented. The event has long since caused her concern, anger, suspicion, despair and disgust for there to be much more energy left.

Knowing there was no need to answer, Rhaenyra merely hummed. “I don’t know if I believe there was foul play or not. It wouldn’t surprise me either way.”

Rhaenys took a couple of deep breaths. “Viserys would truly choose the daughter of a second son from a minor House over Laena?”

The words were absurd, no one in their right mind would even dare to voice them and yet, “He did choose a second son from a minor House to be his Hand instead of his own brother or, failing that, his cousin, who is the wife of his Lord of Ships and the lady of the wealthiest House in the realm.”

It was not completely fair. Rhaenyra reflected. To use her foreknowledge like that. In other circumstances, the context would not be at the forefront of her mind, she would be much more occupied with the betrayal from her lady in waiting, from her father who chose to re-marry mere six moon turns after the death of her mother to truly appreciate how well-planned Alicent’s placement was.

Rhaenys closed her eyes and Rhaenyra did not know her well enough to deem whether it was from anger or from trying to contain anger or from something else altogether. When Rhaenys finally opened them, it was to stare at one of the tapestries hanging in the far wall. Depicting the Targaryen sigil, the three headed dragon spewing flames.

“How far our House has fallen.” She whispered.

Rhaenyra almost leaned forward before remembering herself. “With that, House Velaryon will be slighted thrice in less than two years. House Arryn lags behind with only two. My father, apparently, wants to spurn the alliances my grandparents and great-grandparents established over his preference for the Hightowers.”

Rhaenys pursed her lips but gave no more reaction than that. “Are you trying to provoke my anger?”

Rhaenyra almost smiled at her own sentiment being thrown back. “Forgive me, merely complaining to myself. And thus, the reason I called you here.”

This made Rhaenys snap her attention back. “To complain about your father?” she meant to sound disdainful, but there was much more disbelief instead.

That almost made Rhaenyra smile. If only. “To ask for your help… the Arryns and the Velaryons have their seats and kins to fall back to. In case of my disinheritance, I thought to ask for Dragonstone, but that hardly means that, someday, Otto’s grandchildren won’t want the Targaryen’s ancestral home for themselves. And so… I ask for your help in protecting myself.”

Rhaenys’ eyes widened in shock before gentling. She was well aware of how fortunate she was to have found and married Corlys. Ambitious as he was, Rhaenys could convince the man to calm himself, if only long enough to listen to her. A love match she found for herself that was also politically and financially advantageous. It was almost a miracle that a combination like that existed. Far from perfect, and yet a miracle nonetheless.

There was no such a match for Rhaenyra. Rhaenys would have suggested Leanor. Heir to the throne or not, a Targaryen princess was all Corlys himself would never turn away. After all, he married one. But Rhaenys would be insulting Rhaenyra’s intelligence if she pretended no one knew about her son’s preferences. It would provide support and protection for Rhaenyra, it’s true, but as a plan in case she was disinherited it was a poor one. Especially since Leanor was expected to sire his own heirs and the fault would lay with Rhaenyra for failing in the task, as unfair as it was.

The next best thing would be either the Arryns, Starks, Celtigars or Baratheons in no particular order. But the Starks, Celtigars and the Baratheons’ lords did not have members without their own issue already and being a second spouse was a precarious position to be in if those lords did not share Viserys’ desire to please. The Arryns had their own internal struggle with so many ladies leading the Houses of the Vale.

Asking for a fat inheritance and dowry instead as Rhaenyra was proposing was the most practical course of action but it came with its own set of problems. Namely to be greedy enough to protect herself and her own interests but not enough to be denied. Rhaenyra knew that Rhaenys would reach the same conclusion.

“You need to control your own hand in marriage. Aside from gold and dragons, alliances through marriage are one of The Crown’s most powerful weapons and can be used against you.” Rhaenys started and looked mildly amused as Rhaenyra immediately wrote it down.

“Can I even ask for such? Daemon, a man, could not control who he married because Queen Consort Alysanne ordered it.”

“The bargaining chip was not a place of succession, Princess. You have leverage Prince Daemon was unwilling to part with or did not think of and advantages he also did not possess, like the fact that you have kin in the Vale, the same kingdom that is being slighted.” Rhaenys explained. “However, it is true it would be a harder part to argue for, but one of the most important as you will have a seat of your own.”

“Very well. Dragonstone then?”

“Easier in short term, not so much long term. You are right that your father very probably would concede to give you our ancestral home, but in the future, once he is gone, a future son can argue for its return. Make sure to write it in a way that no one can take it away from you, I shall help with the exact wording.”

“How do I stop them from taking it by force though?”

“Dragonstone is not without its own personal army, something the Red Keep cannot boast of. The Kingsguard is composed of, for the most part, members of other Houses sworn to protect the King in specific but one hardly can ignore the pull of loyalty to blood first. The City Watch became what it is today thanks to Daemon, however. Maegor saw the need for a law enforcement in the streets but, like many Targaryens before him, relied on dragons more often than not. Daemon organized them, properly equipped them and trained them which makes them much more loyal to a single individual than to The Crown as a whole. They will not march if Daemon supports you.”

Rhaenyra refrained from biting her lips and from disparaging Rhaenys’ words. Daemon wouldn’t give the order against her, not even if her father ordered or asked him. And she already knew the great disgust he will have for any future son with Hightower blood. But the fact that Rhaenys so naturally counted on his support for her made her anxious.

“Enlist more men then.”

Rhaenys gained a thoughtful look then. “Maybe there is one other pillar for the basis of your… consolation prize. The dragons.”

“I have given… maybe half a thought for them. Controlling access to the eggs and dragons on Dragonstone may be slightly easier if I request total control over the island’s… inhabitants or possessions from the beginning, this way the only dragon that I will be unable to do much about would be Dreamfyre and whatever eggs she lays.”

“That is very… cunning of you, Princess.” Rhaenys was impressed.

Rhaenyra smiled. “Thank you.”

The older woman hummed. “The Houses sworn to Dragonstone can also benefit if you are to become Lady Paramount of Dragonstone.”

Rhaenyra lost her smile. “I only ever had the grudging oaths of men as heir to the throne, why would it make such a difference if they are sworn to me as a lady paramount?”

“Because they would be benefited in return. The Velaryons and Celtigars are both sworn to Dragonstone since Aenar came with his family. Seaworth, Bar Emmon and Sunglass are not very impressive by themselves but together they hold considerable control over the eastern seaboard, from King’s Landing to Dorne. And more than that? They are the connection to commerce with Essos which doesn’t go through the Stepstones and if we properly garrison those damnable islands, the entire fishing of those coasts and commerce with Essos will depend on passage through lands sworn to you.”

And the message in between the lines was as subtle as dragonfire. Rhaenyra sighed. “You… have a lot of… trust in Daemon.”

“You don’t?” Rhaenys tilted her head.

“I am just hesitant in involving… in giving him more trouble than he is already in.”

Rhaenys almost scoffed. “Daemon gets in enough trouble by himself, and you are naïve if you think he will not have a very vocal and active opinion about all of this.”

But her eyes softened when Rhaenyra was unable and unwilling to hide her thoughts from molding her expressions. Rhaenyra could only guess what was there. Pain. Longing. Uncertainty. Maybe hope. Maybe fear.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath. “My hand in marriage, Dragonstone and the dragons and the eggs and then shore up alliances to Dragonstone.”

It was Rhaenys’ turn to hesitate, “Consolation prize aside… the dowry for your hand in marriage can also be heavily discussed. King Jaehaerys left the coffers full of gold as… the many feasts and tourneys your father throws can attest to.”

It was said plainly and without judgement, but Rhaenyra heard it all the same. Impressive. “Even when I argue that I should be the one to decide who to marry?”

“Even then. The Crown cannot be seen letting their princesses live in squalor.”

“Annual?”

“Every moon if we can. Smaller quantities more frequently are easier to control.”

Rhaenyra stopped herself before she could bite her lips. “Controlling the main foreign trading is good, but maybe Dragonstone needs its own source of income aside from taxing citizens that may not be happy with a lady paramount and one so young as well.”

But Rhaenys did not look very worried. “When Aenar first built Dragonstone and claimed the island itself he did more than just control The Gullet, what do you think he did to consolidate his presence in Westeros?”

“The most obvious and, maybe simplistic, answer is using their dragons.” Rhaenyra sighed.

“Almost. Dragonglass and Valyrian steel. One of the rarest and hardest substances in the world. Weapons and jewelry confectioned from them are extremely sought after and extremely expensive.”

“I believe only Dragonglass is left and tis a finite resource and one I am not sure if Daemon would be happy to be parted with that easily.”

For someone not even part of the conversation, it was telling how often they had mentioned the man.

“Not so much. While rare it is not impossible to find in other areas, the advantage however is that the dragons often drag it away from the volcanic soil, simply by passing through, so it is easy to mine… in Dragonstone that is, where the volcanos are still hot and bringing forth inaccessible treasures. Precious gems are also abundant.”

Rhaenyra relented. While not as dedicated to their culture as Daemon, truthfully not many were, Rhaenys also deeply respected it and her sadness at what was already lost was real, so she wouldn’t advise it if it would further bury it in history books.

The beginnings of a plan in motion, Rhaenys promised to visit her chambers often so they could put them in work. To be signed and sealed repeatedly, copies sent to all corners of the realm. Rhaenys was helping her considering the very likely outcome of her disinheritance, Rhaenyra on the other hand was planning to force the outcome.

Rhaenyra knew she had earned Rhaenys’ respect if not loyalty that day. That would come in time. But if she learned anything at all from those hellish visions is that Rhaenys and Daemon are the true dragons of the family, who would defend them and theirs with all of their not inconsiderable might. Just maybe… Rhaenyra could be the third head in the sigil.

Maybe for the first time since dreaming of Fire and Blood, Rhaenyra felt the original meaning return to her mind. The fire of life, anger, power, conquest and love. The blood of their family to protect, the blood of the enemy to be spilled.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra sighed as her eyes met with Rhaenys’. She had to admit, if only to herself, that when she asked for the older princess’ help, Rhaenyra was thinking about in terms of her disinheritance. Rhaenys on the other hand… she might have been bitter about being passed over as heir. The Queen Who Never Was. But it seemed that she would be infuriated hundreds of times over if she shared the title with Rhaenyra. That was not what Rhaenyra was expecting.

Truth be told, Rhaenyra was not sure what she was expecting. She did not know Rhaenys well enough to have many expectations. Visions, Dreams or not. But this determinedly stubbornness in face of what Rhaenyra considered a disaster was not it.

But as the discussions about the King remarrying gained presence, so did Rhaenys at the Red Keep.

“Maybe it is not too late to try and convince my cousin to choose Laena, regardless, failing that, we have weapons that best be used at the right time.”

Fair was fair. Rhaenyra thought grimly. She had twisted Rhaenys’ mind with all her changes in subject not even a sennight before, so she couldn’t be annoyed that the woman was basically using the same trick.

“What weapons, Princess?” She asked quietly, tiredly, as she nibbled on an apple.

Not so much Dreams, but the nightmares that they incurred. They were finally fading at least. Rhaenyra thought with no little relief. She managed a full night’s sleep more often than not in the past sennight or so, but the night before was a particularly harrowing one. She was not there to see it happening the first time… and she would have been thankful to never see her mother’s last moments in this blasted life.

So much for seeing the future and not the past. Rhaenyra scowled.

Rhaenys’ mauve eyes sharpened to the point of threat. Rhaenyra sat up straighter despite her exhaustion. “How sure are you that Alicent has been visiting your father these past few moons?”

“Verily.” Rhaenyra almost snorted but decided to caution the other woman. “I don't know if anything untoward happened, and I have no way of proving it, not unless I decide to intercept one of her visits and cause a huge scene.”

“Why not do so?” Rhaenys challenged. “Otto is smart enough to want surety. Until the very day that Viserys voices his choice, Alicent will be sent to his chambers and the gods know that Viserys will never have even thought about how inappropriate it all is.”

Rhaenyra wanted to laugh at how accurate a picture Rhaenys had of her cousin. Whereas Rhaenyra herself wished so desperately to trust her father, to believe in him that, until the very last second, she defended the man from Daemon, praised him to Jaecerys. What did she get in return?

“Destroy her reputation before she ever gets a chance to gather support… well… before her father ever gets a chance to gather support.” Rhaenyra should have felt… something. Anything.

Guilt for planning this when Alicent didn’t do anything yet. Although visiting her father’s chambers at a night, unaccompanied and wearing a dress that uncovers even more than Rhaenyra herself would eventually wear and Alicent would call her a whore for it and mere days after her mother died can hardly be called ‘didn’t do anything’. A voice whispered in her head and Rhaenyra fought not to wince. She should at least be angered, either at Alicent, for daring to do so, at her father, for not even allowing her mother’s ashes to cool before entertaining young maidens in his chambers. At least at the small council, for pressuring another marriage so soon.

Maybe even a small amount of satisfaction for felling the woman that did not have enough humanity to send word about her father’s death after speeches and lectures about propriety.

Instead, Rhaenyra feels nothing. In front of her, Rhaenys nodded, seemly not noticing her state.

Rhaenyra didn’t have enough energy to roll her eyes, but her voice denoted it. “My father will probably marry her either way in that scenario. To protect her reputation if nothing else.” She didn’t want to think about how her father seemed to genuinely care if not love Alicent, eventually if not right now.

“Probably.” Rhaenys didn’t seem worried about it. “Regardless, better an opponent we know how to strike down.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help but snort even if she knew it was coming. “Daemon and sometimes even you have been trying to fight the Hightower influence in court for more than a decade now. Are you telling me that if we let Alicent Hightower become queen consort it will be easier for us?”

She was still not sure about counting in any sort of ‘us’, but Rhaenyra had to work with what she had.

“Yes.” Rhaenys was firm. “The real danger is Otto Hightower. Alicent is so pious I’m surprised that she doesn’t follow septas around all day long, a willing tool for the men in her life. That may change in the future,” It will change in the future, Rhaenyra thought bitterly but didn’t interrupt her cousin, “but for now, destroying Otto can be done through Alicent.”

And there it was. While Rhaenyra knew that there was a not inconsiderable chance that Baelon’s death might not have been the tragic accident people believed it to be for no other reason than it meant the accession of a second son of a House that was not even paramount to the second most powerful man in the realm, Rhaenys was less hesitant. The older princess may feel as slighted as any other would in her place, but it did not mean that she wished to see the House of the Dragon be made a mockery of. As it has been done since Otto became Hand. Since Viserys became king, Rhaenyra silently completed.

Rhaenyra had wondered what motivated Rhaenys so. Viserys was the outlier, caring more about their Valyrian roots from a theoretical standpoint, history and his Valyrian model. Whereas Daemon and Rhaenys had always taken the direct, practical approach. They were not happy to have only books about their ancestral homeland.

Good as reason as any, Rhaenyra supposed. House pride. Against House greedy of the Hightowers. She wanted to laugh.

Rhaenyra was not sure how Rhaenys would receive her intentions, her plans. But at the end of it all, House Targaryen would be split anyways.

The danger of so did not come to pass yet simply because Rhaenys took her disinheritance with as much dignity as any human being could possibly possess. And, years later, she was still unwilling to see the House of her birth brought low by the greedy of leeches that wouldn’t begin to understand what it meant to have fire in their veins.

It was telling, however, how neither of them suggested trying to convince Viserys not to re-marry.

“Princess…” Rhaenyra started, her tired tone already conveying everything she wanted to say.

“I can do it by myself.” Rhaenys challenged.

Lilac eyes widened. Rhaenyra had no idea that… Rhaenys, be it from her memories or the Dream was never very… passionate. At least not like this. It would be wrong to say she was not determined and fierce, but she seemed more… resigned. (That’s the order of things.)

It reminded Rhaenyra of Daemon after those ten years that they were forced apart. The blade dulled. The fire just a small ember. Maybe not unsure of themselves, but hesitant, whereas before they would blast the door down to take what they wanted…

And then she understood. The Rhaenys that Rhaenyra grew up seeing was a far cry from the Rhaenys in front of her right now. And, maybe, a far cry from the Rhaenys of before the Council of 101.

(A dragon alone in the world is a terrible thing.)

Rhaenys had Corlys, it was true. But he was no dragonlord.

Rhaenys had Laenor and Laena. But they were her children, not her companions, not yet.

For whatever reason, Rhaenyra’s request for help ignited the flames anew.

Still a bit lethargic, but she could feel herself squaring her shoulders. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

“As I said, scandal. We may not be able to sway events from what they are, but it doesn’t mean that the Hightower’s accession to power has to be with no obstacles. Power so diminished, that it might as well not be power at all.” Rhaenys smiled.

~*~

This was not quite what she had in mind. Rhaenyra fought the urge to grimace.

The hour of ghosts rapidly approached, and Rhaenyra could not sleep. This time not because of Dreams or nightmares, but because she was anxiously waiting for the screams to start and for the crowd to form.

While the daughter of the king would have much more reasons to visit her father in "his period of mourning", Rhaenyra didn’t even attempt for moons now. If her father turned her away during daylight, why should she sacrifice sleep to visit him after dark?

But the King’s cousin would have even less reasons to visit the king so late at night.

“Don’t worry about that.” Rhaenys had said and Rhaenyra deferred to her. The older princess has been playing the game of thrones for far longer after all.

And failing or not, it made not much difference at the end.

Her father’s chambers were not that far from her own, so when the tumult started, Rhaenyra didn’t have to do much to pretend to be risen by the noise.

Pulling a robe over her sleeping chemise, she opened the door to be face to face with Ser Erryk who looked unsurprised to see her. The man was smart enough to piece together what she didn’t really try to hide.

If the Dreams served for anything at any given time was to tell her who she could trust.

“My Princess.” He nodded and followed her silently then.

They stood and merely watched the spectacle. Rhaenyra was happy to be noticed later or not at all. It made no difference.

There was a maid crying her eyes out, almost a heap on the ground as she begged for forgiveness. There were too many surrounding them for Rhaenyra to see who else was present at the center of it all.

“Just what is going on?” Princess Rhaenys barely looked like she was asleep. Her hair was well brushed even if loose and her dress barely concealed under a robe. Her voice was strong and sure and angered. Her husband a step behind her.

She was a good actress. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow and almost wished for a chair to properly witness it all in comfort.

“My Princess.” The maid raised her eyes and it was only then that Rhaenyra could see the Velaryon sigil in her clothes. “I… I was going to deliver your message to the king but I—I accidentally bumped into-into Lady Alicent.”

Rhaenyra’s other eyebrow joined the first. Masterfully done. This cleared the maid of any wrongdoing, cleared the Velaryons of any wrongdoing. No matter what the content of the message no matter the time. It could be a mere request to meet after something as innocent as a mere talk between spouses that generated the need to talk to the King.

The crowd shifted just the slightest bit for Rhaenyra to have a glimpse of Alicent. Dressed an in a woman’s dress, while no crime, it was very different from the somewhat still childish style she was usually dressed in, which made it stand out in a way it would otherwise not have had. White as a ghost and standing a bit too close to the King, probably due to fright and embarrassment than any real intimacy, who was only down to his sleeping robes.

There was no one accompanying them. Be them kingsguards that were merely at the door, or other maids inside. Clear for all the nobles, servants and knights standing there that they were alone inside the King’s chambers, in the middle of the night as well.

(“The truth does not matter. Only perception.”) Big words, mayhap he should have taken his own advice. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. She saw enough to know how this would play out.

Rhaenyra knew what to expect her in the morning. And although the results will probably be the same… she still and finally smiled in satisfaction.

Her father, whether guided by a guilty conscience, his manipulative Hand, or whatever have his ears at any given moment, would take Alicent to wife. But queen consort or not, the night’s events will mar her reputation much more efficiently than Otto has ever managed with Rhaenyra’s own.

What good were rumors and words, when there were so many to witness it with their own eyes?

Let Alicent try and lecture her now about propriety and duty.

With some amusement as she returned to her own chambers, Rhaenyra noticed that Otto was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t know that whether that was all planned by Rhaenys. She didn’t know whether the maid has been involved or a mere pawn. It mattered little.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra didn’t have to pretend when she stopped in surprise at the sight in front of her.

Rhaenys made sure she was notified of the small council meeting. Rhaenyra didn’t question her but, in her mind, she had to ask herself why Rhaenys wanted her there. She was still a cupbearer even after her father named her heir, no active voice in the proceedings. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes.

Whatever the case, it was with surprise she saw Alicent there as well. Standing against the far wall but in sight of everyone. And it was clear she was being made to stand by the furious glare from Lord Corlys and the lethal glint in Rhaenys’ eyes. The other masters had their gazes fixed on the table.

Alicent’s fingers were a bloody mess, she was visibly sweating and her choice of high collar in a shapeless grey dress and conservative hairstyle was also a lot more austere than her usual ones. Which, just like her mother’s dress the night prior, it only called even more attention to it. Rhaenyra found herself feeling something like pity for her. Alicent was so very bad at playing the game at this stage that Rhaenyra had to wonder if Otto even bothered to try and give her much more than one-line instructions before throwing her headfirst into shark infested waters. Otto may be the most vicious of the sharks, and the position of Hand ensured he was one of the biggest ones, but it hardly meant the rest didn’t smell the blood.

“Rhaenyra!” Her father’s voice was loud and almost high pitched in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

Rhaenyra didn’t give anything away. “I heard about the meeting and thought you needed your cupbearer.”

“Heard about it? This meeting was decided the n— hastily.” Otto almost demanded, his frantic eyes went from the Velaryons to Rhaenyra so fast it was sad he didn’t snap his own neck.

“The maids are talking about nothing else.” Rhaenyra knew very well what she was doing as she entertained herself with the reactions in the room.

Otto blanched to a pasty color. Sweat started to form on his forehead and the family resemblance to his daughter was staggering at that moment. Mellos was not very far behind.

Beesbury and Strong’s faces went red in a matter of seconds.

Rhaenys spared her the briefest of glances. Amusement and approval. Before anger and disgust returned as she directed her eyes towards Otto and Alicent.

Corlys didn’t even seem to have heard her.

Ser Harrold, however, was calmly watching everyone in the room. Including her. Rhaenyra could see he was a bit confused. If she knew the details, surely, she wouldn’t be this calm. But what exactly were the maids talking about then? It was funny. The Dreams gave Rhaenyra a lot of insight into people’s characters and minds she would otherwise never have.

Her father’s reaction was by far the most entertaining. Rhaenyra didn’t know it was possible to blanch so fast and then blush just as fast. She started to get a bit worried when he started to become truly scarlet.

“Your Grace?” Lord Strong tried.

Viserys seemed to remember himself and took some shuddering breaths. “My dear… what… what have you heard?”

Rhaenys very pointedly didn’t look at her, but Rhaenyra knew the older princess was almost laughing. To be honest she was too. That was possibly the worst question the King could have asked her in this situation. It gave her all power to control the narrative, gave her all the power to dictate the course of the meeting. What people believed happened that night? Rhaenyra could see Otto’s already pasty color gaining a sickly green pallor. If he only he knew she had no intention of being kind.

Discreetly taking a deep breath to prepare herself, Rhaenyra didn’t have to pretend to be uncomfortable. Thinking of her father in that context was enough.

“That a lady was caught abed… with… with someone she shouldn’t…” Rhaenyra’s hesitancy was clear as day, she made sure to trail off as well, her lilac eyes landing on Alicent and staying on her. Frowning slightly as if she had just noticed Alicent in the room. Alicent, who was at that point almost panting in anxiety. Who had frozen like a deer facing a hunter.

Corlys’ gritted teeth finally gave to a dark chuckle. “Yes, Princess. It seems that your father’s mourning period has ended quite some time ago.”

Rhaenyra didn’t know… she didn’t know what she was feeling. A few weeks ago, Alicent visiting her father’s chambers, at night, in her mother’s dress and unaccompanied wouldn’t even pass through her mind as a possibility and just thinking about it was enough to heave her from the numbness she willingly put herself in, and now she was burning. In rage, in pain. At the same time… the betrayal felt old, scarred. It hurt if probed, but that was all. The contradiction of the present’s feelings with the future’s memories made Rhaenyra unable to act. To react.

But damn it all. Her very life depended on it.

Rhaenyra had no idea whether Alicent fucked or not with her father. It hardly mattered. The rumors said she did. It’s about perception, after all.

Rhaenys’ eyes narrowed. “It seems we have little reason to be so offended, my Lord Husband. The king didn’t deem it fit to inform his own heir he took a mistress, what reason have we to feel slighted that while we were presenting our daughter as a possible consort and being brushed aside with excuses that he was in mourning, he was welcoming others to his bed?”

Seven fucking hells. Rhaenyra thought to herself. In a few sentences, Rhaenys just delivered massive blows in so many directions Rhaenyra was not even sure if she knew how many people she made bleed. It was very impressive.

Not only had she implied that Viserys was disrespecting his own heir, but also criticizing him as a father as well. The fact this weakened Rhaenyra’s own position as heir will probably not be noticed by him. Calling Alicent his mistress made Otto turn purple and Alicent herself tremble where she stood at the same time that Rhaenys was destroying the little basis that was left of Otto’s scheme to make Alicent the queen consort in the midst of all the promised scandal. To finish, Rhaenys made sure to let everyone know that the Velaryons, the wealthiest House in Westeros and the only ones with dragons aside from the Targaryens, whose dragons actually outnumbered the Targaryens’, felt very much slighted and for very good reasons… and concluded it all by calling the King a liar. A lustful one at that.

“Cousin… please… I…” Viserys trailed off.

Rhaenys waited just long enough to make it clear she was not interrupting, “You what?” Her cold eyes were very much interested in what Viserys had to say about all of this.

The silence that settled over the meeting was oppressive. And very telling.

“I… I shall be… marrying Lady Alicent Hightower.”

In another life, in other circumstances Rhaenyra would be fuming from the betrayal. Right now… she almost felt triumphant. It may have looked like an empty win. Rhaenyra mused as she watched chaos descend on the room. Rhaenys was almost red with feeling but perhaps not the same ones that Corlys had. All the masters had something to say and not much of it was praise. And even Mellos and Otto just had to know that it sounded ridiculous. The King of the Seven Kingdoms to marry the daughter of a second son from a House that was not even paramount because she was caught in bed with him, in the process rejecting the daughter of the wealthiest lord of Westeros, whose House had two dragons as far as they knew, three in truth.

Rhaenyra made sure that no emotion would be on the surface. But… she discreetly glanced towards Alicent. She was almost grey, her brown eyes wide as she stared down. Shaking from head to toe as the word ‘whore’ was thrown about more than once. As a verb, as a noun, as an adjective. Destroying Otto can be done through Alicent. Rhaenyra did know that. And she knew that more was at stake than a single girl’s spirit.

Lilac eyes closed for a few seconds. For the first time since the Dreams, not even caring about the absolute disaster happening a few feet from her, Rhaenyra allowed herself to mourn skipped lessons. Walks and runs around the garden. The dreams of traveling together eating only cake.

Alicent Hightower didn’t give birth yet. She didn’t know the pressures of the crown. She didn’t know jealousy and anger and bitterness. She didn’t usurp nor crown anyone. Not yet. She didn’t deserve what would happen from now on when her only crime for now was destroy her friendship with Rhaenyra and Rhaenyra’s trust. But she eventually would.

What was her crime? Rhaenyra had often wondered. What exactly has she done to have earned Alicent’s contempt? The older girl would have her believe it was because Rhaenyra lacked responsibility and shirked her duties. Was that truly enough for Alicent to declare war on her wedding? To not send word when Rhaenyra’s father died? To usurp her throne?

It doesn’t matter now. Not much did in the last few weeks. But this time, it felt like letting go. It felt like freedom. And victory. Rhaenyra may never wear a crown, but she would be damned if her life was to be forfeited by some Hightower drunk of a whelp, raised by the very same girl that called her a whore when the only reason she became queen was because she played the whore. Whose father called Daemon as Maegor Come Again when maids in tears would flee from his grandson’s chambers, reeking of wine before the sun was even up.

Gritting her teeth and walking with her head held high, Rhaenyra took her leave. Too busy to see the Princess getting out of the small council chambers, the only eyes that followed belonged to the only person whose mouth was not shouting. Ser Harrold Westerling frowned in concern as the Princess calmly, too calmly, made her way out.

~*~

“Cousin.” Rhaenyra greeted as Rhaenys entered her chambers that evening.

“Cousin.” Rhaenys’ satisfied smile was something to be seen. It seemed the meeting wielded the results she wanted. “That was nicely done. Self-taught as you are, you can be formidable.”

Rhaenyra nodded just once in acknowledgement. Self-taught. Rhaenys was more accurate than she would ever understand.

“Will you be returning to Driftmark soon?”

“With Corlys already on his way to the Stepstones, I am needed there.” She confirmed.

“Do you think Corlys would terribly mind sending word to Prince Daemon?” Rhaenyra held up the scroll in her hands.

~*~

(Lord Corlys Velaryon)

The sounds of rage coming from Prince Daemon’s tent sent knights and squires scurrying away as fast as they could.

Corlys could only sigh as said prince stalked to where he was waiting for it to be over.

“What. The. Fuck?!”

“Daemon… please read the rest of the letter before you do—”

With a shout, Daemon sliced the prisoners they were interrogating in half with a single swing of Dark Sister.

“… something you regret.” Corlys completed through gritted teeth. They were not finished with those yet.

“Alicent Hightower? The pious, plain and bland as bread daughter of a second son, that cunt Otto? IS MY BROTHER MAD?!” Daemon roared.

The nature of the bond between Targaryen and dragons will never make sense. Corlys absently thought as the Blood Wyrm did not raise his head from where it was resting on the rock.

Many times, dragon and rider would reflect the mood and feelings of the other. Intense feelings like happiness and anger were often mirrored. Pain as well. Corlys remembered when Caraxes was hit with an arrow right above his wing. While not impossible to hit a dragon with an arrow, even Corlys had to admit that it was more luck than skill involved behind the wound.

Nothing of the sort left his mouth as Daemon surely couldn’t see the wound and yet immediately reached for his own left shoulder and yelled in pain as if he was the one with an arrow lodged in it. Fascinating but not the priority in war.

Those were the thoughts in his head as Caraxes did not express the same insane rage that his rider was currently showing. The instinctual way the dragon simply showed up when the Prince wanted to threaten someone sometimes made Corlys think that dragon and rider shared one mind.

Sometimes he could see it in Rhaenys and Meleys as well.

Instead, Caraxes was curling on himself, his long neck somehow managing to twist enough so the dragon could tuck his head under his wing. The beast almost looked… embarrassed for his rider’s outburst.

Yes, well, you and me both. Corlys rolled his eyes as he motioned for some of the squires to get rid of the bodies that Daemon left in his wake.

“If you care to remember, Daemon, I also presented my own daughter as an option and I believe the insult is greater to me.”

Rhaenys would have called him insane to have dared to utter those words when Daemon was already bellowing in rage. Well, Corlys didn’t care. He fully knew the history between Otto Hightower and Daemon Targaryen. While Daemon was certainly one of the biggest headaches that Otto would ever field, Otto was not only a headache but dangerous, his overreaching hand stretched far, and his dares were subtle enough to steer Viserys instead of pushing him away with a fiery temper as Daemon did.

Still, Corlys could understand, in a personal level, that Viserys would take his younger brother for granted. But the Velaryons? Married to his cousin or not, and one of the last Valyrians Houses or not, whatever made Viserys think that they could be slighted again and again… now twice in the same damn year and still favor him?

Daemon didn’t seem to have heard him, however. He kept swinging his sword about, not caring that he was sending squires and knights and sellswords alike fleeing in fright. Well… for Corlys, who was safely away from Dark Sister’s reach, he quite looked like a toddler throwing his toys about. It didn’t help that Caraxes was curling more and more inwardly on himself, to the point that no inch of his face showed anymore.

Corlys merely waited as the energy burned itself out. It took… quite a while longer than he first expected if he was being honest.

Daemon was young still. And full of the energy that age afforded him. Still… some of it has to be the famed fire that Targaryens were known for. Corlys honestly had no idea just how Daemon kept going for so long. The sun was almost setting by the time the prince, heaving in exhaustion, sheathed his blade and sat down on a rock.

Corlys approached and sat beside him. “Ready to read the rest of the letter?”

Maybe Rhaenys was right about his suicidal tendencies. Oh, well.

Daemon chuckled. The sound completely deprived of any amusement. It sounded more painful than bitter actually and Corlys had to hide a wince. “Aegon the Conqueror. Maegor the Cruel. Jaehaerys the Conciliator… what will my brother be known as? Viserys the Fool? Viserys the Puppet King? Viserys the Hightower In All But Name?”

In other circumstances, mayhap with more wine in his belly, Corlys would be laughing. And that was half of the problem, really. It was funny because it was true. And because it was true, it was sad for those that loved Viserys.

Corlys could still remember Princess Rhaenyra’s pale face as she connected the rumors her maids gossiped about with Lady Alicent’s presence inside the small council chambers. Her great-grandfather’s maid, her lady in waiting and the closest friend she had. The girl was sharp, however, with a sharper tongue still. It will not take long before pain and betrayal became anger. It never did with Targaryens.

And then Corlys merely had to watch and access how the Princess responded to such. He did not know her nearly as well to predict but would she plan and scheme, fortify her own power? If so, it would be worth to take a look at. His own wife seemed to spend a lot of time with her since the younger princess became heir.

Eyeing the slumped form of the prince, Corlys bit his own tongue not to mention that Rhaenys would have been a better monarch. If anything, Rhaenys did not suffer fools and she was smarter than to alienate the only other House in Westeros that rode dragons. Although that was not so much a mark of intelligence as merely common sense, Corlys bit down harder.

“Otto is winning the game.” Corlys settled for.

“Winning the game? He flipped the board, changed it to chess and no one noticed that they were no longer playing checkers!”

“Not inaccurate.” Corlys replied blandly.

“How are you so calm?!” Daemon turned feverish amethyst eyes to him. “Otto is a cunt but he is one smart little craven. He knows that if he truly wants the Hightowers in power then the dragons have to be gone. Once he puts both myself and Rhaenyra to the sword, the next targets will be you and yours.”

Corlys gritted his teeth. Oh, how aware he was of that fact! “Read. The. Rest.”

It was only then that Daemon noticed he was still clutching Rhaenyra’s letter. He didn’t go further than "The king chose Alicent Hightower for next bride" before rage took over.

Crumbled and a bit dirtied with blood, Daemon read the rest of it. There was not much more, to be honest. Oh, but what there was of it…

"Scandal surrounds her ascension, however. Caught abed with the King, the King decided to marry her in order to preserve her honor. A moot point, all know the circumstances surrounding the marriage."

Eyebrows raised high, Daemon turned to Corlys. “Caught abed?” he repeated the words, this time out loud.

“It would be a stroke of genius if not for Rhaenys and Princess Rhaenyra.” Corlys shrugged.

But Daemon was still shocked at the move. “I have always known that Otto is a cunt, but whoring his own daughter under the noses of everyone at the Red Keep is…” he trailed off, not knowing how to describe it.

“Ridiculously risky and yet brilliantly done. Whatever the outcome? Alicent Hightower would be queen.” Corlys’ lips curled in disgust.

Daemon paused a bit at that. Knowing Viserys… either Otto’s scheme and his daughter’s visits stayed a secret and Viserys would choose her for the familiarity. Or they were discovered and Viserys would choose her to protect her honor… Alicent Hightower would be queen. With shame to her name and a weak hold on the title in the wake of all those witnesses and Rhaenys and Rhaenyra's steps to prevent a smooth ascension. Still...

 Daemon sighed. “Viserys the Fool.”

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Even from afar, Rhaenys showed her influence. If only because, as much of a novice as she was in political warfare, even Rhaenyra saw the opportunity for what it was. In the guise of releasing pent up frustration, she took to vent to her personal maids.

“I believe that the worst part is that I do not even know for how long Alicent has been visiting my father. The night after my mother died? Since a week before they were caught? I… I trusted her.” The words were genuine, even if the frustration was more muted than Rhaenyra would lead them to believe.

The maids exchanged unease looks. They were not nobles or even highborn, they were not the Princess’ ladies in waiting. But most of them were older, few years older than the Princess’ own mother was. They had watched the Princess being born and bring joy to her family. Spoiled and temperamental, yet no one could deny the affection when one watched what was basically their charge grow up from the cradle.

Clearing her throat, Lara, the oldest and longest standing maid serving the Princes dared to speak. “My Princess… please allow me to… express my condolences for your mother. I speak for all of us when I say that the kind Queen will be sorely missed, but I suspect that from no one more than her daughter.”

They watched as the Princess stopped pacing. With batted breath, for they did not know whether they overstepped, the maids waited for their princess to turn to them. Pale and shaken and clearly surprised.

Had no one expressed their feelings for the young woman who lost her mother? The thought saddened them.

“Thank you.” She said stiffly.

Lara bowed. “And… there are talks among the Kingsguards that Lady Alicent has been visiting your father, the King, since the night after the kind Queen’s passing.” She confirmed.

Lara was certain that the knowledge would bring the Princess no comfort. But she did deserve the truth.

Rhaenyra closed her eyes. Talks were not confirmation. Talks were not the reality. Talks were not even necessarily the truth. But her father made sure she learned this lesson when he wasn’t even intending to teach her. He never was. (“The truth does not matter. Only perception.”)

Then very well.

At the corner of her eyes, she saw that the rest of the maids were not aware of that piece of gossip. By the end of the day, all the Keep would know of what was said in her chambers.

Well… she wondered… why not?

Rhaenyra turned to Lara, a lost look in her face. “I even heard that she was wearing her mother’s dress. This… this does not even sound like Alicent. Her mother was not daring or anything of the like, but she was taller and with more curves than either of us, wearing her dress… Alicent would be showing her shoulders and even the base of her neck.”

She looked at Lara beseeching. As if asking her to disprove those rumors. But this time it was Iris, the youngest, who spoke up. Almost five years younger than the Princess herself, she was barely old enough to do some of her tasks, but she was small and plain and not many paid her much attention which meant that not many minded speaking of things they shouldn’t with her around.

“It is true, my Princess. Lady Alicent would leave her chambers wearing a woman’s dress.”

Lady Alicent was not yet a woman grown.

More mutterings among those who did not know. Frowns in their faces.

Good.

~*~

Otto overplayed his hand. Rhaenyra just watched as the preparations for the wedding were hushed through as the moon turned. Generally, there was at least six moons of courting, and then at least another three of wedding preparations for nobles, let alone the royal family… all of which would be after twelve moons of mourning in case of the death of a particularly loved and respected spouse, six moons if only to show respect for their House of birth and maintain appearances. Six moons were a bit insulting even, as if brushing off and making an attempt at appeasing the spouse’s family. Yes, I mourned, and after six moons I no longer mourn but you cannot complain.

Three moons turned since Queen Aemma died. And in another one, a wedding will take place after servants and nobles, highborn and low were made aware of the… blushing bride… nightly visits to the King. All told, it meant that King Viserys was marrying seventeen moons before it would be considered “proper”, eleven moons before it was no longer outright insulting. Rhaenyra was certain that at least a moon she helped to hasten the festivities as it originally would be six moons since the death of her mother for her father to marry again.

With barely concealed disgust, Rhaenyra stomped inside her chambers but carefully did not slam her door. Which already told all about her current mood. “Is she with child?! In a single moon Alicent is to become queen?!” she angrily threw the ribbons used to tie her hair aside and seemly ignored the wide eyes from her maids.

More than used to the famous Targaryen tempers, it was the Princess’ words that shocked them. Could it be true? Why else would it take a mere moon to prepare a royal wedding?

Perception. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. It was not quite a new habit, but one would think that her father would at least be slightly embarrassed when reprimanding not only his own family members of actions he himself are guilty of. He could at the very least use a bit of it instead of bringing up how a situation looks like only when it is convenient for him.

~*~

“My Princess, your father insists to share supper.” Criston said apologetically. Knowing the tension between father and daughter and understanding how betrayed the Princess must be feeling right now.

“I understand, Ser Criston, I shall… I shall not be long.” Rhaenyra’s voice was steady as she closed the doors to her chambers with the excuse of having to change her riding leathers.

Rhaenyra still shuddered a bit when looking at him. Behind the handsome and seemly dutiful façade was the Kingmaker, the one all too happy to spread rumors and lie and almost eager to take out the eye of a child just on Alicent’s word.

Lucerys Velaryon. It was… uncomfortable to think about those children. Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey Velaryon. Aegon and Viserys Targaryen.

Her sons… when Rhaenyra never wished for them, for children. Did not even wish to be married, truth be told.

Yet… she would be forced to accept a marriage with Laenor. She would lay with Harwin Strong and give birth to three amazing children.

Rhaenyra almost laughed. To call them "children"… when Jacaerys was six and ten name days by… by the end. Older than she was right now.

Yet so infinitely kinder and braver than she ever was.

(“If they are, it is because you raised them to be.”)

Rhaenyra took in a deep breath. She was not expecting to have a confidant in either of her marriages. Laenor was friendly but no true close family before they wed. It was with pleasant surprise that they found true companionship, true intimacy even if not the kind that would produce heirs.

(“Do not sell yourself short, Princess. Being a better parent than Viserys is no hard task. If they are kind and brave it is because of you.”)

The same message, in such different tones and with different feelings and yet the same intention and the same meaning. Daemon was her hero in childhood, her dream as a girl at the cusp of womanhood and everything she wanted no matter her age. But at the confines of her mind, Rhaenyra admitted to herself long before the night at the brothel all of Daemon’s not inconsiderable faults. Being able to talk about her dreams and wants was easy. But being able to talk about her fears and anxieties was a vulnerability that she hesitated to share, yet Daemon received them.

Aegon and Viserys. Small children yet. Beautiful and brave and bright.

Visenya…

If her father pressed hard enough, deeply enough, harshly enough about children, Rhaenyra would have to confess that a daughter, a girl to hold is what she had in her mind’s eye. A want buried so deep inside after years of fear and being surrounded by vipers on all sides that she had almost forgotten about it. Until Rhaenyra was holding her lifeless body in her hands.

All of them… taken, one way or another.

Gritting her teeth, Rhaenyra changed into the first dress she saw and did not bother with her hair to see what her father wanted. After almost a week successful in avoiding him, Rhaenyra was not looking forward to whatever platitudes he was about to throw her way. If he bothered doing as much. This was still Viserys Targaryen, however. Cornered for long enough about something he feels strongly enough about and he finally uses his power as king to get his way. Maybe he will merely order Rhaenyra to show herself as a dutiful and loving daughter through all the wedding proceedings.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. For all the talks about Daemon, when her father finally remembers he is king, he certainly behaves like the child he believed Daemon to be.

Going inside the royal chambers for the first time since her mother died was almost a nightmare. Rhaenyra did not want to be there.

While there were a King and a Queen separate chambers, her parents slept in the same bed ever since they first got married. And it was in that bed that her mother was cut open. And it was in that bed that her father will lay with Alicent. If he hadn't already.

Rhaenyra shuddered in disgust.

Waiting for her in the adjacent solar, was her father. Rhaenyra was not quite sure how to feel that Alicent was absent. On one hand: she would be the perfect excuse Rhaenyra would need to refuse this dinner. By this point, the various rumors spread like wildfire through the entire Keep if not the entire realm. No one would fault her if she refused to dine with her former lady in waiting. On the other hand: Rhaenyra genuinely had no wish to see Alicent either.

While Viserys Targaryen allowed too much, it was unwittingly so, he was the ignorant puppet of the Hand. Alicent Hightower, however, was the willing pawn. She might beg that she had no choice until the Stranger met her, but she certainly needed the flimsiest of excuses, the weakest of reasons, the most superficial provocations to follow her father’s footsteps until she was baying for Rhaenyra's blood, her family's blood as if she masterminded Otto's schemes. And, unlike Viserys, she knew of them.

“Daughter, I… I have missed you.”

At least it was good to know that her father was slightly hesitant. Whereas before, in her Dreams, he went on to obliviously ask her for permission to remarry, seemly not even rationalizing that marrying her best friend, her lady in waiting, would put her in an extremely uncomfortable position to say nothing of her feelings, this time, he seemed to be at least slightly aware that something was wrong. Although if he knew what was wrong was unclear.

“Your Grace.” Rhaenyra nodded back and pretended not to notice the way he winced.

Viserys, Aemma and Rhaenyra never demanded the strict codes of conduct among themselves publicly on how to treat the King, Queen consort and Princess, let alone when they were by themselves. Maybe it was a mistake. Rhaenyra reflected. Maybe it lured them all to a sense of normalcy where members of the small council, most notably the Hand, would take personal liberties that no other king would ever have allowed.

It was a moot point by then.

Yet Rhaenyra kept standing at the threshold. Waiting for her King’s permission to approach and sit at the table. Something that Viserys noticed.

“Rhaenyra… please sit.”

She had waited for his command and permission as it was required when a Princess talked to a King, but did not bow when receiving and following them, for she had no respect for him. It was nerve wrecking and Rhaenyra did not know how anyone could live like that for long periods of time. It was also a too subtle court war strategy for her to survive on it alone. The subtleties were probably lost to her father. Well… they were certainly lost on her father. Not so much for the new influx of nobles that the court welcomed as new members replaced the older ones.

It was slow and hinged on Rhaenyra being able to have a strong household of her own. But if she was successful it would only emphasize how often the Hand overreaches, it would only bring attention on how Alicent, although pious, was unprepared for being a royal for she never was one. It would create roots in people’s minds.

Rhaenyra just hoped she had the patience and fortitude for years of this. She sat down in front of her father.

There was a spread of all her favorites, and, from the corner of her eyes, Rhaenyra could see the servants bringing plates full of small lemon cakes. This was subtle. She wanted to roll her eyes.

“Rhaenyra, I… I had hoped to talk to you.” Viserys started, almost stuttering and completely stopping at the shock in his daughter’s face.

Too theatrical. The open mouth, the slightly too wide eyes. Rhaenyra was a good liar but she also knew that anything less evident would be completely overlooked.

“You… wished to talk to me?”

“Why does that surprise you?” Viserys frowned.

“We have not exchanged words for weeks when mother died, and then more weeks when I was made heir.”

And Viserys had no way to refute that. He winced again. “I wish to… to explain what happened… what will happen.”

Rhaenyra pursed her lips and averted her eyes, seeing her chance to establish the rumor mill once again and not wishing to discuss her father’s hypocrisy, even if a future one. Especially not when it involved Alicent. “Nobles and servants talk about it, Your Grace. In detail. There is not much left to the imagination.”

Viserys winced again. Rhaenyra knew her father. She knew what he was thinkng. How he could no better curb the tongues from waging than he could take back the night that a simple stumble into a messenger revealed to the entire keep that he was entertaining the company of a young maiden, barely of age, in his chambers, at night and unaccompanied.

You are king, your word is law! Daemon’s words came back suddenly and with no warning. What would Daemon have him do? Rhaenyra saw the thought passing behind thistle eyes. Viserys frowned in annoyance. Cut all the tongues or mayhap banish those that dared to breath of it?

He could not. For the simple fact that the tongues who wagged spoke not much more than the truth.

Rhaenyra knew what Daemon would do if Rhaenyra was in Alicent's place. The thought was comforting.

“Still, I wish for you to hear from me.” Viserys' eyes landed on her again.

Bit late for that, father. Rhaenyra made sure that nothing of the feeling showed trough.

“Hear what in specific?” She started to eat her duck.

“In… a moon… actually what happened a fortnight ago…” Her father did not seem to know where to begin.

Rhaenyra on the other hand was calmly eating the duck with oranges. And started to sip a bit of the sweet wine. She had no intention to help him. To be honest, she had no interest to listen to facts that she was already aware of. Rhaenyra Dreamed and had enough nightmares about it.

After a few more false starts, Viserys seemed to find a bit of resolution. If the potatoes weren’t so well seasoned that Rhaenyra was much busier enjoying them than paying attention to her father, she might have been slightly impressed at the unusual occurrence.

“A fortnight ago, Lady Alicent was keeping me company.”

Rhaenyra raised her eyes from her plate. Unsurprised but trying not to look too unimpressed, she had no wish to be scolded for a mere gaze. “Yes?”

“It was… improper for her to be… where she was.”

If not for the sweat almost dripping and the pauses in between words, Rhaenyra would be impressed at the way her father was sidestepping and avoiding the most damning. Correct enough, does not give much away and yet invites way too much curiosity.

The Targaryens as a whole have lived to defy expectations and while with exceptions, never truly played the court intrigue. Rhaenyra had just seen her fourth summer come and go when Baelon, the Brave, “The Spring Prince”, died. By then, Otto was already Hand, but maybe did not have such a tight hold on his powerbase. There were still nobles aplenty living and visiting the Keep and the need for minor power struggles within.

The Targaryens should have never had the need of it. Watching from above for mere amusement as the rest of the nobility created intrigue. Yet, with the Hightowers’ rise in prominence, the less members of nobility seemed to inhabit the Keep.

To say Rhaenyra was out of practice was too generous. For that to be true, she would have to have been taught in the first place. All she had were the faint memories of a too long ago youth and the times where her own mother was not so exhausted and had to rely on her own ladies for she too was unprepared to be considered less for being unable to sire male heirs.

When Rhaenyra didn’t say anything, Viserys sighed. “I… she is an innocent.”

Maybe, and even if that was true, it won’t last.

“I cannot let her suffer for actions that I took part in.”

Why ever not?

“And thus, I have decided to marry her.”

Against good council and common sense.

A last-ditch effort it was. Rhaenyra took a deep breath. She had no delusions about this. For whatever reason, even in the Dreams, her father seemed to genuinely care for Alicent. How that can be when he never really knew her, she had no idea and, at this point, she was beyond caring.

“I heard of it all, Your Grace.” It will probably not be noticed in moons, maybe in years that Rhaenyra was no longer addressing her father as such.

Viserys winced again. “Yes, I… just wanted for us to have this conversation.”

Whatever for, Rhaenyra could not start to comprehend. She took another breath.

“If I may ask, however…” she trailed off.

“Of course, of course, my dear.” Viserys looked back almost desperate.

“How marrying her will help protect her honor? I do not exaggerate when saying that the entire Keep has been talking about little else since… since that day.”

Rhaenyra almost snapped when her father winced again. Could the man not still his own spine?!

“Rumors aside, it is my hope that, in time, or maybe with the announcement, the… indiscretion will only be seen as… courting, spending some time together before ravens were sent.”

Rhaenyra was not quite sure if this was the worst plan she ever heard. Daemon’s ridiculous steps to face Drahar completely alone at least wielded results as foolishly suicidal as it was. This? Her father may succeed in making the realm believe that Alicent’s nightly visits was part of his courting, but it erases nothing of the insult to two very powerful Houses. It does nothing for Alicent herself, since the rumors circulating was that she was sharing his bed, not only his company. It also did nothing for the hushed festivities already underway, as if the so called happy couple was desperate to hide possible bumps in Alicent’s otherwise thin midsection.

At best, marrying Alicent will protect her in the sense that people wouldn’t be able to openly sneer at the fact that she would be wearing white as a symbolic gesture. That people wouldn’t be able to roll their eyes at the supposed maidenhead's blood in white sheets.

What burns Rhaenyra from the inside out though was that, in another life, it would fucking succeed as well. Alicent’s visits would remain shrouded in silence and secret. She would have become queen and the Arryns and Velaryons would only be able to grit their teeth. Rhaenyra would have to pretend nothing was amiss with the fact that the girl she considered her best friend was marrying her father.

The greater insult to a princess, the heir to the throne was that the girl who helped her dress and prepared her hair was now above her own station. Rhaenyra knew what Daemon would do if his squire had decided to reach for his own mother. And she often questioned what Viserys himself would think if his valet married Alyssa Targaryen.

No matter. Rhaenyra smiled tightly which was returned with a bright grin from her father. Over lemon cakes and her favored orange tea, Rhaenyra planned her letter to Rhaenys and Daemon… and another to Jeyne Arryn.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Lady of House Velaryon)

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow at the malnourished child standing in front of her. Despite the rich material of his clothes and the fact that he was clean and his hair well groomed, his state was clear close up. Bony wrists and gaunt face. And yet his brown eyes shone in determination.

“This boy claims to have words from the Red Keep, my Princess.” It was clear that the knight was beyond skeptical and it was only ever the fact that said boy was wearing the Targaryen sigil upon his tunic that ever made the knight consider the whole thing.

“Very well, then.”

The boy was clearly coached in court manners, if unpracticed. He bowed before approaching and did not try to climb the few steps to the Driftmark’s throne.

“My Princess. I was instructed to place this on your hands only.” The child searched inside his tunic and then extended a thick scroll towards her.

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow towards the seal she never saw. In black wax: a dragon head. She broke it to reveal three other scrolls. Opening the one intended for her, Rhaenys’ other eyebrow joined the first one. It was Rhaenyra’s writing.

“Princess, rumors circulate. The wedding has been moved. It will happen in a moon’s turn. Word has spread about a possible pregnancy. I trust that these letters will be safely delivered. If I’m not mistaken, the Baratheons also have daughters, younger than even Laena, but mayhap Lord Borros was already looking for potential matches.”

Short and yet it told Rhaenys everything. Potential indeed, well done, Princess. She smiled. Rhaenys was almost impressed. For someone that just started, Rhaenyra was quick in her thinking.Cros

Her smile widened when she saw that one of the letters was for Jeyne Arryn. Eying Jeyne’s name for a few moments longer, Rhaenys smirked. Maybe it would not be out of place to send a letter of her own but to the Warden of the North. The Starks, after all, were one of the most loyal Houses there ever was, the insult of oathbreaker almost matched kinslayer for them.

Rhaenys turned to the small messenger. “And who are you?”

The boy stood up straighter, despite his thin body, he did not sway, and his eyes remained sharp, he was not hungry. “Crosby. I am now in service of the Crown Princess.”

Probably an orphan, probably from Flea Bottom, probably already worshipping Rhaenyra just for a meal, mayhap for some gold. And probably not the only one that was now "in service of the Crown Princess".

“Very well, Crosby. What says you if I ask you to deliver these yourself? I will provide the carriages and ships and you will be handsomely rewarded of course.”

But Crosby did not even look tempted. “I am sorry, my Princess, but Princess Rhaenyra tasked me to deliver these to you and to return hastily to King’s Landing.”

If possible, Rhaenys’ smile widened even more. Well done, Princess.

“Then you can tell the Princess that I will personally deliver these.”

Despite his bravado, the boy visibly wilted in relief for a successful job.

~*~

(Lady Jeyne Arryn. Lady Paramount of the Vale)

“Dear cousin.”

With that entry, Lady Jeyne Arryn knew that this was the tone that the Princess wanted to set with their relationship. If that wasn’t clear when Princess Rhaenys herself delivered the scroll into her hands.

“I write to you for I know the rumors have started to circulate. Very probably these will be no news, however, the King saw fit to take his next queen. He chose Lady Alicent Hightower.”

At least her cousin did not insult her intelligence or her own ways to acquire information. Three years older than Rhaenyra, Jeyne had been fighting her trial by fire for fifteen sun turns and with every victory, her soul would become stronger and more jaded. Jeyne did not maintain her position by being ignorant. Not only she had extremely loyal and numerous men and women surrounding her every day but Jeyne had become a skilled judge of character to deem them loyal in the first place.

She has been aware for close to a week that the King has been entertaining the Hightower whore in his chambers. Jeyne also knew the impossible situation this put Rhaenyra in.

And she also has to admire Rhaenyra’s quick thinking. Ravens were being sent to all seven realms. But before any of the King’s reached the Vale, Rhaenyra’s was already on her hands.

“Rumors run through the Red Keep. Lady Alicent’s virtue is being questioned. They are to be married in a moon’s turn.”

Jeyne had few memories of her Aunt Aemma. She remembers kind and tired eyes. Warm hugs and gentle hands braiding her hair. Yet as absent due to her own duties that Aemma was, she made sure to support Jeyne where it mattered. Sending envoys of diplomats to help argue and defend her position, knights to do the same with swords if words failed.

Jeyne never forgot that. She was not arrogant enough to think that she would have had no trouble with maintaining her ladyship. Jeyne knew the steep climb she would face. But maybe part of that initial awareness was thanks to the support she received.

And so, it was with rage that one would think only Targaryens to be capable of that Jeyne received the news of Viserys’ impeding marriage to her cousin’s lady in waiting. She was not quite sure what was the more insulting. One would think to the dead. Aemma has not been put to rest three moons ago. Perhaps to Princess Rhaenyra herself, as harsh as reality is, Aemma, at least, was not alive to feel the insult, but the Princess would then have to answer and bow to a girl that, until a while before, dressed her and brushed her hair. Politically, to House Arryn, for how they treated one of their own.

With a savage grin, Jeyne read the lines. To name them rumors meant whispered conversations among servants. No, it was much more than that. Although Jeyne knew the skills of her own spies, other Houses cannot be so behind. The entire realm was speaking of it now. Noble Houses, Houses Paramount. Lords and ladies. Knights. Commoners as well.

To say that people were questioning the Hightower whore’s virtue was to doubt that the blood on the sheets came from between her legs. When in reality, the word reached even common folk of the possibility that the little whore was with child.

And Jeyne was now eyeing the letter with interest. Her gaze sharp. Could Rhaenyra herself have had a hand in the reach, speed and words of the so called rumors?

The King’s famous quest for an heir aside, Rhaenyra, the Realm’s Delight, was known to be a devoted daughter to the late Queen. At the very least, she would not have liked her father re-marrying so soon, especially to whom it was he would be married to.

“At times like these, I have missed family the most. Mayhap it would be possible to meet sometime in the near future.”

Jeyne hummed to herself. She was not quite sure whether Rhaenyra intended for her to travel to King’s Landing, or maybe Dragonstone, or if it was better if she extended an invitation to the Eyrie. Whatever the case, meeting her younger cousin would be a good idea.

“I write this letter in the hopes that we can support each other through upcoming trials.”

Jeyne would have to be a fool not to have some idea about what the Princess would want to talk about. From shoring up her own succession, to a simple show of union against this farse of a wedding. Maybe they could show up in mourning garbs. Less than three moons would have passed since Queen Aemma's funeral. The entire realm should still be mourning, let alone the King, Queen Aemma’s own husband.

Whatever it was, Jeyne knew that she would support her cousin.

“Your cousin, Rhaenyra Targaryen.”

Jeyne had often scoffed at the belief than being family meant instantaneous support and love and kindness. She had more reason than most, her own cousin tried to oust her from her position when she was mere three summers. The second time he tried, Jeyne made sure he was entertained in the sky cells. And yet, her Aunt Aemma came through for her, helped her the best she could, the least she could do was support her daughter. Women must band together in a world of men.

~*~

(Third POV)

Daemon raised an eyebrow at the curses that flew from Corlys’ mouth at the sight of his wife upon Meleys. The Red Queen, however, and as per usual ignored all aside from her rider. Dust and sand and dirt flew as the dragon landed. Rhaenys dismounted the great she-dragon with a grace that never waned from the first time she did so.

“Husband. Prince Daemon.”

“Just what in the Known World are you doing here?!” Corlys hissed quietly as they reached the Princess.

“Do not worry yourself, husband. I’m merely here to deliver this to Prince Daemon and will be gone shortly.”

Much like Rhaenys before him, Daemon raised an eyebrow at the sigil he never saw before. A single dragon head in black wax.

Corlys’ anger abated slightly at the reassurance, but he became annoyed quickly. “You lower yourself to a messenger now?”

“When it is that important.” Rhaenys raised her head.

Corlys frowned in confusion before his expression cleared even if the confusion remained. “What are you and the Princess planning?”

They watched as Daemon distanced himself to read his letter, not even bothering to pretend he did not lose interest in them. It was almost amusing to be honest, his frank attitude was sometimes refreshing in the play of push and pulling of court.

“Rhaenyra is sharper than most give her credit for.” Rhaenys started. “She knows the order of things. Now that Viserys is set to remarry, it will not be long before a son is conceived barring some extreme luck that Alicent Hightower suffers from issues or accidents.”

Corlys seemed to bite his own tongue not to question whether an accident was possible. “She is planning for the case of her removal from the line of succession.”

“Call it as it is, husband. Disinheritance. No matter the titles, land and gold that Viserys decides to give as consolation, it is still disinheritance.” Rhaenys’ mauve eyes narrowed in anger.

Corlys did not dare to contradict his wife. Long gone was the girl that believed that men could uphold oaths and vows. But something in his wife’s expression provoked a memory. Six and ten name days, Rhaenys went to demand the Old King to be married to a man of her own choosing. To say that she asked was a lie and even 'demand' was an euphemism, Rhaenys had informed King Jaehaerys of her choice. Corlys knew Rhaenys in defeat and resignation, he was there for the aftermath of the Great Council after all. And he knew her when standing tall and ready to fight.

“What are you two planning on doing?” Corlys almost whispered as he repeated his question. His words made even quieter by the thunderous laugher that suddenly permeated the sand dune.

Daemon had his head thrown back, his shoulders shaking in pure mirth.

Rhaenys’ amusement matched her cousin’s, but she already had her moment. She met her husband’s eyes. “We are already doing.”

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

Daemon took the scroll and went a bit further in order to read it with some semblance of privacy.

The sigil niggled at the back of his mind. A black dragon head. There was no doubt in his mind from who Rhaenys got it from, who asked her to deliver this. For Rhaenyra to have created her own sigil, however… what was his little dragon planning?

“Uncle, I hope this letter finds you well. I do not wish for you to hear it from others. I understand that, during war and conflict, word of other regions is slow to come if they do at all. The wedding will come earlier than expected. Insult to the Arryns is certain.”

Daemon had to chuckle at that. The fact that his brother was marrying the cunt’s daughter had enraged him a fortnight ago. Now, all that was left was the familiar and cold disappointment at his brother’s lack of fire, at the lack of an inner dragon. Perhaps Viserys’ dragon died with Balerion, perhaps it never existed at all.

Daemon re-read the first few lines. He was not for this. Court intrigue leaves him so bored that he sometimes imagined throwing his goblet, wine and all, at Highcunt’s head. Not even because he was particularly greedy and insulting in that or this meeting, but just to have something to do. He could see where Rhaenyra interfered, he could see where she was aiming at and he could see the repercussions of it as well. As he could see how important, how vital it was. Yet left to his own devises, Daemon would have never thought of it as a first recourse.

There was a tenseness to his muscles. A chill going down his spine. His heartbeat accelerating from time to time. Daemon had felt it ever since Otto Hightower became Hand in 101. Six and ten and knighted already, Daemon’s eyes were narrowed as that leech stepped his foot into the Red Keep. Two brats trailing after him.

“Though I doubt that invitations will reach the Stepstones, mayhap Lord Corlys will be extended one. In that case, if willing and if the war allows, I extend one to you as well as my escort for the event.”

Daemon chuckled again. His little dragon wanted to present a united front. The mention of House Arryn made him grimace a bit. There was no love lost between him and the Vale. Still… Daemon didn’t know if he had loved Aemma. She was always his brother’s wife before she was his cousin, his good sister before Princess Daella's daughter. Kept way too busy trying to give Viserys a male heir for them to truly get to know each other. He had felt a bit of pity for the girl of one and ten that was married to his brother who was six and ten on the occasion. And then, eight sun turns later, he was in her place, being sold off like some prized mare to the Vale. Daemon was saddened when she died. There was camaraderie and sympathy but not much else.

Still, Aemma was of the dragon blood. A daughter of a Targaryen princess. The granddaughter of the Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen. For her death to mean so little, for her replacement to be that Otto Hightower’s daughter… Daemon need no great effort to feel enraged at the idea, he would be able to set aside his disdain for Valemen and women for the duration of the wedding.

“However, it seems that rumors have shifted from Alicent warming the king’s bed the night after Queen Aemma died, to having his child and thus the hurry for the wedding to take place.”

And Daemon couldn’t help it anymore. He started to laugh.

“For that I am unsure about the feelings surrounding the festivities, I am afraid that tensions are high, I hope that none shows too outwardly their displeasure at the match.”

And Daemon completely lost it. Throwing his head back and laughing like he hadn’t in years. Oh, Little Dragon, how much she lights up his life!

“Please be safe and don’t worry about proper attire. We are in mourning still for my mother, your good sister and cousin, our queen. Somber clothes are fitting for this period. I shall see to them. For sure, none will be able to tell, after all, black is also the colors of our House.”

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra was not quite sure if this would work. She thought as she merely watched the half a dozen children eating to their hearts’ contentment, happy to have food and ecstatic that some gold was to be had at the end of the day. The idea of using children, unseen, innocuous and ignored orphans was hardly revolutionary. Mysaria did so and, to some extent, so did Otto.

And that was the problem. Aside from those that the Dreams showed her, Rhaenyra had no way of knowing whether she was approaching a child that was already… employed.

To some degree, it was already working. She thought of her success with Crosby, who after telling her of Princess Rhaenys’ words went to eat as well. But that was merely a test. Just deliver the message. Rhaenyra was not trusting the information of what he heard and saw.

She honestly didn’t know how Mysaria and Otto did this. Children can mishear, they can get confused of who said what, they can tell what they told her to anyone they wished.

Seven hells! That was true of adults!

With a deep breath, Rhaenyra surveyed her new recruits. A meal was enough to earn gratitude, gold was enough to earn devotion. The fact that they were so important and knew it was enough to earn them pride for themselves and the job they were now doing.

Crosby was going to be in charge of delivering messages. Rhaenyra had decided since meeting the boy. Determined to the point of stubbornness and beyond sneaky, the child could blend in with any crowd. He learned quickly court manners which would be vital if he was to present himself to her potential allies. Rhaenyra grimaced when remembering that, eventually, her father would send aid to the Stepstones and… Daemon would not react well. Remembering Luke, Rhaenyra made sure that Crosby would be sent in missions that required trust but also to those whose reaction wouldn’t be so deadly.

Enid, the smallest and quietest, was for sure the best at getting the most information. But Rhaenyra hesitated. If caught, she would suffer the most for she was not quick with her words.

Maisie would be better for it. But she was too pretty, her scarlet hair too shiny. If not for the fact that Rhaenyra found her scavenging for food in complete rags, she could easily be mistaken for a noble. Rhaenyra herself knew some noblewomen that would die of jealousy of her flawless skin. Nothing of which helped. Because she called too much attention she would never be able to hear looser tongues, for their eyes would follow.

Yet the girl could talk her way out of anything. It was why she had yet to join a brothel and be used for the looks she had. She was trying to escape that fate that seemed all but certain until Rhaenyra found her.

Levi was a little thief. Usually, Rhaenyra wouldn’t condone such, but how to berate a child from doing the only thing he could to survive? And yet he was the only one of the six children that did not look starved. Clearly he was very good at what he did. He already had his pride and he already knew that he couldn’t live eternally as he did now. So, when Rhaenyra approached him, he couldn’t jump on the opportunity fast enough.

Wilbur was the only one who did not have a clear talent. But he was also the most loyal. Having been beaten for sport, Rhaenyra had her maids nurse him back, fed him and then asked whether he wanted a job or not. For now Rhaenyra was happy to have him around the Keep. No one questioned a boy cleaning the princess’ hearth. And, slowly, he was also doing so in other rooms. Rhaenyra was hoping that eventually he would also clean the Hightowers' and the small council’s hearths.

Mae was the oldest at three and ten. By far the most jaded but by far the one that needed Rhaenyra the most. Two younger siblings and one of them starting to get sick from the living conditions. She was very smart and knew King’s Landing from the inside out aside from the Red Keep. She knew every shortcut, every street, shop and nook. She knew where to send the others. Where each of them would be the most useful.

As it was, Rhaenyra considered it a good start. For her spy network and to get rid of Mysaria in the first opportunity she could get. It would take her some creative work, but if everything goes well, Rhaenyra won’t have to worry about her for too long. She just hated to lie to Daemon. Mysaria would be a worthy risk to take… an amazing Master of Whispers… if she had an ounce of loyalty in her body. However, and ultimately, she was more trouble than she was worth.

“Wilbur, please come with me when you are done, I will introduce you to one of the dragonkeepers today.” Time to move one of the eggs from the Dragonpit in King’s Landing to Dragonstone. Just to see if anyone will notice it was missing. Just to see if it was possible.

The dragonkeepers were loyal to the Targaryens, it was true. But King Jaehaerys ensured that their first loyalty was for the protection and well-being of the dragons. Aerea was the cause but Saera established the need for it. They knew that the dragons were happier and healthier in Dragonstone and it was no great task to convince them of the moving.

It was by far the riskiest undertaking Rhaenyra took for herself so far. She eyed Wilbur. From his dark hair, almost black, to his kind grey eyes. He would be the one to pay if discovered. “Maisie will accompany you. As will… Ser Harwin Strong.”

Perhaps it was time to move the gold from her own coffers as well. For now the princess’ coffers were hers to control. But once Alicent becomes queen, she’d have primary control of the Princess’ expenses, and Rhaenyra refused to live like that. Yet another detail that her father did not even stop to think about before making decisions. Rhaenyra grimaced.

~*~

(Lord Benjen Stark)

Benjen Stark, much like literally all the other Wardens of the North before him, did not concern himself with the matters of court. The change in title from King of Winter to Lord of Winterfell was such a small detail that he never questioned their submission to the Targaryens. For it did not feel like submission at all. In the practical sense of the word, nothing really changed. Hardly anyone bothered them, and they did not bother anyone. And so, it was with almost shock that one of his archers came running and, completely out of breath, tried to speak.

“Dragon…! From the south! Red, big!”

Benjen raised an eyebrow. “Riderless?”

“No, my lord.” The man managed to recover.

“Either Prince Daemon or Princess Rhaenys.” He muttered. “Do prepare a welcoming party, regardless of the lack of warning, we do not know what the Targaryens want.”

Princess Rhaenys came unaccompanied. Which, Benjen eyed the enormous red beast, it was not as imprudent as it would usually be for a princess.

“Lord Stark.”

“Princess Rhaenys.” He bowed with no hesitation.

“I apologize for the lack of warning,” she started, “however I’m afraid that this must be dealt swiftly. If you could extend me a few moments of your time, I’d be most grateful.”

Benjen’s curiosity got the better of him. Not that he could really refuse when one was face to face with a dragon. “Of course, Princess.”

~*~

(Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Lady of House Velaryon)

Rhaenys was happy that she had the foresight to bring a heavy winter coat. She had honestly forgotten how cold Winterfell truly was. Meleys roared her displeasure behind her which scattered the few more curious who were peaking through windows or carefully approaching.

“Please, Princess, have a seat.”

Rhaenys gratefully shed her coat as the hearth’s fire warmed her up. “Thank you, Lord Stark. I must apologize again for the lack of warning.”

“I must admit my confusion also. It’s has been many years since the last time a Targaryen flew to the North.”

“It has been many years that we had the need. May I speak frankly?”

“I do prefer it.”

As Rhaenys knew he would. She had often wondered if her grandparents hadn’t arranged a marriage to a Northwoman, Daemon wouldn’t be slightly more agreeable. They would certainly have more common ground… or maybe they would have killed each other. Either way, more peace to be had.

“The King will remarry in little over a moon.”

Lord Benjen frowned in confusion. He understood the implications of course. His own spies likely already informed him of the King’s choice as well and it would be obvious their feelings about it. Rhaenys', Rhaenyra's... truly all of the involved whose last name was not "Hightower".

“What exactly do you want from me?” Rhaenys did not take insult. By the expression on Lord Benjen's face, he remembered that south of the Neck there were flowery conduct to be had.

“Support. The princess is preparing for the case of a male heir. She does not trust her father’s words.”

“He gave an oath, we all did… because of him even.” Benjen’s frown deepened. As Rhaenys also knew it would.

Many words described the Starks. Stubborn, proud… honorable above all. Their long memories, however, also meant that they can hold grudges like no other Rhaenys had ever seen… aside from, maybe, members of her own family.

“He did. But, and forgive my words, but both myself and Princess Rhaenyra know Viserys Targaryen’s nature. He bends to others’ will as easily as tall grass bends to wind.”

Rhaenys let silence settle between them. She knew this conversation was borderline treason, flirting so heavily with the line that it was straining to the breaking point. Everything they have done so far could be described so.

“A King without honor… demanding it of others.” Benjen finally whispered.

“You and I both know that the realm was divided when the King named a woman as heir. Many will balk, many are unhappy with the very thought. ”

“The Princess has a dragon. Your presence here at her behest, or, at least, to her benefit, also tells me that the Velaryons would support her claim. That’s three dragons then. Prince Daemon’s fondness for his niece has reached even my ears, that’s four dragons. Whatever claim a possible future son may or may not have is more than a decade away, at least, and their danger might as well not exist if the King doesn’t allow them access to dragons.”

But Rhaenys was already shaking her head. "Under normal circumstances, I would agree. However, the Hightowers have a lot of backing as well as the King's ear. They are one of the richest and most influential Houses in the Reach. The Tyrells themselves have less gold than they. Their close ties to the Faith and to the Citadel also gives them considerable power. The Redwynes may rival their coffers and the Tyrells, as paramount, have the political edge, but that is it."

Benjen's dark eyes sharpened. "Otto Hightower is extremely smart and manipulative. Combined with a King so eager to please and we have a deadly foe." He sighed before laying his own cards on the table. "Recent scandals may have weakened his support from the Faith. Those septas and septons and maesters and whoever else they have in those ridiculous robes can't be happy about the story behind the King's marriage to Alicent Hightower."

Rhaenys’ eyebrow rose. She had honestly not thought of that. Deciding to bet on it, Rhaenys commented. “I have to admit that the Faith is hardly a factor in my mind. Those hypocrites that love to spew about divine punishment for actions that they take daily…” She trailed off, not even quite sure how to finish her thoughts.

Benjen did not falter, “And yet religion is still one of the pillars of society. Influencing from the lowest of common folk to the highest of royalties. Or do you not sometimes, even if in the privacy of your mind, pray to the Fourteen Flames?”

If Rhaenys for one second thought that the Starks to be underhandedly trying to rebel against the Targaryens, she would have killed the man where he was sitting. Had Meleys turn Winterfell into another Harrenhal and try to twist some tale for the rest of the realm and for the rest of her House later. What he was saying could have dire consequences if news was to spread through the realm. And… Rhaenys understood his point. Religion truly was a pillar. What people believed in could influence how they acted and reacted. That was probably why Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys conceded to covert to the Faith.

The tale never made sense to Rhaenys. And she could also see the confusion in Leanor and Leana when their teachers told them the story. But perhaps she was too quick to disregard the Faith. It wasn’t because Aegon suddenly had a change of heart or suddenly wanted to be married to just Rhaenys and was using the Faith as an excuse, but maybe this was the way to try and change the fear of the people, the fear of dragons, flames and Targaryens, into something else.

“I see.” And Rhaenys did. Sharp eyes landed on Benjen, however. This was precious advise. “Would I be correct to assume, then, that if the Princess is no longer the heir apparent, she would still have the Starks’ support?”

“Oaths apparently do not mean much for the King, but the North remembers.”

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra was not overly surprised at the lack of response from the Baratheons. Borros was already lord after all and the man was as against the idea of a woman gaining power as one can be. At least he was honest about it, Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. She’d rather know upfront where she stood with people. But the man did bring his three daughters with him and Rhaenyra eyed them with interest. She knew that one of them was to be wedded to Aemond as part of the negotiations when he went to talk with Borros.

Rhaenyra had no wish to alienate one of the Lords Paramount, technically kin if only through marriage. Nevertheless she had more important allies to cultivate, allies that would take her seriously and not call her a “silly girl” when she was fighting a war and losing children and facing death in her thirties. So, she did not approach them.

The Starks were no surprise. They were the loyalest of the men supporting her against Aegon after all. Knowing she had their support even when facing possible disinheritance from the King himself meant more than she was ready to admit.

“Princess.” Lord Benjen bowed which was swiftly followed by his son, Rickon. A few years older than Rhaenyra, she tensed at the scenario. Too often being ambushed with introductions to prospective husbands for her not to. “This is my son, Rickon.”

“Princess.” He likewise bowed.

“I welcome you and your retinue to King’s Landing.” Rhaenyra greeted. “If you will, the servants will show you to your accommodations where you can rest from the trip.”

“That will be most kind. Thank you.”

All of them ignored the looks they were receiving. Starks in the Red Keep. Rhaenyra knew that the word would be of nothing else… at least until the wedding itself. Starks at the Red Keep. When they were happy to ignore and be ignored.

Rhaenyra knew this would be taken as a sign of good will towards the King’s marriage. If she only could see all the reactions when it was made clear that the Starks were certainly not around as a show of approval…

Lady Arryn was another one. Rhaenyra knew her cousin would back her claim, would back her through it all if only because she would stand in sisterhood with another woman in power. But Viserys certainly did the Vale no favors. And Rhaenyra could only thank the Fourteen Flames for the fact that Rhea Royce was not attending the wedding. Still, the fact that Lady Jeyne was so in her favor when they had exchange no words at all before Rhaenyra was usurped was sheer luck and Rhaenyra was starting to hate to rely on luck.

“Cousin.” Lady Jeyne bowed.

“Cousin.” Rhaenyra nodded back. Genuine smiles on both faces which was again noted by those around them.

The Arryns’ presence would also be taken incorrectly. The former queen’s family showing their support and approval of the match. When not even six moons turned since the death of the Queen? It was time to show the King that the realm very much did not share his proclivity to please all… and ultimately, really, pleasing no one.

The only piece left was Daemon.

She wanted to see Daemon again. She did not want to see Daemon again.

The last time Rhaenyra saw him, truly saw him, was when she was daring him to cut her down in order to be heir again. Daemon spitting that he wanted an egg for his child. A lie. A double edged sword. Rhaenyra threw back his marriage to Rhea Royce in his face. A retaliation. A double edged sword. It was honestly a little amazing how what hurt one, ultimately hurt the other. Differently and for different reasons and yet hurt it did.

But the last time Rhaenyra saw him… he was falling in Gods Eye. After fighting to death against Aemond, driving Dark Sister through his damaged eye. (“An eye for an eye, a son for a son.”) His feelings on having lived for too long at nine and forty.

Rhaenyra couldn’t help the tears from gathering in her eyes. Even if she did not allow them to fall. Unlike with Alicent, with her father, Rhaenys, Corlys, the Baratheons, Starks, Arryns… she had no idea how to make the situation better with Daemon. She had no idea how to heal and be healed in return with him. Rhaenyra did not want to lose him, even if she never had him. She did not want the Stranger to take him. Not him.

A shrill cry called the attention of all. The sight of Caraxes in the horizon made Rhaenyra release a breath she did not know she was holding. Her shoulders relaxed as if an enormous weight was just lifted from her. Daemon was so close!

Rhaenyra remembered two silver haired boys. So awaited for what they meant. Ten years of waiting.

Daemon was so close and so far away.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra tried to calm her nerves. If Daemon behaved as Daemon did, he would find his way to her eventually. Right now… right now she needed time. And she honestly wouldn’t even begin to know how to moderate a conversation between the two brothers, she never did.

“By anyone else, the words in your letters might be considered treason.”

Rhaenyra did not even look up from her book. “Princess.” She greeted.

“Princess.” Rhaenys answered amusedly.

“It seems that Lord Baratheon feels strongly about women in power.” Rhaenyra commented, finally closing her book.

“He always had.” Rhaenys didn’t offer anything more.

He always will. Rhaenyra completed in thought.

“Despite our own blood relation. And despite the fact that he brought his lady wife and his three daughters.” Rhaenyra got up and both princesses ignored how Erryk Cargyll immediately shadowed their movements. Well… Rhaenyra’s movements.

“Even a man like Borros understands the power of marriage pacts.” Rhaenys’ voice was as even as ever but Rhaenyra understood the warning for what it was.

“I have started a rough draft, if you could take a look at it later.” Rhaenyra also wouldn’t pretend to know how to make those thinly veiled references needed for a war of words. At least not one that needed subtlety.

Sarcasm she could do. Talking about something while hinting at something else altogether was a skill Rhaenyra never saw the need to cultivate. Much to her own detriment.

Rhaenyra sometimes doubted that pious, meek Alicent was the one to spread all the rumors. Oh, for sure she started most of them, especially the little details that were made to really rub salt in the wound that no one else would know how hard they would hit. But Alicent knew even less of the game than Rhaenyra. Alicent may have created them, but someone else disseminated them.

While Otto didn’t strike Rhaenyra as the type to know this arena, she couldn’t discard the possibility just yet. Even if he was not physically present for those ten years.

“Very well.” Rhaenys nodded.

Rhaenyra grew confused, conversely…

“I understand the… implications to the other lords, but who then, is Lord Borros intending for his daughters?”

Rhaenys gave her a look and Rhaenyra immediately realized she miscalculated. What was she overlooking? They finally arrived at their chambers and Rhaenyra had to hide a grimace when she noticed it was Cole who guarded her door.

“Rhaenyra…” Rhaenys started.

“Forgive me, Princess. But perhaps not all ears are to be trusted this time.” Rhaenyra was confident enough that her doors were thick, but not enough for casual conversation. High Valyrian it was.

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow towards her doors, on the other side of which the only change would be Criston Cole, but acquiesced. “If the Queen gets with child in the next year or so, Borros’ oldest daughter will be twelve or thirteen years older, worse matches were made. Regardless, in short term, a new queen is to be made at the end of this week. A queen needs a household of her own.”

Rhaenyra wanted to slap herself. “My father’s wish to please is known through the realm. He will want to sooth bruised relationships over his choice of bride and how better than to insist that his new queen chooses new ladies in waiting among the choices he would be presented with? Perhaps a too poor position when in comparison to being queen, but enviable nonetheless.”

Rhaenys merely nodded. “Tis a race now, Princess. Might I suggest that you start to… mingle, as soon as you can, as publicly as you can. Being the lady in waiting for a princess is still an opportunity any noble lady would jump to have, even if it is not as prestigious as being lady in waiting for a queen which in turn is a paltry consolation for not being queen.”

Speaking from experience? Rhaenyra had to bite her own tongue to hold it back. It was not fair to Rhaenys and it was not Rhaenys her anger was directed at. But Rhaenyra never pretended to be some docile lamb. The caustic, cruel words got stuck in her throat, and she would swallow them.

With a deep breath that Rhaenyra carefully released, she retorted. “These people are not here to see me. As you said, why would they be happy with belonging to the household of a princess, when they could have a queen?”

The sentiment was not that unlike what she Dreamed about Aegon’s second name day. The hunt the King prepared in the scheme of finding her a husband. Her father had berated her then. Told her to talk to the people that would rather see a toddler wearing the crown than Rhaenyra herself. Of course, it was but a few minutes before the ruse of husband hunting was discovered but Rhaenyra had still scoffed. Why should she try to curry favor from those who had already decided to give it to someone else?

“They have yet to give support to the Hightowers. Many of them feel rightly offended even. But oh, when the King spurns their alliances and disregard their contributions and the new to be queen is but this meek girl who only speaks if spoken to, the Princess sees their value. Even a pig like Borros would feel chuffed if the Princess was to ask for one of his daughters as lady in waiting, angling for a position in the Queen’s household or not.”

Rhaenyra was… well she was pretty surprised. Perhaps almost shocked. She just hoped that none of it showed on her face. As if answering the thoughts from her mind, Rhaenys made something snap inside of her. Rhaenyra also tried not to bite her lip in consternation for once again realizing how unprepared her father truly left her.

It was one thing for her Dreams to guide her. Rhaenyra was seeing it all with the benefit of hindsight. All the insights that her older self took decades to have were hers, simply for having distance and time to think about it. To be a witness with no… well, less feelings involved and more logic.

Mingle with nobles.

Marry well.

Perception is more important than the truth.

Important lessons, vital even. And yet it was not with the intention to teach that her father imparted this knowledge with her. Rhaenyra tried not to let her lips curl in disgust. With Viserys, they were always about the most superficial of things or always in the wrong order or done very poorly, to the point of being outright mistakes… sometimes all three at once.

Viserys had ordered Rhaenyra to smile and converse with the nobles in Aegon’s second name day because he wanted her to find a husband. Not because it would create ties with other Houses, and thus strengthen her household and position and claim.

Viserys wanted Rhaenyra to find a husband for it would strengthen her claim but failed to consider the many reasons the Targaryens married each other. In this case, in her case, Daemon and Laenor were truly the only options to consider. Any other would have always put their own Houses as priority and for the first ruling queen of Westeros? Aegon, Alicent and the Greens would have to do even less to weaken her.

Viserys would hiss at Rhaenyra’s face that the truth didn’t matter, perception did. Bold words from a man that chose to marry for sentiment and not for duty, slighting especially the Velaryons but also so many… too many other Houses to properly count.

“I thank you for your council, cousin.” Rhaenyra expressed her gratitude through frozen lips.

“Thank me by choosing smartly. Although Otto is not alone in his ambition, there are those who can be loyal. Discern them, before the Hightowers do. They will not choose those with competing agendas after all. And I will be doing the same.”

“You shall be getting ladies in waiting?” Rhaenyra turned surprised eyes towards Rhaenys who was already getting up from her seat and heading towards the doors.

“Why yes. I shall be speaking with some of the prospective ladies before Ser Otto does.” Rhaenys’ smile was too sharp to be called innocent. When Rhaenyra merely stared at her, Rhaenys raised an eyebrow. “Will you not be joining me, Princess?”

Knowing it was the smart thing to do in many… in all the ways, Rhaenyra got up and followed her cousin.

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

This has to be a bad jest. Daemon couldn’t hide the grimace on his face if he wanted to. And he never did. This farse of a wedding was enough to make any man want to dig his own grave.

Although the amused smirk was not faked at all this time. A wedding that would bring forth the future queen consort of Westeros. And yet more than half of the nobles attending had frosty expressions on their faces. Barely concealed sneers. Disapproval in their very step.

Borros Baratheon was parading around his three daughters. The oldest was almost four years younger than Rhaenyra and yet it would not be out of place to have presented her as an option for future Queen consort. It was hard to place Borros' feelings on the matter, he did not look happy, but then, he never did.

Grover Tully was an interesting if unwelcomed sight. One would think that Daemon would be happy to see someone that supported his brother’s ascension to the throne. One would be hard pressed to personally like Grover Tully, to find one who did. For the man was irascible and unchanged in his ways. Which would not bring good tidings for Rhaenyra.

Matthos Tyrell was a surprise, however. The man was pale as a ghost and looked hardly fit to be standing let alone attending such a… controversial event. And yet his dark eyes took in everything with such gravity that Daemon couldn’t help but be impressed. Whatever his opinions were, it was clear he felt strongly enough about it to come. Most likely defying his wife, maesters and councilors.

Those were the Lords Paramount. Out of the three, it was hard to say if any would support Rhaenyra, take a neutral stance or fight against her.

One thing, at least, united them. None could have been very happy with the King marrying so soon. It not only created a bad precedent for their own Houses but the Tyrells especially to have one of their bannermen involved couldn’t be good news. While they hardly required permission, the Hightowers would have to at least send a raven as a courtesy. Instead, they were finding out with the rest of the realm that the new queen consort comes from the Reach.

Daemon might not enjoy playing the court game, but he couldn’t deny the entertainment value. Speaking of which… there was his niece, lively talking to two girls beside Ser Harwin Strong, both brown haired. Probably the man’s younger sisters he sometimes liked to talk about.

Heart racing like he was about to try another attack in the Stepstones, Daemon made his way over.

Little had changed in the past four moons. And everything had changed at the same time. When Daemon left after being banished yet again, with a stolen dragon egg at that, he was genuinely expecting Rhaenyra to come after him. Or at least wish to go after him. Daemon knew that Viserys would never have approved. And yet there Rhaenyra showed up.

For many reasons, the only one Daemon would relinquish the egg to.

Daemon did not intend for it to be a test, but if it was, Rhaenyra succeeded just like she did in everything else. With the Velaryons yet again aggrieved, the only other dragonrider in the Red Keep was Rhaenyra. The fact that Viserys sent a handful of men along with Otto Hightower to try and retrieve the egg almost made Daemon laugh if it wasn’t so insulting as well. He was about to send corpses back to his brother… or maybe merely a raven if Caraxes was hungry enough when Rhaenyra showed up. In defiance of her father, the King. Daemon was never one to feel proud of other’s accomplishments, so, of course, it was always Rhaenyra that brought forth the feeling.

From the age of seven, when she became the youngest dragonrider in their family’s history since the Doom and her fast proficiency in High Valyrian to that moment, when she dared him to strike her down, to forcibly take back his place in the succession for the Iron Throne. That day, Rhaenyra not only showed that she knew what had to be done, she also had the courage for it as well. Do it herself if need be. Perhaps it was then that Daemon had stopped seeing her for the child he would hold and allow to trail his footsteps around to the woman she was quickly becoming.

Rhaenyra turned to him when hearing his approach, made heavier for the armor he had yet to shed. Hair loosely tied as always, lilac eyes clashed with his.

Rhaenyra looked tired. Daemon frowned briefly in concern. But she also looked sharper, fiercer. Beautiful.

“Hello, Niece.” He smiled.

“Hello, Uncle.” She smiled back.

They barely noticed when the Strongs left them be as they started to walk somewhere with more privacy.

“It seems you are not dressed for the wedding yet.” Daemon referred to her little plan as she was currently wearing a light purple dress.

“You hardly are donning proper attire either. But it’s not their wedding yet. And I do believe I have prepared enough clothes for the seven days of celebrations.” Rhaenyra smirked. “I took the liberty to leave some options in your chambers.”

“I trust your good taste.” Daemon lost a bit of the teasing tone. “Especially now.”

Rhaenyra suppressed a frown. She knew Daemon was referring how her eyes were so violently opened to the nature of… some of the Hightowers. Rhaenyra also knew that her closeness and her father’s to both Hightowers was a source of deep frustration to him. Hers a bit less than her father’s. After all, Daemon’s opinion on Alicent was that it was too much energy to have an opinion at all for his niece deserved someone more engaging than the girl he once compared to plain white bread. Well, at this point, maybe Daemon’s feelings shifted from indifference and disdain to something more akin to what he feels whenever Otto Hightower’s name was mentioned.  Rhaenyra knew that Alicent was about to experience for the first time what it meant to be at the receiving end of her uncle’s… disapproval.

“Yes, my… tastes had shifted in recent times. Hopefully for the better.” Rhaenyra conceded softly.

Daemon’s amethyst eyes softened in response. “Rhaenyra… spare me no details.”

The shift to High Valyrian was so natural with Daemon that Rhaenyra wanted to give up all pretenses and just seek the easy comfort he always had for her. Rhaenyra did not have to say anything, hint at anything or explain anything for Daemon to just know how she was feeling.

“I have been doing my best to avoid her. She will probably just keep mentioning her duty or something equally as hypocritical.”

“That will most likely end by the end of the first day if you still intend to attend the wedding in mourning clothes.” Daemon raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t see why it would.”

“Rhaenyra… do not be naïve. My brother may be a spineless fool but even he will have something to say if his own daughter shows up to his wedding clearly and visibly showing she still mourns his first wife.” Daemon eyed her more harshly when all Rhaenyra did was roll her eyes.

If only Daemon knew that Viserys’ second wife showed up to his eldest child’s wedding calling for war and Viserys did nothing, not even addressed it let alone gave a slight slap to the wrist, he would quickly change his mind. Actually he would become so enraged that Daemon would probably decide that just wearing black was no longer enough and make his own call for war.

Rhaenyra briefly wondered if he would arrive at the sept riding Caraxes, maybe just completely destroy one of the walls and simply dismount Caraxes and sit as if nothing was amiss. Either sounded like her uncle and Daemon Targaryen never disappoints in both audacity and recklessness while daring the world to retaliate or voice their displeasure.

“He will not.” Was all that Rhaenyra offered.

Daemon just stared back. Exasperated and frustrated. Although with no fury. It was the only thing that kept Rhaenyra on her feet, for the expression was eerily familiar to the one he wore when the Dreams showed her the beginning of the war. When Rhaenyra was trying to keep the peace that her father sacrificed his own family for again and again.

Rhaenyra had no idea what Daemon saw, but just as fast, his face cleared. She was more than used to her uncle’s mercurial shifts in temperament, so Rhaenyra did not flinch when he raised a hand. Carefully, Daemon pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, it had gotten loose from her half-formed bun.

Shivers made their way down Rhaenyra’s spine, and she locked her whole body not show them as Daemon cupped her cheek with a gentleness that almost no one would associate with the Rogue Prince.

“Be careful, Little Dragon. When you play the game of thrones, you either win or you die.”

“I intend to set the game aflame, Uncle.”

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Daemon had escorted Rhaenyra back to her quarters and Rhaenyra could barely find it in herself to react that the one guarding her door was Criston. She was slightly too preoccupied in trying to put one foot in front of the other to truly enjoy or cringe at the way Daemon’s expression darkened at the sight of the knight.

“We shall dine together then.”

Rhaenyra did not doubt the sentiment, but she also knew that annoying Cole would be pleasant addition when she accepted the kiss Daemon graced the back of her hand.

With no word to either man, she entered her rooms. Rhaenyra was at her wits’ end. She could hardly deny that the thought of being married to Daemon crossed her mind. More than once. Truth be told, she never wanted to get married, but if she must…

It was maybe a childish dream from a childish girl. Daemon was a dashing knight. With an extreme temper that spared no one that could not match it. Daemon was brave. To the point of stupid recklessness that sometimes put, not only himself, but those around him in great peril. He was extremely intelligent… and bothered to use it only on the battlefield. He was cunning and yet too deep feelings sent him straight to turmoil. He could be kind and he could be bloodthirsty.

Rhaenyra had never been as blind to Daemon’s flaws as most would assume she was. She had simply accepted them as part of who he was. But those blasted Dreams!

They didn’t really show her anything Rhaenyra didn’t know about Daemon. Small mercies. Even the night at the brothel was truly a stupidly Daemon-move if there ever was one! Of course, it was hurtful, and humiliating did not even start to describe it! At the same time that in some ways it was reassuring to know that her feelings were not unrequited. If that did not have Daemon’s hand all over it, Rhaenyra truly did not know what would be his registered mark.

The man went to toy and ruin his brother’s heir, but oh, no! He finds that the girl he thought to be easy to shock wanted him back! What was this? A twinge in his dark heart? Maybe the beginning of returned affections, maybe guilt, maybe a combination… and then he was gone.

It was so unbelievably Daemon that Rhaenyra could not even find it in herself to be even surprised at the ridiculousness of the situation. Not now, apparently not even then. The version of herself that Rhaenyra saw clearly felt no shock or even confusion, just indignant anger.

The Dreams also showed Rhaenyra what Daemon would become if she let his fire diminish. Hesitant, silent, almost unsure. Melancholy in every footstep. It was horrifying to see. This ghost. This wraith.

Rhaenyra escaped but for a thread. She had more motivation. She had children to protect from vipers too close and a silent war to wage. Even for the two daughters he sired, Daemon did not manage to summon the energy to eat. What a pair they made. Rhaenyra, desperate to ensure her children would live and Daemon, seemly indifferent to life itself. Living in fear and living feeling nothing at all. It was no life. They were barely even breathing.

Rhaenyra took in a deep breath. No. All of it, all that she saw, only strengthened her resolve.

“Excuse me, Princess.” Criston Cole knocked on her door and Rhaenyra had to suppress a wince, she had to figure out a way to discreetly do away with him. “Princess Rhaenys is asking entrance.”

“Please tell her to come in.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened a bit. “Cousin… this is… you look stunning.”

And Rhaenys indeed did. The corset of her dress alone would have taken weeks to make, along with the intricate designs down her long sleeves. Rhaenys was also wearing a crown of obsidians, black as night. Discreet and yet all the more striking due to the contrast with her silver Targaryen hair.

If the Dreams were as accurate as they were, and so far, they had proven themselves to be, then Rhaenyra knew that Alicent’s dresses for the entire occasion paled in comparison to the piece Rhaenys was wearing.

Rhaenys smirked. She clearly knew the image she passed. “Thank you, cousin. Are you not yet dressed?” She frowned in meeting Rhaenyra still in her chemise, only covered with a sleeping robe Rhaenyra had put on after taking a bath.

“Before we do this, and yes, I’m aware that it was my idea. But before we do this, tell me this… say that… one day, Alicent shows up for… I’m not sure, for an event celebrating me, whatever they may be, wearing a green dress… is it comparable?”

It had only occurred to Rhaenyra as she set aside the dress she requested to be made. She saw it as if seeing a play, but it had no less impact for it. Alicent had called her banners to war in Rhaenyra’s wedding. It was not insulting or even an afront anymore, it was a call for war. Treason for in war people died. Not that the King reacted accordingly.

Rhaenyra had the honor of completely shocking Rhaenys. She couldn’t recall ever seeing the older woman completely speechless, her mauve eyes wide.

“Not even Otto Hightower is so stupid.” Rhaenys almost snapped.

Rhaenyra did not take it personally. She knew it was not at her that the reaction was directed at, to be honest, Rhaenyra almost snorted very inelegantly. Otto may prefer more subtle approaches. His daughter on the other hand… who knew, maybe Otto could have been more direct all these years for all that Viserys completely ignored all transgressions, big or small.

“Regardless.” Rhaenyra insisted. “Is it comparable?”

“Of course not.” Rhaenys snapped again before taking a deep breath to calm herself. “We may be showing lack of respect towards the union, towards the King himself and the Hightowers, but it is out of protest, out of respect for the former Queen, whose mourning was not even concluded. As if Aemma Arryn was merely a placeholder. As if the granddaughter of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, the daughter of Princess Daella was a mere footnote in the history of Viserys Targaryen’s reign. If the Hightowers wore green in your wedding, it would be sufficient to call for their heads, it is treason, Princess. And comparing a protest that disrespects a ridiculous union with no benefit to the crown to a call for war against the Targaryens themselves is laughable.”

As if Rhaenyra didn’t know what it meant to call war on the heir to the throne. She wanted so very badly to roll her eyes, but Rhaenyra had long since lost any energy to feel truly disappointed at her father. Now all there was left was a kinda of muted anger as the many ways he failed her revealed themselves with each new insight. And even the anger was slowly, but surely dying out as well. Rhaenyra just did not know what would be left once it did.

“Thank you, Princess. I will be dressing myself shortly.” Rhaenyra revealed the dress hanging on her folding screen.

Rhaenyra smiled as Rhaenys’ eyes widened again, but this time in awe and appreciation.

~*~

The seven days of festivities were a bit… much. Rhaenyra grimaced. She never really realized how often her father threw these lavish parties and dinners and whatever else would strike his fancy.

They were entertaining for sure. Rhaenyra always had fun with the jousting, blood and violence never shocked her and she knew how much training and technique went into each match. Daemon had made sure to instruct her the second Rhaenyra had indicate the slightest interest. The food of the feasts was always splendid, her father had always made sure that variety was not lacking. From Dorne to the North, there was a bit of everything for every taste. Music and decoration always flawless.

And yet… Rhaenyra was not quite sure when it all started to be… boring. You repeat something often enough and it all became quite predictable. She believed the only exception to be dragon riding.

Distracted as she was, Rhaenyra was not expecting Lady Jeyne to approach her, especially before they were announced in the main ball room. Rhaenyra felt her eyes widening.

“We are in mourning, are we not, cousin?” Jeyne smirked, her brown eyes sharp.

Rhaenyra took in the strapless piece. Three years older than Rhaenyra, Jeyne had not only flowered, but was well on her way to gain the last set of curves and it clearly showed. Rhaenyra would say that most would be too busy appreciating the bare shoulders and arms and back… if not for the black wedding veil over her face that trailed on the ground, the entire dress richly decorated with obsidians. Rhaenyra almost wanted to laugh. It looked like a mourning grab… and it looked like a wedding dress all at once. If Jeyne’s support in the Dream was not enough, Rhaenyra had the feeling she would really like her cousin.

“Indeed.” She smiled.

Jeyne’s eyes ran up and down and her smile that was already big got even larger. “Just how many weeks your seamstress took to create this masterpiece?”

“I do not even want to know.” Rhaenyra answered honestly. “This has been in the making for almost four moons now.”

“Since your father named you heir?” Jeyne’s eyes snapped back to hers.

Rhaenyra knew what she was doing when she revealed how long ago the dress was commissioned. Did she know back then about the Hightowers’ grab for power? If so, why didn’t she try to stop it? If she couldn’t, what was the plan? Did it go beyond merely showing disapproval at their wedding?

All valid questions, all questions that Rhaenys already knew. Rhaenyra wondered at the relationship between the two women. Rhaenys had delivered her scroll to Jeyne after all, but would it be possible to build enough trust for a bit more?

Before Rhaenyra could answer, the doors opened again to admit Daemon inside the antechamber. He stopped in his tracks and didn’t even seem to notice Jeyne beside her. Rhaenyra tried not to smile that she could have this effect on him.

“Princess… there are literally no words that would do your beauty justice.”

“Thank you, Uncle. You look dashing yourself.” And he did, Rhaenyra’s growing collection of extremely skilled professionals was growing and her seamstress was among them.

The black tunic with red accents, the black steel details that almost looked like Valyrian steel even on the leather boots. Rhaenyra knew that Daemon didn’t really pay much attention to his appearance. Even if she had vaguely noticed that he only started to truly wear black and red around her. After the war on the Steps, to her wedding to Laenor, when they married.

“Are these?” Daemon asked, softly gesturing towards the sheer red fabric over the black skirt.

“The fabric you brought me from Marahai.” No one has ever seen something of the likes in Westeros, Rhaenyra’s seamstress was almost shaking in fright of ruining the ethereal material as she carefully and painfully slowly cut it and sewed each ruby and diamond and each silver line.

It seemed almost a crime to let the long skirt drag through the ground, but needs must.

“Marahai? Quite the distance.” Jeyne commented lightly.

Rhaenyra bit her lip briefly in amusement as Jeyne and Daemon finally acknowledged each other’s existences.

“Lady Jeyne.”

“Prince Daemon.” Jeyne’s eyes narrowed just slightly.

From brief conversations, Rhaenyra knew that Jeyne was not all that fond of Rhea Royce, conversely, Rhea was still from the Vale and an heir of her own keep and seat. Jeyne valued standing in sisterhood with a fellow woman in power more than her feelings that, sometimes, even if she wouldn’t admit it to herself, matched Daemon’s for Rhea being a bitch.

This should be interesting.

“Is my Bronze Bitch also to attend?” Daemon asked with no hesitation.

And Rhaenyra wished to witness it from a bit farther away and no involvement. It would do for good entertainment while not running the risk of becoming collateral damage. Rhaenyra also knew that she was right in her assessment, Jeyne didn’t react to the insult to her bannerman, instead she just seemed annoyed by Daemon’s general presence.

“No.” And she offered no more.

Daemon raised an impressed eyebrow, clearly against his will before dismissing her altogether and turning back to his niece. “Shall we?” he offered his arm.

Ceasefire. While they have a common goal.

Rhaenyra had a quick moment of amusement as Jeyne carefully arranged the black veil over her face. A bride in mourning. A quick look towards the grand clock told them all they were fashionably on time. A few minutes before being late.

It was still too much consideration to the woman who would one day arrive hours late and calling for war.

By the doors that were about to be opened, stood Princess Rhaenys with her husband. She sent them a quick wink before straightening.

“Yes.” Rhaenyra took Daemon’s arm.

~*~

(Lady Alicent Hightower)

Alicent’s fingers were bloodier than she could ever remember making them. She tried to sit still as her maids prepared her hair and dressed her. She didn’t even look like herself. Alicent glanced at her reflection. Her brown hair was carefully twisted up and around a new crown. Big, gold and full of white and red pearls. More magnificent than anything she ever owned. Her hair shiny with the rose oil from across the Narrow Sea she could only ever dream of having. And her body covered with the finest white and gold silk, the dress decorated in gold.

Was it not everything she ever dreamed of? Whenever Alicent was just be able to sit back and watch as Rhaenyra was showered with gifts from her father, from her mother, the most extravagant coming from her uncle and wishing that she could reach and take some of it for herself. Rhaenyra did not even use most of it.

From the most expensive jewelry with the rarest and biggest of gems to the exotic oils and fragrances and bolts of exquisite fabrics that one could only get if they had a dragon or were willing to pay the ridiculous taxes that came from such a long journey, not to mention all the chests full of precious gems that remained untouched. Alicent had been envious of it all.

Marrying Viserys Targaryen was not quite what she had envisioned for herself as a young girl. Alicent had dreamed of… of maybe someone like Ser Criston Cole if Ser Criston only came from a noble House… sometimes she had allowed herself to dream of Ser Criston wearing a crown of his own and then crowning her after softly kissing her lips.

And marrying the King came with its own set of… of trouble. Alicent settled for the word. She was fond of Rhaenyra. Spoiled or not, the Princess has been her constant companion since the age of seven. They have been confidants ever since and it hurt that Alicent had to hide her actions from her like that. Her father ordered her so, however, and go to the King’s chambers she must.

Everything from there came to cinders. Ironically enough. From being found out in the middle of the night leaving the King’s chambers to the very day of her marriage.

Alicent wanted to rip her own hair out!

How… just how the story went from being found in the king’s chambers late at night to having a non-existing child!?

“People will believe what they find more interesting. Things are still going according to plan.” Her father tried to reassure her and Alicent wanted to yell, shout the whole Red Keep down.

What plan!?

What part of this was good!?

Marrying the King would ensure all the luxury and status in the world it was true. But as things stand Alicent would be queen in name only!

The whispers accompanied her wherever she went.

Whore. Whore. Whore.

She wasn’t! She wasn’t! Alicent repeated insider her mind desperately.

She was doing as her father bided! She was doing what was expected of her! She was doing her duty and sacrifice! Alicent did everything that she was told.

For the last moon, Alicent had tried to talk to Rhaenyra. She could help Alicent quell the rumors. While Rhaenyra hardly paid much heed to whispers and gossip, Alicent had seen the impenetrable armor around her friend making sure nothing touched her. It is as if Rhaenyra did not even know that whispers circulated about her, about her father and uncle and mother. And Alicent felt once again envious of that. She did not know whether it was out of ignorance or strength, but while Alicent destroyed her cuticles and was a pile of nerves, Rhaenyra seemed happy to just go about her day. Ignoring septas while correctly answering any question maesters and septas alike would ask her. Always with an air of boredom.

As if Rhaenyra didn’t hear that the people thought her father weak and pliable.

As if Rhaenyra didn’t hear that the people thought her mother barren and unworthy.

As if Rhaenyra didn’t hear that the people thought her uncle as Maegor Come Again.

Whispers, gossip, rumors… and ultimately pity for the Princess with such a family, and Rhaenyra simply didn’t react to any of it.

Alicent tried to reach her friend for the last moon and, eventually, her frenetic nerves turned into anger. Just where was Rhaenyra?! Why did she leave Alicent alone in a time like this? Is she so thoughtless as to ignore the suffering that Alicent was going through?! Rhaenyra used to carefully and discreetly cradle her hands so Alicent wouldn’t torn her cuticles to shreds, where was she?! Why was Rhaenyra not by her side?!

“I believe you are ready, My Lady.” It was, strictly, the correct way to address Alicent.

Her maids kept sending her strange looks. If Alicent was to guess, they were torn between sympathy and pure disdain. She tried not to frown towards the maids bustling about. She could remember the days preceding Viserys’ coronation, the servants, the ladies and the nobles all addressed Queen Aemma as ‘queen’ already. Before her own husband became king even.

Alicent honestly felt disrespected enough for yet another jab. But before she could reprimand the maid, Ser Rickard Thorne’s voice came through the door.

“My Queen, it is time.”

At least someone could understand the order of things. Alicent paid no more mind to the maids. She will see to it that her new household would be of a more gracious lot.

With her head held high, Alicent opened the door.

Ser Rickard escorted her to the doors of the main ball where the announcer was notified.

“Lady Alicent of House Hightower. Betrothed to King Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!”

The doors opened to admit her and Alicent walked as gracefully as she could with shoes that she was not used to. High heels and hard leather that a maiden did not wear made for an awkward walk even if Alicent did her best to mold them in the few weeks since she got them.

Utter silence met her and Alicent was not sure whether that was good or not. She was a bit busy trying to make sure she didn’t trip over the too long skirt as the style was not one she was used to, much like the shoes. Finally looking up, she was met with a sight that… that did not make sense to her.

Some of the guests were wearing their House’s colors and some had on neutral tones but there were many, more than half, that wore entirely black. Some, like the members of House Massey had some gems in lighter colors, but not a few displayed completely black outfits, not a detail in another color, no stitch of it, no jewelry be them rings, earrings, necklaces, chains that were not black.

Her father was waiting for her in the high table and seemed almost purple with rage. The sight almost made Alicent stop in her tracks before she remembered herself and walked the rest of the way. Viserys… could Alicent already call him by first name? The King did not seem very pleased either but while her father was frozen in apoplectic rage on his seat, the King was nervously darting his eyes about.

“My bride.” Viserys greeted her warmly enough with a kiss to the cheek.

“My… King.” Alicent tripped a bit over the words and tried for a smile.

“My daughter, how glad I am to live to see this day.” Alicent almost blinked at her father. For if he was telling the truth, he certainly was doing his best not to show it.

Once she was seated, Viserys cleared his throat and turned to the crowd who was still as silent as the grave, Alicent tried to meet the eyes of the lords and ladies she was a bit more familiar with. Lords Redwyne and Peake, however, would not glance at their table, actually they seemed to be doing their best not to avert their eyes from the ground. Not even Patricia Redwyne, Lord Redwyne’s youngest daughter and an old friend of Alicent’s from the Reach was daring to look anywhere near her.

What was going on?

Looking towards Ser Rickard proved to be even more confusing. While Viserys looked consternated and almost sick while her father was angered beyond any state Alicent has ever seen, Ser Rickard seemed… shocked. His dark eyes were sweeping through the crowd as if he couldn’t understand what he was seeing.

Alicent turned to the guests again. And again she was met with so much of the color black. What… what wasn’t she seeing? Why… why…

Viserys cleared his throat again. In the oppressive quiet, however, it only ever made the feeling of… of something wrong grow inside Alicent.

“As more of our honorable guests arrive, I… I welcome you all to King’s Landing. Please enjoy the feast of the first day of celebrations for the newest royal union. My… my marriage to… to Lady Alicent Hightower.”

Her father raised his hands and clapped lightly, there were a few scattered clapping here and there and slowly and painfully died out as no one joined in. As reticent as they were once Alicent entered the ball room, the guests fanned out to procure drinks and food.

There was no talk, even the musicians were clearly growing uncomfortable as no one danced. The few who dared to murmur anything almost winced as their voices carried in the complete silence.

Alicent had to suppress her shakiness. What was happening? Why was this happening? This was supposed to be a happy day! She… she was getting married! Marriages were supposed to be good. But as she tried to nibble the food being offered a thought crossed her mind. It was so abrupt that Alicent didn’t know where it came from, but her head raised from her plate and actually looked at the crowd. It was if… it was if they were… waiting… for… something.

The announcer’s voice seemed so much stronger as it was the only one in the room.

“Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Princess of the Blood of House Targaryen. Lady of House Velaryon. And Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark.”

Alicent’s eyes widened a bit at the beautiful dress Princess Rhaenys was wearing. Intricate details in the bodice and arms and part of the skirt, all in silver against the black fabric, her cloak dragged behind her in an elegant manner. Her beautiful face a mask to all. Her husband beside her, however, made no effort to conceal his displeasure for all to see. Before Alicent could feel rage and indignant for the insult of being outshined in her own wedding by a woman almost twenty sun turns older than her, the announcer once again opened his damn mouth.

“Lady Jeyne of House Arryn. Lady of the Eyrie. Defender of the Vale. Warden of the East.”

Lady Jeyne was not much of a beauty. Indeed, she could easily get lost in a crowd. But she was imposing and was a woman who had held her own seat unmarried for the last sixteen sun turns and it showed in how high she held her head, in the way she walked. And all of it just truly highlighted the dress she chose. Strapless, the cloth was… wasn’t like anything Alicent has ever seen, hundreds of tiny gems sewed into the fabric that made it shimmer in the candlelight, showing her bare shoulders and arms if not… if not for the wedding veil she wore… completely in black.

Lady Jeyne looked like a bride… and she looked in mourning as well. The veil covering her face sent the message clearly enough. And suddenly everything fell into piece. The pit in her stomach, why there was this feeling that something was wrong, something she was missing. And Alicent wanted to gasp in pure horror. All these people in black, all these lords and ladies… most of the entire Realm! They were all—

“Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne. Princess of the Blood of House Targaryen and Prince Daemon Targaryen of House Targaryen. Prince of the Blood of House Targaryen.”

As if was not enough! Trouble would follow Daemon Targaryen anywhere he went, Alicent looked up and froze. To think that she was of the opinion that Rhaenys outshone her...

Rhaenyra was not wearing entirely black.

Chapter Text

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

Daemon smirked as he took in the reactions around the room. Otto Hightower seemed about two seconds from exploding… if Gods be good, maybe it will be literally. Viserys, his dear and blind and deaf brother seemed almost grey under the candlelight, perspiration on his forehead and running down his face. The whore he decided to marry, the girl that basically amounted to Rhaenyra’s maid looked horrified. And if Daemon could merely watch as more people with Otto’s disgusting blood in their veins have their dreams shattered, the night could only be good.

Even without the aide of her dress – a piece that Daemon has never seen no matter where he travelled – Rhaenyra would outshine a Hightower, any of them, in any day or night. Rhaenys, although a lot older, was also more resplendence than some Andal daughter who tried to bite the hand that feed her.

Their silver golden hair carefully brushed and pined up, fair skin and purple eyes had always set them apart from the usual crowd. As if the blood of the dragon manifested through their very bodies. What hope could some Reach woman have?

Daemon and Rhaenyra arrived at the high table, while Rhaenyra bowed at the smallest angle, Daemon did not even bother with that much.

“Brother… quite the feast.”

And although Rhaenyra bowed… almost nodded really, she did not bother to greet the… happy couple. Daemon’s smirk widened at that. In other circumstances, Viserys would be almost as red as Otto currently was. Daemon had never dared show his face so soon after a banishment.

“Your Grace… this is just absurd!” Otto finally spoke.

Much to Daemon’s disappointment, it seemed that the little vermin was so angry, but so very angry that instead of yelling until the entire Keep came down on their heads, his voice came out a strangled whisper. Still, it was amusing. The man was shaking as badly as his bland daughter. Was he going to cry? Daemon wondered briefly.

“Daemon… you… I… have a seat. You too, my daughter.” Viserys gestured to the many empty ones beside him.

Daemon raised an eyebrow for… many reasons. Of course, Viserys would go with his time long tradition of avoiding the issue and praying it would vanish. Otherwise he would have incandescent at his presence mere moons after being banished. And then he glanced about the room. Sure enough, the Velaryons were seated in the second closest low table. Laenor and Laena both absent which would surely be yet another message that Viserys would ignore. As he was ignoring the fact that the Velaryons, their closest family… the King’s closest family, the Blood of Old Valyria and the only other House with dragons were seating after the Hightowers.

By the Fourteen Flames! Daemon could feel sweat forming on his back, just to match the sweat on his brother’s brow. He thought bitterly as he accompanied Rhaenyra to her seat. Rhaenys had Meleys, Laenor had Seasmoke and Laena had recently claimed Vhagar. It would be impressive and amusing how stupid Viserys could be without even meaning to if it wasn't horrific how much danger that could potentially put Rhaenyra in, they all in really.

Daemon could only lean on his hand and watch as Viserys stood up to officially commence the feast. Deciding to follow Rhaenyra’s lead, Daemon made himself comfortable on his chair and started to eat without speaking, sometimes stopping to sip his wine, arm resting on Rhaenyra’s chair and absently brushing her hair sometimes.

It seemed to be the signal needed for the guests to do the same. The music was almost an insult… to the wrong people for continuing to play. A cheerful thing meant for celebration. Sure… celebration. Daemon wanted to roll his eyes. No one danced, all seemed content… or pressured into sitting and eating and keeping their silence. Daemon almost laughed at how Jason Lannister would sometimes raise his head, look around to see if anyone was brave enough to do anything else and then just return his focus to his plate.

Glancing to his side and noting that his fingers had been playing with one of Rhaenyra’s locks, made wavy for the occasion, Daemon could only smirk at how relaxed she looked. As if nothing out of the ordinary was going on and Rhaenyra was simply enjoying the smoked salmon on her plate and refilling it with the cooked vegetables.

This was actually a lot of fun. Otto Hightower was alternatively going green then grey then red then purple then back to green then white then blue then red again. Daemon would have laughed until his sides ached if that wouldn’t break the absolute and morbid silence, only interrupted from the sound of the silverware being used. If he focused hard enough he could swear he could hear who from the crowd had the habit of eating a bit too loudly. Daemon bit his lip not to chuckle.

Daemon had no idea how much of the whole thing was Rhaenyra or Rhaenys’ doing. But he inwardly promised both women the rarest gem he could find before, during or after the war for the Steps. This night was the most fun he had in years!

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra honestly didn’t think it would have been that easy. She reached for the grapes once sated and plucked a few while watching the crowd and waiting for dessert to be served. All she had to do was keep her silence and enjoy the meal on her plate, not anything different from what she had been doing for a moon now since her father didn’t deem it in his interest to dine with her. Rhaenyra tried not to think of the possibility that he was having his meals with Alicent instead. But indeed, the most difficult task of the night was trying to ignore her uncle that was slowly twirling a curl of her hair. As rule, she was not very fond of how her hair looked like once humidity did away with the straight locks but a compliment from Nora Strong, Ser Harwin’s younger sister, the day before made Rhaenyra request her maid to make a few curls for the occasion.

Well, Daemon seemed to enjoy it. Rhaenyra tried not to let it show how it was affecting her as he would play with the strand artistically free from the rest of the bun from time to time. She couldn’t deny that she was breathing a bit better once the plates were taken and dessert was announced and Daemon reached to take a piece of the plum pie and had to release her hair.

No lemon cake. Rhaenyra tried not to feel disappointed. But it seemed that something in her expression betrayed her because Daemon soon deposited a plate of strawberry tart in front of her. Her second favorite sweet. Once again trying not to blush, Rhaenyra merely nodded her thanks.

The rest of the night was uneventful. Not even Otto managed to cut through the lack of talking, the lack of dancing, the lack of plain respect. Rhaenyra tried not to smile.

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

“That was fun.” Daemon smirked as he entered the familiar antechamber that the Velaryons used when visiting.

Not even Jeyne Arryn’s presence or her rolling her eyes were enough to sour his good mood. Who would have thought that a night spent in complete and utter silence would be so enjoyable.

More people than he knew what to do with were in attendance of this little meeting actually. Daemon surveyed the room. Actually a bit shocked that Ser Harrold Westerling and Ser Erryk Cargyll were guarding the room… from the inside.

Ser Harwin Strong was a familiar face. The knight has been a gold cloak for a few years now. His two younger sisters’ were not. Benjen Stark being there almost made Daemon’s eyes widen, there was a boy more or less Rhaenyra’s age to his right and a girl that looked a bit younger to his left. Two other women with light brown hair were standing beside Jeyne, one of them familiar.

Corlys and Rhaenys were calmly seeping the wine being served by Rhaenyra’s maid, Annora, the only servant around actually. Daemon glanced about. The maid was clearly a little overwhelmed trying to serve wine for all the people inside.

Daemon found a seat right beside Rhaenyra.

Jeyne rolled her eyes again. “Now that we are all here. These are Elys and Amanda Arryn.”

“Lady Elys has agreed to become my lady in waiting.” Rhaenys explained briefly.

Daemon almost hummed to himself. Amanda was not only Aemma’s lady in waiting, but Aemma's half sister... old enough to be her aunt in true. That was why she looked familiar. Elys, also Aemma's half sister and Daella's stepdaughter on the other hand… Rhaenyra’s raised eyebrow to his left already told Daemon that’s she was aware of the relationship between the woman and her own grandmother, Daella. Which made the arrangement a bit… peculiar.

“And it would be interesting if Lady Amanda was to become your lady in waiting, Princess.” Rhaenys looked towards Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra huffed a bit, but she did not look disagreeable. “Of course, it would be an honor.” She paused. “Is Alicent already getting rid of Mother’s household? I understand that my mother’s half sister is hardly someone that she would want to keep for a companion, but…”

The speed in which Aemma’s servants were being dispatched did not speak very favorably to the new Queen, even if she had no hand in the arrangements as Daemon suspected she didn't. The people in the room understood it. Even more after such a hasty wedding.

While a woman of six and forty being the lady in waiting for a princess of five and ten was more than a bit unusual, it could always be excused for the connection to her mother. Besides which, after Alicent Hightower’s social elevation, it stood to reason that Princess Rhaenyra would want to surround herself with familiar faces. Lady Amanda smiled a bit sadly at her niece.

“The Hightowers move fast.” Jeyne’s voice was as bland as she could make it.

“We have ample proof of that, Lady Jeyne. Well, from Ladies Amelia and Nora Strong’s presence, I believe that an agreement has been reached as well?” Rhaenys smiled a little towards the two young ladies.

They exchanged a smirk with Rhaenyra who nodded to Rhaenys. “They also have agreed to become my ladies in waiting.”

“As have my daughter, Ada.” Benjen Stark finally spoke up and gestured to the brown-haired girl to his side.

Which once again surprised Daemon. A Stark living semi-permanently in King’s Landing. This night was certainly something. In the North they barely even bothered to call their nobilities as lords and ladies.

“Someone else from the Vale would be a good addition. But for now it means one from the Vale, one from the North, two from Riverlands. We need from Crownlands, Stormlands, Westerlands and the Reach then.” Jeyne grimaced alongside the rest of the room. “I don’t suppose Lady Laena would be agreeable?” She glanced towards Rhaenys and Corlys.

Corlys was a bit red from anger, but his voice was even. “Not after being so thoroughly humiliated.”

Something told Daemon that Laena was not the one that felt humiliated, if anything, the wild little thing that claimed Vhagar would be relieved not to be tied to Viserys, but he decided to keep his silence. Especially since… from an appearance’s point of view, Laena was humiliated. To be overlooked for Alicent Hightower… well… Daemon wouldn’t be surprised if, even though relieved, she would still feel pretty insulted.

“I do not know about the Reach.” Amelia Strong decided to say after an encouraging nod from her brother. “But I overheard Lord Massey talking about his daughter, Lady Elinda. She is only seven years old but there were concerns about her too shy disposition. Her Lady mother was worried about what it could mean for a future marriage since… since the talks about Queen Aemma’s own mother were raised again.” She tried to delicately finish.

Rhaenyra didn’t react in any visible way, but Daemon noticed how Elys Arryn discreetly winced. Interesting. Maybe it was simple guilt that motivated the old woman.

“Shyness can be properly coached.” Rhaenys dismissed it. “And the Masseys have long since been loyal to the Targaryens, even before the Conquest.”

“How sure are we that this same loyalty wouldn’t shift to whatever child the Hightower girl brings about?” Benjen asked gruffly.

Ah, Northern brazenness. Daemon sometimes wondered about life there… if it wasn’t cold enough to freeze one’s balls off.

“I believe that as sure as we can be of yours.” Daemon smirked at the Northman.

The girl, Ada, was it, bristled beside her father. Ah, the girl had fire of her own. Damone was already approving of her as Rhaenyra’s companion. His little niece would need it. Benjen just waved her off.

“Oaths are not just words for Starks, Prince Daemon.” Was all that was said and no one in the room could argue with that.

There was never a Stark in history that broke an oath. Daemon’s smirk grew a bit.

“If you two are finished.” Jeyne looked bored. “It is a good option, Lady Amelia.” She praised the girl. “From Stormlands, I believe that Cassandra Baratheon can be considered. Only four years younger than you, Princess.”

But Rhaenyra had another in mind. “I was actually going to suggest Maris Baratheon. The second eldest. I exchanged a few words with the three sisters. As Lady Maris mentioned, Lady Cassandra was most displeased that her father did not try to introduce her to King Viserys as a possible bride.”

“She is twelve.” Jeyne deadpanned.

“And already most displeased about not being Queen.” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow as she repeated herself. “Maris may be only one and ten, but she is very sharp, she immediately approached me, even told me about the reason her sister seemed so crossed and almost jumped on the chance to be my lady in waiting. Lady Maris, apparently, fears for her prospects in the future.”

“Lord Borros may be a pig, but he is a smart pig. He wouldn’t marry his daughter to just anyone.” Rhaenys frowned.

“And Maris also understands that she is not becoming any great beauty, she is mouthy and her dowry not as impressive as Lady Cassandra’s, her lady mother’s patience wears thinner every year that pass… her words not mine.”

“Sharp indeed.” Rhaenys looked suitably impressed. “For a second daughter, who seems to be more trouble than worth it to become the Princess’ lady in waiting…”

Daemon hummed. “You understand that, doing so, it only ever invites the Hightowers to ask Cassandra to be Alicent’s lady in waiting.” He smirked. “The older daughter becoming the Queen’s lady in waiting while the younger one becomes the Princess’, there is already a healthy dose of rivalry if not dislike so this Lady Maris will have the incentive that works to your benefit. And if Cassandra is as smart as she is ambitious, she will hide said ambition long enough for it to point towards the Hightowers.”

“A snake among snakes.” Rhaenyra was clearly interested.

“Careful.” Corlys cautioned. “If Otto decides to approach Borros then let him, curry favor by asking for Lady Maris but let them destroy themselves by themselves. Borros asks, just say that you understand that Lady Cassandra will soon have her own match and be too busy to be a lady in waiting while Lady Maris does not have such a hurry. They will understand the reasoning, and possibly, although I doubt it, not be much impressed for the same not to occur to the Hightowers even if they wouldn’t deny the queen consort of Westeros.”

The words were wise, so they nodded.

Harwin joined the conversation. “The Reach will be a problem. How about someone from House Beesbury? From the small council, he is the only one aside from Father that I never wished to kick through a window.”

Daemon chortled at that. “Still, the Beesburys are a Hightower bannermen. Lyman might be honorable and loyal, but that may not extend to the rest of his House.”

“And he only has one son and one grandson.” Rhaenyra wanted to curse.

“How about the Caswells?” Harwin tried again. “He has three kids, I think the youngest is a daughter and no connection to the Hightowers aside from the fact that they are from the Reach.”

“His wife’s fame has reached even the North.” Rickon Stark commented from where he was seated next to his father.

“She is certainly not shy about punishment.” Rhaenys agreed which was a kind way to refer to the fact that in Bitterbridge, the Caswell’s dungeons were almost empty for its prisoners more often than not are beheaded for their crimes.

“I like her.” The casual way Jeyne said so almost made Rhaenyra giggle.

The Princess coughed lightly to try and hide her amusement. Daemon levelled a stare at her which annoyed his niece. He always did when proving how well he knew her. Daemon smirked.

“Her daughter, I believe her name is Estell—” Harwin was interrupted.

“Wait…” Daemon chuckled. “Estell Caswell… are you serious?”

“I… you are a child.” Rhaenys shook her head in incredulity but Rhaenyra had to bite her lip not to laugh with her uncle.

Harwin was similarly amused, “Lady Estell is a bit older than Princess Rhaenyra, I think she is almost eight and ten or nine and ten. I overheard Lord Allun talking about her. She does not wish to be wedded and the excuses are quickly running out.”

“This is not usually an obstacle for fathers.” Rhaenyra was careful that her voice conveyed no feeling.

“Her lady mother supports her wishes and Lord Allun seems… uh… resigned… maybe?” Harwin shrugged. “But they all know that Lady Estell can’t just simply live the rest of her days in Bitterbridge, especially as the talks of marriage for Lord Allun’s oldest son are already underway.”

“Lord Allun has been in court since King Jaehaerys and has always acted in the interest of the Realm instead of just the Reach.” Lady Amanda put forth her opinion.

“Two from each province.” Daemon uttered to himself.

“From the Riverlands, we already have Ladies Amelia and Nora Strong, but maybe one more from another family will not be amiss.” Jeyne looked towards the siblings.

“How about the Darrys? Lady Rosamund is just bit older than the Princess.” Nora did not look very pleased with her sister’s suggestion but held her tongue.

“Lady Nora?” Rhaenyra inquired. “I would prefer if my ladies would get along with each other.”

Nora’s hazel eyes, the same as her brother’s widened a bit. “Yes, of course, My Princess. It is… uh.”

Amelia’s brown eyes, on the other hand, just rolled. “Lady Rosamund is just overly fond of our brother.”

There was scattered laugh here and there as Harwin smirked and ruined his sister’s braids. Which just increased his amusement as the girl squawked a bit indignantly and retorted, “Who said it was you and not Larys?”

“That would be it for the Riverlands. From the Crownlands we have Elinda Massey. A bit too young though.” Jeyne frowned.

“The Hayfords.” Corlys suggested. “Loyal to the crown and not blind to its mistakes as the lord in Maegor’s time proved. They have a daughter, Lady Lyra, recently widowed with no issue. Rumors circulated about her that worsened her chances at a future marriage.”

That one Daemon heard about. “The one with the rumors that she smothered her brother in a fit of jealousy?” He raised his eyebrow. “Or was it her husband?”

But Corlys just sighed. “We can always check more thoroughly, but she is not a bad option.”

“Is there anyone from the Celtigars?” Daemon tried. “They are Valyrian and have long since kept their vows.”

“Lady Prudence has recently returned from Gulltown as her son became the new Lord Grafton after her husband died.” But Corlys was interrupted.

“No.” Jeyne was absolute. “House Grafton are full of bigoted idiots. I will not have divided loyalties.”

“They are from the Eyrie, so you’d know best.” Corlys tried to placate.

“And her sister? Prunella, I think. Her wedding was considered a credit to… Queen Alysanne’s skill in matchmaking.” Daemon’s voice was as cold as the North and Jeyne’s expression was unreadable.

The rest of the room tried not to fidget. It was well known that Queen Alysanne’s matches were either the most absolute triumph or the darkest of failures.

Benjen ignored it all. “She married Lord Peake from the Reach. No daughters or even granddaughters, aside from the fact that House Peake has an uncomfortably close friendship with the Hightowers.”

“So much for my grandmother’s vaulted skills.” Daemon sneered. He ignored how the lack of daughters and the future need of them was hardly Queen Alysanne’s fault.

Corlys sighed heavily. “I shall… consider with Laena.” He said as if someone was pulling his teeth.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

That looked painful. Rhaenyra thought with no sympathy as Rhaenys absently patted her husband’s arm.

“I appreciate it, Lord Corlys.” Rhaenyra said when prompted by a look sent from Rhaenys. “For now, from the Riverslands we have Ladies Amelia and Nora Strong and possibly Lady Rosamund from House Darry. From the Crownlands we have Lady Elinda Massey and Lyra Hayford. From the Vale we have Lady Amanda…” She trailed off and looked towards Jeyne.

Jeyne for her part just sighed. “I was going to suggest Alyssa Royce, but mayhap it is not a good idea.” When no one reacted, Jeyne just nodded. “I thought so. There are not many candidates with the right… or at least that do not have wrong connections, perhaps Lady Henrietta Woodhull?”

“Who are the Woodhulls?” Rhaenyra frowned in concern for not recognizing the name.

“Henrietta is… very young, I think she is close to Lady Elinda’s age. Daughter of a landed knight.” Jeyne explained.

“You jest.” Daemon deadpanned. “The princess would be laughed at.”

Jeyne pursed her lips in displeasure but didn’t contest Daemon’s opinion. Which already said everything. “I shall give it some more thought, but indeed the appropriate ladies are already serving other Houses.”

“From the Reach we have Lady Estell Caswell. It’s just too bad the Redforts have no daughters available.” Rhaenyra complained lightly. “From the Stormlands, Lady Maris Baratheon.”

“Lady Alora Fell is part of the court, it would be no great additional work for her and she is a woman of her word.” Rhaenys commented.

“Maybe, but her son, Ser Willis Fell, a member of the Kingsguard does not literally kiss Otto’s arse because they are in public.” Daemon derided.

As one, they all turned to the two kingsguards inside the chambers. Ser Harrold and Ser Erryk looked uncomfortable and yet did not deny Daemon’s words.

“Maybe Lady Alora can still become a lady in waiting, but for you, Princess Rhaenys.” Rhaenyra suggested.

There was a flash of… of something, something familiar. Rhaenyra had the impression that Lady Alora, much like Lord Allum and Lord Beesbury and Lord Buckler paid dearly for their loyalty in a future that, with some hope, would not come to pass.

But Rhaenys pursed her lips. “To go from the court of the King to the household of a princess…” She sighed. “Lady Alora is smart, however, mayhap she will agree.”

Rhaenyra hoped she did. “From the North we have Lady Ada.” She smiled, amused as Ada grimaced at the title.

“Maybe the Boltons will have someone. Barba Bolton, maybe.” Benjen talked more to himself than to the rest of the room.

And Ada finally pronounced herself, scoffing a bit. But she did not seem to be disagreeing with her father. “Barba is tough as nails and she is more focused on the betterment of her House than the rise of power of her House.”

Subtle difference and it made all the difference. Rhaenyra nodded alongside some others.

“Which leaves us the Westerlands.” Corlys looked about the room.

As one, Rhaenys and Daemon nodded. Jeyne not far behind them. “I guess that concludes our meeting for today.”

It would be funny, if it wasn’t infuriating. What the fuck does the West gain by supporting the Hightowers? Rhaenyra had to take several calming breaths.

But the rest of the occupants just blinked at the three. “What… what about the Marbrands?” Lady Amanda asked.

“Ser Lorent Marbrand is a loyal Kingsguard, the rest of his House would maintain neutral position at best. Their income is too dependent on the Lannisters.” Ser Harrold cleared his throat, very visibly awkward.

“Banefort?” Benjen tried.

“Close ties with the Lannisters.” Rhaenys answered as she accepted the bowl of grapes from Annora.

“House Crakehall.” Corlys raised his eyebrows.

“Their lord is childhood friend of Jason Lannister.” Daemon reached for the pitch of wine himself.

“The Westerlings?” Harwin gestured to the Lord Commander who once again cleared his throat.

“No women who are not married into the family, I’m afraid, Ser Harwin.”

“Leffords?” Corlys put forth.

“Their middle aged lord is in good health and would for certain still be alive if any whelp is born from this idiotic union of my brother’s. The man is cautious but respects his call to arms, if the Lannisters support the Hightowers, they will raise their banners as well. Not much of a danger, Lefford has always been a mediocre leader.” Daemon calmly started to eat the cheese being served.

Ada frowned in incredulity as she seemed to gauge their faces. “And so we just… ignore an entire province? One of the Seven Kingdoms… technically six for we do not count Dorne?”

“There is not much to work there, Lady Ada.” Jeyne explained briefly. “At most, if we extend an invitation and the milk-of-the-poppy-addled lord agrees, we will have some expendable hostage.”

“Expendable?” Amelia asked.

“Most of the stronger lords are firmly in the Lannisters’ hands, the minor ones either wouldn’t agree for not wanting to defy their overlords or they would agree but threats to the Lady’s life wouldn’t amount to much at all.” Jeyne detailed.

Daemon grimaced. “The only thing left for the man to do is eat their damn gold, but I have to admit that the Lannisters know how to control their bannermen.”

“And there is no way to try and sway the Lannisters themselves?” Rickon asked.

“No.” Rhaenyra was the one who answered, so blandly that no one contested anymore.

“What about squires for you, Prince Daemon?” Those being Elys' first words, many had forgotten that the woman was there.

Daemon just smirked. “I’m not in King’s Landing for extended periods of times enough for that to matter.”

If Rhaenyra’s expression betrayed the briefest seconds of… something, no one noticed.

They drank and ate some more before the sky appeared too dark.

Lady Amelia frowned before leaving. “How word about mourning clothes spread so fast?” She did not even know who she was asking truly.

Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows and Rhaenys merely smiled a bit before answering. “All the major Houses have spies in each other’s keeps. It is the name of the game. It just depends on how fast the whispers travels.”

Amelia looked suitably impressed. And as the two younger sisters were distracted, Rhaenyra met Harwin’s eyes in question who just nodded. Good. Wilbur, Maisie and one of the Keep’s dragonkeeper made it to the ships to Dragonstone. If all goes well, they will be back by the end of the week, just as her father and Alicent were to be married. Rhaenyra tried not to grimace and focus on the big picture. If successful, it meant that a chest of gold from her coffers and one dragon egg of eight that were left in the Dragonpit would be safely in Dragonstone.

This was the result of Dreamfyre’s two last clutches, and it would remain the last if the she-dragon did not mate again, and Rhaenyra knew that she was not interested in Daemon’s Caraxes. Eight eggs. The first one to go was the one that was supposed to be Baelon’s. The one Daemon took under the pretense of giving it to his non-existing bastard. She rolled her eyes. The next one to go would be the one that was laid in Jacaerys’ cradle, Vermax. Rhaenyra bit her lip in consternation and anxiety. If that egg was to be her son's, maybe there was no need to transport it... but Rhaenyra did not want to risk it. If Wilbur succeeded, she should try and risk transporting three at a time? Vermax, Arrax and Tyraxes. And then the remaining four eggs, that would one day be placed in Aegon, Helaena, Aemond and Daeron's cribs and grow cold. Aegon, Helaena and Aemond are to be born before her own sons, to have eggs placed in their craddles before her own children and for their eggs to grow cold for all the realm to see... Rhaenyra needed to think about it. Sunfyre and Tessarion would soon hatch in Dragonstone, however, one day to be claimed by Aegon and Daeron. Rhaenyra suppressed the urge to smash and destroy the two eggs instead. They would have better riders this time. She vowed. Or no riders at all.

“We talked about what we could tonight. It’s getting late.” Rhaenys sighed and then smirked. “We do not want to be found so late at night where we shouldn’t be.”

Many choked on their own spit with those parting words.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenys’ shock was not welcomed this time around. Rhaenyra deadpanned but tried to smile a bit to Maris Baratheon that was next to her parents and sisters. Although Maris was wearing a muted grey, the rest of her family was wearing diverse and neutral colors enough. At least it was not green. Rhaenyra sneered in her mind. Then again, green didn’t mean the same thing to the rest of the Houses as it did to the Hightowers, at least not yet.

“Are you completely insane?”

Well… completely sane was not much in the cards for any of them. Rhaenyra refrained from saying so.

“It is the smart thing to do.” Rhaenyra insisted instead.

Rhaenys took in a deep breath before discreetly taking a look around. The Celtigars didn’t even attend the festivities. Considering they were in the Crownlands and were also one of the three Valyrian Houses left, it… said something. Still, that means that the number of people that knew High Valyrian was very limited.

“You are stealing those eggs?” She tried not to whisper and gather more attention to herself.

“And transporting my coffers.” Rhaenyra argued. “I am not about to leave gold where the Hightowers can get it.”

It was the briefest of moments, but Rhaenyra saw her older self’s need to barter Jaehaerys’ crown for safe passage. Carts and ships leaving the Keep’s treasury to many Hightowers allies and strongholds, across the Narrow Sea for the Iron Bank. Not this time. For her own coffers are not going to be the only ones emptied and transported.

Rhaenys pursed her lips but Rhaenyra knew she couldn’t argue with that logic. “The dragonkeepers immediately notified the King when your uncle took an egg, but one of them gladly went along with that plan of yours?”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “I am the heir… if in name only, the dragonkeepers seem to respect that much. Besides…” she trailed off a little tiredly, “Uncle has a reputation, and I was responsible for picking the egg for… for Baelon.”

Rhaenys conceded the point. You either loved or hated Daemon but many would not completely and utterly trust the man.

“The coffers?” Rhaenys gestured so they would walk among the guests partaking the ball that was supposed to be happening.

Much like the first day, most were in utter silence. Many were talking quietly among themselves if not completely seated at the tables spread about but considering that tonight was supposed to be a ball and no one deigned to dance, it sent the same message as the first night. Her father and Alicent shared one dance and, as the music changed and only a few of the Lannisters tried and failed to break the awkwardly empty dancefloor, her father escorted a shocked Alicent back to the high table.

“The Queen has control of the princess’ finances.” Rhaenyra tried not to grit it out.

Rhaenys' expression told Rhaenyra she was holding back quite a few curses. Rhaenys had likely forgotten about it. Aemma had never seen the need to control Rhaenyra’s expenses, for, truly, most of the girl’s belongings were given to her by her uncle, but Rhaenyra's former lady in waiting now being able to dictate what Rhaenyra could buy for herself... “I don’t think you thought out all the details.”

Most likely. Rhaenyra thought to herself. But pride has bitten her back before. “What did I overlook?”

“There are those in Dragonstone that also were against a woman in power.”

Rhaenyra almost blinked. Her face slacked in realization. There was the briefest of moments where she saw Robert Quince. He was a knight most famous for being overweight and almost jolly, she remembers him most fondly after Ser Harrold for always being kind to her. There was a spear going right through his belly. A name. Alfred Broome. Stationed at Dragonstone.

Locking her entire body, expression included, Rhaenyra discreetly looked out the window facing east, towards Dragonstone. Fuck.

Rhaenys raised a knowing eyebrow. “The only thing left to do is pray that your two little helpers do not encounter them.”

Rhaenyra tried to clear her throat to hide her mounting anxiety. “What if I… I make a quick trip on dragonback?”

“How long ago did you dispatch them?”

“Almost three days now.” Rhaenyra quickly hid a wince in the pretense of reaching for one of the appetizers being served about.

“Then you’d be too late even if you go now. It takes a few hours to half a day depending on the dragon.”

“Syrax can make it in a little more than seven hours.” But Rhaenyra already knew it wouldn’t be fast enough. Caraxes could reach the island in almost six and it would still not be fast enough.

Rhaenys sighed. “How confident are you that the dragonkeeper tasked with this will lie on your behalf?”

“I’m not sure about lying. If anything he would be confused about the two children’s presence but if asked all he would be able to say is that the Princess wanted for this egg to be transported there.”

“… we can work with that… if you are willing to look like a brat.”

“Most of the realm already thinks so.” Rhaenyra wanted to roll her eyes.

“Then say that you do not wish for the egg you chose for your brother from your mother to be given to the siblings you’d get from a Lady Alicent.”

Rhaenyra couldn’t help the grimace this time. “A brat is a fitting description.”

Truth be told, Rhaenyra did not even think of that. But now that Rhaenys brought up the possibility that the egg she spent weeks choosing as her mother’s pregnancy progressed could be put besides the rapist vermin that would one day command his dragon to burn her alive made Rhaenyra see red. Regardless of the fact that it did not happen anyways, even in the Dreams.

Rhaenyra thought of the woman she could one day become. Perhaps not the extent Daemon was, but she was also burned out. Tired. With a mangled pride for all the humiliations and jumping at shadows. That woman would see Baelon’s egg be put in the cradle of a Hightower whelp with gritted teeth. Perhaps not at the beginning, perhaps not when Alicent first got pregnant or first gave birth, but by the time Daeron was put on this world, Rhaenyra would no longer have the fire to fight back slights to her mother. By then, her only energy was when her children were in danger.

Yet, as paltry as the effort and results were, it was still a lot more than her own father did for her. Rhaenyra felt a pang in her heart. It was dull ache, the tip of a blunted blade instead of the searing open wound left to fester that it was a moon ago. Yet… it still hurt.

Would her father fight for her? If Rhaenyra was in Lucerys’ place and hunted and slaughtered… would her father do as Daemon did? For a child that was not even his… well… Rhaenyra doubted that Viserys would do exactly as Daemon did, but would her father demand payment with fire and blood if hers was spilled?

Rhaenyra already had the answer to that, didn’t she?

Taller and wiser and yet the years only saw that drawing the favor of the King would no longer be enough. Blood would run down Rhaenyra’s arm, as the result of Alicent drawing a blade… and her father did nothing.

Rhaenyra’s blood on the ground. Hers. Her children’s. Daemon’s. Even before the Hightowers got dragons of their own to mount. And still Viserys did nothing.

Rhaenys gave her time to come about her thoughts and for that Rhaenyra was thankful. Her mind strayed far from merely giving the Hightowers the egg that was supposed to be her brother’s… her brother by her mother that is.

Sighing, Rhaenyra nodded. “Very well. If possible, I would like to wait and see if the lie will be necessary.” A lie that was not a complete lie now that Rhaenyra was presented with the scenario.

“Indeed. And we also must be prepared if your little helpers are caught. What exactly have you told about them to the dragonkeeper?”

“Not much, just that they are my servants and were tasked to see a… chest of clothes of mine to be stored at my quarters in Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra answered.

Rhaenys nodded in approval. “Good, was the chest locked?” When Rhaenyra confirmed, Rhaenys’ shoulders finally relaxed. “Well done, then. Still, be prepared. At worst those two kids will be met with a sword if the garrison in Dragonstone suspects them too much, at best they lose anonymity if caught. They will be known as your servants and the Hightowers will be watching them.”

Rhaenyra had not thought of that. She would be responsible for two children losing their lives if things go horribly enough. Her heart started to race. It was somehow different than crushing Alicent and the so called “Greens”. Otto has been manipulating her father for so long, the King of Westeros didn’t even think twice about marrying the daughter of a second son that would bring nothing to The Crown. And, eventually, Alicent would be just as bad if not worse than Otto. Beyond it all, Rhaenyra was perfectly willing to destroy her standing and eventually her spirit, or, at least, her fighting spirit for the sake of her own survival. For Daemon’s survival. For Rhaenys’ survival. Indirectly even Laenor’s. But two unconnected orphans that had nothing to do with it?

An unwelcomed voice in her head said that if not for Rhaenyra, those children would be dead eventually anyways. From hunger, from exposure, from the violence of King’s Landing or any other causes that plagued the defenseless. It did not make her feel any better.

Another voice yet talked about that while still in its infancy, the possibility of losing some of her ears around the King’s Landing and the Red Keep did not fill her with optimism. Perhaps she was not made to be some Master of Whispers and yet, what choice did she have? Daemon might… mostly be excused when decapitating a noble, Rhaenyra would not be treated the same way, she had to work with the tools that noblewomen had. Yet the flaw in her own spy system would be preferable than knowing she played a part in such a short life getting cut even shorter.

Rhaenyra thanked back as another cluster of guests complimented her dress for the occasion.

Almost as many guests as the one from the opening feast were wearing entirely black or really dark colors. Jeyne chose to wear another dark veil to practically rub in people’s faces that the Vale was still very much in mourning.

Alicent had yet to arrive. Rhaenyra wanted to roll her eyes. Arriving at the last minute was a very nice tactic to have all the attention on you… if you were the first one to do so. Afterwards, it merely looked petty. Not to mention that it was a sign of disrespect for the host of the party. In this case the King... and technically herself. If a stronger man than Viserys Targaryen was king he would have had Alicent executed for the call of war, a full reprimand for being for the marriage of the heir to the throne. Rhaenyra would feel bad for how very inexpertly this young Alicent played the court if not for the fact that it was her head on the line. That move, with the green dress, at the end, just went to prove how weak indeed the King of Westeros became… or perhaps always was. And which, in turn, weakened her own succession.

Rhaenyra wanted to break down crying. She wanted to scream from the top of her lungs. She wanted to punch someone. It was impossible. She was fighting a losing battle since the very first day her father named her heir. And it only got worse as the years went by.

“Princess, would you like to… talk?” Daemon’s amused voice sounded behind her.

Rhaenyra turned to see him clad entirely in black. Returning the smirk, Rhaenyra curtsied in the middle of the ballroom that no one was dancing on. “I would love to talk.”

And Daemon led her to one of the tables closest to the dancefloor so they could be more comfortable. “I must say, this is quite the successful ball.”

It was hard not to laugh at the seemly genuine compliment. “Indeed. The music is being played beautifully.”

Daemon had to purse his lips not to laugh. “The food is a compliment to the cooks.”

“And the decoration is exquisite.”

If only they were with a smaller audience. Rhaenyra mourned not being able to see her uncle laughing freely more often. Daemon often expressed his mirth with a cold, mocking laugh. Cruel enough to make children flinch at the sound.

Rhaenyra always thought it funny. She would giggle during the few times Daemon had allowed her a glimpse of something darker inside of him. As a child maybe it was because of ignorance. As she grew older, Rhaenyra seemed to be the only one that could hear how it was coming from a place of genuine amusement. All of it added to the fact that the sound was truly funny to her.

“Well… the Queen is officially late to her own wedding festivities.”

The switch to High Valyrian no longer took her aback. Rhaenyra had always known how at home she felt using the language. So scarcely spoken in the Red Keep when Daemon was not around.

Rhaenyra refrained from rolling her eyes and accepted all the appetizers being served. “You might as well, Uncle.” She motioned to the food. “The Queen will take a while longer.”

Especially if Alicent keeps to her foolishness of arriving so many hours late.

Daemon raised an eyebrow. “You seem to be… learning some of the… what is it you called them? Silly women tricks?”

Rhaenyra flushed slightly, much to Daemon’s visible glee. It was true that Rhaenyra had long since disdained whispering about some rumor and then giggling herself silly like so many girls and women seemed so happy to do. And she voiced her opinion quite loudly… to her uncle. Her pride properly stung, Rhaenyra was not above admitting, to herself, that she was wrong.

“There is some power when controlling whispers.” Rhaenyra made sure not to grit it out least her uncle’s amusement at her expense increases.

“And you seem to be wielding it like a master.” Daemon mused.

They were dancing a bit dangerously close to mentioning Daemon’s own… personal… Master of Whispers. Rhaenyra cleared her throat and averted her eyes to see the rest of the guests doing much of the same as they were: calmly conversing while standing or sitting at one of the tables. And so, she lost the moment that Daemon’s amethyst eyes turned somber.

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

He truly did not know that it would hurt Rhaenyra this much. Disappointment and anger and even ache, Daemon was expecting, almost welcoming them. But not the pain.

A commotion at the entrance called their attention. It seemed that the… future Queen Consort of Westeros finally deigned to show up.

It was also clear she took extra effort in her appearance, for all the good it did not do her. The whore’s hair was done in braids of Valyrian style that, due to her dark hair, the details were lost. Her gown for the evening was also dark red in color and clearly done for a married woman instead of a maiden.

A quick look to his left and, sure enough, Rhaenyra was almost laughing.

It has been years since Daemon gave two fucks about court affairs but it doesn’t mean that the rusty lessons from too many people to count were gone. His dear niece already told him the details of the weeks preceding this whole farse and it was clear as day that while the cunt could play both Viserys and the court very well, Otto clearly didn’t teach his daughter the rules, let alone the tricks to it. Not many would even understand and recognize the braids and the significance behind them and by wearing a woman’s dress it only ever made people remember how and why she was marrying the King in the first place. Not to mention that arriving so very late to her own wedding only added to the rumors. The most obvious was perhaps that she was indisposed with a possible child on the way. The most cruel was perhaps that Alicent Hightower was dearly regretting the whole affair, wedding included. The most pityingly would be that Alicent was so very desperately trying to copy a Princess of the Blood and yet falling so pathetically short.

Whatever the case, Daemon almost joined Rhaenyra in holding back a laugh at the display. Despite the generous cut and the more intricate details of her former maid’s dress, Rhaenyra’s dress was still the focus of the guests. The flowy and light fabric Daemon got her from the Summer Islands twirled around Rhaenyra. The sheer material was layered, yet when Rhaenyra walked, sometimes it would reveal a hint of what the dress was hiding.

Already losing interest at whatever Alicent was trying to do, Daemon turned his attention back to Rhaenyra, who seemed perfectly happy to remain where she was, far from the high table. Truth be told, so was Daemon. There were no nosy kingsguard to make Rhaenyra uncomfortable and no Viserys to ignore as Daemon let his eyes wander. He really needed to find out who was Rhaenyra’s seamstress, the woman deserved her own weight in gold. He decided as he focused on Rhaenyra’s growing curves. His niece did not have them mere few sun turns ago, yet the stitching of the dress, the details, somehow only highlighted them, Daemon did not care how, he just wanted Rhaenyra to keep her seamstress for the rest of her life.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

“Why are we wasting so much energy into all of this? The girl doesn’t even know what she is doing.” Jeyne whispered, almost not moving her lips to Rhaenys.

They were both watching as Alicent made her way to the high table. If Otto was incensed the night before today he was equally so but he had another target. Alicent stopped for a moment as she finally noticed her father’s expression turned towards her.

Much to their surprise, however, it seemed that Viserys was… at least annoyed if not angered. It was truly sad that the expected was Viserys once again ignoring all that would result in conflict with his dear Hand. Even Rhaenyra was starting to expect it so.

“Because Otto does.” Rhaenys answered briefly.

Jeyne groaned softly. “How hard would it be to poison him?”

Perhaps it said about how far their friendship that was born of necessity have gone. But Rhaenys did not even contemplated the words that were treason, plain and simple. Otto Hightower truly drove people into wanting to commit murder.

“Verily. He knows that others are not above using his same tactics. Food and drinks are carefully taken.”

Jeyne was a bit surprised. “You talk as if you’d tried.”

“Not me personally.” Rhaenys shrugged. “But there was a time that testers were used far and wide. Rhaenyra still has one. The last time one died it was from food served to the Hand.”

“Daemon?” Jeyne tried.

“Not impossible, but he was… I think in Volantis at the time. Banished once more.”

“Wait… Rhaenyra still has a taster… and you are implying that Otto has one as well?”

“Most of the court does. I think the only one that matters who doesn’t is Viserys himself.” Rhaenys rolled her eyes this time around and didn’t even have to look to know that Jeyne was incredulous. “And even Daemon concedes to having one when in King’s Landing. The man is not short of enemies, after all.” Their eyes turned to the high table.

But it amused them greatly that, once talking with the guests spread about the room, most would ask them what was the material of the princess’ dress. Said Princess hardly left the company of the Prince on the table of their choosing. Far from the high table, no one failed to notice, and, once dinner was served, they were joined by the Velaryons and the Arryns.

Chapter Text

(Third POV)

Whatever Otto yelled at his daughter seemed to have at least sunk in. Alicent was punctually at the entrance of the Red Keep alongside her father, with a demure dress in a shade of cream. Rhaenyra calmly made her way to the carriages and horses about to set off, already donning her riding leathers and, instead of riding inside the royal carriage with her father and future stepmother, Rhaenyra took one of the horses. Sadly, the event would not allow her to don a dress, but she was still amused at the fact that that most women were in black dresses for they would not participate in the hunt itself.

And this time, Rhaenyra smirked. For all the silent or not so silent comparisons between Viserys Targaryen and Aenys Targaryen, Rhaenyra knew when she had to defy her father and would follow through with it. Most of the women… and her father were inside carriages and so did not notice when she split from the rest of the party.

Daemon eyed her before realization took over. He bit his lip not to laugh. Oh, barely back for three days and this was the most fun he had in years. But then again, Rhaenyra was the one thing that made the Red Keep, King’s Landing truly, actually be not only tolerable but a joy to live in. Daemon followed her in his own horse.

“Are you sure about this, Princess?” Daemon chuckled as they got out of the line of sight and hearing range of the rest of the party.

“No.” Rhaenyra wanted to shrug, and this time Daemon really laughed.

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

Daemon had missed this. He realized with a pang. He missed having a companion to fly alongside. He missed having Rhaenyra flying by his side. Caraxes and Syrax twirling around each other, sometimes racing, sometimes content to just let the wind guide their unmoving wings.

By dragonback, they were several hours ahead of the rest of the hunting party. The tents already set up and the servants were quick at work to prepare for the early arrival. Syrax and Caraxes curled about the outskirts of the camping sight. In clear view of their riders but with enough space for their bulk.

As the horses arrived, many of the knights and lords that decided to go on horse stopped short at the sight of the two great beasts. Rhaenyra paid them no mind, Daemon was explaining to her how to sharpen the blade of a weapon. Although as the carriages opened and the one with the royal procession allowed Otto Hightower to come out first, Daemon inwardly sighed.

Viserys let Otto get away with disrespecting his own brother so why not allow him out of the royal carriage first?

But well, it was worth it just to see the cunt’s face when he first caught the presence of the two dragons.

“Your Grace!” He almost frantically called.

Viserys and the little whore he will marry in five days made their way out and only then Daemon and Rhaenyra got up in sign of respect. While Viserys went white in shock, Alicent turned almost grey in fright. Daemon wanted to roll his eyes. Because being afraid of dragons and marrying into a family of dragonlords is all the sign of a good match.

“Daemon… Rhaenyra… what is the meaning of this?”

Daemon remained silent while Rhaenyra calmly answered. “I do not wish to be parted from Syrax. History taught us that it is indeed a bad idea for Targaryens to make… trips out of the Red Keep without their dragons.”

Otto almost gawked. “Princess, if I may, the realm is at peace, you are in no danger.”

“The realm was also at peace during Aenys’ reign. It did not stop his son, Aegon and his wife, Rhaena, from being besieged in Crakehall without her dragon to protect them.” Rhaenyra immediately replied.

It was Viserys’ turn to protest. “Rhaenyra, the Kingsguards are more than enough to protect us, and we are surrounded by lords and their own knights.”

“So was Aenys’ son.” Rhaenyra was visibly unimpressed with the argument put forth.

Daemon had to suppress his own reaction. Much like Rhaenyra, Daemon was sure, he also knew the comparisons made by nobility and commonfolk alike between his brother and the son of the Conqueror by Queen Rhaenys. While Rhaenyra could only ignore the whispers and Daemon could do little else aside from taking action and pretend it was by the name of the King, the rumors still circulated and nothing Otto, Mysaria or whoever else did could really stop them. After all, it would not be long before Viserys did yet something else that weakened his own image. And try they did. If only because it would not be in Otto’s best interest for those particular whispers to reach the King.

But right now… right now Viserys’ own daughter was invoking the man’s name and as much as it was always satisfactory to see how red one could turn Otto, this would also affect Viserys. Daemon discreetly looked at Rhaenyra from the corner of his eyes. He could understand sabotaging her maid’s farse of a marriage, but this weakened Viserys as well.

“You expect to find enraged commonfolk in the middle of the woods, Princess?” Otto tried to mock.

But no one laughed. And no one laughed not only because most were slighted by The Crown for the Hightowers’ sake but also because the Princess was currently framed not only by Daemon himself, but also by her dragon. A she-dragon that was already several times the size of their biggest horse and was still growing. As if Daemon or Rhaenyra needed any more proof that they should show off their dragons as much as possible as the symbol of their strength.

“One can never be so sure.”

Viserys’ eyes darted between the dragons and his two most troublesome family members. Daemon and Rhaenyra, hells, even Corlys that arrived around the same time could see the resignation as choice. One would think that they would know better, would be used to it by now, but disappointment was still heavy as their King and family merely nodded and tried to smile.

“Of course! Dragons are our family’s sigil after all! And I’m always happy when my daughter is happy.”

Was he? Daemon raised an eyebrow while his eyes darted towards Alicent Hightower.

“Your Grace, I must insist that the Prince and the Princess return their dragons at once!” Otto opened his damn mouth.

“Why?” Rhaenyra asked. Her voice so bland that the lack of incredulity only ever added to the effect.

When all Otto did was stammer, Rhaenyra finally rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to Daemon who took his cue.

“As I was saying, Princess, the blade of Valyrian steel does not dull so it requires no sharpening, but for now as you use this dagger…”

Even as he continued, Daemon had decided to talk to Rhaenyra. At this point in time decreasing Viserys’ power only meant decreasing the eventual heir’s power as well. And right now, that was Rhaenyra.

~*~

(Ser Otto Hightower. Hand of the King)

Otto was almost trembling with rage. That seems to be norm since the wedding started, but truly he has been almost tearing his own hair out for over a moon. That blasted maid! If not for the fact that she was from the Velaryon household, Otto would have her tortured for her part in all the disasters that followed since.

Alicent’s visits to the King’s chambers were supposed to be kept a secret until such a time that Viserys inevitably caved to the pressure of remarrying. From there, it would be easy to curry the favor from those of the Reach, the most influenced by the Faith. And Jason Lannister proved himself an ally so their next monarch would be a king instead of some weak female prone to tears, and soon the other Houses would follow. Alicent may have birthed a thousand females but surely the union with the King would bore at least one son. It would be easy from there. Rumors and whispers and gossip to destroy the Princess who would crumble underneath the harshness of court just as her mother did before her. If Viserys failed to rectify the succession that Otto had already ensured to start with an extremely weak base of power, then it was just a matter of time until his disease consumed him. Vows and oaths to dead men might as well not be called vows and oaths.

Instead, that accursed maid made a ruckus that attracted, it seemed, half of the Keep. It was almost a wonder and quite the misfortune that the Tower of the Hand was so far away, as result he only found out the next day and had no time to prepare anything to try and mitigate the circumstances before the small council was assembled.

One single mistake, one single maid that was there to deliver a hasty message to the King and a plan that expanded almost decades was almost crumbling before his eyes. Of course, rumors of the night would reach the heights it did. Otto was almost expecting to hear about the possible child and of course most lords would not want to support such a union given the context of a disrespected period of mourning and the bride being found in the groom’s room in the middle of the night. Details like the fact that Alicent was wearing a woman dress was blown into proportions that Otto predicted but had no real way of curbing.

Obviously, such a scandal reached the various lords through the realm before he could really formulate a counterplan. Otto wanted to bash his own head upon a wall, people were reacting as if Alicent was Saera Targaryen come again. By the Seven! The time that Alicent spent caring for King Jaehaerys and the Old King confused her with Saera was even brought up in casual conversation!

If that was not enough that blasted brat of a princess somehow shows up with her whoremonger uncle. Otto did not even know how she sent the message to her uncle as Rhaenyra’s ravens were carefully monitored so how did the brat contact him? Otto briefly contemplated Rhaenys, the overlooked hag, but she would protect whatever was left of her dignity zealously as there was so little of it left already, Otto did not see her playing the messenger.

Still, Otto had his eyes on the prize. No matter the obstacles and offended sensibilities of the masses - he almost wanted to snort, as if the so-called royal family hadn’t done worse - his blood would be on the throne. His daughter was soon to be queen, in five days’ time no less. Otto Hightower, a second son… yet he became the Hand of the King… for two kings even. He was the one to arrange for a royal marriage to his daughter. His youngest child. The youngest daughter of a second son was to be Queen of Westeros and he was the one who did it. Not his older brother whose only claim on grandeur was to be born first.

Alicent’s virtue being called into question was the only challenge they had to overcome. Or so Otto thought.

He spent the entire feast of the first night in a state of red rage. He could barely think let alone speak as guest after guest would arrive in black garments. One or another was to be expected, people had color preferences after all. Yet by the time the fifth House showed up in black colors, Otto understood what was going on. More and more Houses and lords and nobles would show up dressed entirely in black and then that crone of a bitch, Jeyne Arryn had the gall to show her face through a mourning veil… a black bride veil.

Otto also had no idea where the brat, Rhaenyra, got her dress from but to outshine the bride in her wedding day, the day he had been carefully planning for so long… Otto could barely find it in himself to note that the nobles and the Houses did not applaud Alicent’s entrance.

The second day went no better than the first one. Still dressed entirely in black as if Aemma Arryn was note of any worth for the entire realm to be mourning like that and no one deigning to dance when it was a ball. Not only it went as badly as the first night, but Otto was forced to find out that his daughter was an idiot. After the initial dance with the King, Alicent went to change clothes for the rest of the night. Arriving hours late to her own wedding and with a ridiculous hairstyle that did not even suit the stupid girl.

Otto didn’t know what Alicent was thinking, and he did not care. He had more pressing concerns right now. He eyed the two lumbering beasts that were almost bracketing the so-called Prince and Princess.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Lady of House Velaryon)

Rhaenyra’s plan to bring Syrax with her should prove to be a sufficient distraction. Rhaenys predicted, and she knew she was right. Staying back from the hunt with the excuse that she was tending to matters of Driftmark was maybe taken as a petty protest by most of the Lords, but it was not like any of them could truly call Rhaenys out on it. They were, for the most part, all silently protesting this farse of a wedding.

Rhaenys would have enlisted Daemon’s help with this, but Daemon was more needed by Rhaenyra’s side and… her cousin was not what one would consider ‘discreet’. Rhaenys shook her head as she flew with Meleys, much higher than she usually would, right above the coverage of clouds. She was flying straight to enemy territory and as much as Rhaenys didn’t shy from war, she knew she was no tested warrior.

As Rhaenys used the mountains surrounding it to hide Meley’s descend, she caught the briefest of glimpses of the Citadel. Time to work.

Hiding her Targaryen features was the easy part, no one questioned the presence of a lone silent sister walking about with her head lowered. Trying to find the man she was looking for, however, was almost making Rhaenys tear her hair off. There was no way to plan for this trip. A raven ahead would defeat the entire purpose as it would be closely scrutinized considering the sender and the receiver and a detour to talk to Maester Gerardys would bring too much attention to her actions. As consequence, Rhaenys was going into enemy territory completely blind.

Rhaenys knew this was necessary, this was important. But as the sun started to set and after twelve hours on dragonback, she was not only starting to tire, but she was starting to get anxious. A lone silent sister does not call attention, but a lone silent sister wandering about in the middle of the night will call all sorts of wrong attention.

“You are lucky.”

The voice behind her almost made Rhaenys jump as if she was a green lamb. Turning around and seeing the look on the man’s face made her rethink that this meeting was less luck and more some mistake she did not realize she made for the man did not look the least bit surprised to see her there.

“Uncle Vaegon.” Rhaenys greeted silently.

If anything, the accounts of those who remembered one of the last remaining children of Jaehaerys and Alysanne were almost spot on. Perhaps a bit embellished, but Vaegon’s height suffered from the poor posture of someone who would spend way too long curved into books. More due to his spine than about lack of height. His thin lips were turned downwards in displeasure, dark bruises of sleepless nights beneath sharp magenta eyes. Straihgt, silvery-golden hair was kept short and his face was perfectly shaved. Yet… Rhaenys didn’t think he was unhappy to see her there, instead, and by all accounts, this was just how he always looked.

Vaegon merely hummed and hid his own features behind the famous mask of the archmaesters, a gold one in his case. “Follow me.”

Now even Rhaenys knew enough that a silent sister following an Archmaester was not particularly of note but certainly a little unusual. So, she did her best to appear as though nothing was amiss.

Rhaenys trailed after her uncle to the very center of the Citadel, where circular towers would pop every now and then. Vaegon made his way to one of them. Once inside, he locked his doors with more than just a key, a series of bolts and chains ensured their safety.

Vaegon once again took off his mask and seemed to relax a bit. “You can take off the hood in this building, Rhaenys. Welcome to my home.”

Gratefully, Rhaenys took off her half mask and the hood covering her hair with a brief sigh of relief. Those were very uncomfortable. She hastened her pace when she realized that Vaegon was walking up a set of stairs.

Rhaenys stated the obvious. “You do not seem surprised to see me here.”

“I would not be surprised either way.” Vaegon responded bluntly. “Viserys remarrying would already make enough gossip that not even I would manage to avoid, but marrying Otto’s daughter? I had no peace since it was announced a moon ago. People remembering of my existence has long since been one of my headaches.”

Well, but if this wasn’t an auspicious start. Rhaenys pursed her lips. “I apologize for the inconvenience.”

But Vaegon just waved his hand which only ever confused Rhaenys even more. “Like I said, I would not be surprised either way. Either I would continue on with no one bothering me, or people would remember that I’m a Targaryen in which case, someone would come. I was almost expecting Daemon to be honest.”

They arrived in an antechamber that could almost be called homey if not for the fact that there were only two chairs and the clearly used one was facing a desk that was almost hidden away by books on it, surrounding it and leaning on it.

“Please sit.” Vaegon invited to which Rhaenys was once again grateful for. She was pretty tired.

Rhaenys decided to address his comment. “Daemon is not very discreet. If particularly impatient, he would probably have arrived on dragonback and landed right in the middle of the Citadel, whether Caraxes would fit or not.”

If Rhaenys was hoping for a smile, she was disappointed.

“So, I’ve heard.” And Vaegon did not seem very thrilled… he did not seem much of anything really. “I understand the plans, Rhaenys, but much like you walking about the Citadel hoping to find me, I’m not sure if you thought this through.”

Most likely. But Rhaenys did not want to admit to such. Especially to someone that did not seem to feel very warmly towards their shared House.

“Do enlighten me.” If Vaegon had one drop of the blood of the dragon, he would rise up to the challenge. The welcome to show-off.

Vaegon sighed and Rhaenys was a little disconcerted. The man in front of her did not look like he passed merely nine and forty summers. Not in the lack of lines on his face or the way he still had a full head of hair which had the shade of very pale gold. And yet there was just something in his magenta eyes that was… eerie. That gave Vaegon Targaryen an ancient look.

“Alright, let’s begin with the obvious. I know that you had no way of finding me around the Citadel. Especially not without tipping the entire realm of what you were trying to do. The fact that we met is merely because I knew there was a chance that one of you would be looking, so I just took to take walks nearest the closest mountains and forests big enough to hide a dragon. Even one as big as Meleys. When I saw a silent sister that was clearly a bit lost, there were a few possibilities and Rhaenyra is a bit on the short side from what I heard.”

Rhaenys did not react. From Vaegon’s comments, she knew it was something of the like.

“This is not a promising beginning of our acquaintanceship.” Vaegon stated the obvious. “Secondly, if anything, I was expecting this visit a lot sooner. Maybe by the time Rhaenyra was named heir.”

Rhaenys pursed her lips again. It would have been smarter, wouldn’t it? To gather support and allies in the shape of their House the second it became necessary. Vaegon was right.

Vaegon for his part only nodded at the lack of response. “And now the reason you’re here. What exactly have you hoped for? A spy in the heart of Oldtown? I am the smarter choice than Rhaella, anyone would have to concede. Although not as pious as our future Queen, Rhaella still believes in the vows she made and still set aside her family name. And for much longer than I have.”

Rhaenys shouldn’t be surprised at the bluntness with which Vaegon was speaking. He was well known for it after all and to be truthful she preferred it, and she also knew that Rhaenyra and Daemon would prefer it as well. Not to say, however, that she was used to being spoken to that way. Vaegon was not being particularly recalcitrant, even calling it "rude" was maybe a stretch, but much like Daemon, Vaegon clearly did not believe in the endless courtly habit of using hundreds of words when a dozen was enough to convey his meaning.

While having information straight from the source was an interesting idea, they were Targaryens. They reached and took, they wanted all and they wanted it now. Maybe that was a part of their heritage that Vaegon had forgotten, so far for so long.

Rhaenys raised her chin, there was no need to correct her posture, her back was already straight and tall even sitting down. “You think too small. Information is one the pillars of any conflict, it is true. But if we thought of using the Targaryens in the Starry Sept and in the Citadel, the very heart of Oldtown where the Hightowers have their seat of power, then we have to assume they did not forget either.”

Vaegon raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Then what is it that you think I can give you and yours?”

But Rhaenys was done with him, if Vaegon did not adhere to courtly fake pleasantries, then she did not see the need for it either. “You are still the son of Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen, you are still a Targaryen, born a Prince of the Blood despite your indifference towards your own that have only known your absence. Yes, it is true we could have reached out, but as you seem to be so very well informed, we have our own problems to contend with and your own lack of ravens to assume we would not have support… your House needs you now, your blood is asking for your help, will you answer it, in the way you did not when so many of your siblings died, when your own parents met their ends, Uncle?” She almost mocked their connection.

And Vaegon finally showed something other than disinterest and thinly veiled criticism. His magenta eyes narrowed and his shoulders, so long accustomed to being curved and round, straightened and squared.

For one moment, Rhaenys was almost afraid that Vaegon would not heed the call. That he would merely suppress the urge to slap the irascible brat that showed up on his street for she was too ignorant to find his door and order her out. And yet… there was… something in his eyes. Something that she could almost call fire, dragon fire. Rhaenys easily recognized anger in purple eyes. And there was plenty of it in Vaegon’s own.

“What do you want?” He asked again.

“We want you to claim a dragon.”

Chapter Text

(Third POV)

Daemon had no idea whether he was impressed or just shocked. Personally, he preferred impressed, it has been many years since he has been truly caught off guard like this.

“It is a good plan.” Rhaenyra insisted with no inflection least someone thinks they were discussing something of actual importance.

They made their way to the horses and the nobles who would be taking part in the hunt. With some amusement, Rhaenyra saw Jeyne ignoring her valet’s extended hand to help her climb her own horse.

“It is an unexpected plan. I doubt that many would have thought of that. It remains to be seen if it will be a good one.” Daemon corrected much to her vexation.

It has been so since Rhaenyra had revealed where, exactly, Rhaenys had gone. And Rhaenyra couldn’t quite disagree with Daemon. By all accounts, at best maybe Vaegon would merely ignore Rhaenys. From the tales, indifference seemed to be ingrained in his very bones, at worst, Vaegon could feel indebted to have some sort of loyalty to Oldtown, to the Citadel and, unfortunately, to the Hightowers as they were one of the primary investors of the Citadel.

“I have already told you about the eggs and my own coffers. This is merely the extension of those plans, stop the Hightowers from having access to the dragons, and it gives me another dragon rider as ally as well.”

“If you had included me earlier, I could have transported both to Dragonstone by now and much more discreetly. My frequent trips to the island would be sufficient cover.”

“It would be the first thing you did. And… I do not know. I am… not used to this.” Rhaenyra made it a point to not bite her lip.

Daemon offered her his hand and did not even feel pressure as he seemly helped her up her own horse. “Tell me.”

“Alright. You are closely scrutinized, Uncle. The Rogue Prince coming to Dragonstone may not be unusual, but would it be enough that the dragonkeepers from Dragonstone would overlook eggs that were not there before?”

Daemon gave it the thought it deserved, and Rhaenyra felt the familiar light and warm feeling in her chest. Her uncle was but one of the few that have always taken her seriously. No matter what it was, since she could remember, Daemon would hear her and see her. From silly nightmares that made Rhaenyra afraid of the dark for an entire fortnight, to a completely broken arm when Caraxes went a bit too close to Vermithor and Silverwing and it sparked a brief fight among the dragons when Syrax was too close. No matter how small or big, Daemon paid it attention.

“Eggs in Dragonstone are not as closely watched as the eggs in King’s Landing.” Daemon said finally, aware that now more than a few curious ears were surrounding them. Some even glancing at them from time to time as the High Valyrian made them unable to follow the conversation. “Which makes sense if you think about it. The dragons in King’s Landing are constantly chained. It has been like that since Jaehaerys’ time as he decided to not frighten the people, smallfolk and nobles alike with dragons flying overhead and put to use Maegor's... Dragonpit.” It was clear the disdain Daemon felt over the practice and Rhaenyra could only share it as well. As long as Syrax was not flying with her, she was kept in the dark caves, chained down and stuffed full of meat. It sounded like a miserable life. “So, it falls on the dragonkeepers and any guards posted in the pit to halt attempts at getting too close. But in Dragonstone, Silverwing and Vermithor are free to roam the entire island. And they are aware of the Cannibal roaming about. They learned the hard way not to leave their own eggs unattended, even eggs that are not their own. The dragonkeepers are not very tolerated as consequence.”

“But you are.” Rhaenyra guessed.

Daemon threw his head back as he laughed. “I am because I made myself. Where do you think your own egg came from, Princess?”

Rhaenyra’s eyebrow raised a bit. “I had always assumed that it was from Dreamfyre.”

Daemon smiled at her. Proudly and just a bit teasingly. “The last one from the last clutch that Silverwing laid with Vermithor.”

It was clear that Daemon expected her to preen at the information. And Rhaenyra was preening… on the inside. It wouldn’t do for Daemon to always get what he wanted from her.

And still, it was a bit of a surprise. All the eggs that were laid in cradles in the future, from Aegon’s to Daeron’s, from Jace’s to Joffrey’s were all from Dreamfyre’s last clutches. Dreamfyre had not laid eggs in more than thirty years by the time Rhaenyra was born and it used to be a point of pride, she remembered, for her own children and that of Alicent’s to receive eggs from Dreamfyre. Rhaenyra never quite understood why, the last dragon that Dreamfyre mated with was rumored to be either the Cannibal, which Rhaenyra really doubted or Balerion himself, that she also doubted but for other reasons.

Rhaenyra had no idea how those rumors started. They have been around even before her father declared his choice in future bride, so she did not see the advantage of Otto or someone like him spreading that about.

Personally, Rhaenyra had always believed that Caraxes was the one to have mated Dreamfyre which resulted in her last two clutches. The first one with five eggs and the last one with three. Just because Dreamfyre started to spurn the attention from the Blood Wyrm did not mean that it has always been the case, she had reasoned. But if people were so happy to believe that Dreamfyre mated with a dragon that would rather kill her than mate her or with a dragon that was notorious for the territorial way he behaved around Meraxes, then Rhaenyra concluded that it was more trouble than it was worth it to contest something that did not even affect her.

Rarer than Dreamfyre’s numerous remaining eggs, however, was that of Silverwing and Vermithor's. Since the family could remember, the two dragons have rejected advances of any other dragons who tried to approach when mating season started, it used to be sung by bards everywhere how King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne’s dragons mirrored the devotion of their riders. But unlike the monarchs, the union between them seldom produced eggs and most had gone cold. Rhaenyra shuddered a bit. In retrospect, it almost sounded prophetic that from the thirteen children the former leaders had, only two have survived to this day.

Rhaenyra turned her eyes to Daemon who was still staring at her in amusement. She didn’t know who used to retrieve the eggs, if any had done so, before Daemon took it upon himself to climb up and down the caves of Dragonstone in search of the nests. The dragonkeepers never ventured so deeply into the caves and the Dragonpit in King’s Landing was hardly what one would call a steep climb what with the structure more resembling a huge stable than any natural cave but there was hardly a need for it until Rhaenyra... and Alicent.

Rhaenyra sighed in defeat which only made Daemon’s amusement increase. “If I get the eggs from the Dragonpit, could you please transport them to Dragonstone?”

“It would be my pleasure to be of service.” Daemon chivalrously bowed as low as he could while riding a horse.

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes but smiled a bit. “As far as stopping any future child that the future Queen may have from possessing a dragon, I think I have been doing a good enough job.”

Daemon didn’t disagree. “The eggs will be the easier part.” He admitted. “Claiming the adult ones will need a bit of thinking. My uncle was not a bad plan although I wish you told me about it sooner, I could have tried to gather information about his loyalties before Rhaenys left.”

Rhaenyra bit her tongue not to disparage her uncle’s so-called Mistress of Whispers. She honestly had no idea what kind of information went from Daemon to Mysaria to Otto. Not quite life threatening, yet Daemon’s comment about "the heir for a day" still reached Otto through Mysaria and still resulted in Daemon’s banishment. If the horrible woman already sold information on Daemon’s comment about the "heir for a day" when he was warming her bed, Rhaenyra did not wish to know what Mysaria would do if he ever lost enough interest to no longer seek her out or accept her advances. Or merely cease his investment.

Still, “I… do regret your lack of involvement.” Rhaenyra settled for, if only because Daemon was right that he could have been the one to make sure that the eggs reached Dragonstone much faster and more efficiently than enlisting the help of a gold cloak, two orphans and an oblivious dragonkeeper.

“That sounded painful to admit.” Daemon smirked. “Still, if keeping those leeches away from the dragons is the goal in the mid to long term, there are some other options as well. Saera and Rhaella.”

Rhaenyra almost twitched and quickly looked around. There was a reason they didn’t really use names when speaking in High Valyrian. While the pronunciation changed quite a bit from Common, it was still recognizable enough. When curious looks were still all they got, Rhaenyra still glared at Daemon, as subtly as she could.

“I wouldn’t begin to know where to look for your aunt, and her cousin’s loyalties may be even murkier than your uncle’s.”

“True in all accounts. But it does not mean I cannot find my dear aunt and if my cousin is successful then our uncle can help with the septa.” Daemon pointed out.

Rhaenyra finally allowed herself to bite her lip. “She… is well known for her devotion to the Seven.”

“Then we will just have to see if that devotion is bigger than the one she has for her family. My aunt is even easier still.”

And Rhaenyra had a very good idea why Daemon was so confident than he could locate Saera… the infamous owner of a most successful pleasure house. Rhaenyra wanted to roll her eyes.

“When you go look for your aunt… I want you to take me with you.” Rhaenyra ignored the way Daemon’s eyes widened.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Lady of House Velaryon)

Rhaenys carefully arranged herself in the uncomfortable chair. To be honest, she could have been sitting on rocks and would still feel a bit drowsy. While not hungry as she had packed food for the trip, she was exhausted. Finally, having found… or being found by her uncle made her relax for the first time in almost an entire day, as result, her body was almost demanding sleep, uncomfortable chair or not.

Still, Rhaenys felt a sense of petty smugness for rendering Vaegon mute. The man’s eyes widened, and his jaw slacked just slightly before he remembered himself.

“… are you planning a war, Princess?” Vaegon finally asked.

“If it comes to it, we will not shy away. But the hope is that with enough dragons the Hightowers wouldn’t dare want for more… more than they already have that is.” Rhaenys almost shrugged.

“Despite Hobert’s best efforts, gossip of his younger brother’s ambition has spread far in the Reach long before he whored his daughter out.” In anyone else, the slight tugging at the corner of Vaegon’s mouth could be called a smirk.

“I can only imagine. You have already long since started your studies here in the Citadel by the time Otto became Hand, but it is not every day that a second son from a House that is not even paramount becomes arguably the second most powerful man in the realm.” Rhaenys deadpanned.

Vaegon’s already sharp eyes sharpened even more. “The decision was very contested even here in the Reach and Hobert himself seemed confused over my father’s choice. The Hightowers in King’s Landing may have the support of their House and the Lannisters’ especially, but you would be surprised at how many would side with the Princess over a puppet king, born already or not.”

Not many words and yet Vaegon had already said all. Rhaenys had not truly considered the repercussions of the fact that Viserys’ choice of new bride was hardly the first time the realm was slighted for the sake of the same line from the same House. In all fairness, it was so long ago that Otto became Hand that Rhaenys had forgotten that some insults still lingered.

Beyond that, Rhaenys eyed Vaegon, was the opinion that Rhaenyra may have more support than Rhaenys herself believed at first. Rhaenys may have given up the idea of wearing a crown many sun turns ago, but the rejection she suffered have colored her views, she finally admitted to herself, for Rhaenys had not considered the entire picture.

The realm’s perception was yet another pillar of strength for its leaders. Religion - as Lord Stark reminded her - then information - as Vaegon stated. And if it was suffering, then the Hand was partially responsible as the King’s main advisor. Viserys Targaryen is known for not being the warrior that Daemon was, for not being the politician that Rhaenys was and, in recent moons, for being the only one with Targaryen blood and name who is not a dragonlord. Even the Queen Who Never Was’ children who had yet to become a woman and a man grown had dragons of their own, Viserys’ own daughter hatched a dragon in her cradle and became the youngest dragonrider in their family’s known history and she was not a woman grown yet either.

The Rogue Prince.

The Queen Who Never Was.

All monikers intended to mock or criticize and yet they were notorious for it. They owned who they were and took the words with both hands and shaped it to their own image. The Rogue Prince, Daemon Targaryen, who was knighted at six and ten, the youngest knight of their generation, besting men twice his age and experience since before he was knighted even. The Queen Who Never was, Rhaenys Targaryen, who married into House Velaryon and successfully ruled from the Driftwood Throne as her husband was the Master of Ships and kept travelling to increase their fortune. Who was Viserys? What has he done and accomplished as a grandson of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne? What was the title that he earned instead of simply being given? The smallfolk may have love for him, but that was a credit to Jaehaerys for leaving the royal coffers full to the brim and the lords of the realm were not ignorant of any of it.

Otto is likely not even aware he tipped his hand. Maybe beyond that, he likely did not care. Rhaenys concluded. For the triumph that eclipsed his own appointment as Hand of the King, elevating his own daughter as queen consort sent a message to the entire realm that the King either favored so much a single man that he does not see or care for the discontentment of those that followed him or that the King simply did not see that he was being manipulated. If Alicent gave Viserys a son all would assume the child would be raised to forward the Hightowers’ interests first and foremost. Either way, the result was the same: a puppet king. Yet another one and this time said king would be literally raised to put House Hightower first. No more excuses or shadows. House Hightower would reign behind the name Targaryen. As Vaegon so eloquently put it, considering the other choice, a princess may not sound as bad in comparison.

Rhaenys turned to look at her uncle. Vaegon may not have been at court for literal decades, but it was clear as day that the man was raised among the vipers that would surround any royal family. Rhaenys almost allowed herself to feel impressed over the implicit words that either son from Otto’s daughter or Vaegon's own nephew could and would be considered the puppet kings that Vaegon was referring to and being offended at his words would only prove those same words right.

Rhaenys was willing to bet a lot of the Driftmark’s coffers that Vaegon was no more impressed with the way Viserys ruled than she herself was. She had to bite the inside of her cheeks not to say something she would regret, but it was hard to swallow that it was plain lack of interest that stayed Vaegon’s hands. Despite her earlier words about Vaegon still being a Targaryen, his parents and most of his siblings were dead, Rhaenys barely saw her fourth name day when Vaegon happily went to Oldtown to become an archmaester and she had to admit that even then she had no memories of him. The man would only remember Viserys himself as a babe that had just reached his first name day and only because Vaegon was dutiful enough to meet his first nephew before leaving. He never met Daemon and would only know of Rhaenyra’s existence from the news that travelled through the realm. He had no reason to do anything out of affection, for there was none.

Truly, loyalty to the House of the Dragon was the only thing tying him to them. Still, Rhaenys squared her shoulders, Vaegon was still a man of duty. He had proven so with his council to King Jaehaerys even when the King was clearly not contacting him to offer the crown or even the possibility of the crown, not even to exchange some words with his only remaining son that was living so far away.

“Rhaenyra is young, still a novice in the political arena.” Rhaenys confessed. “But she is intelligent and, even disliking it, knows how to play the game.”

“From what I heard, this is not an inaccurate description of her.” Vaegon commented lightly.

And then, much to Rhaenys’ amazement, his expression was almost… ashamed… contrite for sure. “Uncle?” this time the term was not said in jest or sarcastically.

“… we were mere children and my manners were never considered courtly by most ridiculous standards, but I never intended to be cruel. I was just impatient with the topic. I once said that Daella had to find a husband who wanted stupid children. I regret that I will never have the chance to apologize to her.”

Rhaenys had to bite her own tongue. She knew the story. It was not something that has ever affected her personally although right now she couldn’t help the flash of anger towards Vaegon. Rhaenys was fond of Aemma, but they were not particularly close. By the time Aemma married Viserys, Rhaenys had long since left for Driftmark. Still, Aemma Arryn was trapped in her circumstances, it was hardly ever fair to consider her stupid. She did what she could with what she had. Maybe part of it was Rhaenys trying to think only on the positives as both Aemma and Daella were dead, but she did not think her assessment was untrue.

Rhaenys had to chuckle without amusement thought. “Elys Arryn has accepted to become my lady in waiting.”

Vaegon’s head snapped up. “Daella’s… stepdaughter.”

“It seems that we only ever look back on our actions when there is no way to make up for them. And looking at Daella’s granddaughter in the eye is easier than looking at Daella’s daughter in the eye it seems.” Rhaenys smirked but then sighed. “Amanda Arryn has agreed to stay with Rhaenyra. No one will contest a link to her mother.”

Vaegon’s thin lips became even thinner as he thought it over. When he finally spoke, it was not what Rhaenys was expecting. “In this plan of yours for me to claim a dragon… what exactly it is to be done after it… if I even can?”

“That will be up to you.” Rhaenys answered honestly and almost immediately despite the quick turn back to their original conversation. “You can stay here, you can come back with us, stay with us. You can do… whatever you want.” She smirked. “The joys of being a man.”

It was a completely unnecessary comment, but Rhaenys was not about to measure words. At least not anymore. She had no idea what to expect from this man. She did not know him. Some part of her did not even want to know him. Much like Elys did and much like Vaegon seemed to be contemplating right now, it was easier to see the pain a generation later and Rhaenys was finding it more difficult to see such a direct link to Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen. A problem that she never had with Viserys or Daemon or Rhaenyra.

“Are you and Rhaenyra inviting me to… King’s Landing… or maybe to Dragonstone?” Vaegon tilted his head, not bothering to contradict her words.

“We are. She is.” Rhaenys confirmed.

“How tired are you?”

Rhaenys blinked at the segue. “Exhausted, to be honest.”

“Too exhausted to make the trip back?”

Before Rhaenys could do much more than open her mouth to… she did not even know. Try and argue their case? Maybe curse this insufferable and confusing man out? Vaegon reached behind the pile of books to drag a trunk towards the center of the room.

A traveling one. A clearly never used one, but a traveling one. The kind of trunk that a royal family member would own. Big, unecessarily luxurious. Which was just as well since the Targaryen three headed dragon sigil was proudly displayed in the lock and on the lid of the dark leather.

Rhaenys didn’t notice she was frowning and her mouth was a bit open until Vaegon cleared his throat. She suppressed the urge to shake her head when turning to him.

“You… already have that packed?” Rhaenys pointed towards the trunk.

“This one as well.” Vaegon dragged a chest forward. Bigger than the trunk and clearly more for other possessions aside from clothes and personal belongings. Considering the man’s dinner table was more of a library, Rhaenys was willing to bet that some of the space was taken up by books.

“So, you had already decided to come with me. Before I even arrived.” Rhaenys was not even quite sure what she was thinking.

“Of course not.” Vaegon denied. “First I wanted to know if this was more of a plan than a whim. What would be the plan and what arguments you would use to convince me of it at all. If I didn’t like your answers… probably I would still come but I would make sure to voice all the reasons you people were being stupid, and if particularly stupid, I would have refused outright.”

Rhaenys felt her eyebrows rising and by that point she honestly couldn’t care less. “Excuse me?”

“Granted, coming all this way with no way of finding me and wandering about like a child did not impress me. And honestly you had no way of truly knowing where my loyalties would lay after more than three decades in Oldtown, no matter the skill of the spy you would think to set up, and it only confirmed my initial opinion. But I give due credit, provoking me the way you did with my parents and our House truly angered me and cornered me as well since I truly did not come back for any of the funerals and had no argument against it. Maybe I had assumed that your fame as a politician would win in the end, but I suppose a temper is the one thing that most Targaryens have in common and I was not expecting my parents being mentioned like that.” Vaegon sat back down with a sigh. “The emotional approach may work with me, may even work with Rhaella, but I don’t know you well enough to say if this was your usual strategy or if it was making good use of our shared blood. Either way, you succeeded. Anger and guilt are powerful motivators and Rhaenyra is the very last living link to Daella. That being said, House pride is also effective and I will not bow to yet another puppet.”

Rhaenys was not used to being analyzed like that. “If my inability to locate you and properly access how much influence the Reach could and did exert on you or your feelings towards your family are the only flaws, then I suppose we have predicted correctly.”

But Vaegon raised an eyebrow. “Out of curiosity, what is the plan if I fail to claim a dragon?”

“Your council and help are valued as well. A maester… an archmaester we can trust is a rarity.”

“And what would be the plan had I refused?”

“I would go back home empty handed.” Rhaenys admitted freely.

Vaegon was silent for a few seconds. “Whose plan was this? All of this? From contacting me, no matter how you would go about doing that, to me claiming a dragon?”

“Rhaenyra’s.”

Vaegon’s eyebrows rose. “A princess of five and ten came up with this?”

“Yes.”

“Daella’s granddaughter and Viserys’ daughter… came up with this.”

“Some inherit the blood of the dragon more strongly than others.”

“If this was a veiled comment to me, I’m afraid I’m the wrong target.” Vaegon commented lightly.

Rhaenys merely raised her hands. “Viserys is hardly a mirror image of Baelon either.” She offered instead.

“True." He said. "You never answered my question.” Vaegon turned expectant eyes towards his niece.

“What question?”

“Are you too tired to make the journey back? I do not have accommodations here for guests and I would prefer if no one saw a silent sister coming into my home and not leaving until the next day.”

Chapter Text

(Archmaester Vaegon)

Vaegon may have miscalculated slightly. He did not think Rhaenys would think much of the tight grip he had around her as he tried not to lose his dinner and clenched his jaw to not scream until his very lungs would ache, and for now Vaegon was grateful that it was Rhaenys with Meleys instead of Daemon with Caraxes. He had seen Aemon with the Blood Wyrm and the damn dragon flew like how a person would dive off the side of a mountain.

Still, it has been many years since he rode a dragon like this. He was but a child when his parents would sometimes take him and his siblings flying and even then it was particularly rare and despite what tongues would wag about it, the reason Vaegon never claimed a dragon was for pure disinterest in the beasts. Vaegon had figured that if he did not have enough skill in a battlefield, be it strategy or with swords, then what need did he have for a dragon? Joke was on him. Vaegon repressed the urge to scream as Meleys flew impossibly faster.

Meleys, the Red Queen, was the fastest dragon alive. Faster than Caraxes, who was already faster than Vaghar. And riding her is not dissimilar to what Vaegon would think it is to ride a tornado. He honestly had no idea how Alyssa did it and, right now, how Rhaenys did it. A particular sharp dive as they passed by a mountain had him almost breaking Rhaenys’ ribs.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

The hunt was a success in so far that Syrax had a very big deer in her claws. Turns out that bringing two dragons to a hunt party scared all the animals they were trying to hunt. Daemon exchanged an amused look with Rhaenyra.

“I suppose that you have the most impressive kill, My Golden Lady.” Rhaenyra praised Syrax. She deserved it. It has been many years since Syrax had last hunted like this, but instincts were instincts, Rhaenyra supposed.

Syrax preened under her praise and rapidly started to breath fire at her catch in order to char it and eat it. Rhaenyra and Daemon’s amusement only increased as most took several steps back, as Rhaenyra predicted it, people were less brave with a dragon nearby, not even Otto Hightower dared to say anything as Syrax started to devour her charred prey.

“About going to Volantis…” Rhaenyra trailed off.

Daemon sighed. “What exactly will you tell your father?”

“Would it be too much to think that he won’t notice if we just disappear for a fortnight? He will clearly be too busy with his dear new wife.” While the words were sarcastic, it was clear that Rhaenyra was considering it.

Daemon laughed in incredulity but also in fondness. It was something that Daemon would do, Rhaenyra knew it and so did he. Aside from the brief flash of sympathy for what he put his father through, and sometimes even his brother through, although Daemon maintains that the later deserved it, he also had the urge to just go along with it.

Finally, he shrugged. “Well… after this farse then?” Daemon didn’t bother speaking in High Valyrian nor keeping his voice down.

Rhaenyra had to suppress a grin.

~*~

The thing with Daemon, Rhaenyra had figured out long before watching themselves kiss in that brothel, perhaps even longer than she consciously thought about it, is that he was the Rogue Prince until he wasn’t. That was the secret to Prince Daemon Targaryen that her father never worked out for himself. Rhaenyra smirked as she watched him preparing their dragons’ saddles in the pretense that Syrax was growing too big for hers. Of course, the real reason being that her saddle was not conductive to the kind of long flight they would need to take to reach Volantis, being made more for appearances and safety than about endurance and comfort.

Daemon was all about daring and defying and defiling… until it affected someone he actually cared about. He raged and drunk himself stupid all to not be chained in the Vale to his dearest lady wife… until Viserys had the need of an army to make front against the Velaryon fleet and Daemon went and did his duty of staying in the Vale long enough to raise support, called in every favor he curried in all his sixteen name days which was not inconsiderable. Daemon’s pride in the House of the Dragon knew no limits, being a dragonlord was the highest of honors, he was Rhaenyra’s most enthusiastic champion when Syrax hatched in her cradle… until Rhaenyra was chasing after him on dragonback after one his banishments at a mere seven sun turns to her name and with no saddle on Syrax who was just big enough to take flight with someone on her back. Unconsciously, Rhaenyra knew Daemon’s limits, consciously, she tested him that day on Dragonstone, daring him to strike her down. She knew that her life was not in danger, but was her pride? For sure a third option occurred to him, humiliating her, weaken her position as heir, instead, Daemon backed down, conceded to her. And she had her answer.

Witnessing the night at the brothel was hurtful, especially to her ego and particularly to her feelings, Rhaenyra couldn’t even begin to imagine what she would be feeling. But it was not that surprising in retrospect. Abandoning her to a marriage with Laenor was basically the continuation of that dammed night. Daemon marrying Laena, however, pained her even now. Rhaenyra knew that he was hardly happy in the ten years they spent apart, more wraith than human, and yet it was painful all the same. Unlike Rhaenyra, Daemon had a choice, and he didn’t choose her, instead the conscience that all, far and wide, would insist he did not have reared its ugly head.

This time, Rhaenyra was forcing him to acknowledge his feelings, her place in his life and the worth she had in his eyes years earlier and at her provocation. It would give Rhaenyra time to make her own moves. Rhaenyra had plans and her own agenda with Saera Targaryen, but this did not mean she couldn’t kill two birds with one stone.

It was a fact that the heir to the Iron Throne, a female heir at that had so many disadvantages and such an uphill battle that a “quick trip out of Westeros” might as well be the key for Otto to pull all possible and impossible strings in their absence. Daemon may not enjoy the politics that came with being part of a court, but it did not mean he was ignorant to them. Perhaps it was not taking her maidenhead against the wall of a brothel, but it was very much damaging too. And there were also plenty of brothels where they would be meeting Saera, so there shouldn’t be a lack of opportunities. A rush of excitement ran through Rhaenyra and, perhaps for the first time since her mother died, she suppressed a giggle even if she couldn’t completely hide a small smile from Daemon who raised an eyebrow when he noticed.

“What amuses you, Princess?”

“Nothing… just… looking forward to travel. I never thought I would have the opportunity to leave Westeros.” Rhaenyra admitted half of the reason for her levity.

Daemon still eyed her a bit. Rhaenyra had to remember that, now that her mother was gone, Daemon was the one who knew her best in the entire Known World. But still he didn’t press and he still knew that she was truthful enough for him to sigh.

“… one day… I will take you to see whatever land you wish to see.”

Rhaenyra had no idea how Daemon intended to keep that promise. She did not even know whether she would survive long enough for it at all, and yet it still made her smile. It soon turned into a teasing smirk.

“You know… I have always been fascinated by the Thousand Islands.”

Daemon snorted in amusement. “Yes? Maybe we should go to Valyria itself, I hear it is beautiful this time of the year.”

They laughed freely at the absurd conversation.

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

Daemon frowned as he looked through the window. Coming back to the Keep after the hunt was uneventful to say the least, more of the normal of Otto whispering whatever is it that cunts whisper about in his brother’s ears and Viserys trying and failing to look like nothing was bothering him.

Three of the seven days of promised festivities came and went where Alicent Hightower was nowhere near the center of attention. Instead, the feast of the first night was stolen by black attires and Rhaenyra’s dress. The second night no one deigned to use the carefully prepared ballroom. The third day was obfuscated by the presence of the two dragons in the camping site. And now here they were, the fourth day where a fair was taking place. While not an activity that Rhaenyra and her new allies could find many opportunities to spurn the future queen, the same could be said about the Hightowers cunts trying to get attention to themselves. Too crowded and unorganized for such.

And Daemon was genuinely impressed that Rhaenyra thought to use the event as distraction from her own deeds. Coffers and eggs being transported to Dragonstone and Rhaenys contacting Vaegon in Oldtown. How deliciously beautiful it was, Daemon smirked, to take the necessary steps so the Highwhore would be queen in name only during her own damn wedding. Daemon was fairly certain he was the only so far to have noticed the poetic justice, he was not surprised, he could admit, at least to himself, that this was a petty detail, but oh, how amazing it felt and if there was anything that people remembered were the petty details.

Still, for all his casual attitude in the face of the plans taking place, Daemon couldn’t help but glance through the window from time to time. Rhaenys was going to the very center of all hostility in order to see if Vaegon still remembered what it meant to be a Targaryen. Daemon grimaced. Just how very far their House has fallen. It was one thing to capitulate to the strongest religion as Aegon the Conqueror had done, but it was another very different to completely live by it when most of them did not even believe in the damn thing. And if one of their most submissive members, silent fucking sisters, had it in themselves to attack the Queen of Westeros, then what would masters do to a princess?

Daemon shook his head.

“What makes you frown?” Rhaenyra smiled a bit and Daemon immediately chuckled in response.

“Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.” She joked lightly before sobering. “She should be fine, uncle.”

Daemon smirked, not at all surprised that Rhaenyra knew exactly where his mind had gone. “She is certainly not my grandmother.” He revealed his thoughts.

Rhaenyra took it as the message it was. Daemon’s expression softened without his knowledge. “Your grandmother, at the end, matched well with her husband, the Conciliator. Our cousin may have pretended with grace, but we gave her a reason to restore her own fighting spirit. Despite the hypocrisy displayed that played well to her own lost inheritance, she is not blind to both their faults.”

“One can only hope.” Daemon sighed. “When will your little helpers be back?”

“Should be by the end of this week. Three days to go, three days to come back. If everything went well, they should be on their way back already.”

Daemon stared at the way Rhaenyra rolled the rings around her fingers. A nervous habit that he had yet to witness again since coming back for this farse of a wedding resurfacing it seemed. While it was a sign of weakness that he was loathed to see others exploring, it was also the last vestiges of the child Rhaenyra was leaving behind. A few moon turns separated her from being six and and ten, in a few moon turns, she would be seen as a woman grown by the rest of the realm.

Woman grown or not, she was still young. Daemon frowned at the thought. Too young to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. And perhaps for the first time since the title of heir was taken from him, if it ever was his in true, Daemon wished that one of Aemma’s sons had survived. Daemon’s frown deepened at the shadows behind lilac eyes, the faint but present bruises of sleepless nights underneath them. Rhaenyra presented a strong image, her back straight, steps sure and head held high, but she was tired.

“How much has your dear Golden Lady grown?”

Rhaenyra blinked at the question. “Fairly in the past few sun turns.”

“Not unlike her rider then.” Daemon commented and much to his joy Rhaenyra blushed at his words.

“I suppose.”

“Enough to maybe finally become competition to Caraxes?”

The arrogance had Rhaenyra’s lilac eyes narrowing but the challenge had a smirk growing on her face. “I suppose.”  She repeated the words before turning back to the Keep.

Daemon chuckled and followed her. Donning her riding leathers was a very fast affair for Rhaenyra as Daemon could attest.

~*~

(Archmaester Vaegon)

“Rhaenys, if you pass out, I do not guarantee that I will be able to control Meleys and stop you from falling!” Vaegon could take no more of it.

He held his tongue through the almost twelve hours flight it took them to reach King’s Landing. Vaegon did not say anything to Rhaenys. She was a woman grown, with children of her own, if Rhaenys thought she could push herself through almost a whole day of constant flying, from King’s Landing to the Citadel to King’s Landing once more without stopping to sleep and rest, Vaegon was not about to lecture her as if he was her father.

Vaegon’s resolve cracked a bit as he watched Rhaenys reach inside her stolen tunic for a few pieces of dried meat. Rhaenys extended a piece to him, but he refused it, not even the gods themselves would make him relinquish the hold he had on her while they were overflying a damned mountain.

Vaegon’s resolve completely burned after they passed King’s Landing. He could only recognize such for the geographic marks he grew up learning, then knowing. Blackwater Bay extended before them and Vaegon understood Rhaenys’ intention. She wanted to reach Dragonstone. Even Meleys was starting to show signs of fatigue, which meant, being the fastest dragon currently alive or not, it would add at least six hours more on dragonback. If Vaegon was generous, Rhaenys searched for him for at least three hours, their conversation couldn’t have taken one hour but saying that it had… in total it meant that Rhaenys was determined to push almost thirty-three hours without rest.

Rhaenys ignored him, mauve eyes not straying for one second from the horizon. The sun had risen and then started to descend and Rhaenys’ grip on the saddle didn’t give. Vaegon almost shook his head in incredulity. His muscles were burning, long disused from even horse rides meant that his legs had long since started to ache and now they lost feeling, his arms were burning and the stress and lack of rest and food for twelve hours was making his head feel light.

And yet, something about it… something about riding a dragon for the first time in almost forty sun turns was awaking something in Vaegon. He had never realized, not until that moment, that he felt almost asleep daily. As if he was dreaming as he went through the motions of his life. His heart started to race, uninterested eyes started to shine as he heard the rumors and whispers, as he contemplated the possibility that he would be getting a visit soon. Either from the High Septon or from someone with familiar purple eyes.

The satisfaction of Vaegon’s father understanding just enough of his son to know that he would be happier among books and scrolls couldn’t be compared to the feeling he started to have deep within as he found Rhaenys wandering about. It made his hands shake, energy course through his veins. Oh, but Vaegon had plenty to say about their so-called “plan”, but the very thought of what was becoming his House, of what others were doing to his House was enough to raise something inside of him. Was it the dragon fire that Aemon, Baelon and Alyssa were so fond of talking about? Whatever it was, Vaegon did not wish to lose it. He felt… alive.

Now, Vaegon had no desire to find that sense of purpose, the sense of life only to experience death. Once again gritting his teeth, Vaegon prayed to whatever gods out there, the Seven Who Were One, the Fourteen Flames, the Old Gods that Rhaenys did not pass out.

Muscles cramping, Vaegon could feel anxiety building up as they passed Sharp Point, soon enough it would be Driftmark and then, finally, Dragonstone. He chanced a look to Rhaenys, the angle made it difficult, however, what little he could see didn’t show any change. She was still determinedly staring ahead, Vaegon resigned himself to a long exposure of Targaryen madness, and not necessarily the kind that made them murder people.

Or, at least, Vaegon thought looking down where several hundred meters separated them from water, not on purpose.

The sight of the castle upon Dragonstone was a relief and Vaegon couldn’t wait to touch firm ground. A little voice at the back of his head insisted that if this entire idea bore fruits, he would spend a lot of time on dragonback.

Vaegon allowed himself to groan in relief and pain as Meleys landed heavily on the grounds of Dragonstone. Rhaenys helped him down from the saddle and he had no complaints, Vaegon would be sprawled on the floor if not for her. A tired but still powerful roar came from the Red Queen expressing her own exhaustion. Her rider did not allow even that to pass through her lips, not even swaying once her feet were on firm ground again despite the fact that Vaegon knew that her legs must be giving out on her. Instead, Rhaenys waited with narrowed eyes as Vaegon tried to get feeling back to all four of his members and then firmly grasped his forearm.

They had not landed close to the gates of the castle, instead they were in one of the hills surrounding Dragonmont. At once, Vaegon understood Rhaenys’ intentions.

“You expect for me try now?!”

Rhaenys turned to him. Still determined, still seemly ignoring her own physical limitations even as her eyes were red and bruises of a sleepless night were becoming more and more prominent.

“Yes. There are a few options to be considered. The Cannibal is to court death and we would not find him anywhere near Dragonmont anyways, the rest of the dragons’ presence is enough to keep him away. Vermithor and Silverwing are interesting choices, the main obstacle is that one doesn’t stray far from the other and, as such, it is not conductive to try and claim one without the other intefering. From stories, however, I believe that my grandparents, your parents, took you and your siblings for a few flights, maybe the familiarity, no matter how vague, will help matters.”

Vaegon was still staring at Rhaenys in shock. “You…”

“Time is of essence, Uncle. We are here, so might as well try now.” Rhaenys dismissed whatever words his mouth would try to bring forth.

Vaegon looked around and… could think of no reason besides tiredness to not heed his niece’s words. “What of the other dragons?”

“Sheepstealer is known to nest at the back of Dragonmont, he is one of the least hostiles although his mood is… unstable at a times. Grey Ghost’s nest is on the eastern side, the difficulty is to find him and to not chase him off, he would rather avoid humans than attack them.”

“Advantages?” Vaegon hated to do it to Rhaenys who was still standing through sheer force of will but if she was so insistent on it…

“Vermithor would send the message that the last living son of Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen disapproves of Viserys’ choice, that he supports the princess. Silverwing could potentially signalize the same, they nest almost exclusively in the caves under Dragonstone. Sheepstealer does not invoke the same fear, a bit smaller than Dreamfyre in true and many call him... well... ugly. Grey Ghost, while having the same issue about not instilling fear can also be added to the fact that he is still young. A few sun turns ago, he was just big enough to ride. These days he may not be much bigger than that, the dragon prefers seclusion so he seldom hunts, so he seldom grows…. I still discourage approaching the Cannibal… for obvious reasons.” Rhaenys frowned at the expression on Vaegon’s face.

Vaegon, for his part, turned to Meleys who seemed grumpy to realize that there was yet more flying to be done and still carrying his belongings chained to her chest. While two big chests could hardly be called heavy for the she-dragon, it did not mean she was enjoying the chains wrapped many times around her torso to secure them to her.

“Very well then.” Vaegon squared his shoulders.

~*~

“To do so, I cannot go with you past this point.” Rhaenys’ mauve eyes were hard as she stopped at the entrance of the cave, Meleys had refused to go further a few meters before that also.

The territory of a dragon was not to be casually encroached.

He must have gone insane at some point in his life. Vaegon thought to himself as he took a deep breath and started to walk further into the cave.

Vaegon had never noticed that archmaesters robes were so truly uncomfortable. He huffed as he tried to gather the long material to climb some of the rocks on the way. Although, if he was trying to be fair, the Citadel very probably didn’t take taming a dragon as one of their members’ usual activities.

Deep, rumbling breaths reached his ears, the air grew hotter. Before Vaegon had truly stopped to contemplate the absurdity he was attempting, he was face to face with a dragon. A dragon that was asleep until sensing another’s presence.

No matter the living being, Vaegon couldn’t think of any that would be particularly overjoyed for being rudely awaken so when the roar started to form, he stepped forward. The language was strange in his tongue, the commands never before used.

“Lykirī!” Vaegon called out as strongly as he could. “Lykirī!” he repeated when the grumbling didn’t stop.

Silvery eyes landed on him and the dragon looked almost curious. Vaegon carefully approached, never straying his own eyes from the dragon’s.

“Lykirī.” Vaegon repeated more calmly, making his way towards the dragon’s side, when it did not rise nor it appeared to be hostile, Vaegon started to climb.

He almost cursed at the lack of a saddle and tried to hold onto the protruding scales around the neck. “Dohaerās!” When nothing happened, Vaegon spoke louder. “Dohaerās!” Unused to raising his voice, unused to hearing it raised, Vaegon called again. “Dohaerās!”

The dragon climbed to its feet with no complaint after that. Shaking himself awake and making his way towards the entrance of the cave.

Out of breath, Vaegon allowed the feeling at the back of his head to completely flood his body. He could feel the powerful muscles as if they were his own, the enormous wings that could take him so high in the air. If Vaegon truly focused, truly relaxed his mind, he could swear he could see through the dragon’s very eyes, and it wasn’t until cold air hit his face that Vaegon realized that he had closed his own.

They were at the entrance, Rhaenys was no longer waiting by it, instead, Vaegon could see her riding Meleys, gliding nearby. Even from afar, Vaegon could still feel his niece’s confusion… and almost disapproval.

But this felt right. This felt amazing. As if there was a missing piece in his body. As if he was finally whole. Vaegon allowed himself a few more seconds to relish in the feeling. It felt as if he could finally breath and feel the air fill his lungs, the blood running through his veins. His heartbeat finally gaining strength and giving him as well.

“Sōvēs! Grey Ghost!”

The dragon was small. Barely twice the size of a horse, but at that moment, Vaegon could swear that the dragon increased in size at his command. His grey color seemed to brighten to almost a pearlescent shade, the color of pearls, the color of their distinctive Targaryen hair.

The roar the dragon let out could have been attributed to a much, much larger dragon. His wings unfolded and they were in the air.

Chapter Text

(Third POV)

“Rhaenys is the diplomat.” From any other, Daemon’s words could be called a complaint.

“Rhaenys is busy.” Rhaenyra replied.

“And you think you and I are the best next options for this? They know we just have that ugly building to make a show out of it.” Daemon pointed out and then thought better of it, “Well, for most of us.”

And truly, the grandiose sept close to the Red Keep has known less Targaryens among its visitors than Lannisters, who are not even from the Crownlands. The only times Daemon himself stepped in it was when he was married to the Bronze Bitch – not that he can recall the occasion all that much as he was so drunk, he could barely stand – when his grandmother, Alysanne, died, and then Jaehaerys and when his brother was crowned.

There were the celebrations for the Faith here and there. And there were years that Daemon would stand for the Warrior if only because he literally did not have anything else to do. Aside from that, the path to that ridiculous building was basically unfamiliar to him, the only reason he was not getting lost was because, contrary to the humility and sacrifice they preached, the sept was one opulent, giant building that stood alone on the hill.

“Of course not,” Rhaenyra was incredulous that Daemon had to ask, “but Rhaenys has not even been sighted yet and time is running out. I’m not sure if you forgot, but the wedding will be in three days. With the mummers, plays and bards entertaining the court today we can do this more or less unnoticed. In tomorrow’s tournament we will be expected at the royal box… or at least most of us.” She turned to stare at him.

Daemon, for his part, merely smirked. “It would simply not do for me not to crown you Queen of Love and Beauty, My Princess.”

Rhaenyra didn’t bother to suppress the small smile, but it was more teasing, slightly more cutting than she usually had to offer Daemon. “Shall I save my favor for you, Uncle, or do you wish to ask for Lady Alicent’s once more? If it was genuine interest, then I’m afraid the King shall take an issue, but if it was to vex our dear Lord Hand, then maybe this time around you can add vexing the King. For sure a greater prize as well.”

Rhaenyra maintained her smile as Daemon’s eyes widened at her. The genuine surprise at her words took him off guard. Good as time as any to get a reaction out of him, especially as jousts were still too marred with the blood of her mother for Rhaenyra to truly enjoy them, at least, not any time soon.

Daemon for his part just laughed once the surprise wore off. “Complete honesty? Sometimes I wonder how the whore even has favors to give out at all. Usually, the knight asks for the favor of a lady of a higher societal status than himself. As the daughter of the Hand – who is a second son himself – pretty much the only knight in that competition that could follow that rule with your maid would be Crispin.”

Rhaenyra smiled a bit. “And of course, as the highest ranked knight in the competition, you would not hesitate to ask for the favor of the lowest standing lady there.”

And it came as no surprise to Daemon when Rhaenyra didn’t react as he thought she would at the insult to her sworn shield. Whispers of how close the Princess was to her sworn shield may or may not have contributed to Daemon choosing Mysaria from all the whores at his back and call for the stunt with the egg. Sure, the rumors circulating hardly sang about the fondness from the Princess to the knight, but from the knight to an uninterested Princess. How far and deeply the knight would devote and pine for the princess had Daemon rolling his eyes… well, right now he would roll his eyes, but the truth was that it was Rhaenyra herself who chose the Dornishman at the aftermath of that blasted joust thrown in honor of her brother’s birth.

Daemon used to think that Rhaenyra was fond enough of the lowly knight, at least, she seemed at ease enough around him. These days, however, she was tense at the mere sight of him. There were even talks about changing her sworn shield, cleverly twisted as to make sure that her future siblings had the best possible protection, cleverly delivered a little too soon, after all, the Highwhore was not even married to Viserys yet for the talks about protection to her hypothetical children to be arisen.

Ser Harrold has been at court for too long to let himself react, but Daemon caught him sending a knowing look at Rhaenyra as he asked to speak with Crispin about the possible change in position and the reason for it. It only occurred to Daemon much later that maybe it was also to get Crispin away from her that Rhaenyra did so and not only to land a blow to her once friend.

“Is that jealousy I detect, Princess?” He teased.

Rhaenyra met his eyes. “Merely the same feeling you had when I gave my favor to Ser Criston, so you name it.”

Daemon felt his eyebrows rising. “Well played.” He said instead of giving it too much thought.

Rhaenyra felt the slightest flash of disappointment but they could not pursue the conversation, the sept’s door opened after some struggle from the guards. Even the blasted doors were ostentatious, Daemon sneered. There was some young septon tending to the images of the Seven at the altar but not many would choose to pray when there was quite the entertainment to be had at a royal wedding. And, of course, there were no smallfolk, too close to the Red Keep for guards to allow them through, which, for anyone with minimal sense, completely defeated the purpose for the sept to be as big as it was. Even if the entire court that his brother theoretically presided over were to attend a ceremony in the sept, there would still be empty seats. And so, the only reason Daemon could think of for the grandiosity of the place was to allow the High Septon to live luxuriously while attending King's Landing.

“Good evening.” Rhaenyra started. “Is the High Septon allowing visitors?”

The fact that the man has not been in attendance of the first four days of celebration can only be a good sign for them. But Rhaenyra was not about to overstep in this matter, just because the High Septon does not approve of the union between Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower – or, at least the circumstances surrounding the union – does not mean that he would gladly throw his lot with a mere princess. True be told, Rhaenyra had little to no idea of what to expect of the man and neither did Daemon and for all her lengthy experience and training in politics, Rhaenyra also doubted that Rhaenys would have much more to go on.

The High Septon, Alfyn, was but a young septon in King Jaehaerys’ time and tasked with spreading a good word about Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s marriage. It was a good strategy, for not many were happy about their practices of marrying relatives. Too many convoluted political moves by the two monarchs later and Alfyn was raised to High Septon not too long before Viserys was named king.

Rhaenyra didn’t know the details and she doubted she would find out about them. Jaehaerys and Alysanne made sure to be very discreet about the whole affair and, unlike her father, they knew who to trust with secrets.

“My Prince, My Princess... I… yes, he… is.” The young man did not look very confident but still gestured to the stairs to the side of the altar.

Rhaenyra and Daemon started to climb the set of stairs with nary another word spoken. If the ridiculous coin spent on this whole thing did not endear the Faith to Daemon, then these ridiculous stairs would do the job. For what damn reason did the High Septon, a very old man, saw the need to have his quarters in the very last floor? Well, all the easier to shove the man to his death and pretend it was an accident. Daemon’s eyes narrowed as they were met with yet another curve of steps.

The door was simpler than they were expecting considering the unnecessary splendor of the floor below and the High Septon was quick in answering when Daemon knocked.

“My Princess, My Prince! This is… unexpected, how can I be of help?”

Honestly, neither Daemon nor Rhaenyra ever really paid much attention to the man. They barely even truly knew his face, as the… colorful headpiece made of crystal that would reflect rainbows in the sunlight ahd all their attention. Truly, it had everybody's full attention. But… he was not quite what they were expecting.

For some reason they both had conjured someone like the Grand Maester Mellos. Old, taciturn, perpetual frown… in Otto’s pocket, the Citadel was almost synonymous with Starry Sept in their minds. But the man that greeted them was almost… perhaps meek was not quite the right word but he seemed jovial enough despite the years that clearly marked his face.

“High Septon Alfyn?” Rhaenyra wanted to make sure.

“Yes, that is my name, I understand that most are merely used to the title.” He chuckled.

Rhaenyra nodded with a small polite smile as if agreeing that it was indeed the reason for her question. “Yes, I understand. We were just wondering if you would be amendable to… to a conversation?”

She was more wrong-footed than what was usual but the High Septon clearly didn’t seem in any hush to take advantage of that. “I would assume that you would be attending some of the plays or presentations your father arranged, if only for the sake of appearances.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow. This could be easier or harder than they thought.

“This seemed more pressing, we can always attend some of it later. The King has events planned for the entire day.” Rhaenyra smiled again.

Alfyn, was it, just laughed a little, agreeing and beckoning them inside. As he turned their backs on the two royals, they exchanged baffled glances. The man was reminding them of Viserys, what in the world…?

“Would you like some tea? Some bread and cheese maybe? I’m afraid I don’t entertain much.”

A quick glance about the room made that very clear. It… spoke against the luxury they saw downstairs and the proportions of the sept to the visitors it receives. The High Septon’s quarters could never be considered humble, but it was sparsely decorated.

“Oh, please we don’t mean to be a bother.” Rhaenyra started and had to bite her own tongue not to say anything when Daemon reached out to take some of grapes and sat haphazardly on one of the seats close to the hearth.

But it seemed that Rhaenyra’s attempt at courtesy were wasted anyways, the High Septon barely even looked as if he noticed Daemon’s attitude.

“We were actually wondering about your absence.” Daemon popped another grape in his mouth.

The High Septon looked almost sheepish as he sat down, without the permission of the two royal members even, on the chair in front of Deamon’s.

“There has been… some talks,” The High Septon cleared his throat uncomfortably, “talks that I can’t, in good conscience, ignore for they were, more often than not, proven to be true and not just idle gossip.”

“About the Highwhore’s joke of a virtue being compromised?”

Rhaenyra almost threw her boot towards Daemon’s head for that one. “What my Uncle meant to say is…” she trailed off to give herself some time to think.

“Yes.” Rhaenyra blinked at the High Septon. The man, for his part, just sighed and took off his headpiece. “The Faith cannot simply condone an union that is just taking place to appease offended sensibilities.”

And that was… just so absurd that Rhaenyra… even Daemon had no words. They exchanged another look before recalculating their plans with the High Septon.

The actual intention was to throw… well… the fact that Alicent Hightower’s virtue was compromised by the King no less. The actual intention was to twist all the words so that all would think that the High Septon, the Faith itself disapproved of the union – if not outright denying to make the union. The actual intention, at the worst possible scenario was to gauge how the Faith was taking their most prominent supporters so publicly decrying their teachings. But “appeasing offended sensibilities”? Most unions took place because of money and social standing and, indeed, offended sensibilities when the couple are caught where they should not be, what in the world was the man talking about?! Was he somehow offended that they were marrying to protect Alicent’s reputation? Alfyn almost worshipped Jaehaerys and Alysanne and they were ready to marry their daughter Saera for a lot worse for the same reasons.

“And they were thoroughly offended.” Daemon recovered faster than Rhaenyra, already with an amused, if still confused, grin on his face. “But, say, will their union still be blessed by the Faith?”

Rhaenyra wouldn’t word the question quite like that, but she was still baffled at the reasoning behind the High Septon’s absence.

“We do not have much choice, I’m afraid.” Alfyn’s careless words were met with wide eyes.

What was wrong with this septon?

“Oh, I had not realized that the Faith was being coerced.”

Daemon Targaryen was many things, subtle was not one of them. Rhaenyra felt faint. Her hands started to shake, and her head felt a bit too light. She leaned on the table near her.

“Coerced is perhaps too strong, I was sent word by the Starry Sept that the union between the King and Lady Alicent is to be blessed. The Hightowers are our main benefactors after all and, despite Lady Alicent’s indiscretions and sins, the rest of the House doesn’t deserve to be disgraced because of the action of a daughter of theirs. I am not happy with it, I think that union or not, Lady Alicent already disgraced her family, but… I suppose orders are orders.” Alfyn sighed.

No wonder they were so often barred from speaking to the man alone! The same lost and shocked expression written in Daemon’s features were probably being mirrored by Rhaenyra as they yet again exchanged glances.

High Septon Alfyn was basically a dam filled with holes that was half-heartedly fixed with some mud and hay. All you had to do is poke one of them enough and it would burst. Daemon almost started to laugh at the whole thing. That cunt of a Hand his brother insisted on keeping around had them all believe that the High Septon had so many guards because he was a public figure, one of the pillars of their society, as often targeted as a noble and whatever the fucking else, but now Daemon knew that it was because the so-called holy man behaved like a drunk fool.

Actually, Daemon looked around, was the septon drunk? But he couldn’t find anything other than tea and water… he looked back at the High Septon, no, this was just the man’s personality. And this time he couldn’t help the laugh even if he had wanted to.

Rhaenyra, seeing that Daemon would be of no further help for now, shook her head a bit. “And you… have decided to… express your disapproval by not attending some of the events?”

“Yes.” Alfyn answered simply which only made Daemon laugh harder.

“… Right.” Rhaenyra cleared her throat and tried to get the septon’s attention back to her as he eyed her uncle curiously. “We… may have a possible solution. A way that would express the Faith’s… feelings while still allowing the union to go forth and, therefore, you… your orders would be fulfilled.”

Daemon sobered a bit at that, but this meeting just made his entire day. He straightened up on his chair and glanced back towards Rhaenyra who finally made her way over to the two men.

“Oh?” Alfyn leaned forward, clearly curious.

“It is our understanding that, while the King and the bride’s family are the ones to draw the contract describing the price of the bride and the dowry to be paid and received, which includes widow rights, it is the High Septon that would officially grant a new title for the bride in question. Whether to be crowned in the occasion of her marriage or at a later date as was the plan with Lady Jocelyn Baratheon once Prince Aemon became king. She did not become a princess upon marriage to Prince Aemon, but she would have been crowned queen at a later date.” Daemon started.

“That is… partially correct.” Alfyn blinked. “There is no need for the High Septon to bless a new queen, as it would be the case, but it has become the tradition since King Aegon was crowned in the Starry Sept. A symbol of approval if you will.”

Daemon almost jumped at it. “Approval that you do not have for the bride, if I remember your words correctly.”

And Alfyn’s dark eyes lit up. “Ah, a morganatic marriage.”

The term was unfamiliar to Rhaenyra but a quick glance towards Daemon and her uncle seemed surprised. As they were aiming to make the septon think it was his idea all along, Rhaenyra quickly interjected, “I’m sorry?”

“A morganatic marriage, at least in the case of the King to Lady Alicent, would mean that titles and privileges would not be bestowed to Lady Alicent. In a way, it is not unlike the situation with Prince Aemon and Lady Jocelyn. It is a marvelous idea! This should make everyone very satisfied.” Alfyn seemed to almost sag in his seat in pure relief.

“Well, of course it was, we knew that you, as the High Septon with such experience would find a good middle ground that could satisfy all parties.” Rhaenyra was not above flattery if that got what they wanted.

Daemon sent her a look of amused derision. But when he turned to look at the High Septon, he showed the confusion he was feeling. “Who is this ‘everyone’ you mentioned?”

Alfyn blinked again at them. “Oh! Being the King’s brother and daughter, I thought you would be informed but… maybe it is just idle gossip… although the repercussions…” he bit his lips like a nervous young maiden and Daemon had to stop himself from laughing again.

“We promise that no words shall make it outside these walls.” It was truly impressive the way Rhaenyra could lie through her teeth, Daemon apprised her.

Whatever the case, the High Septon was clearly charmed by the earnest vow. Daemon would frown incredulously at the man if that wouldn’t have ruined their efforts.

“To be frank, Princess… the Faith was extremely worried when word started to spread through Oldtown about Lady Alicent’s marriage to the King. Of course, being the Lord Hand’s family, House Hightower were the first to be informed about the union but it was not long before the reason behind it also made it to the Reach and, therefore, the Starry Sept. Lady Alicent either seduced or let herself be seduced by the King, and as result, she is to be Queen of Westeros? Tongues wag, My Princess.” He lectured as if he had any room to talk. “And soon, other ladies would find it in themselves to emulate Lady Alicent. For why, the Hightowers are one of the, if not the most pious of families in Westeros, and a daughter of their House became queen! For sure, they could do the same as she did, they would say!”

Rhaenyra made sure that all the High Septon’s attention was on her, it wouldn’t do for the man to spot the growing smile spreading in Daemon’s face. “This is truly... grim!” She exclaimed in clear commiseration.

Alfyn nodded. “Indeed, my Princess. But if I present the idea to the King about a morganatic marriage, it would certainly go a long way to alleviate the situation! For why, even Prince Aemon, the heir apparent, the crown prince, when married, did not give the title of princess to his wife. Yes, yes, this is a good idea and with a good precedent.”

Not to mention that if Viserys, or the Hightowers, threw a tantrum, they could always rub it in his face that if he didn’t do so, it would be, yet another, slight to Rhaenys. Daemon smirked, silently saluting his uncle and his uncle’s aunt.

“Oh my, it is almost time for the King to announce the last of the events of the day, shall we, Uncle?”

Rhaenyra would have loved nothing else than to ask a million questions to the clear weakest link in the Hightower’s chains of secrets but their window of opportunity was closing and it wouldn’t do for them to get caught in conversation with the High Septon when he was about to propose to the King for his new queen to not become a queen at all.

Daemon smiled and tucked Rhaenyra’s hand at the crook of his arm, his other hand absently caressing the soft skin on the back of her hand. “We have bothered the High Septon enough, thank you for the reprieve your words brought us.”

Neither were surprised when the High Septon frowned in confusion. “Oh? I’m not sure what I said that would make you happy, but I am certainly relieved to have find a possible solution to the King’s marriage now.”

“You are a learned man, and we have the utmost trust in you.” Daemon smiled in the purest condescension he could.

~*~

“I am unsure whether to call the High Septon a smart man or a foolish one.” Rhaenyra frowned, still a little disoriented from the meeting.

“That man is an idiot of the likes I have never seen before, Rhaenyra.” Daemon scoffed. “An idiot that received education and apparently is a travelled one. How he survived with that loose of a tongue I will never understand.”

“He knows enough to realize we would not be happy with Father’s marriage but we would attend the weeding for appearances’ sake and about that… uh… morganatic marriage.” Rhaenyra pointed out.

“Yes, morganatic marriages are more common in Essos what with their princes marrying left and right with issues from previous marriages and not enough heritance to spread about. I was surprised that he knew about it.” Daemon admitted. “But then he proceeded to give away his gullibility and stupidity. The reason he doesn't support my brother’s marriage was senseless at best, and then he just contradicted his own words for he knew the need to attend the celebrations but decided to not do so because of his own personal reasons, the whole thing was even a bit childish. Not to mention the way he just told us about a piece of information that was supposed to be to the King’s ears only, once he saw that we didn’t know, the smart thing to do was not tell us anything. That was not just gossip, Rhaenyra, that could start an uprising. If noble ladies, if women in general are found in beds of their lords or of someone of a higher status than themselves, the King himself is setting up the precedent that they ought to be married. After all that, having confirmation that the Faith is in the Hightowers’ pocket is almost a copper to a gold dragon.” Daemon shook his head.

“The fact that the Faith, and the Citadel at that, respond to the Hightowers is no great secret.” Rhaenyra wanted to roll her eyes.

“No,” Daemon agreed, “but one thing is for us to know by observing their actions, another is to have confirmation from their own mouths, the High Septon’s mouth even. There is no coming back from something like that.”

Rhaenyra bit her lip. It was in times like these that her lack of training and experience were more apparent, she still didn’t understand the difference. Daemon eyed her before slowing their pace.

“We see every day how the Cunttower would yank septons and septas around by the nose, we know that the Hightowers are their main benefactors, with coin and politics. Hells, the Starry Sept was built by the Hightowers. Logic dictates that the Faith would support the Hightowers come low or high tide. Of course, saying so would be slanderous at best, heresy and… sinful at worst,” Daemon rolled his eyes, “but coming from the High Septon himself? Their leader is admitting that if the Hightowers pressure them, they would have no way of saying no, exactly like what is happening with the little Highwhore and my brother. The High Septon disagrees, the Faith disagrees, they are facing an almost collapse as noble ladies would want to do the same, but they still have to capitulate and marry them. Because the Hightowers said so.”

Rhaenyra shuddered, sometimes ignorance was a blessing.

Chapter Text

(Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

The jousts were… humorous at best. So worried about appearing properly contrite for Queen Aemma, there was no music, no mummers and no cheers as each House was announced.

Rhaenyra saw herself to her seat. “Please, I will require five more seats for my ladies.” She asked one of the servants who scrambled to comply.

Viserys cleared his throat. “My daughter… you have… have you made changes to your household?”

“Indeed, Your Grace.” Rhaenyra carefully arranged her long skirt. The feathers made it hard to do so in a timely manner.

Viserys cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. Otto, on the other hand, seemed to determine that now was the best time to address word to his future goodson’s own daughter.

“May I ask, My Princess… just how much have you been spending in the dresses for the wedding?”

Rhaenyra had to bite her tongue in order not to answer that no, he may not. “Merely paying my seamstress, all the material I already had.”

Corlys chuckled from his seat. “Prince Daemon has always spoiled you.”

The mention of the Rogue Prince was enough to curtail the questions. Rhaenyra smirked just slightly, “Indeed. There were so many bolts of fabric and gems to choose from all these years past that my only problem was to come up with the style.”

The silence coming from the King, his bride and the bride’s father was very loud. Rhaenyra wondered whether they would try and break it.

As the participants readied themselves, Rhaenyra absently noticed that Alicent was trying to initiate a conversation. As Alicent was not yet the woman who could wield words as knights did swords, Rhaenyra could only assume it was some ridiculous attempt at small talk or appeasement or prepared speech about duty. How exactly she intended to do that discreetly, as in without the dozen other people sitting in the box hearing every word, Rhaenyra did not know nor cared about and if Alicent wished for a crowd to witness it then Rhaenyra was more than happy to concede.

“Ah, there they are.” Rhaenyra smiled.

As a rule, the ladies in waiting of the royal family always sit beside the royal they serve, due to Queen Aemma’s frequent miscarriages and the equally numerous attempts, she was often too indisposed to make appearances, so Amanda Arryn was not a very well-known public figure. Aemma and Amanda, despite being half sisters did not look all that much alike. Aemma inherited the typical Valyrian looks, pale golden hair and lilac eyes that she passed to her daughter. Amanda was blonde, a darker hue, her blue eyes much more common and yet no one could mistake the Arryn sigil proudly displayed across her black bodice.

Viserys was not the only one going red. “Lady Amanda! I was… I was not aware that my daughter has invited you be part of her household.”

Amanda smiled and bowed. “Your Grace. Once the Princess was made aware that I was to return to the Vale, she insisted that, instead, I was to be the head of her ladies.”

They were flirting with the very limits. Rhaenyra reflected. It was in extremely poor taste to even mention the former Queen when a new one is being married to the King, and yet… Rhaenyra thought with some disdain, was it not in poor taste to marry four moons after the death of the former wife?

Alicent’s cuticles were not going to thank Rhaenyra at the end of the introductions. Rhaenyra eyed the way her former friend was destroying her own fingers with detachment as Amanda arranged herself to her right.

“Ladies Amelia and Nora should not be long, they wanted to wish their brother luck.” Amanda commented.

Rhaenyra nodded and had to smile as Otto made a sound of surprise when Ada Stark sat in front of her, right on the row bellow. Small and unassuming, many were surprised at the fierceness clearly visible in her grey eyes, her long brown hair was tied back in a simple ponytail.

“Your Grace,” the Northwoman bowed to the King and seemed to think that this was sufficient for Alicent as well once they were in the same direction. “I have never watched one of those.”

“Too much snow?” Rhaenyra teased.

“We prefer real battles.” Ada smirked back much to Alicent’s visible consternation.

Alicent took a deep breath very indiscreetly and tried. “A-Amelia and Nora? The Strong sisters?”

“Indeed.” Rhaenyra answered softly just as the two sisters showed up.

Both brown haired, that’s where the similarities ended in true. While of similar height, Amelia, the elder with brown eyes, preferred to show her bare shoulders with her curly hair completely tied up in an intricate style. She was of age and clearly taking advantage of that fact. While Nora, two years younger than Rhaenyra herself, preferred simpler styles of dress and hair, her hazel eyes always sharp.

Once Maris Baratheon, only one and ten, made her way to the last seat, Rhaenyra almost couldn’t refrain her smile from forming. Otto and Alicent did not look much alike aside from the brown hair and eyes, even at her angriest, Rhaenyra could admit that Alicent was comely, but right now father and daughter matched in almost turning purple.

“Hello, Lady Maris, I am happy that your father has allowed you to join my household.”

“I am as well, Princess.” Maris, to be honest, looked more relieved that just merely happy. Rhaenyra tried to smile at her.

Having met Borros and his wife, Elenda, Rhaenyra could understand Maris’ attitude. Lady Elenda did not have much fortitude and, despite being more patience than Maris would lead people to believe, her mother preferred simple and quick solutions. And a daughter as “wild” as Maris, truly just unhappy with all the rules that women had to contend with, either would become a silent sister or a septa. Neither option pleased Maris. Predictably, Borros did question her about Lady Cassandra, Maris’ older sister and Rhaenyra merely answered the practiced response that Lord Corlys gave her which seemed to satisfy both Lord and Lady.

Rhaenyra could see the contemplating look Otto sent Maris and tried not to smirk.

With Amanda calmly explaining the very few rules that existed in jousting to Ada, and Amelia and Nora entertaining Maris with the tales of the curse of Harrenhal, Rhaenyra almost allowed herself to relax.

“Prince Daemon Targaryen of House Targaryen!”

Rhaenyra sighed to herself. Of course. No matter what happens, no matter how long passes, Daemon Targaryen will be Daemon Targaryen. One either accept it or forever be doomed to a headache. Rhaenyra smirked as she watched her father rubbing his temples.

Donning the ridiculous armor with dragon wings in the helmet, he still posed a striking figure. And still, Rhaenyra eyed the wings… it was ridiculous. She felt no remorse in mocking him in the last tourney and, shall the opportunity arise, in this one as well.

Making his horse trot to the royal box, Daemon lifted his lance. “Princess Rhaenyra, there would be no higher honor than to receive the favor of the Realm’s Delight. The most beautiful maiden in the seven realms.”

The people cheered for the bold declaration… in another woman’s wedding. In another woman’s wedding that was about to become queen. Even if the words were genuine, Rhaenyra had to appreciate how Daemon could multitask.

“I wish you luck, uncle.” Rhaenyra put a crown of red roses around the lance with a smirk. Daemon raised an eyebrow and Rhaenyra could almost hear the man saying that he didn’t need luck. “Do keep in mind to watch your back.”

The reminder of his last tourney in King’s Landing was enough to do away with his mocking smirk. Unfortunately for the knights Daemon was up against, Ser Criston was not participating, all the worse for them for Daemon had no way to work out his anger on his intended target.

“Hmmm.” Maris eyed the matches. “Prince Daemon is particularly vicious.”

Rhaenyra almost huffed a laugh when Ada nodded a bit. Even for someone that had never seen a joust before, it was clear. While technique and strength were required, most of the knights aimed for center, the bigger target. The chest or the shield. Daemon, however, if in a particularly bloodthirsty mood, knew he was skilled enough to hit the head, mayhap even the neck.

As much as it grated to think about it, without Criston Cole participating and Harwin Strong only seeing it as good natured sport, Daemon did not have much competition. The Kingmaker was, unfortunately, perhaps one of the most skilled kingsguard of his time. Rhaenyra gritted her teeth. It was with very little surprise that Daemon won without problems.

Harwin’s lance barely graced Daemon’s side and that’s the only injury he had to his name. However, Rhaenyra frowned as she clapped, it was undeniable that Daemon’s youth conferred him the stamina and quick recovery to ignore the wound, the bruise that was certainly forming. She was peripherally aware that Daemon was older than she was, but…

“An eye for an eye, a son for a son.”

Rhaenyra suppressed a shudder. Daemon would be almost double the age he was right now and still stalemated Aemond when he was riding Vhagar. Time suddenly had another meaning. In girlhood dreams, at their closest in those Dreams, Rhaenyra dared to think of forever. But they didn’t have forever.

The crowd clapped his win. One of the few stances that the morbid silence made way to a cheerful sound in Viserys Targaryen’s marriage to Alicent Hightower.

“Princess Rhaenyra, this is not yet the crown you deserve but if there is maiden more deserving of it, I have not met her. Please allow me to crown you Queen of Love and Beauty.”

Daemon could really be the knight in shining armor of stories of old when he put his mind to it. Rhaenyra ignored how even her ladies in waiting, who did know better, swooned at his proclamation. Ada and Maris, not ones to be easily impressed, seemed mollified by his words. And, of course, doing so in a wedding of another woman, Otto Hightower’s daughter, made it all the sweeter.

“Prince Daemon… you are the one who honors me.” Rhaenyra bowed.

Daemon smiled and put the crown of flowers on Rhaenyra’s head. Not being able to help himself, he carefully put a lock of hair that got loose from her braids behind her ear.

~*~

“I thank you again, Lord Borros. Lady Maris shall be a boom to my household.” Rhaenyra smiled sweetly at the burly, dark-haired man.

Even if on the inside she wished for nothing more than for him to trip and break his own neck. Death by Syrax was simply too good for the likes of this pathetic worm.

“Of course, Princess.” He puffed his chest in pride that Rhaenyra felt was underserving.

Being gracious with the man that would one day deny support for her “arrogance” burned Rhaenyra inside. Her only consolation is that Borros is clearly as annoyed as any other House for the spectacle that her father has done for the past moon. Maris had already started to gather information among the ladies and even men as they disregarded her presence, and so, even if Borros would not hesitate to support Aegon despite if his daughter was to be threatened, Rhaenyra did not lie when saying that Maris was a boon.

Finding the Starks among the crowd, however, made Rhaenyra grateful for an excuse to no longer suffer Borros’ presence, or that of his silent lady wife. “I see Lord Stark and I am unsure whether they have found Lady Ada’s new accommodations, if you please, there are food and drink being served.”

Half-way to the Northmen, Rhaenyra spotted her uncle approaching as well. They needed to inform Lord Stark of their conversation with the High Septon. And also thank him. Rhaenyra reminded herself. For, much like Rhaenys, neither Rhaenyra nor Daemon had thought much about the Faith, even their influence in the wedding and Daemon would have no chance to present the plan about limiting Alicent’s, truly all of the Hightowers’ power base, and not making her queen at all if not for Lord Stark.

Unfortunately they were surrounded by too many curious parties and the Starks did not speak High Valyrian. “Lord Stark.” Rhaenyra greeted quickly followed by Daemon.

“My Princess, My Prince.” Benjen bowed. “I trust that conversation flowed freely then.”

For all that the Northmen were famous for their lack of patience for frivolous conversation, Benjen certainly knew the need for it. It remained to be seen if he had any skill in it. Rhaenyra took a deep breath as discreetly as she could.

“Indeed. Fortune favors the bold, I assume that not long now Lady Ada can bring most of her belongings to her new chambers. I took the liberty of arranging it with Stark colors.”

Rickon cleared his throat softly. “If it’s not too presumptuous, maybe my sister would also appreciate some small token of the Old Gods. I know she brought a small weirwood tree with her.”

Rhaenyra blinked at that. While she understood that it was Rickon’s way of referring to the High Septon when mentioning religion, it could also be a genuine question and she had no idea whether there would be any problem if the Starks wished to worship at the weirwood or bring their own idols. Amelia and Nora Strong could also be interested in such. Now she thought about it, from all of her ladies in waiting that have already agreed to the positions only Amanda was Andal and followed the Faith.

“I shall speak with the King and the High Septon, for sure he will not find issue with differing religions.” Rhaenyra assured. And now knowing the High Septon as she and Daemon did, she was even surer of it.

Ada’s smiles needed some practice. Rhaenyra reflected as the younger girl tried her hand at fake pleasantries. “My Princess, mayhap we can have some of the smoked trout? They are hard to come by in the North.”

Ada interlocked arms with her, and Rhaenyra was turned just enough toward the table filled with food but also just enough to be able to witness the High Septon approaching her father. Viserys looked surprised and then worried, waving his hand softly before indicating the Red Keep, clearly wishing for more privacy. Discreetly looking about, most of the Hightowers were too busy trying to entertain clearly annoyed guests or, in Alicent’s case, trying her best to not meet anyone’s eyes.

Rhaenyra’s lilac eyes clashed with Daemon’s amethyst ones. Daemon nodded and before Rhaenyra could blink, he was gone as some guests passed him by.

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

Maegor may have had his faults, Daemon thought to himself, but being called Maegor Come Again was not the insult most - Otto - thought it was. Daemon was quick in using the passages within the Holdfast. He used to wince in guilt for never having told Viserys about them, having found them not too long after being married to the Bronze Bitch, but as the years went by and his brother got more and more at ease with the likes of Otto Hightower, Daemon saw the wisdom of his decision.

The passages went through every single room in the Holdfast, always with strategically concealed doors that all made to the outside, equally as hard to be noticed. Daemon knew that their purpose was not solely for the royal family to have a quick escape route, if it was for just that then there wouldn’t have been well placed ventilation system that made it, oh so convenient, to see and hear what was happening inside every single room. Sometimes even through the corridors.

Daemon followed the progress of the High Septon and his brother towards one of the lesser used meeting rooms. Not as well furnished although still well maintained and cleaned by the servants. More of an antechamber.

Viserys sat down and invited the High Septon to do the same. “If you could repeat what you said, I’m afraid I don’t understand… my marriage will be in two days.”

Alfyn looked uncharacteristically hesitant. The man certainly just spewed whatever was in his mind when asked a simple question. Daemon wanted to roll his eyes, interrogation and torture will never be considered, if the High Septon has ever contemplated the idea of withholding information then the notion passed quickly.

“Your Grace, please do not interpret my words as criticism, I am stating things as they are… lords and ladies of the realm were far from happy with your choice and… and the speed of your second marriage.”

Viserys blushed and winced. Daemon wanted to strangle someone. Do not! He wanted to scream, do not show them doubt, you are King!

“There… there was simply no choice, High Septon. Lady Alicent… the rumors were already hurting her.”

Alfyn sighed. “As I said a fortnight ago, Your Grace, high and lowborn women everywhere can and will mirror their queen in actions and attitude. I understand that it is not what happened, but most, if not all, believe that Lady Alicent was caught abed with Your Grace. Actually, right now, due to the… speed of which the festivities were organized and the… hurry of which Your Grace and Lady Alicent seem to be in, most believe that she is with child.”

Viserys turned even redder. “THIS IS AN INSULT!” as if realizing he had shouted, Viserys took in a deep breath, his burning cheeks returning to being pale.

Perhaps it was the mark of a good leader, Daemon reflected, to be able to control their anger, channel it. He had seen it but once in his own father. Baelon Targaryen would maybe have been the greatest King that Westeros had ever seen since the Conqueror himself. Perhaps he was biased. After all, Baelon “The Brave” Targaryen, the Spring Prince, was Daemon’s father. And yet Daemon knew he could back that claim with actual arguments.

Baelon had been raised and trained right alongside Aemon Targaryen, his older brother. And yet unlike the dynamic between Viserys and Daemon, Aemon and Baelon had both been warriors, trained politicians, having studied at the knees of Alysanne and Jaehaerys Targaryen. The plan was to install them in the small council still as heirs and when Aemon had been killed, Baelon did not even hesitate, he flew to Myr to avenge his brother.

Baelon had always stood tall, and yet that never stopped the man from showing love to his family. Daemon still remembers the return of his father after rendering the Myrish pirates to ashes, he accepted the praise and glory with stoicism, but the moment he was alone with Alysanne and Alyssa, Baelon had hugged their knees, weeping for his dead brother.

“I slew a thousand of them, but it will not bring him back.”

That was channeled anger. Controlling anger instead of letting it control you and using it in your favor. Daemon had done his best to emulate that trait but he was self-aware enough to admit that he failed often. He had thought, for the longest time, that there would still be the day that Viserys would shine as a true son of Baelon “The Brave” Targaryen. Daemon knew that his brother had the fury of dragons somewhere inside of him but time and time again, he would be disappointed, for it never seemed to be roused against any other than his own family.

Even now, Daemon watched as the red receded and in its place a weary expression prevailed in Viserys’ countenance, even after thoughtlessly hurting so much his own daughter, after angering almost the entire realm with his sham of a wedding, Viserys could not bring himself to defend his actions with fire and blood.

“What would you have me do, High Septon? I cannot let Alicent face the consequences of that night when I’m just as much, perhaps even more responsible for the rumors that her presence so late at my chambers provoked.”

Unknowingly to Daemon, he scoffed quietly, mirroring Rhaenyra’s thoughts. Why ever not couldn’t his brother just let that little harlot sink on her own? For all the joviality of the High Septon, the man’s lips were pursed in aggravation and Daemon wanted to rejoice in it. And for all that Daemon’s opinion on the Faith could be resumed to one single word, hypocrisy, Alfyn was… strangely endearing, but in the way that newborn fawns were endearing. All clumsy and pitiable and easy to kill.

“Lady Alicent’s actions cannot be condoned by the Faith, Your Grace. We can’t reward that kind of behavior. She allowed herself to be in a compromising position and, as result, became queen? High and lowborn ladies through the realm would do the same then. For there is hardly a family more pious than the Hightowers.”

“I shall marry her, I will not allow tongues to wag about her reputation!”

Daemon allowed himself to feel all the confusion, all the disdain he has been holding back until that point. He had done and was required to do a lot since coming back. From destabilizing the Hightower’s rise in influence and simultaneously shoring up Rhaenyra’s own support and the little war of words that, Daemon had to admit, he was quite rusty at. It all had taken much of his time. So much so, that he had not had the proper time to ponder all that was happening besides the indignation and horror of what was becoming of his House.

Did Viserys fancy himself in love with the plain faced little pawn? Was it Viserys’ friendship with Otto Hightower? He could not bring himself to watch as the daughter of his “dear friend” was sneered at? If so, then Daemon had to say that Viserys was doing a very poor job of it. Hells, Otto was doing a poor job of it. For the rumors did not say that “Lady Alicent” had a behavior unfit of someone in her position but that she was with child already.

Daemon briefly thought of Rhaenyra. In any other time, he would have dismissed the possibility. Not because his niece was not capable of it, but because she was very fond of the girl in question and she protects those she cares about with everything she got. And yet… that was before the possibility of the girl becoming Rhaenyra’s stepmother… before days of doing their damn best to make sure all knew that Rhaenyra did not approve of the match… and that most of the realm was in agreement with her. Daemon smiled.

Regardless of who started what, or even Viserys’ motivations, here they were. At the wedding of Viserys Targaryen to Alicent Hightower. Daemon almost gagged.

“I am not trying to convince you otherwise, Your Grace.” Alfyn assured.

“Then what would you have me do?” Viserys shook his head confusedly.

“It is not a common practice here in Westeros, I have only heard of it in Pentos. Morganatic marriage.”

Daemon almost wished to sit back and watch as Viserys was forced to admit his ignorance. While one can hardly be blamed for the lack of knowledge of Essosi practices, Daemon still felt some sadistic pleasure in taking his brother to task.

“I… I am afraid I’m unfamiliar with it.”

“In few words, it means that the bride does not receive the title of the husband. Lady Alicent would still be the wife of the king, but no queen herself.”

In Viserys’ place, Daemon would rage until all seven kingdoms had heard. Choosing his own wife, fighting to wed her, fighting to protect her only for some little pest to say that his wife may not be able to enjoy all that he could give her? And, of course, Viserys merely looked back at the High Septon, frowning.

“Would that not defeat the entire purpose of protecting Alicent?”

Daemon almost wanted to throw something against a wall. Just to hear the crash. All of this mockery for the sake of Otto Hightower’s daughter. If he was to give Viserys the benefit of the doubt, he would think that was she any other woman that not his "dear friend's daughter", Alicent would have been long sent to the Silent Sisters. For all that Viserys was so very determined to follow in the footsteps of Jaehaerys “The Conciliator”, he was very quick to forget the man’s decision concerning his own daughter, Saera. Maybe the Highwhore’s actions cannot be fairly compared to mockingly wondering to whom she gave her maidenhead to as Saera did but still…

“Not so much,” Alfyn leaned forward in excitement, “a morganatic marriage is not too dissimilar to window’s rights that Queen Alysanne instituted.”

Daemon almost boggled at the comparison. What?!

Viserys blinked. “My grandmother was worried about what would happen shall a spouse’s inheritance be denied…”

“It’s all about titles and lands,” the High Septon waves his hands dismissively.

And Daemon gawked at his words. What?!

Viserys nodded slowly, “I see.”

Daemon was pretty sure that Viserys did not see anything at all.

“Yes, we can decide who inherits what.”

That… was not entirely wrong. Although Daemon was still trying to understand how the man even arrived at the conclusion that widow’s law has any similarities with morganatic marriage.

“I agree.” Viserys prompted.

“See, in this stance, Your Grace, we cannot be seen rewarding the kind of behavior that led to the marriage, but we can still have the marriage that will protect Lady Alicent. I believe that this way everyone can be happy.”

“Please, explain this better to me if you will, High Septon.”

Daemon had talked about the whole thing with Alfyn the day before and even he was getting confused at the twists the man was making. If not for the mention of morganatic marriage, Daemon would think that he had changed his mind about the plans to be presented to Viserys.

“In Pentos… well… to be truthful, in most of Essos there are many problems with multiple marriages and, at a times, entire harems where kings, princes and lords have a particular favorite and thus, multiple heirs. Although inheritance of titles means little for the ruling family changes so frequently, there is still a veritable war, of words or weapons, every time a lord dies. They have structured their own affects much more efficiently than we ever did before the Good Queen Alysanne was made aware of the plight of our widows.”

Having never left Westeros, Viserys was understandably fascinated. “I see, quite the difference in culture.”

“Verily. They actually had two ways of ensuring that the right inheritance reaches the rightful heir, morganatic marriage and written wills. Not to stray far from the topic, but it is all focused on protecting their belongings, lands, keeps, titles. In this case it can be used to protect the teachings of the Seven, so that the message spread is not that women can rise in station by entrapping men, although I know that it is as far from reality as it can get,” he hastily assured, “I believe that this way one annuls the other. Lady Alicent is protected for she will be wife of the king but she did not gain advantages in the title of queen.”

“That is interesting. For sure no one will deny that it is a very reasonable decision, Alicent was only ever going to be queen until Rhaenyra herself was crowned. Gods being good, that day is still far away, even then, I had dreamed that the next queen after Aemma would be Rhaenyra.” Viserys said wistfully.

“It is a bit of a work, however.” Alfyn warned. “It is basically a contract. You will have to state that your wife is not going to inherit the title matching yours, you are going to have to state what your children from your union would inherit or not inherit. Maybe to shorten the documents necessary for the occasion, we can use the bride price contract then.”

“That is right, I have yet to discuss with Otto about bride price and dowry.” Viserys moved a bit awkwardly, “I just did not wish to offend. I know that his father did not bestow him any land or any numerous chests of gold. It is hardly necessary after all, Alicent and Otto both would always be welcomed in the Red Keep, but perhaps it would sting his pride for not being able to provide a significant dowry for Alicent.”

“Oh,” Alfyn uttered, “I had not thought of that. Well… regardless, it will only be written down what Your Grace has already decreed, that Princess Rhaenyra will be heir after you, inherit Dragonstone until she has heirs of her own and in addition, Your Grace can bestow what you find fitting for the children from your second marriage.”

But Viserys merely waved that away. “They will be as any second sons. Rhaenyra’s heirs until she has heirs of her own as you mentioned. And then maybe a place in her small council, mayhap even her King… Queensguards,” he chuckled, “but there is very little need of it. Daemon makes do as a second son even without our grandparents granting him lands or some such. I believe that the contract issued chests of gold when he married, but I never read it.”

Daemon almost snarled. He had more empathy for women’s plights than most men, as a Prince of the Blood, would in his position. He was also sold to some unsightly keep days on dragonback away and expected to produce little heirs whose last names were undecided if they would be Royce or Targaryen for the Royces were an old and powerful family of their own and he was marrying the heir, technically into the family. As such, he was more understanding of Rhaenyra’s own forced path than her own damn father.

And so, contrary to popular belief, he did not chafe at the fact that he was replaced by a “mere girl”, he chaffed that he was replaced at all after ten damn years of Viserys being king. And on the word of Otto Hightower. What tale it told, the message it sent, that Daemon was so very unfitting and dangerous and degenerate that the King had to protect the throne and the realm from him by naming someone else heir. That it was Rhaenyra only ever stoked the flames of anger, and once again, not for the reasons most would think.

Rhaenyra already had a bloody, uphill battle to face as a woman. That she became heir because the alternative was worse was all but declared for the words spoken.

(“Better the Realm’s Delight than Lord Flea Bottom.”)

And Viserys didn’t do anything. Did not lift a finger, did not speak a single word in his or her defense. All but assuring that if there was victory to be had, Rhaenyra’s would be a pyrrhic one. Not enough for Viserys, it seemed, no, he had to remarry, and he was already talking about possible sons as if they would happily bow and bend the knee to a woman with only half of their blood and Otto Hightower as grandsire, whispering in their ears. And now instead of a battle, there would be a war.

He knew who to blame for this, Otto Hightower. It seems as if the man was the beginning and ending of all the slights that Viserys laid at Daemon’s feet. Be them directed at Daemon himself or others of his blood. Rhaenyra and the Velaryons and now he would have the chance to do so with Vaegon as well.

Alfyn smiled in agreement. “Just something to be considered. Most seconds sons I have met seem satisfied that they were taken into consideration, Your Grace. There are plenty of examples. From not leaving them inheritances at all to small lands and some coffers.”

“I don’t think there would be any need of it, but very well. They would still be of royal blood, not quite sure how it would work with their mother not being queen but maybe giving them titles of princes and princesses.”

As Viserys was nodding along, it truly hit Daemon just how very much he had overestimated his brother’s intelligence. And the High Septon’s, although the High Septon was not his brother and therefore Daemon couldn’t care less if he was too dumb to breath on his own, but the fact that Viserys did not even understand the implications of this conversation to his own daughter, to his own crowned heir when he came from the blood of the Conqueror himself was more horrifying and painful than Daemon had cared to ever find out.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Lady of House Velaryon)

When Rhaenys finally opened her eyes, they were stiff. And when she tried to bring her hand to rub the sleep away, all she could do was hiss in agony. Her entire body felt as if she was trampled by an angry mob. Groaning, she tried to get up only for her arms to fail under her with a pained grunt. Her muscles felt like they were on fire, her back screamed at her as if she was seventy and not eight and thirty and her legs did not even feel like legs anymore.

But Rhaenys was no longer tired, she was just in tremendous pain.

“Maids! Maids!” She almost bellowed.

At once three women entered the guest chambers at the Sea Dragon tower and helped her up. Rhaenys gritted her teeth. Despite the gentle handling, it was torture to move her legs and her arms were not much better.

“My Princess! Forgive us, we were preparing a meal—”

“How long…” Rhaenys interrupted them, “… how long have I been asleep?”

“Almost a whole day, my Princess.”

Rhaenys cursed all the names she could remember. “The wedding, the King’s wedding, is it tomorrow or today?”

“Tomorrow, my Princess.”

With a sigh of relief, Rhaenys took a deep breath and with just willpower heaved herself upright. Instantly, what felt like an infinite number of needles assaulted her legs like arrows raining on an unsuspecting target. She swayed and would have fallen to the ground if not for the three maids’ quick actions, all three grabbed at her arms and succeeded in supporting her weight.

The commotion, however, attracted more attention. Robert Quince’s usually smiling countenance were furrowed in worry.

“My Princess! You’re awake! Maester Gerardys asked to be informed as soon as possible, I shall retrieve him.”

At this point, Rhaenys couldn’t care less. Milk of poppy, a blow to her head… she just needed for it to stop so she could get to King’s Landing. She could barely understand her own thoughts.

“My Princess!” Maester Gerardys’s good natured although sharp personality has endeared himself to both Rhaenyra and Daemon. Even if in Daemon’s case to call it “endeared” might be too strong a word. But Rhaenys had to admit that competency alongside the lack of lickspittle attitude would be enough for many in her family.

“Maester… I…” Rhaenys’ legs couldn’t support her so as much it galled her, she did not say anything as the three maids carefully lowered her back to sit on the bed. She grimaced. Three days that she had not bathed or properly rested, two of which was spent on dragonback for the most part.

Gerardys just sighed. “I know that you share Prince Daemon’s distaste for it, but milk of poppy is the best we can give right now.”

Rhaenys was beyond caring at this point. But the fact that Gerardys asked her, that he waited for her response did not go unnoticed by her. Perhaps Rhaenyra was not wrong in trusting him. Was the last thought Rhaenys had as she let the Maester pour a very generous quantity of milk of poppy down her throat. Darkness engulfed her.

~*~

Despite still stiff and very sore, at least it was at a level that she could walk on her own. Rhaenys eyed the almost boiling water that the maids were filling the tub with barely concealed longing. Rhaenys did not know whether she believed in magic or some such in her blood. All she knew is that she never felt better than in Dragonstone. It has been almost a lifetime since the last time she made proper use of the thermal waters surrounding the volcanos.

“How long this time?” She asked one of the maids.

“Not much, just over six hours.”

“Your bath is ready, My Princess.”

“Ah, yes, thank you.” Rhaenys waved away their help and slowly made her way over.

“Your… his… prin—… Archmaester Vaegon has been notified that you have awaken, he will be breaking fast in the dining hall.”

Rhaenys allowed a small smirk to form at the stuttered message. Indeed, Vaegon was a Prince of the Blood, and yet maesters leave behind family names once inducted in the Citadel, and yet Vaegon was not a maester but an archmaester, with a seat in the Conclave and a mask of gold. At the same time that the lack of knowledge of the inner workings of the Citadel made it difficult to understand whether you needed to go through all ranks and yet Vaegon was never a maester… at the same time that he used to be a Targaryen Prince. It was forgivable that people simply did not know how to address him.

“Yes, I will be along shortly.”

The very hot bath helped. Rhaenys dispensed help to dress herself as well. Her muscles still felt like they were burning but it was tolerable enough. She was forced to accept help down the stairs to the dining hall and then understood why they were using the dining hall when Visenya’s solar was the one that servants kept prepared most often.

Vaegon was painfully trying to serve himself, carefully stretching his arm and making sure to not move his legs at all. So busy she was with her own pain, Rhaenys had not considered that Vaegon may be going through the same plight and he was eleven years older than her and far from used to ride a dragon.

“Good morrow, Uncle.” She greeted.

“Good… morrow.” The way Vaegon said so, it was clear he did not think it was good at all.

Suppressing a hiss, Rhaenys took the seat in front of him. “Tomorrow will be the wedding.”

Vaegon put down his fork. “And you intend to travel today, do you not?”

If there was a way to look impressed and unimpressed at once, then Vaegon managed it. Rhaenys carefully hid a wince as she overstretched her arm.

Vaegon sighed at the lack of response. “If I may… not many know that I’m currently in Dragonstone, although, at some point, I believe the rest of the Conclave will notice my absence in the Citadel, the few servants of Dragonstone that are aware that I’m here sound and look trustworthy enough, it is better if I don’t make my presence known to the King as of yet…” he trailed off as Rhaenys grew more and more alarmed. “Rhaenys?”

For her part, Rhaenys tried to get up in her hastiness and immediately crashed to the ground to Vaegon’s growing unease. “I…” Rhaenys got up with some difficulty. “Maids!” she controlled her voice enough to not show her panic.

When the same three maids that had helped her earlier in the day showed at door, Rhaenys did not waste any time. “If you could please bring the castellan here.”

They exchanged looks. The oldest looking one took a step forward. “My apologies, My Princess. Dragonstone does not have an… official castellan.”

“Who is the unofficial one?” Rhaenys tried not to show her impatience.

“Ser… Ser Alfred Broome is the most senior, but… but any time Princess Rhaenyra comes, she talks more often to Ser Robert Quince.”

Rhaenys closed her eyes in frustration. Truly, the plan was not to go straight to Dragonstone after retrieving Vaegon from the Citadel, in her urgency for Vaegon to claim a dragon, she had not even considered the other possibilities that the trip presented nor about who Rhaenyra was trusting with information.

“Then please bring Ser Robert.”

When the three maids bowed and did as they were told, Vaegon turned to his niece with raised eyebrows. “Would you mind explaining what is going on?”

Seeing as Vaegon already knew too much to back down now, Rhaenys huffed a tired breath and lowered her voice. “Rhaenyra had an egg transported to Dragonstone from the Dragonpit in King’s Landing, alongside a chest of gold.”

Vaegon’s eyebrows shot up at that. “That… is very smart… and very daring.”

Rhaenys almost scoffed. “You can call it what it is, lunacy. There absolutely is a need for there to be no eggs or dragons in King’s Landing, but Rhaenyra has enlisted the help of a gold cloak, two orphans and a dragonkeeper to do so.”

Vaegon frowned. “You want to find out whether they were successful.”

“Ravens would be closely monitored, especially coming from the Princess. There was no way to warn those she trusted in Dragonstone to expect… visitors.”

“My Princess… Ar-Archmaester Vaegon, Ser Robert Quince.” A maid announced from the door.

Ser Robert was not quite what Rhaenys was expecting. He was no young, dashing knight that attracted maiden’s eyes, instead he was old enough to be Corlys’ contemporary, with a growing belly that his armor did nothing to conceal and there were lines around his lips and eyes and as he bowed to Rhaenys and Vaegon both, it was clear the reason, a happy almost boyish smile spread on his face.

“My Princess, Archmaester Vaegon. How can I be of service?”

Rhaenys waited until the maids once again closed the heavy doors of the dining hall. “No more than three days ago, if that, a ship would have arrived from King’s Landing.” She lead and immediately saw the look of realization on the knight’s face.

Ser Robert gave a quick look back towards the doors, “May I approach, My Princess?”

“Yes, please.”

The heavy armor did not seem to slow Ser Robert’s way to the table. Lowering his voice, he did his best to explain as quickly as he could. “The dragonkeeper stashed the egg in one of the warming chambers in Dragonmont, the chest from the Princess was put in a corner of Queen Visenya’s chambers, untouched. The dragonkeeper did not seem to be aware of the two children’s presence and returned to the ship. I delayed it as much as I could, but excuses ran out. The two children were caught by Ser Alfred, that is to say, the young girl was. She is currently in the dungeons. I made sure that she was well treated for even the castellan cannot dispense justice without the heir to the Iron Throne present but… but I could not contest the decision itself. Ser Alfred thinks that she has sneaked her way inside to steal.”

Rhaenys closed her eyes. And this was a good result. The chest was safe and so was the egg. The dragonkeepers of the island were none the wiser and so was the one from King’s Landing. The two children were alive when they could very well have lost their lives.

“What of the boy?”

“I hid him in one of the servants’ quarters. He passes for one easily enough.”

“Ser Robert, you may very well have saved their lives.” Rhaenys praised.

Robert smiled again, “Not many would say that they were in the service of the Princess Rhaenyra as way to defend themselves. Prince Daemon has done the best he could to pick subjects loyal to the Princess for Dragonstone, but…”

“Speak freely.” Rhaenys commanded.

“Ser Alfred’s… feelings do not limit themselves to just the Princess. He merely thinks her too dim to notice it and so she does not trust him. Prince Daemon however, he… grudgingly respects, at least enough to hide his displeasure, but I cannot help but recall that House Broome was one of the Houses that sided with the Faith Militant. While it’s true that it was during King Maegor’s reign, Ser Alfred’s attitude makes some us uncomfortable.”

Rhaenys raised an impressed eyebrow. It was little wonder that this man seemed to have earned Rhaenyra’s trust. In front of her, Vaegon seemed to be equally interested.

“Ser Robert… we are grateful for your words and your service. Please continue while Princess Rhaenyra does not come herself. Once King Viserys is wedded, I believe she will come here post haste to retrieve her servants. Please send the boy our way as soon as you can.”

As much as it burned, Rhaenys could not free the young girl by herself. She had no authority in Dragonstone and word would reach the wrong ears too easily from there. Besides, it was best to not attract attention by giving attention to the girl.

“Eggs and chests, then.” Vaegon slowly and clearly still painfully brought a chalice to his lips.

Rhaenys sighed. “Calling for help from all those with Targaryen blood to claim dragons already put a significant strain in the Hightowers’ future power rise. The eggs, however, are a different story. Dreamfyre has spurned advances from Caraxes for years now and Caraxes seem to lose interest just as fast, it is doubtful that there will be new ones. And so, only eggs of her last two clutches are left. Eight in total. One is already here.”

Vaegon finally showed amusement. Perhaps for the first time since having met the man which… since it was two days ago, it was not very long.

Still chuckling, Vaegon tried to support a bit of his weight on his elbow. “It seems that the Princess Rhaenyra has extremely savvy insights but is a bit… clumsy about how to go about planning and counter planning.”

Rhaenys pursed her lips even as a bit of amusement also coursed through her. It was hardly even a criticism but it was not a compliment either and it did very accurately describe Rhaenyra.

“She is untrained, unpolished and still young.” Was all the defense Rhaenys could give with honesty.

Vaegon tilted his head. “This is the second time you say that. That Rhaenyra is untrained, that is. Her age aside, what exactly does that entail?”

Rhaenys did not even know where to start. “I believe that there are no simple words to describe the situation. Viserys was not properly prepared to rule. By the time the Council of 101 decided on him to become the next king, King Jaehaerys only lived for two more years most of which were spent abed.” She swallowed at the next topic. “And Aemma… was simply too busy trying to bring forth a male heir and I doubt that she was well educated either even had she the opportunity.”

Vaegon raised an eyebrow. “There was a point that there were eleven of us in the Red Keep. The education of princes and princesses does not fall solely on the king and queen.”

“It does when sons would die one after the other, it does when the Hand ruled for two whole years and was the one who taught he next king.” Rhaenys huffed. “It does when the princess’ entire household consisted of the Hand’s daughter.”

“Excuse me?”

“I was only made aware of that myself a few moons ago. We do not spend much time at the Red Keep since the Great Council.” Rhaenys raised her chin. “Pride is not the same as arrogance.”

Vaegon just sighed. “There is no need to defend yourself. You do not owe me anything.”

Rhaenys almost bit her tongue. Perhaps it was some sort of nature winning against nurture but in her experience Valyrian were the only men that has ever treated women as something worth more of consideration, as a human, than just as means to more heirs. And so she was unused to not being questioned as if the Known World scrutinized her. She could go on and explain to Vaegon that even among their family, Jaehaerys and Viserys capitulated so much to the Andals that they seemed to have forgotten that theirs was a history that made no distinction between men and women. They have not known each other nearly long or well enough for Rhaenys to say any of that, so she merely nodded.

“As result, Rhaenyra’s knowledge, be them in courtly affairs or governance is… flawed. For now, with the wedding, there is simply no time or place to see how far it goes, but she was confused when I brought up her… small household.”

Vaegon rubbed his eyes. “Viserra had fifteen ladies in waiting attending her at one point.”

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow. “Aemma brought six with her when she married Viserys,” she shook her head lightly, “regardless, it is as it is. Considering everything, Rhaenyra is doing exceptionally well.”

“Are you still planning on returning today?”

“Yes, I have to make sure that Rhaenyra and Daemon are aware of your presence and that Grey Ghost has been claimed.” Rhaenys made sure that none of her disapproval at his choice of dragon was apparent.

Small and with no history behind him, Grey Ghost was just slightly better than Sheepstealer if only because of the name if not the size.

Rhaenys got up with a lot of difficulty. “You are right in so much that your presence may need to be kept a secret. The maids and Ser Robert are loyal to the Princess, the maids assured me that, should you keep yourself in the Sea Dragon tower then those we are still… unsure about will not find you.”

Vaegon blinked. He had almost forgotten his original point as Ser Robert was called and Rhaenyra’s… very small household was pointed out.

“Indeed. At this point, I’m more trouble than worth it.”

They said their farewells and Rhaenys made her to the bridge where Meleys was already waiting, poorly perched on it as the she-dragon was much too big. Mounting her again was pure agony for her legs and her arms will not be thankful eighter for Rhaenys would have to hold on to the reins. No matter.

“Sōvēs.”

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

The antechamber that they have used so many nights before was one of the most secured ones. Daemon had chosen it for a reason. Thick walls and tapestries that would further muffle voices besides the fact that it was one of the furthest ends of Maegor’s Passages even if Daemon doubted that anyone besides himself knew about them.

As Daemon and Rhaenyra waited for Corlys, the Starks and her own ladies to arrive, Daemon told her about Viserys and the High Septon’s conversation. There was something wrong with the way he did so, however. Dispassionate. Cold. Almost dead. Rhaenyra shuddered.

There was only one occasion that she could rightly compare it to. Slowly but surely, the specter that Daemon had become in the ten years they spent apart would sound just like thaht. Rhaenyra almost bit her lip. It shouldn’t make her happy how miserable Daemon was without her and Rhaenyra tried to remind herself that it’s not necessarily just because of her. Ten years was a long time to be away from home, the longest that Daemon himself has spent away from King’s Landing, let alone Westeros. But Rhaenyra could not help but be flattered, almost touched how they just made each other happy once together once again.

And so, it was worrisome to say the least to see the shadows behind amethyst eyes. Rhaenyra knew when Daemon was angered and hurt or even both at once, and this was not it.

“Daemon… has anything else happened? Father has agreed to the morganatic marriage, the High Septon did not even mention our names as was our only fear. Now the only obstacle is the right explosion that Otto will cause the second the words pass through my father’s mouth.”

Daemon turned to Rhaenyra and strode towards her. As softly as his rough hands could, he cradled her face.

It was a much bolder move than he has ever done. Even out of public eye. And the touch burned. Rhaenyra put her hands behind her back, hands holding onto arms to stop them from shaking. Amethyst eyes were intense as they wandered her face and Rhaenyra did not know what he was looking for. If he was looking for anything at all.

“You are the very best of our House.” The murmur came suddenly and for a few seconds Rhaenyra almost thought she had imagined it, for his lips barely moved.

Heart hammering away, Rhaenyra tried to make sense of his words. Had her father said something… about Daemon… about her?

“You and Rhaenys can claim that as well.”

Daemon smirked, a bit sadly, a bit amusedly, a bit darkly. “Perhaps at one point we could have had.”

The switch back to Common almost announced the newcomers.

“Princess? Lord Corlys, Lord Benjen and your ladies.” Ser Erryk knocked on her door.

Rhaenyra mournfully stepped back from Daemon’s touch. “Please send them in.”

~*~

Benjen leaned back on his seat. “Just how much trouble can we expect from that man?”

“The king or the septon?” Corlys motioned to Annora to refill his third cup.

Benjen sent him an unamused look. “Both.”

A dragon’s cry got their attention. Rhaenyra saw Meleys approaching from her window.

“I hope that Princess Rhaenys brought good news.”

Daemon huffed. “Rhaenys is one of the most stubborn people alive, she will bring good news.”

Corlys smirked at him.

~*~

(Third POV)

The day of the wedding was like any other and Rhaenyra looked up in betrayal. This was the beginning of the end for their House, she imagined that the skies would be dark and full of the rage of thunders. Instead there was just some mild mist, no sun. Which was also fitting, she supposed. It was not as if her father heeded any warnings except those he wished to cosnider as warnings.

Rhaenyra absently thanked the compliments to her dress. They were surprised at the choice, and it almost provoked a smile out of her. The… so called “Greens” probably expected another black dress, but Rhaenyra thought that most of the guests wearing the color already sent the message.

As daughter and brother of the King, Rhaenyra and Daemon were to stand up, close to the altar. Which all the better for them to show the red of the clothes.

It was all about symbolism. Daemon reflected as he watched the Highcunt and Highwhore making their way over. The little sacrificial lamb faltering slightly at their sight, Daemon knew that he and Rhaenyra cut an impressive figure. Especially standing side by side, especially next to his weak, affable brother. The cunt of a Hand, however, kept pulling her, almost making Alicent stumble.

Alicent was wearing white, like the first day. And much like in the first day people were eyeing it disdainfully. From where he was standing, Daemon could see Jeyne’s sneer at the pretense of purity. Daemon wanted to laugh. Otto for sure would make his daughter fall with child if that would secure this wedding, but from what he knew of his brother, from what he knew of the pious little mouse, the chances were pretty good that nothing indeed had happened, still, court and the public eye did not have the same insights.

His brother, for some damn reason, was not wearing his own House’s color at his own fucking wedding. Daemon had to bit his own tongue at the sight of pale and dark purple that clashed with his cloak who did hold their house’s colors. Daemon had half a mind to ask whether he was representing House Mallery or House Farring. Much like with many of Viserys’ decisions, Daemon had no idea what he intended with this.

Daemon completely ignored the entire ceremony except for when Viserys put the cloak around Alicent’s shoulders. He wanted so badly to wipe that smug look off Otto’s face… preferably with a sword, preferably taking his head as well.

There was some polite clapping as the newlyweds kissed.

Neither Rhaenyra nor Daemon made the effort of pretending.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra watched as her ladies in waiting said their farewells to their families. By far the most awkward were for sure the Arryn sisters. Elys had to go back to the Vale if she wanted to get the rest of her belongings in Driftmark in any timely manner and so, even with the Arryn retinue staying at the Red Keep, Elys was leaving. Amanda was almost hugging Elys before remembering herself and trying to step back before the scene was made any more uncomfortable as Elys stood stiff under her sister’s hands, the result was that Amanda was holding onto Elys’ arms. Even Borros patting Maris halfheartedly on the shoulder while his wife offered a smile before leaving looked more natural.

Ada and Benjen Stark, for all the criticism towards Northmen, were the warmest. Rhaenyra smiled a bit as Benjen hugged his daughter tightly before kissing her temple. Rickon smirked and rubbed her head playfully much to Ada’s ire. This was a family, Rhaenyra thought wistfully as she turned to Amelia and Nora Strong, this was the first time in many years that they had the opportunity to spend any significant amount of time with their father, what with Lyonel being the King’s Master of Law and the two women residing back at Harrenhal and they were animatedly talking, Harwin stood a bit further away, Larys nowhere to be found. Rhaenyra frowned.

The rest of the ravens were sent a few days ago and now was just a question of waiting for the answer. Considering the speed of the wedding, the chosen ladies’ Houses were not attending which… Rhaenyra smirked, was maybe not intentional but it did add some petty satisfaction.

Rhaenys cleared her throat. “I believe the servants have finished with my belongings.”

Rhaenyra saw Wilbur among them, trying and failing to not look nervous. Rhaenyra in a rare moment of pity could not help but direct it to the young boy. He went from hiding in Dragonstone, to riding a dragon and all the while feeling guilty for Maisie. Already cladded in the pale yellow uniform of the Red Keep's servants with the Targaryen sigil on the chest, there was no going back for Wilbur. Rhaenyra will have to quickly coach him into blending with the other young servants. She had planned to carefully train all these kids before they were in the public eye and doing chores through the Keep but now it was too late.

Particularly so for Maisie. Unlike the window of opportunity that Wilbur had, Maisie would be known if Rhaenyra wished to rescue the poor girl from Dragonstone’s cells. She would never have been the most discreet in acquiring information, her red hair and too pretty features saw to that, but now she would be associated with Rhaenyra herself and thus, under scrutiny. Which would only add to Wilbur’s guilt. Rhaenyra sighed.

“As you will, Princess Rhaenys, thank you for attending the King’s wedding.”

“It was truly a celebration.” Came the acerbic reply.

Rhaenyra smirked but didn’t answer. Both princesses watched as most of the Houses prepared to leave, further displaying their objection to the union as they were not staying to witness the… coronation. Rhaenyra’s smirk widened a bit. The Velaryons decided to stay in order to help with the fallout that would surely happen, which was an interesting timing as the Celtigars had finally arrived. Living about four to five days away from ship, they couldn’t even pretend that there was not enough time to prepare for a trip earlier.

“Bugger.” Daemon cursed under his breath beside Rhaenyra.

“I thought you were fond enough of Lord Bartimos and Ser Clement.” Rhaenyra commented lightly as the ships approached and the red crabs became clearer.

“I would not go that far, Princess. While I do enjoy when tensions make my brother turn red, the situation with the Celtigars are… if not on par with the Velaryons and Arryns, then maybe close enough.” Daemon commented.

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow. “Bartimos has… an interesting opinion on most things, but his son is reasonable enough.”

“Yes?” Daemon challenged. “Then how would you like the fact that they are the only Valyrian House without dragons? Now for two consecutive generations.”

Rhaenyra grimaced while Rhaenys closed her eyes.

“I understand that lack of opportunity hardly stops one from feeling slighted, but it’s not like they had appropriate daughters to present to the King.” Rhaenyra pointed out as it was the same issue raised for her own ladies in waiting.

~*~

(Third POV)

Daemon could not completely blame Rhaenyra for her naiveté but he still sent her a look full of meaning, for Aemma herself was married at the age of one and ten. “Clement is bit older than me, it is not out of the realm of possibility that they can present your father with a possibility of marriage between him and you.”

Rhaenys and Daemon’s eyes widened at Rhaenyra’s contemplating hum.

“While the Celtigars are Valyrian and wealthy they are also hardly the best prospect, especially as you will need a very strong match indeed in the future. Yours can’t be a marriage of mere convenience as most, the advantages it brings must be absolute.” Rhaenys started when she saw that Daemon was beyond words.

“I’m not considering a match!” Rhaenyra almost snapped. “My father has yet to bring up the subject, I believe that, in this case, the fact that he still sees me as a child can have some value.”

Daemon took a deep breath to calm himself. “Do you intend to use any offers of marriage to further shame your father?”

While he could support that decision as his brother also married a girl his daughter’s age, it sounded… a bit weak. Especially after all they did during the wedding’s festivities. But the look on Rhaenys’ face made him pause. She was looking towards Rhaenyra who smiled calmly back.

“You intend to use any offers, coming from the Celtigars or not to secure your own hand.” Rhaenys whispered.

“I believe that it was one of the points you emphasized to me. If done correctly, my father will probably offer control over my choice and I intend that he delivers it.” Like all hells that Rhaenyra will let Viserys dangle a prize before her eyes only to snatch it away when a good enough offer was presented as he did in the Dream.

“What are you two talking about?” Daemon frowned towards one woman to the other.

“My hand in marriage, Dragonstone, the dragons and eggs, then shore up alliances to Dragonstone, a fat dowry.” Rhaenyra recited her words from the first day that this all started.

But Daemon’s frown only deepened. “You are talking about contingency plans… in case you are disinherited.”

“Yes.” Rhaenyra sighed at his scowl. “Uncle… you have to admit that precedence is against me. And you saw it, we all did, my father was determined to remarry and children soon follow.”

But Daemon’s ire only increased. “That’s defeatism!”

“It’s realism.” This time Rhaenyra did snap. “I can’t count on the King’s support. I can’t count that he will give it and I can’t count on it once he is dead. I can barely count on support given for the support he does give is conditional and weak and weakens me as well. Daemon…” Rhaenyra took in a shuddering breath and she hated the fact that there were so many people around, if they were alone, if they were just among allies, Rhaenyra would not overly mind grabbing his tunic. “My father will never listen to us the way he listens to that snake. We are… we are too late. We were unable or unwilling to play him like a puppet and now we are simply too late.”

“Then what was this last sennight all about? Why did we go through all that effort?” Daemon seemed to have calmed down but his curiosity and confusion were still infused with anger.

It was truly sad how Viserys’ daughter, brother and cousin were incapable of defending him. Rhaenyra thought with some hard-earned detachment.

"Two birds with one stone.” Rhaenyra shrugged. “I destabilize their power and so If I’m not disinherited then I will have a much stronger base to work from as my opposition is either too weak to oppose me or, hopefully, is by my side.” Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows at both, Daemon and Rhaenys, who rolled their eyes at her. “If I don’t remain as heir, they cannot contest my demands for my acceptance of the change with good grace.”

“What is the other thing?” Daemon’s eyes widened as Rhaenyra’s own darkened. Her mouth twisted in a sneer that she had no will or reason to hide.

“I am petty, I am enraged, I feel damn betrayed, I feel like a fool, I feel like my father has never been my father and I will make sure that they will feel it back.”

Rhaenys blinked in astonishment even if Daemon’s smile grew just as dark.

“Well done, Princess.” Daemon complimented just as the Celtigars arrived.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

The Celtigars, Rhaenyra came to learn, were eccentric. And that was the kindest word she could find it in herself to offer. The Valyrians had a few things in common, physically speaking, that set them apart from the Westerosi. The very light hair, shades that went from silver to gold, and the eyes the shade of purple or too light blue. A few also commented that they were… too inhumanly beautiful. Rhaenyra never saw a reason to deny so, well used to wandering eyes admiring her. Whatever the case, even among the three last Valyrian Houses, one could them tell apart if they so wished. The Targaryens’ hair tended to lean towards pale gold instead of silvery tones, their skin was equally as pale, and their purple eyes leaned towards lighter shades. The main Velaryon line had darker skin, coppery and earthy, their pure silver hair contrasting beautifully, they shared their eyes with the Targaryens, lighter shades of purple was common among its members. The Celtigars, on the other hand, commonly had blue eyes, silvery eyes, rarely, if ever, purple eyes and, unlike their counterparts, they preferred to keep their usually silvery hair short, favoring the Westerosi custom as far as that detail went.

Carefree to the point of almsot childishness, Lord Bartimos was as absolute in his opinions as Lord Borros, but unlike Borros, Lord Bartimos balked more at the idea of some half-Andal whelp with Hightower blood on the throne than a woman sitting on it. Proud of their Valyrian heritage and proud of openly worshiping the Fourteen Flames, Rhaenyra was not surprised when the Dream showed his support for her. She was equally as unsurprised that their advice, while sound superficially, did not hold within context.

Amanda frowned a bit. “Didn’t they marry Lady Prunella and Lady Prudence to lords of the Reach and the Vale?”

“Daughters that would not inherit Claw Isle.” Rhaenyra pointed out. “The heir would always intermarry with cousins, I think there is a Velaryon here and there as well.”

Rhaenyra, Daemon, the Velaryons and Rhaenyra’s ladies watched as the Celtigars were announced. Raised eyebrows was all that they could afford to show as the Celtigars merrily made their excuses.

“My deepest apologies, Your Grace. We were in the middle of making arrangements for winter as we received your invitation, we did not manage to organize a proper retinue to attend the wedding. But please let me congratulate you and your new wife.” Bartimos exclaimed… and one would be hard pressed to find a hint of dishonesty in his cheerfully smiling face.

That was… certainly one way to go about it. Rhaenyra thought faintly.

“Your Grace, this is a very grave insult.” Otto, of course, couldn’t help himself. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “House Celtigar should have been in attendance for all seven days of celebrations.”

Bartimos’ smile did not falter. “But my dear Lord Hand, considering the speed with which the invitations were sent, and the date set for the events, there was simply not enough time. It does take almost a week on ship to reach King’s Landing from Claw Isle.”

Rhaenyra felt her jaw dropping before remembering herself and quickly closing it with an almost audible click. It was one thing for commonfolk and even nobles to whisper among themselves, it was one thing for the High Septon and those within the small council to opine about the affair, even object to the king’s decision should it come to that, but it was something very different for a House to openly comment about it to the king’s face and in open court. Rhaenyra could see her ladies exchanging shocked looks, the servants faltering in their tasks, even small Wilbur who was already cleaning the massive hearth of the throne room stopped to briefly raise his head and stare. And she thought her uncle was shameless.

Daemon, obviously, did not even bother to hide his smirk. No matter how hard and visibly Rhaenyra dug her nails into his arm.

“We understand, of course.” Viserys smiled at Bartimos. “Please, servants will show you to—”

“I just find it peculiar that the Arryns are many weeks of travel from King’s Landing and yet they were able to arrive in a timely manner.” Otto interrupted.

Otto interrupted. Otto interrupted… the King. Rhaenyra, Daemon and Rhaenys turned to Viserys at the same time only to be disappointed when Viserys didn’t even seem to have noticed the tremendous insult. Rhaenyra sighed and eyed Daemon and Rhaenys, it was not very surprising to her that the more time they spent in the Red Keep, more time than they have spent in years, truly, the more they realize the depths of which Viserys sunk as a king.

Jeyne cleared her throat delicately. “Lord Hand, the Arryn retinue was already on its way to King’s Landing. The fact that it coincided with His Grace’s wedding celebrations was an accident.”

A bold-faced lie. Rhaenyra was impressed.

“Oh! And whatever for were you travelling to King’s Landing, Lady Jeyne, if I may ask.” Lord Bartimos inquired almost jubilantly.

This couldn’t be more staged if a mummer was about performing around them. Rhaenyra felt sweat forming at her back. This was… this was just ridiculous… and risky… and almost childish… and she suddenly had more sympathy for Daemon and Rhaenys that had to listen to some of her plans, plans that Rhaenyra had already put in practice before consulting either of them. Rhaenyra promised herself to do something nice for them in the future.

Jeyne smiled politely. “We were traveling to express our condolences and hopefully be together in this time of grief for the loss of Queen Aemma, it was fortuitous when the raven about His Grace’s marriage reached us in one of our stops for otherwise, we would surely be unable to attend the happy occasion.”

… son of a whore… Rhaenyra felt faint and chanced a look towards the throne.

Viserys looked contrite, like a damn child sneaking into the kitchens. Alicent was blushing bright red, and Otto looked about ready to kill someone.

“How… dare you…” Otto whispered, incensed.

“What could possibly have offended you?” Jeyne met Otto’s eyes straight on, challengingly.

Yes, there was offense to be felt. No, Otto Hightower was not the one who had the right to be offended.

As the silence stretched, Rhaenyra stood up straighter. Realization came in flashes and she had to consciously control her breathing lest it turned erratic. This, surrounded by all three last Valyrian Houses, by House Arryn, by her ladies, by her Kingsguards, by Otto Hightower, by Alicent… this was a tipping point. Perhaps not a final one, far from that, but a tipping point, nonetheless.

By stating it so clearly, Jeyne was implying that this was the reason the Houses that attended the wedding managed to do so: they were already on their way to pay respect to the late Queen Aemma. And so, simultaneously explaining away their mourning colors and drawing blood from the Hightowers. And the King, a voice whispered to Rhaenyra. And Rhaenyra… she did not know what do, she did not know how to steer it. She suppressed the urge to bite her lip and eyed Daemon and Rhaenys from the corner of her eye. And yet, they were both silent, watching and waiting and so Rhaenyra followed their lead.

Otto finally decided to change tactics and turned to his most powerful puppet.

“Your Grace, this is clearly a plan to disrespect you and the new queen!”

Oh, but really? Did the man figure that out when most guests attended the wedding in colors most commonly found in funerals or when Daemon crowned someone else Queen of Love and Beauty? Rhaenyra couldn’t help but roll her eyes if she wanted to.

“Well, this is actually as good time as any—”

Otto interrupted the King, yet once again. “If they cannot be sent to the gallows,” mayhap because the Celtigars, Arryns and Velaryons by far outweighed the Hightowers? If not individually then for sure together? Or mayhap because of what treason could they possibly have committed? Rhaenyra thought with no small amount of disdain, “then we must still make an example out of them! If I may suggest to send them away from court.”

Rhaenyra almost raised an eyebrow. The art of “suggesting” something with no inflection as a question was truly something to witness. But Jeyne has not survived, has not thrived as a Lady Paramount for so many years because she was soft and submissive. She bites back and Otto was not used to having his guard up if Daemon was not his opponent.

“And how… pray tell,” Jeyne almost spat the words, “shall the King repay the Vale for the insults levelled against us?” and, acknowledging the actual, if irrelevant, king in the room, Jeyne turned towards the throne. Her voice was not particularly powerful and yet the words still resounded about the room, the walls echoing her anger. “Your Grace, send us away from court, it matters very little to the Vale to instill our presence where me and mine are so unwelcomed that we are replaced mere moons after our meetings with the Stranger. Sending us away from court? From your court? I shall thank His Grace for his mercy for if we stay, who knows who among the daughters and sons from my House will be slaughtered LIKE A PIG!?”

Very probably you, dear cousin. Rhaenyra thought, lightheaded enough to need to support herself on Rhaenys’ arm, who gripped her hand tightly and used her much taller height to straighten Rhaenyra’s own back. Daemon subtly aligned his side to Rhaenyra’s other side and thus bracketing her. Rhaenyra did not even have it in herself to feel badly for their own confusion, two sets of eyes of different shades of purple searched her face. Rhaenyra winced as she saw Amanda frowning as well, maybe Aemma's half sister had the right to know. But how could she tell, how could she explain all that has happened? All that she shared with Jeyne but not with Rhaenys and Daemon.

Daemon and Rhaenys might have cared for Aemma Arryn for she was a Targaryen. Not in name, but in blood, a grandchild of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, just as they were. But they did not care for Aemma for they did not know her. They did not care for the exhausted woman who spent long hours on her back and on the birthing bed. A royal broodmare was all that Aemma was, was all that she was allowed to be. Nobody knew who Aemma was and that included Aemma herself… and Rhaenyra herself, she thought with no small amount of sadness.

Rhaenyra could not say that Jeyne knew Aemma either, but, unlike Daemon and Rhaenys, she had more motivation, more memories to infuse her anger with. She was fighting for Aemma in a way that Rhaenyra could not and in a way that Daemon and Rhaenys would not. Still, Rhaenyra was not expecting this to be the result of sharing what was Aemma’s ultimate fate with Jeyne, she did not know what she was expecting but it certainly was not this. Was it her naiveté rearing its ugly head once again?

Rhaenyra knew the answer already. It was naïve to think that Lady Jeyne Arryn, the Warden of the East would not fight for the interest of her own House, no matter how fond she has become of Rhaenyra. Burning this particular bridge was pennies to golden dragons for Jeyne, although revealing how thoroughly King Viserys has disrespected the House from his former wife was not strategically sound for Rhaenyra herself. Jeyne, as the Lady Paramount of the Vale might consider it a fair price. But Daemon and Rhaenys clearly didn’t. Rhaenyra saw as their eyes narrowed. They did nothing to stop Jeyne, but they were clearly unhappy with the proceedings as well.

Jeyne’s words drained the blood from Viserys’ and Otto’s faces. Rhaenyra saw how Alicent frowned in confusion towards her father, who, of course, ignored her, if he even noticed that her daughter might seek answers in the first place. Rhaenys was too aware of her own position to give away anything and Daemon too skilled to do differently. The Celtigars, on the other hand, merely watched in curiosity, a little too amused for Rhaenyra’s peace of mind.

“Lady Jeyne, please… we…”

Of course Otto would feel comfortable interrupting the King, Rhaenyra would feel resigned, maybe slightly annoyed, if her head did not feel as if it was about to explode. He had done so twice before now with impunity, so what’s once more?

“How have you acquired that information?”

“What information?” Jeyne raised her head high, “that the King was so obsessed with having a son that when Queen Aemma was failing to deliver his last chance from her, he was willing to cut Queen Aemma open like a damn fish whose guts we do not care for on our plates?”

Might as well throw the cow pie in all directions. Rhaenyra thought almost hysterically, at this point she lost her battle against her breathing, it came in short gasps, thankfully still discreet enough for no one to hear head and she was small enough that Daemon managed to hide her from most of the room with his bigger frame. Rhaenys hand was a steel vice around hers. Their horror and shock almost palpable even if Rhaenyra could not see it, her vision was twirling, black spots starting to appear.

But well, this was the kind of storm that destroyed cities. Jeyne basically said that she had spies in the Red Keep, deep in the Red Keep for how else would she know about something that was being so zealously guarded? So zealously guarded by the Hand even as the King would not think to do so. And Otto might as well have confirmed it for all in the room that yes, it was indeed the truth.

Absently, Rhaenyra could hear someone throwing up. Whispers were now shouts. Was that Alicent? Rhaenyra thought she heard her voice, the fear of it familiar as Rhaenyra heard so many times before when inviting her to meet Syrax. Someone was grabbing her arms, small but strong hands, big hands covered in steel. Her feet almost did not touch the ground.

Later, much later, Rhaenyra would be thankful for Ada Stark. She was the one to suggest taking her away from there, accompanying her with Amelia and Nora while Amanda stayed. Daemon almost carried her out, escorted by Ser Erryk and Ser Steffon Darklyn. Ser Harrold stayed behind as did Rhaenys. They needed to get Rhaenyra out of the room quickly before tempers could physically hurt her, but they also needed to know what would happen from that point on.

The last thing Rhaenyra saw as the guards closed the heavy doors was Viserys almost purple, yelling something at Otto who was trying to have Lady Jeyne thrown to the dungeons.

~*~

(Third POV)

Daemon did not think Rhaenyra lost consciousness. Not in the traditional sense of the word at least. Her eyes were open and yet unseeing and she seemed more or less aware of where they were going, needing help to hold herself up but her feet carried her to her chambers. As gently as he could, Daemon lowered her to her bed but Rhaenyra did not immediately sag and laid down, instead she clutched Ada Stark’s hand like a lifeline and remained sitting up.

“How did you find out something like that?” There was little question in Daemon’s mind on who was Jeyne’s informant.

There was no way Jeyne found out before he did by using conventional means. No matter how skilled the ears she employed in the Keep. The Stark girl almost murdered him with her eyes alone but Rhaenyra did not care for more drama today.

“These things tend to spread, no matter how hard one tries to keep them a secret.” Was the most Rhaenyra could offer without mentioning the Dreams. Once… no one would have known, now… all would.

“Cut… open?” Amelia whispered, ghostly-pale.

“In order to retrieve a breech baby.” Rhaenyra answered, as softly as she could.

Nora’s lip trembled in fright. “I… no one… I have never heard of such a thing.”

Daemon eyed all four girls. The only ones who seemed to not be on the verge of passing out was the Stark girl, that one looked about to join the Highwhore and throw up, at least she probably wouldn’t faint and land on her own vomit, although Rhaenyra had other reasons to be in the state she was in. Finally, he sighed and rolled his eyes.

“It’s not very… talked about so to speak. Actually, I am pretty sure that Rhaenys is either about to kill Jeyne or… truly everybody in that room so the information will not spread.”

“She knew that something like that existed?” Rhaenyra asked, accepting the goblet of water that Ada handed her.

“I do not know how she found out, but yes.” Daemon answered bluntly. “It is not very talked about for if else, we would have a slaughter in our hands. How many husbands that are not overly satisfied with their wives would claim that the baby was breeched? Or that they did not wish to risk their potential sons if the mother was to die? Jeyne truly started a fire that we have no idea how to contain.”

“Just like the risk of noble ladies trying to climb the social ladder slipping into lord’s bedchambers.” Rhaenyra compared.

Daemon nodded. “Precisely.”

“And I did this.” Rhaenyra hid her face on her hands in despair.

“Rhaenyra… tell me.” Daemon was serious in a way that Rhaenyra hardly ever saw without the imminent danger of Dark Sister making a very bloody appearance.

Rhaenyra looked up, completely hopelessly. Knowing that, no matter her reasons, the repercussions of this day would be severe. “When I found out… exactly how Mother died, I knew that I would be unable to do anything for her. I do not have Father’s ears and… and you and Rhaenys would be too busy looking at the big picture, at the war instead of the battle. When Lady Jeyne showed so clearly where her allegiances laid… I… took a chance, my mother was still an Arryn by birth. She screamed and raged but then she calmed down and promised that… that my mother’s death wouldn’t be in vain.”

Daemon swallowed with some difficulty. He understood Rhaenyra, that was the problem, they were cut from the same cloth. Twin flames, they burned the same. If Daemon ever finds out that Alyssa suffered like that, Westeros would feel the fire. And yet…

“Jeyne did make sure of that, but I just do not know if this will not end up hurting you as well, Rhaenyra.” But before Daemon could say more, Ser Steffon interrupted from outside the door.

“My Princess, the Lady Maris Baratheon.”

“Send her in.” Rhaenyra took a few deep breaths.

Maris was pale and shaking and Rhaenyra couldn’t help but feel guilty for asking the youngest of her current ladies to eavesdrop. For sure Rhaenys and Amanda would relay everything but…

“Lady Jeyne was sent away. The Lord Hand… asked for Lady Jeyne’s execution.”

“What?!” Daemon and Rhaenyra asked in unison.

“The King has denied for that would mean a declaration of war. The Lord Hand seems to believe that with dragonlords the Eyrie would fall as it did to Visenya and Maegor and then he capitulated to the King’s decision and suggested for Lady Jeyne to be sent away as she so disliked the court of the Red Keep, and sanctions and taxes to be levied on the Vale products.”

“Middle ground fallacy.” Daemon said more to himself than to anyone else.

“Excuse me?” Rhaenyra turned to him.

“Otto presented an absurd option and then, his next one, sounded reasonable so that Viserys would agree to it.” Daemon looked towards Maris who nodded in response much to his mirthless smirk. “Of course, he did.”

And then Rhaenyra understood. “The Reach might give us the luxuries of wine and fruits and such, but it is the Vale that produces what we need, wheat, corn…”

Daemon nodded. “And, obviously, the Crownlands will either blame the King or the Vale. With Otto around, I’m betting it will be the later.”

“And they did not even allow Jeyne the courtesy of doing so to her face.” Rhaenyra wanted to throw something.

“They have moved to the small council chambers then, but I saw Princess Rhaenys following Lady Jeyne.” Maris commented.

“We will be reuniting soon in Dragonstone, Rhaenys knows who to avoid until we can make the trip and she will inform Jeyne.” Rhaenyra said.

Maris then hesitated. “About… about Lady Alicent…”

“What about her?” Rhaenyra turned to her.

“King Viserys was talking about a meeting to discuss her new title.”

~*~

The small council chambers was, by design, small. And so, they were in the throne room. Rhaenyra thought it rather fitting that the only ones in attendance were the Kingsguards, the Celtigars who did not even deign to show for the wedding, the Velaryons who had more reason than most to maybe feel slighted and her own ladies, among them, Amanda Arryn, whose House had the most reason than anyone to definitely feel slighted and who looked as if she was face to face with a dragon. Aside from Lord Beesbury and Lord Strong from his small council there was no one else.

It was… strange, if not for the presence of the Hightowers – Rhaenyra rolled her eyes – it felt almost like a Valyrian ceremony. The three last Valyrian Houses stood tall and proud and yet… no Valyrian was happy.

It was all very neatly ignored by the High Septon who was visibly happy to be there. He would be happy, Rhaenyra thought with exasperation, he did not witness the debacle of the day before, if anything, she was willing to be that he did not even know something went amiss the day before.

Viserys seemed to have aged ten sun turns. Rhaenyra noticed with a small pang of guilt. She did not wish to inflict pain on her father but she was beyond caring if that meant it will no longer be her head on the chopping block. He took Alicent’s hand in his and barely seemed to noticed how the girl was shaking, almost white from fear. For all that Rhaenyra saw of Alicent’s… dutiful personality, perhaps that did not extend when the threat of being cut open could be taken in consideration.

“My good people. It is with happiness that I announce the addition to my family, the Lady Alicent Hightower.” There was some faint clapping here and there. Daemon was not around, having his own errands to tend to and Rhaenyra was more than willing to represent the man: she did not bother to even pretend.

Viserys took a step back to allow the High Septon his own words. “After a thorough discussion with His Grace, the King, and much consideration, I present you, her royal highness the Lady Alicent, the Wife of the King.”

At least that much went according to plan. Rhaenyra suppressed a tired smile as Otto Hightower once again tried his best to put his blood on the throne. Perhaps to match the blood that rushed to his face. He looked around as if a crown would magically show itself.

“Your Grace… this is just… what about my daughter’s coronation as Queen of Westeros?”

What about it? Rhaenyra thought lazily.

“Oh, my dear Hand! Considering everything, I have decided to marry morga— that is, to have a morganatic marriage with the Lady Alicent.” Viserys turned happy if tired eyed to his pitifully small audience. “Lady Jeyne overreached herself,” did she though? Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, “but if she had stayed calm for a few more moments,” Rhaenyra was fairly certain that had Jeyne stayed calm for much longer they would be trying to hide a body by then, “she would have known that I have found a most excellent balance!” You mean you were presented a balance without ever considering that maybe having that discussion privately with just the Hightowers was a better way to handle the affair, but then again, Rhaenyra rolled her eyes again, Viserys did choose Alicent right to Corlys and Laena’s faces and in open court as well, so he most definitely did not see the need for it.

Lords Beesbury and Strong exchanged looks before Lord Strong took a step forward. “Your Grace, what was this… morganatic marriage?”

A quick look towards Otto revealed the same confusion. Oh, so this is why they have yet to be graced with the man’s screaming. Rhaenyra hummed to herself.

Viserys smiled, “A marriage between a man of higher status to a lady of a lower one.” First blood was drawn, Rhaenyra’s eyes would have widened if she had expected differently from her father. Alicent and Otto blushed bright red. “To appease the Faith and, certainly, others like Lady Jeyne, it means that Lady Alicent and my children with her will not inherit any titles.”

That was somewhat of an oversimplification but if Otto Hightower finally died from the shock Rhaenyra wouldn’t complain.

“Your Grace!” Otto almost stammered. “This is… it is simply absurd!”

Rhaenyra started to feel cold. Alicent’s eyes were wide as plates, she was blushing bright red and yet she still looked terrified. Otto, on the other hand, would not look too out of place from some of the drawings and paintings of Maegor when the artist was feeling particularly inspired. His clear eyes were almost feverish, darting about as if looking for a physical way out. As the lords about the room muttered among themselves, most of it, considering the crowd in attendance, visibly better tempered for the measures that the King set up, only Rhaenyra and the Velaryons seemed to have noticed the growing danger.

In usual circumstances, Otto Hightower would be perfectly happy to play the long game. A plan of years instead of instant gratification. Destroying whatever base of power Rhaenyra could have built for herself, make sure to have allies in strategic places, lull his enemies into a false sense of security all the while working in the shadows to make them just paranoid enough in order to make mistakes. Only, Rhaenyra struck first. Using the man’s own methods against him, Rhaenyra thought it poetic justice, but unlike the Hightowers, at the very least she was showing a sadistic sort of sportsmanship, with no time and hastily acquired allies, there was no opportunity to make the “Greens” lower their guards, assured of their future. But desperate people are dangerous. Rhaenyra knew. In cornering the Hightowers as they did… there is not much more that he could lose right now so whatever perceived weakness, Otto would jump on its throat and tear it apart.

The sense of urgency grew.

“Oh, for certain it is not, my dear Otto.” Viserys waved it away. “I was actually trying to bring up the subject yesterday but with the completely unnecessary commotion that Lady Jeyne stirred, there was no opportunity. This is actually a way to dissuade discontent. The…” Viserys trailed off, suddenly uncomfortably aware that his words were being heard by more than just his small council and Rhaenyra knew he was thinking about the reason the Faith was discontent with the wedding. He cleared his throat. “Uh… this way, the other Houses do not feel slighted. Actually, this way there is very little reason to discuss dowry, only bride price. I was in talks with Lord Beesbury, we can even take an example from House Tully! I offer the Lady Alicent’s weight in gold! No need for worries about dowry, my friend, after all you both will always be welcomed here at the Red Keep, especially now as we are family.”

A low guffaw behind her made Rhaenyra aware that, at some point, Daemon had arrived and was now heartily enjoying the show. And what a show it was! Rhaenyra thought about the more minute implications of the king marrying the daughter of a second son from a non-Paramount Houses almost peripherally, the daughter of man whose only claim to power was what his brother or the king deign to give him. In her mind, but not at the center of issues. The fact that there was a possibility of Rhaenyra having to ask Alicent for mere coin so she could have her dresses made was more personally humiliating to her than the fact that, yes, her father, the King of Westeros would have to pay a bride price in order to marry Alicent. That he mentioned Otto’s inability to match with the dowry was small comfort.

… by all the gods. Rhaenyra once again felt faint. Aegon, Rhaenys and Visenya were probably cursing all their descendants that allowed this scene to take place. Daemon was already doing so in their place anyways.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

“It is now or never, Princess.” Rhaenys pointed out. Once again sitting and trying to relax extremely sore muscles.

Rhaenyra nodded, “With Caraxes and Meleys, it is easy enough to bring the rest to Dragonstone.”

“Meleys is the fastest, Caraxes can carry more weight and Syrax is the most graceful - less chance to jostle them.” Daemon pointed out.

“Caraxes and Meleys will carry the chests, Syrax will carry the eggs. What are the plans for Dreamfyre?” Rhaenyra asked.

Rhaenys hissed remembering. “With the commotion of the last few days, I had forgotten about it. Vaegon claimed Grey Ghost.”

She watched as the same… almost disappointment she had felt also filled Rhaenyra and Daemon. Of the five unclaimed dragons in Dragonstone, Grey Ghost was not quite the most… fearsome. The youngest and the shiest of dragons.

“Why not Vermithor?” Daemon almost bit out. “It would have sent quite the message.”

“Vaegon was determined.” Rhaenys shrugged.

Rhaenyra pursed her lips. “This is… not ideal. Mayhap if we convince Saera to come, she can claim Dreamfyre?”

Rhaenys groaned quietly. “Vaegon could have done so, perhaps not discreetly and his presence would have become known, but by then there would be no eggs or dragons left in King’s Landing.”

“It was maybe for the best.” Daemon countered. “About Dreamfyre I mean. Showing our cards now that the cunt is backed into a corner would only make him lash out.”

“What makes you think Otto won’t lash out regardless? We have put quite the crimple in his plans already.” Rhaenyra pointed out. “He looked positively unhinged in the throne room.”

“Thus, why we are leaving for Dragonstone, preferably in the next few days.” Rhaenys said resolutely.

The High Valyrian was made necessary for Rhaenyra’s maids were carefully arranging the chests with her belongings. She wouldn’t be taking everything, that would be a sure sign of running away, but if Rhaenyra was purposefully choosing her favorites, from dresses to jewelry to shoes, if she was making sure that all the gifts she accumulated through the years – it did not escape her that most of which were from Daemon – from bolts of fabric, trinkets, decorations were taken as well, then her chambers will still look filled, lived in, luxurious, but cold, no personal touches.

Rhaenyra already had some plans so the motifs of her family were not gathering dust as Alicent could eventually make sure they are. She rolled her eyes. Appeasing the Faith should not mean converting to it, she could understand why the three Conquerors did so after bathing half of the continent in fire, but at least they remained true to themselves in their personal lives, barely even bothering to learn about the teachings of the Faith. Viserys was almost the same, he also did not bother to learn about them, and also didn’t bother to stop his damn wife from putting the Seven Pointed Star everywhere in the Red Keep.

Ser Harwin, Ser Erryk, Ser Lorent, Ser Steffon and Ser Harrold helped them transport everything to the Dragonpit where the dragons were already waiting.

Seasmoke grew. Rhaenyra thought briefly.

“Hello, cousin.” Laenor’s young face smiled at her from where he was mounting his dragon.

“Cousin.” Rhaenyra greeted back with an amused smile. Seasmoke was just a bit bigger than Syrax, a bit older, although he did not hatch in Laenor’s cradle, and they did not fly together until Laenor was almost four and ten, although they had bonded when Laenor was about five if Rhaenyra was not mistaken.

Perhaps this time Laenor would not lose Joffrey, and the Velaryons would not lose Laenor.

“This is fun! I was never part of a mission before!”

Daemon rolled his eyes, but Rhaenys smirked amusedly at her son.

Two years older than Rhaenyra, at first glance, it was little wonder that Lord Strong suggested their marriage. Rhaenyra did not lie when stating that he was a good man, even Daemon said so and it was a rare occasion for the Rogue Prince to praise someone… alas a political union that bore no fruits and with so much at stake doomed both parties.

Perhaps it was just out of guilt for her own part, but Rhaenyra vowed to try and help Laenor this time around. In a way that did not involve running away in the middle of the night with all thinking him dead. Laenor may not have been the husband she dreamed of, he may not even have been a particularly dutiful or cunning one, but he had accepted her three sons with nary a thought, loved them as his own. He was born in the wrong time, in the wrong kingdom. If life was fair, Laenor would never be forced to marry a woman, forced to share her bed.

Rhaenyra put her more personal belongings in Syrax’s saddle. This would be slightly easier with Vhagar, her enormous bulk could bring everything to Dragonstone and the she-dragon probably wouldn’t even notice the extra weight, but the pit was way too small for the legendary she-dragon without alerting the entite city and her presence would invite questions they had no answer for. Although Vhagar probably would not be any happier than Seasmoke, Meleys, Syrax and Caraxes who were grumbling, showing their teeth and none too happy about the chains wrapped many times around their bodies. And then it was time to very carefully put the eggs in the warming chambers, Rhaenyra calmed Syrax down as the she-dragon was disgruntled at so many unknowns so close to her.

“Are these really necessary?” Harwin grunted as he painfully lifted the chest of gold up with Ser Erryk so other two knights could strap it to Caraxes.

“Perhaps not in such a short term but yes.” Rhaenyra replied as the last warming chamber was secured to Syrax. Her dear Golden Lady was just big enough for three, maybe more passengers but more than strong enough for seven eggs and their warming chambers.

“The gold?” Rhaenys asked.

“Secured.” Daemon called out as the last of the chests were chained to a very annoyed Caraxes. In comparison, Seasmoke seemed happy enough to be patted by Laenor even surrounded by strange people.

Rhaenyra pretended to not know that he had used the passages to drag it from the princess’ personal coffers.

“Are these the decoys?” Rhaenys asked weighting one of the fake dragon eggs in her hands. They were slightly too heavy, too cold, but if one was to merely look at them, then they were very realistic indeed.

Daemon hummed as he replaced the real eggs. “Only found seven, the rest were too obviously fake. The Dothraki have strange obsession with them for people that had no way of commanding dragons.” He explained as he met Rhaenys’ curious eyes.

"There will be no need for another three of them." Rhaenyra stated.

Daemon raised an eyebrow. "You plan to leave four eggs behind?"

"Yes." Rhaenyra decided quickly.

Fast paced, she went through the eggs and correctly identified which ones were to be placed in her half-siblings' cradles. They were warm, hot even to her touch. It was little wonder in Rhaenyra's mind that Otto had a hand in picking them and why he picked these. Perfect.

"Put them back, exactly where they were." She ordered Ser Harwin who obeyed without blinking an eye although grutning a bit at the temperature of them. “My clothes and other personal effects are done.” Rhaenyra started to pull Syrax’s reins while ignoring the burning question in Daemon and Rhaenys' eyes.

Right at the entrance, they all freed their dragons.

“What better security could there be?” Daemon shrugged.

Rhaenyra took in a deep breath. “Will you two be in the small council meeting?”

“I’m still banished, Princess.” Daemon smirked darkly. “But I will be waiting for you, if you don’t show up in Rhaenys’ Hill in two days, I will come to the rescue.” Despite the sarcasm that laced his words, Rhaenyra knew them to be true, so she just rolled her eyes.

“Neither will I.” Rhaenys responded. “My husband has already set sail to Driftmark. Corlys has only ever agreed to attend the wedding after I told him that it would be as show of collective disapproval, one with the realm itself behind it.”

“He is still the Master of Ships.” Rhaenyra frowned.

“Well… I believe that after a few sennights of absence, even the King will assume that Corlys resigned from his position.” Rhaenys smirked. “Laenor and I shall wait for you also before we fly to Dragonstone.”

~*~

“Your Grace… it is not a sustainable state. When so much of the realm is against the king’s marriage…” Lord Strong was visibly sweating.

“We could always crown… L-Lady Alicent as Queen of Westeros, for sure then no one would dare to whisper.” Otto suggested very predicably.

Most of the other Lords could not help but try and ignore the man, for no other reason than of course any word out of his mouth would be about his daughter’s… lack of royal title.

“Maybe a family dinner, so we can… so we can all have a peaceful night?” Viserys suggested a little belatedly to the storm going on inside the small council chambers.

Rhaenyra, who was standing by the wine, almost rolled her eyes. What family? Viserys, Alicent, Rhaenyra and Otto? Daemon was banished and the Velaryons wouldn’t set foot in the Red Keep any time soon now. And even then, what in the world was that supposed to accomplish when it was the realm in need of appeasement?

“Your Grace…” Lyonel started then hesitated, side-eying Otto briefly before squaring his shoulders. “When… when Queen Aemma lost her life, the entire realm held its breath. As beloved as she was, grief only clouds the minds of those that loved her, the Houses started to plan to introduce their daughters to you, with no real intention of course, for Corlys Velaryon also had a daughter that recently flowered. No one expected Your Grace to choose… to choose differently. When that happened, well… they felt robbed, if the king was seriously considering other options, then they could have presented them.”

Rhaenyra sighed inside her mind. The realm lost a lot when Lyonel was killed… by his own fucking son. Maybe he was a bit timid, a bit too hesitant of telling things that Viserys had no wish to hear, but Lyonel Strong was loyal and had the almost inhuman and unheard-of ability of staying impartial. If Rhaenyra thought for one second that he would agree, there was no question in her mind that she would like for him to be one of her advisors. Rhaenyra mourned the chance. The Lord of Harrenhal might resign from the position in the small council for a king he did not respect, but he would have enough loyalty in his bones to not be a part of the court of a disinherited princess.

Viserys, blushing bright red, almost stuttered. “I-I was… determined not to marry too soon.”

His eyes tried to meet Rhaenyra’s, beseechingly, begging. Rhaenyra focused on the pitch of wine. Arbor gold, do men drink literally nothing else? She wondered absently.

Lyonel cleared his throat, very pointedly not looking towards Otto. With this comment alone, the King was basically saying that the only reason he married was because he felt like he had no choice and thus, further disgracing Alicent and the Hightowers. Of course, no one expected love matches among nobility, but it was a pretense that they all made a part of. Not many were earger to break that particular fantasy.

It should have relieved Rhaenyra. She was forced to watch herself go through ten years not only without her father’s support but being made to endure his thoughtless comments that only ever served to weaken her position. From admitting, out loud, that he only ever considered her to be heir to keep Daemon from the throne to allowing Alicent to insult her child when denying her own daughter in marriage. The fact that Viserys was as equally blind when it came to his words towards the Hightowers should have relieved Rhaenyra, maybe even brought her a twisted sense of justice. It did not. All it did was remind her of the many times that she has thought over the last few moons that Jaehaerys denied the realm a strong monarch in Rhaenys, and that the realm denied itself a dragon for the sake of a mere man.

“Nevertheless, it is as it is, Your Grace.” Lyonel commented. “Lady Laena truly made the most political sense. Valyrian, the daughter of one of the most powerful Lords in the realm and a Targaryen princess. Not to mention that a Velaryon queen would go a long way to assuage Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys over the Council of 101—”

“Oh, by the Seven!” Otto interrupted. “Enough is enough! My daughter is a pious gi—woman who was caught in an unfortunate position. She is more than worthy of the title queen despite not boasting of it. Your Grace, I implore you, Alicent not only befits the crown, but it is also the only thing that will protect her now.”

That took a slightly longer while than Rhaenyra thought it would.

“Just like the only way to protect her would be to marry her?” Lyonel mocked.

Well, it seems that the entire ordeal has made even the cautions Lyonel Strong speak up. With some hope he won’t be targeted once again by the Hightowers.

But even the usually docile Lyman Beesbury was shaking his head. “Queen or not, none will forget the circumstances of her engagement. The realm was never shy to express their opinions, even on the monarchs. Or are we really so naïve to think that there has ever been a king or queen who was universally loved and with no critiques?”

“We have discussed Lady Alicent enough as it is.” Ser Harrold commented with his usual non-nonsense voice. “We should focus on solutions moving forward. I agree, however,” he spoke just a little louder when he saw Otto opening his mouth, “that making her queen is not the solution. Lords Beesbury and Strong are correct, not to mention the fact that making her queen after the King has already announced his intention of marrying morganatically would only ever be seen as a way to control the damage already done. Sometimes we just must endure.”

“Now, that hardly seems fair.” Maester Mellos tried to interfere.

“Life is not fair.” Ser Harrold was clearly at his wits’ end.

“We did what we could, Your Grace.” Beesbury tried to comfort. “Now all there is left is to wait. Hope and pray that with enough time maybe the words will soften.”

“Give it time.” Viserys nodded, still a little nervous.

“Your Grace—”

“Enough, Otto.”

“I must insist—”

“I said, enough!”

For once Viserys’ habit of ignoring a problem may be favorable to Rhaenyra.

“If the matter is settled, I must bring to attention the fact that Lord Corlys and Prince Daemon are set on returning to the Stepstones war.” Lyonel brought up.

Rhaenyra bit her lip. She knew about the importance, symbolical if nothing else, that the place had for Daemon and yet among everything that has happened, Rhaenyra had forgotten about it. She tried not to shudder. If things happened as they did before, it means it would be four sun turns before Daemon and Lord Corlys would be victorious. The thought made her nauseous. Anything could happen, it was war.

“Let Daemon play at war.”

The words echoed. Rhaenyra heard them before and just like in the Dreams, they made her see red.

“Your Grace, surely this cannot go unanswered. Not only Lord Corlys and Daemon were part of that ridiculous show during the wedding but now they are in an unsanctioned war.”

Lyonel cleared his throat, very visibly uncomfortable. “Lord Hand… you… you do have my sympathies for the… display. But due to Lady Jeyne’s… due to Lady Jeyne, the word going about is that the guests were unprepared for the… the occasion being a wedding, they were expecting the mourning period of the late Queen Aemma.”

“Word going about?” Otto repeated with disdain. “There was no such a thing!”

“There is no such a thing as mourning a queen that has been queen for an entire decade?” Lyman asked pointedly.

And Otto couldn’t very well say that he all but set up quite the spy network around King’s Landing, perhaps even beyond. Oh, the lack of a Master of Whispers. Rhaenyra mocked inwardly.

“Regardless,” Lyonel waved his hand, “that is how it is being perceived.”

“Perception!” Otto almost snarled.

Rhaenyra could very well understand his mutinous feelings. A lesson that was not meant to be a lesson, at least not in the way her father had intended. It’s not about the truth, it’s about perception. Being heir means little if none treats her as such. But even with few weapons as she had, Rhaenyra intended to use every single one to their fullest.

“It is everything, at least in this matter.” Lyman rubbed his temples.

“Haven’t we agreed to close that discussion?” Lyonel reminded, barely able to hide his exasperation.

“Well, it is the same, is it not?” Otto seemed to comply with gritted teeth. “Your Grace, not only has Prince Daemon made a spectacle of your marriage, independently of how the realm perceived it, but now he is involved in a war without The Crown’s leave, he seems to be set and determined to be a political headache.”

So that’s where her father got it from. Rhaenyra was not surprised.

Viserys, now on more solid ground, grunted a bit before trying to soften the situation. “Now, Otto, that is an exaggeration. Daemon was already on this venture of his, and nothing changed from then to now. Let Daemon do as he usually does, he will come around.”

It was ironic that Otto’s whispers seem to have lost its effectiveness in the face of Viserys’ indifference. Rhaenyra wanted to wince. Her father’s lack of care for matters that could evolve into conflict, or, in this case, that were already in conflict were accidentally working in her favor like much in the last sennight, much like it would be so for ten very long years. Either way, Otto was simply reaping what he sowed, he put so much effort into making the Stepstones into a small matter that now Viserys saw it as a small matter.

The other thing, Rhaenyra pursed her lips, was the fact that her father expected Daemon to “come around”. She had always known that when Viserys banished Daemon that it was never meant to be a permanent state. As a child, Rhaenyra had cried in despair when he was sent away and then rejoiced every time her uncle came back. It was not only years later, when the game of politics was a matter of learn or die that Rhaenyra truly understood the ridiculousness of the situation. The humiliation that her father levied against Daemon again and again. Here was Prince Daemon Targaryen, rider of Caraxes, being treated like a dog whose master was at a times in a not much indulging mood. Rhaenyra felt her lack of education, of experience in that moment of insight. For the insight was incomplete, she did not have the words to properly describe it, she had watched herself finally realizing some of her father’s follies in those ten sun turns but the depth of the understanding that downed in her older self, now escaped Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra waited for Viserys to be done before calling out. “Your Grace… if we may speak?” she requested, softly enough for Otto, the ever present shadow, to not hear it properly.

“Of course, of course we can speak, please I invite you to my solar.” Viserys answered to which Otto turned to them, his eyes snapping in her direction.

A wasted effort to whisper then. Rhaenyra nodded and went to gather the last of her belongings. More of a show than anything else. All that was left that she would wish to bring to Dragonstone were some books and such.

~*~

Ada pursed her lips. “I think… that… if anything, the King will be the only one to protest with any kind of vehemence. Although I do not know Lady Alicent enough to say for sure, if she has a modicum of intelligence, then she will see the advantages of you being gone from King’s Landing.”

Rhaenyra sighed tiredly, absently rubbing her feet. Although having long since become used to long hours standing up while serving her father’s small councill, her feet did not ache less for it.

“I am not quite sure.” She admitted. “Turns out that I do not know Alicent as well as I thought I did.”

Ada winced in sympathy. “Still, My Princess, mayhap you have some guesses.” She tried to encourage as softly as she could, clearly unpracticed in doing so.

Rhaenyra smiled, a little amused at her new companion. “Alicent is not without her own cutting edges. As of right now she probably feels as cornered as her father, although for very different reasons. When Alicent starts making more offensive moves, it is more about symbolism, however.” That is, until she drew a blade towards a small boy. Rhaenyra clenched her jaw.

Maris hummed to herself from her place close to the hearth. “I don’t think we should focus on Alicent however.”

Amanda nodded. “The Lord Hand is the more dangerous threat.” She said quietly.

“My argument still stands.” Ada waved her hand about. “Having the heir to the throne, the direct competition of non-existing children, away from court would only make the Hand see it as an opportunity to further his influence.”

Maris frowned. “Equal chance of the Hand wanting the Princess around to better control her.”

“What is the plan in that case?” Ada looked towards Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra thought about it for exactly three seconds. “Making a scene.”

~*~

It was with no surprise that Rhaenyra saw Alicent and Otto there in her father’s solar. She was not quite sure whether this was already the so-called family dinner the King was so keen on insisting and would continue to insist as the years went by, but at this point she was beyond caring.

“Your Grace.” She bowed as shallowly as she could.

“Rhaenyra! Please, sit, sit!”

Rhaenyra suppressed the urge to turn around and walk away. She secured the eggs and most of what she wanted, but there was still too much currently at risk for her to completely burn this bridge.

“Lady Alicent, Lord Hand.” She greeted as an afterthought. Despite everything, being married to the king meant that Alicent was currently higher in status than Otto, royal title or not.

Neither answered which while Rhaenyra didn’t really care about, it was still a breach of protocol. Perhaps the Hand of the King would be more or less of the same status as a Prince or Princess of the Blood, but as the heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra would only ever be outranked by Viserys himself. Whatever the case, it was not like that was ever enforced anyways.

“This is a nice chance for us all to get to… to become closer.” Viserys offered when it was made clear that no one else would break the silence.

At least he didn’t use the word “family”. Rhaenyra thought absently as the maids started to serve the food.

Rhaenyra was honestly not that bothered with the supper. As she watched herself having to endure day and night of these with Alicent spilling her venom to her and Otto whispering his to her father, this was almost peaceful in comparison. At least once Otto was gone, Rhaenyra had a somewhat peaceful coexistence with the children that her half-siblings were.

The calm before a storm, do not trust it. Rhaenyra finished her meal and waited patiently for dessert. That was her father’s usual strategy, try and mollify her with sweets that her mother never approved of her having so close to sleep.

“Your Grace.” Oh right, Otto was there as well. “Maybe now is a good time to talk about the princess’ own actions during the wedding.”

“Otto…” Viserys trailed off tiredly.

“I must insist your grace, as your daughter, the Princess Rhaenyra should have been above such displays.”

“By the gods, Otto, they were just dresses!” Viserys rubbed his temples.

“That clearly symbolized an insult to my daughter! They were mourning attires!” Otto clearly determined to push the subject.

Almost lazily, Rhaenyra raised her head to watch the exchange. Although the memory still left her shaking, Lady Jeyne did ensure to make it known to all that the guests cannot possibly be punished or even reprimanded for their… choice of attire when they expected a very different event to take place and for the focus to be on a very different partner of the king as well. Additionally, Otto seemed to have forgotten one more detail.

“Just out of curiosity, the issue was the color of the dresses? Because if so, black is also the color of our House, Lord Hand, surely you knew that?” Rhaenyra carefully rearranged herself on her seat.

That was the fabricated tale that would fool no child, but Rhaenyra knew that her father would jump on the excuse.

“See, Otto! Try not to have nightmares of your own shadows.”

Never trained to do so, and never once having to do so, it was no wonder Viserys did not recognize the tricks and plays of court. Rhaenyra refused the piece of lemon cake, which would surely get her father’s… even Alicent’s attention on a normal day. It was never just shadows, it was never just a dress, or just a color or just a seat or just a bedchamber or just some gesture or just some words. They all mattered. It was bitter and exhausting work, but it is the work that the Targaryens were just so eager to have upon their shoulders that they launched an attack on a continent for it.

Well, Otto couldn’t very well bring up the fact that said dresses were also more luxurious and stunning than his daughter’s. That was hardly Rhaenyra’s fault now, was it?

Rhaenyra was too tired for a more subtle approach. “I was thinking about taking a look towards Dragonstone’s accounts.”

“While an honorable endeavor, princess, it hardly seems a pressing matter.” Otto tried to interfere.

“Why?” Rhaenyra made herself comfortable.

Otto cleared his throat. “You are still underaged, Your Highness, and Dragonstone’s castellan is more than skilled enough. The castle is still standing after all.” He tried to joke.

“Underaged or not, I would like to familiarize myself with the place. It has laid abandoned for a long time after all. Since Prince Aemon has married Lady Jocelyn Baratheon I believe.”

“Rhaenyra, I would have liked for you to stay at the Red Keep,” Viserys started and despite the fact that she knew he would, Rhaenyra couldn’t help but take a deep breath, Otto’s smug face did not help matters. “This is a chance for… for any misunderstandings to be cleared. Your friendship with Alicent has always been so important, my daughter, I do not wish for you to lose that.”

As Alicent’s noticeable wince and Otto’s raised eyebrows indicated, perhaps, Rhaenyra reflected, Viserys’ illness has reached his mental faculties and he became simple. She knew that this dinner would be the first of many imposed on her in some pitiful attempt to try and reconcile the irreconcilable. Almost biting straight through her tongue, Rhaenyra fought the immeasurable wish to answer what she wanted, that if either His Grace or Alicent had truly put an ounce of importance in their so-called friendship then Alicent would not be her current fucking stepmother.

“I believe it to be best if we let court calm down from recent developments… first.” Rhaenyra said slowly.

“Surely, Alicent could use your presence, my daughter. It has been trying times for us all.”

It was a calculated risk. Rhaenyra had known that since deciding in this course of action, but she was counting on Viserys’ lack of taste of confrontation. In those Dreams, Viserys was perfectly willing and happy to see her go to Dragonstone or keep her there or send her there for the sake of Alicent’s offended sensibilities without ever disinheriting her. Well…

“I could have used her presence as I mourned my mother, just as I could have used yours, but alas I guess that my presence would disturb your… courtship… Your Grace.” She added as an afterthought.

“This is what I was mentioning, Your Grace! A more thorough show of disrespect is only ever presented by your own brother!”

“It is quite the match, after all, a more thorough show of disrespect towards the Arryns is only ever presented by your insistence of erasing Aemma Arryn with your own daughter.”

“That is enough, Rhaenyra!” Viserys almost bellowed and Rhaenyra held her breath for a moment, “Perhaps it is for the best that you take leave from court for some time.”

But well, thank you for agreeing with my first point. Rhaenyra wanted to roll her eyes. Not wanting to waste the opportunity for what it was, she quickly got up to bid her King’s wishes. She did the mistake of meeting Otto’s eyes for the briefest of moments.

Rhaenyra had seen the man in many moods. From triumphant if nervous during the announcement that Viserys would take his daughter to wife, to confused and enraged as the wedding progressed and with no show of true support to the union, to completely unhinged as Jeyne Arryn opened her mouth in the throne room just a few days before. Right now, he looked at her. Truly looked at her instead of through her.

Some useless pawn in the greater game. Use Princess Rhaenyra, some airheaded girl that dreamed of travelling to far away lands, to displace Prince Daemon, perhaps even pitch them against each other and only destroy what is left when they are done. Marry Alicent to the King, surely, she would birth him at least one son and then displace Rhaenyra with the precedent already set by generations past of history and law. Rhaenyra did not know whether the plan has always been that effective and perfect in its simplicity, but it was amazingly well tailored for someone like Viserys Targaryen.

Well… what happens when most, if not all the steps were disrupted? Some in small ways, some in bigger ways. The Princess was not that ignorant, the Prince supported the Princess, marrying Alicent was a victory but not complete one for she was not made queen…

For the first time in her life, Rhaenyra gathered the attention of Otto Hightower as more than just a pawn. It was written in his eyes that maybe, just maybe she had some level of involvement in the way his plans were not wielding the results he envisioned.

There was not enough time for Rhaenyra to respond in kind. To meet his gaze straight on with a challenge of her own. Not right now, not in this room. And, if she was being honest with herself, Rhaenyra was not yet ready. Daemon might rejoice in angering Otto with aggressive moves and merely sitting back and daring the man to push back. Rhaenyra did not have all the weapons and freedom that Daemon enjoyed… yet.

Rhaenyra’s heart was hammering away, the fine hairs in her arms and the back of her neck raised in tension. With her back straight, she left the room.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

“Let’s go.” Was all that Rhaenyra said to Ada, Amanda and Maris, the three women already dressed for travel and some more personal belongings packed.

Their passage was unimpeded as they got out of the Red Keep and into carriages.

“Ladies Amelia and Nora?” Maris asked.

“Already at the harbor waiting for you. They used the excuse of wanting to accompany their brother in some of his more mundane tasks.” Rhaenyra explained.

“Most of our chests were with them when they left too.” Ada commented.

Needless to say, it would have been… a chore if Rhaenyra’s idea did not work. Provoking her father into having the reaction she needed was something that sometimes Daemon would do, if he put enough energy into the effort required. The difference, the advantage that Rhaenyra had was that she knew that this would be her father’s default if presented with the idea of her leaving court for a time.

It was a well-established pattern during those long ten years. One that she had no qualms about using to her own benefit.

“Very well, then, we shall meet in Dragonstone in three days.” Rhaenyra bade farewell for now.

One carriage went to the docks, where Ada, Amanda and Maris would take a ship along with Nora and Amelia and another carriage would bring Rhaenyra to the Dragonpit. Blasts who had the idea of having both at the opposite ends of King’s Landing, Rhaenyra pursed her lips. She had offered but none, not even Ada, truly had any wish to ride a dragon alongside her and the rest of her family. It would take mere hours on dragonback instead of the three days by ship, but Rhaenyra had to admit a fly for pleasure for a couple of hours is very different than a flight in emergency for almost six hours.

At least, they seemed more open to the idea than Alicent. Rhaenyra shook her head, berating herself for opening up to the idea of making friends with these women already.

Her hands were shaking, Rhaenyra made fists to stop it. Her breath quickened and she took deep, slow breaths to try and calm down.

It was too much. The thought repeated itself in her head. Her nerves had not been this frayed since before the sennight of her father’s wedding.

Not now. Not now. Rhaenyra prayed.

Rhaenys’ Hill approached and Syrax’s familiar thundering roar made the thick, dark clouds in Rhaenyra’s mind dissipate. Her heart calming down. Not waiting for Ser Erryk to open her door, Rhaenyra almost ripped it from its hinges, jumping down and almost running to meet her dear Golden Lady and hugging her huge neck.

“Syrax.” Rhaenyra breathed against the sturdy, old gold-colored scales.

Sensing her rider’s distress, Syrax made a constant, rumbling noise deep in her throat. Soothing and fierce.

“Rhaenyra.” Daemon called from somewhere to her left.

Without putting any distance between herself and her dragon, Rhaenyra turned her head to meet three pairs of concerned purples eyes. Laenor and Rhaenys were still mounted in their own dragons but Daemon had climbed down from Caraxes.

“All is fine.” Rhaenyra offered shortly.

Daemon sent her a skeptical look, full of sarcasm but did not press. “That was fast.”

“I was determined.”

Rhaenyra could feel Rhaenys burning stare on the side of her face. She knew that her cousin would not be any happy about the way she went about… getting the king’s permission to go to Dragonstone.

Determined to avoid Daemon and Rhaenys questioning her every word for a few more hours, Rhaenyra quickly climbed up to her saddle after a fast check to see if the eggs were properly chained.

“Sōvēs!” Rhaenyra did not even give any moment for any of them before she was in the air.

~*~

(Mae)

Mae was running as fast as her legs could carry her. Her hand firmly clasped around her youngest sibling’s, her other brother barely managing to keep up. The message was clear, to be at the docks as fast as they could, before the sun would set or the ship would leave them behind.

Crosby and Enid were already there, having accompanied the Princess’ ladies in waiting in their carriages. Wilbur and Levi would be staying at the Red Keep, at least for now. But Mae… the Princess Rhaenyra had promised her a place at Dragonstone. An actual place, not a hidden room for her presence could not be known like in the Red Keep, but chambers, warm chambers to sleep at night, for her and her siblings. A job with fair wages. Food at intervals and nice clean clothes.

The Princess had already done a lot. Purchasing all the medicine they had needed, all the food and the clothes. And she promised even more. No more obscurity, living in a castle instead of hiding inside one.

Mae did not know what changed. She understood that the Princess thought her intimate knowledge of King’s Landing most useful, Mae would often wander about, especially once the Princess told her about which of the Gold Cloaks she could trust, always on the lookout for more information. Especially if the Hand was involved.

And then, Mae mentioned a boy she knew from sight, not from name or because she personally talked to him, but she knew that he would sometimes go too close to the Red Keep, she had seen him close to the Street of Sisters too. This time she saw him talking to the Hand. The Princess made it clear that the Hand is someone that, out of everyone in the castle, could not see them. More than just the coin and food that the Princess promised could be forfeited then.

The Princess made sure that all of them knew what the Hand looked like. They were also supposed to be on the lookout for a man called Larys Strong, a man with a limp, the Princess had said, could be just as dangerous as the Hand, perhaps, in some ways, more so.

It was the first time either of them had mentioned seeing the Hand. This worried the Princess greatly. Mae frowned, the Princess was already pale and shaky after the events in the throne room, Wilbur had told them about what happened, what was talked about there. Enid threw up, Crosby looked almost grey and even Levi looked terrified. Mae cried herself to sleep that night. She remembered little of her mother, but she always talked about that, for women, marriage could mean a better life or the worst of nightmares.

Mae never understood it. Her father died before any real memories could be formed and then her mother died too and she was too busy trying to survive and trying to make sure that her siblings survived to think much about marriage at all. And yet… being cut in half… for the sake of a babe. Mae didn’t remember another occasion that she had cried so hard. When her mother died, she had cried for grief, she had never cried for fright, but that night she did.

The tale had wiped any thoughts of the Princess’ plans from Mae’s head then. But the Princess met with her the very next day. Mae bit her lip, glad that the Princess had cared enough to ask if she was well enough to do her a favor if not, she could ask Levi instead, but Mae had needed the distraction. The Princess had asked to see if she could find the boy that talked to the Hand again, if she remembered him from Street of Sisters enough to see where he went.

Mae was confident that she could. The more fortunate of the residents from Flea Bottom tried to find homes closer to the Street of Sisters, there were not many options to go from there despite Flea Bottom’s massive size. People tended to avoid getting too close to Rhaenys’ Hill because that’s where the Dragonpit was and too many were burnt to death for stupid dares, not to mention that this is also where the Street of Silk was and girls and women knew better than to venture too close. That narrowed the search.

“But, Mae, you need to make sure that you will be at the harbor before sunset, we plan to leave to Dragonstone and once I leave, I can no longer completely guarantee your safety in King’s Landing, Levi and Wilbur are now known as servants but you are not, in Dragonstone there will be less need for secrecy, I will be able to officially employ you into the keep’s staff, so please be there.” The Princess held her eyes until Mae nodded resolutely. She understood.

And so, after making sure that her siblings would be safe for now, Mae left the Red Keep before the sun even started to rise. Mission not quite complete, heart in her throat for she did not know how the Princess would react to a failed task, but now extremely pressed for time, Mae pushed her legs to run as fast as she could, she gathered her siblings and the few possessions they did not wish to part with and on they went to the harbor.

~*~

(Lady Nora Strong)

Nora bit her lip as nerves started to rise. Her sister, Amelia, looked happy enough to chat with their brother as they waited for the dragons to fly over their heads, the signal needed to set sail. But the events of the last few days haunted her. Their father, and their brother… well… Harwin, made sure to let them know that despite the honor attached in being a lady in waiting for the Princess, the role also came riddled with danger. Nora did not understand it then, Amelia looked somber but determined but Nora was just excited at the thought of spending more time with her brother and father, at the thought of meeting the Princess, of seeing dragons for the first time in her life.

The reality of court was something else altogether, however. Her father made sure that both her and her sister were prepared to be ladies of keeps themselves one day if came to that, the wives of knights and lords. But… Nora heard Princess Rhaenys refer to it as “the game of thrones”… and it was a bloody one. From being cut open to the cruel machinations of greedy men, Nora was unpleasantly plunged into this new reality. And yet, she saw how Ada Stark merely narrowed her eyes and clenched her jaw, how Amanda was tired, but her back was firm and straight and Maris, small and so young but facing forward, her chin up. Her own sister that, to be honest, Nora never saw as particularly… well… strong… did not seem surprised at the bloodthirstiness that they found themselves surrounded by. Nora refused to be the only one to balk, to hesitate, and, even not believing herself to have the necessary wit, she walked alongside them.

Nora was eager and in awe when meeting the Princess. Rhaenyra Targaryen… the Targaryens, the Valyrians really, almost did not seem real. With their silvery golden hair, flawless skin and purple eyes, they seemed to come out of the tales of myth. Meeting Princess Rhaenys only ever increased it, there was something to them, something different, as if they knew the predators circling them and were willing to face them down, for they were the bigger predators. Fire and blood, and for those with Targaryen blood it was easier than for most to bring fire.

Nora was jolted out of her thoughts by the roar of those same creatures. Nora had yet to see them and quickly got out of the ship’s cabin to witness a truly legendary sight.

Four enormous animals flew over their heads. Their leathery wings propelling them upwards. The biggest was dark red, had a very long neck and a shrill cry, clicking noises came from the dragon that Nora knew to be Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, Prince Daemon’s mount, the war dragon fitted the prince, Nora had always thought as she heard the tales. The second biggest was also red, a brighter hue than the other dragon, spikes decorated her face and neck in a way that it didn’t with Caraxes, almost as if forming a crown, the Red Queen, Princess Rhaenys’ dragon. The last two were smaller, as if Nora could even describe something like that as “small”, indeed they were a tad bigger than half the size of the older dragons and already several times the size of the royal carriage that brought them to the docks. Seasmoke was easily spotted thanks to his grey scales, almost white really, the big yellow spikes that ran down its tails looked deadly if he only accidentally turned too abruptly, Laenor Velaryon’s dragon, Nora knew. Princess Rhaenyra’s dragon also did not yet have a moniker despite Nora hearing the Princess calling Syrax her “Golden Lady” many times and the name was apt, she thought, her scales were of old gold coloring, they looked resplendence now as the sun was setting and, if Nora was asked, she looked more elegant than the other dragons, her horns were longer, sleekier, spikes decorated mainly the tail instead of the body.

Nora absently overheard some commotion as three more passengers made their way inside the ship. Three children who joined the Princess’ servants were also looking at the dragons with their eyes wide. The dragons circled the ship a few times before ear splitting roars were heard and they set off towards Dragonstone. Nora’s own home for the foreseeable future.

~*~

(Prince Vaegon Targaryen. Archmaester of the Citadel)

Jeyne Arryn was certainly not one to be trifled with. Vaegon calmly sipped his wine as Jeyne’s anger had yet to abate and she took it out on everyone’s ears. At this point and after several very creative threats and curses, Vaegon had no problem imagining her throwing her own cousin into the sky cells with no remorse whatsoever. Of course, his crime was attempt usurpation, so the punishment was a fit and warranted one. However, most had the mistaken opinion that women were too soft to decide on such outcome. Vaegon snorted. Having been raised alongside the likes of Alyssa, Saera and Viserra, he was quick to disagree even when he didn't say anything.

The woman had barely arrived and before Ser Robert could even start to explain, to announce who she was, Jeyne had entered his solar in a fury and started to complain and rant and yell at his face as if they were lifelong friends instead of this being the first time they met. Amidst what literally constituted treason against the king, Vaegon noticed the blue Arryn falcon on the bodice of a black dress and understood who she was.

That was almost a sennight ago and if Vaegon had any thoughts or notions that Jeyne would calm down with time, he was quickly disabused of them. She merely was not yelling anymore.

“I think that they will be arriving in the next few days. At least that was the plan.” Jeyne muttered as they finished breaking their fast.

As the words were not followed by more curses or even shouted out, Vaegon raised his head from his own plate. “From what I understood from Princess Rhaenys, Prince Daemon is still, technically, banished. So there shouldn’t be much trouble for him to simply leave King’s Landing. Princess Rhaenys doesn’t really need to be dismissed but Princess Rhaenyra would need her father’s permission, no?”

Jeyne scoffed. “His words are meaningless at best.”

That was actually a considerably kinder criticism than Vaegon had heard so far from the Warden of the East. “Nevertheless, I doubt that the king would be too keen on his daughter leaving court so soon after his highly contested marriage. It would definitely be the last straw for the rest of realm that even in his own House, the King’s marriage was not met with acceptance.”

But Jeyne just scoffed again, this time louder and with more feeling. “Ha! I doubt that fool would even realize what his daughter leaving would mean for his image, he would be worried about the “happy family” feeling that it would no longer be around if Rhaenyra was so overt that everything was not alright.”

Probably. Vaegon thought but didn’t voice. “Regardless of reason.” He said finally.

“Rhaenyra can handle the Spineless One.” Jeyne shrugged and thanked one of the ladies that handed her letters, Jessamyn Redfort if Vaegon’s memory didn’t fail.

Two days later, Jayne’s words proved themselves true as they overheard the roars of several dragons, a whistling sound that Vaegon recalled from when Aemon would ride Caraxes. Calmly making his way towards the nearest window, the first two dragons he saw brought him back to those younger years.

Caraxes and Meleys' quick approach as they cut through the air brought memories. Vaegon almost smiled. The only one missing was Vhagar and thus, the only children from Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen that claimed dragons would be right in front of his mind’s eyes once again. Right behind them another two dragons flew towards the bridge of Dragonstone, smaller, one yellow gold and the other a very light grey, almost white in the bright light.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Lady of House Velaryon)

“Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon, this is Archmaester Vaegon, our uncle.” Rhaenys took care of introductions.

Rhaenys was honestly a bit surprised at some of the changes that Vaegon had gone through. Although aware of the history of her family, it was still a bit of a shock to see what a sennight of being bonded to a dragon did to a Targaryen.

While tall, Rhaenys had already noticed that his long hours and years of being buried in books made already thin shoulders curl on themselves. Vaegon’s face, already lean and a bit wan, if she was honest, had only become more so with age, there were fine lines about his face, but it was time, not constant expression, that made so. Rhaenys doubted that there was much that made Vaegon smile and there was also little that made him frown too. Rhaenys was sure that, if asked, Rhaenyra and Daemon would still describe Vaegon as sour, but they did not see… meet him before Grey Ghost was his mount. While still with the posture of someone clearly unused to standing up straight, there was something in Vaegon’s gait that gained more fluidity. He walked with purpose. He looked calmer instead of simply bored. The sharpness in his eyes seemed different in nature, Rhaenys couldn’t claim that it was fiercer, but it burned brighter. There was an energy in which he did and said things now that made him look younger.

Daemon raised an eyebrow while Rhaenyra approached. “Uncle Vaegon, it is an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is mine, Princess Rhaenyra. Prince Daemon. I have heard a lot about both of you.”

“Rhaenys gave you some general information?” Daemon asked without bothering with the pleasantries.

“Yes.” Vaegon answered briefly.

No apology or even justification for his choice in dragon. Daemon was grudgingly impressed, Rhaenys could tell. She hid a smirk.

“Has Lady Jeyne settled without difficulties?” Rhaenyra asked and they started to make their way inside the castle.

Vaegon cleared his throat. “She is… understandably upset with the decisions surrounding Queen Aemma.”

“What an unexpected turn of events.” Daemon said placidly.

Rhaenys and Rhaenyra exchanged a look. This was going to be interesting.

“Then maybe this is unexpected,” Vaegon challenged, “if we do not keep Lady Jeyne properly mollified, we will end up with a war against the Vale, and I do not exaggerate when I say that war is the word used.”

~*~

(Third POV)

“You knew this disgusting practice existed?!” Jeyne demanded the second Rhaenys tried to talk to her.

“Even I could have said that maybe Rhaenys should not have led with it.” Daemon uttered just to Vaegon and Rhaenyra to hear.

“You knew it existed and never told me.” Rhaenyra gritted out.

Daemon pursed his lips, knowing he had no defense against this. He could say dozens of excuses, from his… previous… belief that Viserys would never have allowed it to the fact that Daemon believed that such would never happen to Rhaenyra. But even in his own mind, Daemon had to admit that it sounded weak and childish. Even before finding out what Viserys did. What he ordered to be done.

Rhaenys was silent but for a few moments. “Because it was how my own grandmother died, bringing forth my mother. Alyssa Velaryon was already too weak, my grandfather, Rogar Baratheon chose to save the babe. I do not know how my mother came to the knowledge, but she made sure that I was aware of the risk. It is actually the reason I only have two children, Laena was… already difficult… a difficult birth, so Corlys and I decided that we already had our heirs.”

But this seemed to incense Jeyne even more. “How is it possible that such a… a barbaric practice… well… WELL… at least your husband… that damnable king, if we even can call him such!”

There didn’t seem have a beginning or ending to Jeyne’s thought process and the four Targaryens could do nothing in the face of her impotent rage. Or… not so impotent, as they remember the threat of war.

“Jeyne… I… need help.” Rhaenyra swallowed her pride and reservations and was rewarded by Jeyne’s immediate attention.

Rhaenyra was fairly certain that the only reason they found Jeyne… calmer is because she had spent the last sennight shouting her indignation to Vaegon.

“Rhaenyra… we… we are against stupidity.” Jeyne pointed out and then seemed to remember something. “No offense to… your father, your brother, cousin and nephew, but Viserys Targaryen… I do not know him personally and to be perfectly honest, I do not care to. But either the man is an idiot or… or he simply doesn’t care. Although the first one is frustrating, the other possibility…” she trailed off.

“The other possibility means that we need to protect ourselves first.” Rhaenyra was careful in not meeting Daemon’s eyes. “That is the conversation I had with Rhaenys, merely a moon after I was named heir.”

Jeyne sighed. “I guess it is time for us all to sit down to have this conversation then.”

“A proper war council.” Daemon joked, ignoring the sharp looks sent his way.

Rhaenyra tried to relax her clenched jaw. Sometimes Daemon was too cavalier especially as they already knew Jeyne’s feelings on the matter, especially when the Vale boasted of quite the army that Jeyne could rightly call forth.

“Before anything is said and settled, I have invited the Celtigars to Dragonstone, Lord Corlys will be with us shortly as well, my own ladies in waiting will be arriving in three days’ time, Lord Stark has taken to wait just for a bit so attention is elsewhere and he will be with us as well, and… Daemon and I have discussed the possibility of reaching out not only for Rhaella but for Saera as well.”

Vaegon startled at the name. “I am not quite sure how wise it is to contact either my sister or my cousin.”

“We were not sure about contacting you.” Daemon retorted.

If either Rhaenys or Rhaenyra thought for one second that it would do any actual good, they would have called him out or even given him a warning glance, as it was, both knew Daemon too well to bother.

“I am not sure what you are thinking, Prince Daemon, but I meant the fact that, even if we disregard that Rhaella is no warrior and has long since left the Targaryen name behind, after all, I did the same, she is still seventy years old and truly devoted to the Seven. Saera is… it is less that she left the Targaryen name behind and more that she is likely to literally spit on your face for daring to presume that she would care about our family’s legacy.” Vaegon explained.

“Regardless,” Rhaenyra rubbed her aching temples, “we must try. There are still Sheepstealer, Vermithor, Silverwing and the Cannibal in the island. Not to mention Dreamfyre back in King’s Landing.”

Vaegon sighed. “I already told Rhaenys that I would see what can be done about Rhaella, but I would not even begin to know where Saera is. Last I heard, my mother was sending letters to Lys.”

“She is in Volantis.” Daemon commented, seemly bored.

“Of course, you would know.” Rhaenys deadpanned.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

“That’s two dragons out of five.” Rhaenyra turned her rings around her fingers. “Our priority is Dreamfyre. Getting the last dragon out of King’s Landing, especially as she could still lay clutches.”

That would technically mean that it was Helaena that would not bond with a dragon. If there was anyone in that fucking cluster of monsters that deserved, if not empathy, then at least pity, it was Helaena. Rhaenyra swallowed nervously. Helaena wasn’t a threat, she was no fighter, in spirit, body or otherwise. She just was.

Helaena was just a victim. Like Alicent, like Rhaenyra… like any woman in Westeros. Despite being eventually beloved as Queen, brief as it was, by the smallfolk, Helaena was more pawn than queen. Her voice unheard, her actions with no true long term thought behind them. Rhaenyra did not know whether Helaena would find it in herself to fly to battle before her son’s, Jaehaerys, death destroyed her and she did not wish to find out.

She did not know whether Helaena would even survive in that nest of snakes without Dreamfyre’s bond. But Rhaenyra could not allow herself to be overcome by sentiment, it was her downfall during the wa and her decline during the years that led to it. So sure of her father’s words, so sure of Alicent’s nature.

Much like she had done with Alicent, Rhaenyra allowed herself a few moments to mourn that little girl, plump and kind and fascinated by insects that was Helaena Targaryen. If the opportunity presented itself, she would help Helaena, but Rhaenyra could not help others if she could not help herself first and so, for now, she closed that small part of her heart.

Rhaenyra tried to pay attention as they tried to plan for the trip ahead.

“The news of four dragons circling about Volantis will reach King’s Landing too easily, and then our element of surprise will be lost.” Rhaenys pointed out.

“Then, it is a good thing we were not planning on inviting you.” Daemon gritted.

“‘We’?” Rhaenys echoed.

“Wait, wait! I am sorry, my House is not Targaryen and I do not know these people you are talking about… actually I barely even understood what is it that you were talking about at all.” Jeyne interrupted, clearly out of patience.

Rhaenyra felt her head a bit light and sat down before trying explain. “My father will eventually have children with Alicent. I want to make sure that they will have no dragons. Dreamfyre is the only dragon in King’s Landing, aside from Syrax and, occasionally, Caraxes. Of course, with us, Prince Daemon and myself having left, then there is only Dreamfyre. She had two clutches of eggs, eight in total, in the last few decades. Whatever egg hatches in the next few years, the dragon will be an appropriate age enough for battle when... the time comes.”

“You brought the eggs with you.” Jeyne came to the logical conclusion before smirking towards Vaegon. “This is also why you have been contacting long lost Targaryens. The eggs are here but that still leaves the adult dragons.”

Rhaenyra didn’t bother confirming it. “Rhaella is Vaegon’s cousin. Aegon the Uncrowned and Princess Rhaena’s remaining daughter, King Aenys and Queen Alyssa Velaryon’s grandchild, a septa, seventy years old. Saera is Vaegon’s younger sister, Daemon and Rhaenys’ aunt. Daughter of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne.”

Jeyne pursed her lips. “Seventy years old? By the time whatever spawn that the King has reaches adulthood, she will…” she trailed off.

“Likely.” Rhaenyra agreed easily. “It is the… principle of the thing. A show of strength, the remaining Targaryens do not agree with the King.” She clarified.

“And I’ve heard of Saera Targaryen. Not very flattering things, but… fun, nonetheless.” Jeyne smirked.

Jeyne would like Saera. Rhaenyra thought with some amusement.

“What about her own children? Three of them put forth their claim for the throne in the Great Council of 101.” Daemon hummed.

“Not an uninteresting proposition, but maybe not to be a public one. They are bastards for Westeros, even if Saera was married to their father,it is not an image that would benefit Rhaenyra.” Rhaenys hesitated.

“Bastards or not, they still have Saera’s blood, they can keep the dragons away from Hightowers’ hands.” But Daemon didn’t overly insist on the point, conceding that Rhaenys was also right.

“That still means that of the five adult dragons, only one can be claimed with any long-term plans.” Rhaenyra winced as one of the thicker rings snatched a bit, almost twisting her finger with it, she started to take them off one by one and pile them on the table.

Rhaenys squared her shoulders. “It is no matter, we can make sure that Dreamfyre starts to nest here, in Dragonstone, and truly only a mad person would try to invade the island of dragons.”

“Well, whatever the case, I plan to make the trip to Volantis in three days. Rhaenyra will come with me.” Daemon made sure that Rhaenyra knew that he had not forgotten his promise to take her with him. “I do not foresee any trouble. We will probably be back in less than a moon.”

~*~

Rhaenyra huffed. Half in exhaustion and half in exasperation.

“I have no idea where to stash these.” She eyed the chests of gold with some trepidation. Her hold on Dragonstone was not yet absolute and she could not rid herself of some of the known traitors, not yet at least, she had no cause and no excuse to cover any... accidents.

But Daemon was a bit distracted. “Is that your mother’s crown?”

The chests with the jewelry were open for his analysis. And something inside Rhaenyra purred in pleasure when realizing that Daemon was responsible for her owning the great majority of it… and the fact that it could not all fit into a single chest. Almost at the center, Aemma Arryn’s fist crown glittered with the candlelight.

Delicately made with gold, obsidian and rubies, it was a modest crown for a queen, but it was also the first crown that Aemma Arryn was gifted with as the wife of a prince who was not yet heir to the throne. Commissioned by Queen Alysanne and gifted to her by the old monarchs. Rhaenyra sighed as she stared at it. Her mother didn’t wear many crowns and certainly not very often, but Rhaenyra remembered how her mother promised that one day she would gift Rhaenyra her own first crown. Her mother was not very subtle, Rhaenyra knew that she intended for her to wear it in her own wedding.

“I was not about to leave my mother’s jewelry for Alicent to wear.” Rhaenyra whispered.

In those Dreams, the very sight of the first time Alicent tried some of the pieces of the crown jewels, jewels that Rhaenyra could recall her own mother wearing, made her see red. She would be damned if Alicent got even close to those again. Not that, as a lady, she would be allowed to. Rhaenyra smirked.

“Is this my mother’s crown?” Daemon’s eyebrows couldn’t possibly rise any more than they already did. Rhaenyra pursed her lips, this time in amusement.

Alyssa Targaryen, despite all the accounts of preferring to train with swords than to make sure that her hair looked properly groomed, had a more extravagant taste than Aemma Arryn’s. Her crown was grander, and so encrusted with beautifully crafted rubies that it almost looked to be made entirely by the precious rocks.

“I also did not think you would be any happier with the possibility of Alicent wearing your mother’s jewelries.” Rhaenyra took a pair of ear cuffs in the shape of dragons that used to belong to Alyssa.

“You thought absolutely right.” Daemon visibly swallowed the bile that came up at the thought.

If Rhaenyra also went through Alyssa Velaryon’s, Rhaena Targaryen’s and Alysanne’s treasury just to complete the set of the queens that lived in the Red Keep, then… no one at the Red Keep needed to know. No one had bothered to try and take a look at these for years, some for generations even and Queen Rhaenys and Visenya's treasuries were still in Dragonstone.

The thoughts of Alysanne brought some memories of Rhaenys – likely… for sure Alysanne’s favorite grandchild – to mind. Rhaenyra bit her lip.

“Uncle?”

“Yes?”

“… how… what would be the repercussions… if the Velaryons claimed another dragon?”

Chapter Text

(Third POV)

“It will take us almost thirty hours of flight to reach Volantis.” Daemon started once they were done breaking their fast.

“Thirty hours of straight flight?” Rhaenyra asked, frowning.

“Roughly without the breaks for rest,” Daemon smirked a bit, “having second thoughts, Princess?”

Rhaenyra glared at him. Daemon could almost swear that he saw literal fire in her eyes. “No, I am not.” He was almost proud of her for not gritting it out.

“Altogether, mayhap five days of travel to go and five to come back.” He concluded. “We can stay in a few inns for the night and leave after breaking fast.”

“We can fly for longer than six hours per day.” Rhaenyra insisted after doing the math in her head.

Daemon rolled his eyes. “How many times have you flown for longer than that?” he challenged, aware that Syrax makes the trip from King’s Landing to Dragonstone in just under six hours.

“A little pain never killed anyone.” Rhaenyra retorted.

While she was touched that Daemon was thinking about her comfort, this was more important.

Daemon sighed. “Ten hours?” he tried, “To make trip to and back from Volantis we would need just a little over a fortnight plus a few more days to rest and look for Saera… talk to her as well.”

Rhaenyra almost wanted to argue for twelve, but she also knew that she would be uselessly in pain after so long riding Syrax. For a few seconds, she allowed herself to envy the stamina and resistance that the Three Conquerors had to built in order to… well… conquer.

“Ten hours.” Rhaenyra compromised.

“Rhaenyra,” Daemon started, unusually stern, “Saera probably lives beyond the Black Wall where security is so tight it makes Dorne look like the loosest of taverns. They respect the Valyrian blood above all, the Old Blood, but it is still close to the Triarchy and is still full of slaves and slavers. Do not leave my side.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened a bit before she nodded. “And if Saera does not live beyond the Black Wall?”

“Then you do not leave Syrax.”

“The situation is that dire?” Rhaenyra tilted her head.

“Not in so many words. You will find many with Valyrian blood there. Silvery hair, purple eyes… it is easy to be mistaken, to get lost and to be confused with someone less important.” Daemon explained.

Which truly made sense. In Westeros, you can’t possibly confuse a Valyrian with anyone else, but so close to what used to be the Valyrian Freehold their features become less unusual. Weirdly, Rhaenyra was almost looking forward to that. She was well used to eyes upon her, admiration or danger following her around all the time. What would it be like? To have eyes pass her over? To get lost in a crowd?

The possibility didn’t scare Rhaenyra so much as it excited her. The novelty.

“Pack lightly,” Daemon kept advising, “Volantis is hot and humid like you would not believe. A word of warning, the smell is also not pleasant.”

“King’s Landing does not quite smell like flowers either, uncle.” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow.

“Indeed.” Daemon chuckled and agreed with a nod. “We will be stopping in Pentos first. The distance from Dragonstone to Pentos is more or less the same as from King’s Landing to Dragonstone. But in Myr, which is to be our second stop, I need you to understand that we have some bloody history with the place. And currently, the situation in the Stepstones only ever made it worse. If anything, I want you to be more careful there than in Volantis.”

Rhaenyra pursed her lips. Anxiety making the fine hairs in her arm stand up. Myrish pirates killed Prince Aemon Targaryen, Prince Baelon Targaryen torched a thousand of them and now Myr was part of a war that Prince Daemon Targaryen was fighting. To say they had bloody history was a euphemism.

That was two days ago. Rhaenyra took careful breaths and made a point to not rub her aching backside, thighs and legs.

They had briefly stayed in Pentos, only for the night, no matter how much Rhaenyra wished to explore, she knew there were more important matters. Still, as they passed through the city to spend the night in an inn, Daemon made sure to point all that he was more familiar with. From the port’s stalls to the many taverns where lively songs could be heard from. They sang louder, played longer than what Rhaenyra was used to from Westeros’ court. The food was not that different from what she was used to, which also made sense as King’s Landing was also a port city, from the other side of the same Narrow Sea that washed Pentos’ shores.

(Pentos by Drazenka Kimpel)

Rhaenyra gave one last wistful look around before following Daemon inside the inn. Daemon sighed at her despondent look, “Pentos, while interesting, does not offer all that much.” He tried to console in the best way he knew how.

Daemon had always hated seeing Rhaenyra even merely disappointed. Now looking genuinely sad, it brought memories of all the times he would bring various gifts, from mere trinkets to rare gems from his travels. Daemon would withhold a few, for when Viserys would inevitably send him away, he would give Rhaenyra at least some paltry memento to make her smile before flying away.

But Rhaenyra was no longer the small girl that was happy to forget about all the moons that Daemon was absent with a shiny bauble and a hug. She was not even the same girl of seven summers that, distraught that her uncle was once again leaving her, mounted her dragon and took to the skies for the first time, on a dragon that was just big enough to fly with a passenger.

Rhaenyra offered a small smile that did not reach her lilac eyes. And Daemon frowned. For the last moon that he returned for… his brother’s wedding, changes in his niece were noticed but not really reasoned.

At first, Daemon had thought that it was due to Viserys’ marriage to her best friend, her closest confidant. How the very same man that made her heir was now undermining her with a second marriage that could give The Crown a son. But Rhaenyra seemed almost detached as she casually spurned the whole event through a choice of outfit. The greater, more impactful message was given by most of the great Houses of the realm all wearing black. The fact that Rhaenyra outshined the bride in almost every day of the wedding was a nice addition as well. Still, Rhaenyra was clearly going through the occasion almost unfeeling. Wearing black, sending the egg and a single chest to test if anyone would miss them, talking to the High Septon, waiting for Rhaenys and news of Vaegon and provoking her father into “approving” of her move to Dragonstone.

The fire with which Rhaenyra had confronted Daemon on Dragonstone for the stolen egg was… not muted or even decreased but shuttered away. And Daemon was loathed to add to it.

“Volantis on the other hand can be quite the city. While we stay and try to find and talk to Saera, there is nothing stopping us from exploring a bit.” He offered.

But all it got was a small almost polite smile. Even smaller and colder than the ones Rhaenyra would offer to court.

“Thank you, Uncle.”

Despite the purpose and circumstances, it should be a dream come true. Rhaenyra was no longer in Westeros. The weather and the climate, however, look too similar. Which was to be expected, she supposed. The buildings, although different enough, were all she was seeing. With a shake of her head, Rhaenyra tried to focus. Saera first. Her life first. And then… and then she will see what to do.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

The Flatlands offered Rhaenyra plain fields, full to the brim for harvest. She gazed around in wonder. There were roads and lines of Dothraki making their trip cutting through. Rhaenyra had never seen such, it was like a sea of wheat expanding around her.

Syrax roared in excitement, her wings batting harder and faster. Rhaenyra felt laugher building up her throat and a smile finally formed in her face. Everywhere she looked, there was not a single building in sight.

The fresh, grainy smell was a novelty that Rhaenyra also could not get enough of. She greedily took in deep breaths, it was even different from the times where she would take Syrax for longer flights for Gods Eye, Tumbleton and Bronze Gate, anywhere else, any further, and her father would balk. But right now she was as far as she ever was, further than she ever dared, and yet nowhere close to as far as she wished to go.

(The Flatlands from an episode of Game of Thrones)

Rhaenyra gazed longingly towards east, to her left, where there was Qohor, the Dothraki Sea, Lhazar and so much more. So far from the Red Keep, from King’s Landing and Westeros, Rhaenyra could finally breath and breath more than the suffocating smells, always badly disguised by the scents that servants would spray everywhere in the effort to conceal the smell of waste.

As Rhaenyra made sure to keep pace with Daemon, she still would stare at the horizon to her left. Perhaps one day. Rhaenyra barely even noticed that they flew for a bit longer that day, the sun was barely up when they left Pentos and was now beginning to set. Daemon started to descend when it was already quite dark and he made sure they landed quite a bit away of… anywhere really.

“I doubt many would recognize us but rid yourself of any Targaryen emblem.” Daemon instructed briefly, tense in a way that Rhaenyra never saw. “Our problems are with the outlaws, the pirates, but it doesn’t mean that Myrmen would be happy in seeing Targaryens among their midst.”

Rhaenyra nodded and quickly took off her long cloak. The bracelet with the Targaryen sigil was next, even the dragon shaped earrings went into the traveling pack that Daemon had given her and then tied to Syrax. After tying his own hair back in a simple ponytail, Daemon beckoned her to him and started undoing the braids that were keeping her hair in place during flight. He quickly gathered the thick curls to match his own ponytail.

“There is a small outpost a few hours of walk that way, stick close.” Daemon firmly took her hand in his and pulled her towards him, forcing Rhaenyra to find her balance against his chest. “Rhaenyra… do not wander.”

Heart hammering away, Rhaenyra nodded and only then Daemon let her put some distance between them, still with her hand in his.

~*~

There were some downsides to travelling. Much to Rhaenyra’s chagrin. Although they packed well for food and water in Pentos, dry meat and fruits did not do much for a meal. Hours of travelling to actually get to their destination was another thing, the last one is that this time they could hardly approach a city with a history of hostility towards their family… in their case, directly with Daemon himself, on dragonback, and so, Rhaenyra walked… she walked more than she ever did in her entire life. When Daemon said “a few hours of walk away”, he truly meant hours of walk.

Rhaenyra did not know what time it was. The hour of the eel, the ghosts? Maybe even the wolf if the lack of light was anything to go by. But Daemon never seemed to get lost, if not for the surety in his steps, Rhaenyra could have sworn they were walking in circles. Her feet were sore in a way that uncomfortable ballroom shoes never made them, the boots she wore were of soft leather, already beaten to provide more comfort, and yet it made no difference. After an entire day on dragonback and now hours walking, Rhaenyra was exhausted. Although not hungry, the dried fruits and the dried meat only made her thirsty, a feeling that did not completely go away despite the water she drank.

Rhaenyra was but a few seconds away from being done with her pride and asking Daemon to carry her for she refused to take another single step. No matter how much that would stung and no matter the jests at her cost and no matter the fact that the last thing she wanted was for Daemon to see her as a child, she was done and that was, of course, when she noticed the light of a fire in the distance, a more or less modest building behind it.

Not at all caring for the decorum and etiquette that was almost hammered in her mind for as long as she could walk, Rhaenyra sat down on the log facing the fire and started to take her boots off. Much to Daemon’s visible amusement.

“Here, rest a bit, I will secure us some horses.” He crouched next to her and extended the water to her which she took gratefully.

That was, until the rest of his sentence registered for her. “This is not where we will stop for the night?” Rhaenyra tried her best to keep her voice even, but if even she could hear the incredulity in her voice, there was no way Daemon missed it.

Sure enough, he was chuckling, thankfully quietly, at her. “No. We are quite literally in the middle of nowhere. Better be surrounded by the safety a city can provide. Especially since we left Syrax and Caraxes behind.”

Rhaenyra bit her lip to not groan out loud. “Next time… couldn’t we just camp with Syrax and Caraxes?”

Daemon seemed surprised at the option. “Would you wish to? We brought no bedrolls, no cover.”

“If it’s not raining and if it saves us this… walk. You seem tense, uncle.”

Daemon took a few moments before he answered, sneering at nothing. “As it turns out, I never before considered the dangers when it was only me facing them. You… out of the walls that surrounded you, without the protection of thousands of swords, it is… unsettling.”

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

It was, at the end, a very poor, pale description of the fear that gripped at his heart once they left Dragonstone. Daemon never much cared for the thieves at night, for the drunken fool that was a cup too many into his rage, for the scum that would take women in dark alleys. Any who tried met a swift death, sometimes not even at the end of Dark Sister. Rhaenyra could not do it. Ever since his own mother, there were no women trained in fight, in blades or otherwise. By the gods, Aemma, Rhaenys and Rhaenyra did not even carry simple daggers at all. Even Queen Rhaenys, who preferred gowns to the armor that Visenya favored, was skilled with a bow.

Never before the Known World looked so dangerous. So treacherous. Daemon had always considered it an adventure, the court back at King’s Landing a nest full of snakes and Dragonstone as a safe haven. But seeing Rhaenyra fearlessly and gracefully dismounting Syrax as they arrived at Pentos suddenly brought back all the memories of the close calls he’s had over the years.

Daemon was brought out of the dark spiral his mind was going into by the feeling of something soft briefly pressing against his cheek. Blinking, he turned to look at Rhaenyra who was almost smiling at him, a little teasingly, a little happily, small but more genuine than he could recall seeing since before Aemma died.

“Thank you, for the worry.” Rhaenyra added the last part a little belatedly. There was something soft in her lilac eyes, softer than usual.

Did she kiss him? The possibility almost made Daemon gawk like some green boy that was brought to the Street of Silk for the very first time. Clearing his throat and willing the… the something that was squeezing at his chest away, Daemon stood up.

“I will think of something if this happens again, but for now it is better if we make our way to Myr than to stay here.”

Daemon will deny it until his death, but he almost ran towards the outpost’s door and this time, Rhaenyra was the one amused.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra once again mourned the loss of opportunity. Unlike Pentos, Myr was made of tall buildings everywhere, a lot of glass, a lot of sculptures and statues. A huge, white castle in the middle, surrounded by smaller ones all around. There was no definite way to separate what were stalls of vendors, what were residences, what was a medical center or seamstress stores.

(Myrish villa by Allan Bednar)

The inn they stayed at was sizable, more comfortable than the one at Pentos. The chamber that Rhaenyra was given would not be overly out of place at the Red Keep for a guest. Perhaps not in the same level as the ones in Maegor’s Holdfast, but still lavishly decorated. Rhaenyra enjoyed nothing of the sort, after a quick bath brought by the slaves – she had to swallow at the sight of the collars around their necks – Rhaenyra was simply too tired to do much more than put on her sleeping chemise and fall on the feather bed.

Rhaenyra woke up naturally. The sun almost in the middle of the sky. Jolting out of bed and quickly changing into her riding leathers, Rhaenyra got out of her chambers and knocked a little frantically on the door next to hers.

“Rhaenyra.” Daemon also changed into his riding leathers and seemed surprised to see her.

“Uncle!” It came out a little louder than she intended. “Why didn’t you wake me? The sun—”

But Daemon quickly raised a hand to stop her. “There are not many places to stop that I’m familiar with between Myr and Volantis, so I was wondering if we would be able to push ourselves to make the rest of it in a day.”

Rhaenyra felt her eyebrows rising in surprise and excitement. “Yes! Yes we can do it! Then it is just a matter of finding Saera!”

But Daemon, although a bit amused at her enthusiasm, was less optimistic. “The reason I let you rest and allowed myself the same is that between Myr and Volantis, even at Syrax’s best speed, there is almost twenty hours on dragonback.”

Rhaenyra felt herself palling a bit but otherwise didn’t react. “If we eat now and leave right after then it means we can start looking for Saera in two days.”

“I’m pleasantly surprised that you took into account the fact that we would get there too tired to do much more than finding an inn.” Daemon smirked.

“Considering everything, I conceded a lot to my limitations in the last few days.” Rhaenyra pointed out.

“Agreed.” He answered easily. “Still, I suggest you rest as much as you can while I get some provisions.”

The food was different, Rhaenyra was happy to notice. From the pale green nectar wine to the fire wine to the different kinds of fish, Rhaenyra was pleasantly surprised. And so, after promising to go no further than the next building, Rhaenyra quickly bought a beautifully engraved mirror. It was small but Rhaenyra had never seen something like that, so elegant. Besides, it was just a small trinket to remember the place by. She put it away in her bag.

They took their horses back to the outpost and from there walked back towards where they left Syrax and Caraxes.

~*~

When they finally reached Volantis, Rhaenyra was more tired than when they had to walk for so long before Myr. But they did not dismount their dragons once in Volantis, instead as the guards at the gates pulled it open, Daemon made Caraxes slither forward, the dragon’s movements as fluid and as violent on ground as they were on air, Syrax followed the larger dragon inside the city and as Rhaenyra tiredly glanced about, she understood her uncle’s decision. The nobility, or, at least the ones dressed as nobles, all used elephants, palanquins being carried by slaves, carriages were the most discreet of it. Two huge dragons making their way through the city gathered the attention of all but it was undeniable the fear in their gaze and the way deferred to them as they saw their silvery hair and purple eyes.

Their way unimpeded as they reached the Black Walls and none dared to breath a word as the dragons easily – much to Rhaenyra’s surprise as Caraxes was no hatchling – entered through the enormous gates.

Finally, they saw some of the nobles on their own feet, but Daemon did not dismount and neither did Rhaenyra. Not until an escort almost grew from under their own… or the dragon’s own feet.

“Prince Daemon, it is an honor to receive you inside these walls.”

Rhaenyra almost blinked at the use of Valyrian, although it was a version that sounded a little… different from what she was used to. Slightly different words and with a different pronunciation and in a different order as well.

Daemon didn’t bother to hide his disdain, then again, he seldom did. “This is Princess Rhaenyra. We are looking for Saera Targaryen.”

Rhaenyra felt her eyes going wide before she managed to control her expression. This was not quite the way she thought they would be looking for their aunt. For some reason, Rhaenyra had pictured them going about in the night, with cloaks concealing their features and using the darkness in their favor as they spoke… with whom? Rhaenyra felt slightly foolish. It was clear that this was the first time that Daemon was in the city, hence it made sense that he would have no contacts with which to speak to for information. And besides which, the way of their entrance already made sure that discretion would be a moot point.

The escort bowed a few too many times as he gave them his assurances. “Yes, of course! Please, Lady Trianna invites you as honored guests to her castle.”

“We accept the invitation.”

Rhaenyra almost whined as Daemon had yet to climb down from Caraxes. Gritting her teeth, she willed Syrax to move forward, a burst of affection for her Lady grew in her chest as Syrax’s movements changed, instead of lumbering as she used her claws to walk, Syrax was using almost her entire wing to evenly support her weight, making the ride smoother for the sake of her pained rider.

Rhaenyra did not have it in herself to appreciate the beautiful if small palace that was to accommodate them as she painfully climbed down from her saddle. She could barely feel her legs and back and had to lean heavily on Daemon to be able to walk. Rhaenyra felt her respect for Rhaenys increasing with each agonizing step she had to take but she also felt a healthy dose of incredulity, for the woman was surely mad to force herself to travel for almost thirty hours with no pause.

Rhaenyra was pretty certain she was crushing Daemon’s fingers by that point and any other would mistake the gesture for nerves. If only they knew that Daemon’s arm around her own was the only thing keeping her upright.

“The Lady Trianna.” Was announced soon after.

The silvery hair and purple eyes of their host should not surprise Rhaenyra, but it somehow did.

“It is an honor to host the Old Blood within my walls. Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenyra. You shall have a reception befitting your stations.” Trianna curtsied.

And Rhaenyra was once left wrong footed, as Trianna pronounced perfect High Valyrian, the Valyrian she was used to.

“We thank you for welcoming us into your home and apologize for the abruptness.” Daemon bowed a bit with a charming smirk.

Trianna didn’t seem to be very impressed, but her demeanor looked less courteous and more genuine as she motioned to the castle. “Please, you must be tired from traveling.”

~*~

Rhaenyra almost groaned as she sat down in the first available chair and jumped as Daemon kneeled before her. Rhaenyra could only look as Daemon carefully took her boots and socks off, she winced at the reddened and swollen flesh, the veins were jutted out but there were thankfully no blisters to add to it. Daemon didn’t even pause, he merely started to massage her pained feet provoking a grunt of pain and pleasure from her.

Rhaenyra didn’t notice how Daemon paused for a few moments at the sound before resuming his actions. He kneaded one foot and only stopped when Rhaenyra was almost falling asleep on him, then he changed to the other one.

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

Looking up as he was done, Daemon saw that indeed Rhaenyra had fallen asleep. Smiling a bit, he absently caressed her calves. The more he started at her tired, beautiful face the more Daemon’s eyes darkened. Days on dragonback, traveling for many hours at a time, stopping only to sleep, bathe and eat and yet Rhaenyra’s skin is still soft as the rarest of silk. Realizing that his hands started to linger towards her knees, Daemon shook his head and got up, ignoring the familiar feeling of lust growing.

Careful not to jostle and wake her, Daemon gently picked Rhaenyra up. After laying her on her bed, he didn’t bother with the covers, even with the light dress she picked for Volantis, Daemon had no doubt that she would wake up sweating with the weather the city had. Clenching his jaw, he tried not to give into the urge to strip her completely in the guise of making her more comfortable. He did not want for the servants to have a show in the morning, and Daemon doubted that Rhaenyra would appreciate the gesture, no matter how well-intentioned it was.

Of course that it is precisely when I do not wish for it that it happens. Daemon cursed as he tried to will his stubborn erection away.

Daemon slept badly and woke up even worse. The yelling from the ground floor could have shaken the entire building, he sighed and got up. Well used to travel long days on dragonback, he was not as exhausted as Rhaenyra but that did not mean there were no sore muscles to slow his movements. Caraxes was not a gentle dragon, with his fire, to his rider, to his enemies, in the air or on the ground.

Quickly washing his face of the sweat and dirty of travel from the previous day, Daemon called a servant to bring him a bath. Whatever was happening, it did not sound as if would end any time soon.

While called a castle by the servants and probably the lady who owned it, for Daemon it looked more like a manse, naming it a palace was perhaps ill fitting as well. Spacious, certainly, but even Maegor’s Holdfast was bigger, if a drunken memory served him right, the Eyrie was also bigger and the Arryns' seat of power was famous for its small size. Still there were luxurious decoration and open spaces that the Red Keep lacked and they were sure to please his niece. It also means that the voices echoed.

From the words thrown about, this was Saera Targaryen. Daemon’s eyes narrowed. Almost as tall as Rhaenys and, at three and forty, she did not look as old as some women of her same age. Instead, as she argued in both Common and High Valyrian with their host too fast to be truly understood, Daemon, if he did not know who she was, would probably have guessed that she was closer to Rhaenys’ age of eight and thirty and Rhaenys herself did not look as old as her age.

Saera had the usual beauty that Daemon had seen in their family. Her silvery blond hair was tied up in an intricate bun and decorated by amethysts which were a shade of purple too dark to match her periwinkle eyes that were surrounded by the thinnest of marks of age, eyes that were flashing in annoyance at Trianna who remained calm at the accusations of kidnapping of all things. Daemon couldn’t help but scoff, which brought the attention of both women to him.

Saera stared at the newcomer who made no move to approach before snorting inelegantly and talking in Common. “You look like your father.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow. “You do not look like my mother.”

“I don’t think anyone does.” Saera lifted her chin.

Daemon supposed he could take offense for it. Many have commented about Alyssa’s looks through the years and mostly they were not very complimentary. From her dirty blond hair framing a perhaps too long face, to her mismatched eyes and crooked nose, Daemon had to admit, in the confines of his mind, that Alyssa Targaryen was not the classic beauty that bards would sing praise about. But much like insults towards Viserys, many who dared to whisper about it whitin his hearing distance met a suitable and bloody punishment.

Still, Saera did not exactly say it, although comments about his mother’s appearance seldom implied anything else, Daemon did open himself up for that. He could have said Saera did not look like her mother instead. And while Daemon knew about the contentious relationship between most of the Targaryen sisters of his mother’s generation, he was also acutely aware of Rhaenyra’s presence in the floor above. His sweet niece who was painstakingly gathering allies and who needed Saera’s help. So, Daemon took a discreet deep breath and smirked in response.

“Not many women look like queens.”

Contrary to what he was expecting, Saera started to laugh at that. There was some bitterness but mostly amusement.

“It seems that you both can continue from here.” Trianna deadpanned, unimpressed at the exchange and dismissing the guards that, to that point, were not exactly restraining Saera but it was clear that they were the reason she was still around. And Daemon wondered if Trianna understood the Common Tongue. “Please, make use of my home for however you long you need. Refreshments will be brought momentarily.”

“She is not happy about a brothel owner in her home?” Daemon wondered, not overly bothering to wait until Trianna was out of sight.

Saera snorted. “I doubt it, Lady Elephant requested some of my girls for her parties more than once.” And she snorted again at his surprised face. “This is not Westeros, little nephew, Volantis view propriety differently.”

Daemon ignored the rest of it, he knew that Essos did not put as much importance as Westeros did in women’s virtue. In all fairness, it would be difficult to put more importance in it than some of the people he met in Westeros did. He almost sneered.

“Lady Elephant?”

Saera shrugged and made herself comfortable in one of the huge, cushioned chairs at the entrance. Daemon doubted that the furniture was supposed to be more than decoration as it was so close to the doors and a little too full of pillows that were quickly discarded by Saera. Daemon did not bother to say anything and sat down in a matching chair.

“Volantis has a triarch, three rulers that are chosen from either the Elephants or the Tigers, political parties.” Saera explained, uninterested.

“Chosen as in they are elected.” Daemon specified.

Saera made a tsking sound at the back of her throat. “You were lucky. Trianna is one political powerhouse and also not as bellicose. It is no coincidence that her envoy was the first one that intercepted you and the little princess.”

“So, you are already aware of Rhaenyra.” Daemon raised an eyebrow.

“Hard not to when her dragon is right outside.” Saera countered and looked at him like he was an idiot.

“The dragon could have been anyone else's mount.” Daemon sparred back.

“Even in Essos, tales of the yellow dragon spread. I think hers was the first cradle hatching since my own parents, not that anyone cared to put eggs in our craddles.”

“Which makes sense as her egg was brought forth by Silverwing.” Daemon tilted his head and accepted the many trays that servants and slaves alike were bringing, ignoring the last part.

Briefly glancing at the metal collar around the slave’s neck, Daemon couldn’t fault Rhaenyra for not trying to hide her distaste at the practice.

Saera eyed him. “One battle at a time, princeling. I am no more comfortable with the slaves than you are. But choose your battles and choose them at the right time.” She cautioned him which Daemon thought not only surprising but a tad hypocritical.

“Either accounts and tales were grossly wrong, or you changed a lot since you ran from Westeros.” Daemon thought out loud.

“Since I was eight and ten? You are so kind.” Sarcasm rolled easily through her tongue as she sipped the wine served.

Daemon smirked again, this time more genuinely. The acerbic reply was not one he was used to get, aside from Rhaenyra and Rhaenys that was. Daemon was also slightly if unenthusiastically impressed. Rhaenyra, still young and inexperienced would have been steaming at the words, "ran from Westeros". The implication that she ran from anything, that she was not the lady of her own decisions, although it would be a guess and dependent on her mood whether she would voice any of it. Rhaenys would probably feel angered even if she did not say anything, gritting her teeth and probably fantasizing about plunging a dagger in his nearest body part. Saera, on the other hand, completely ignored it. Daemon did not know her enough to say if it was avoidance or simply acceptance of actions that she once took. If it was the later, Daemon thought that maybe Saera would be a positive influence on Rhaenyra.

He almost choked on his own tongue at that thought. The infamous Saera Targaryen being considered a good anything for Rhaenyra Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne. Viserys would have his tongue if he ever dreamed that Daemon thought so… or at least Viserys would yell and kick him. Daemon briefly wondered if he could make it so that he was present for Viserys to be introduced to Saera… and Vaegon.

Speaking of which, Daemon shrugged at Saera’s comment. “Perhaps not exactly what we expected but decades later Vaegon seems true enough to his character.”

And Daemon smiled happily as Saera choked on her wine.

Chapter Text

(Third POV)

Rhaenyra arrived just in time to see Saera sputtering wine all over her light purple dress. She blinked at the scene as Daemon merrily put… was that cheese? Into his mouth as he watched.

“Good morrow.” She started and was rewarded by a brilliant smile from Daemon that Rhaenyra found herself responding to if less openly.

Daemon was always in a good mood after provoking people. Rhaenyra made her way over and started to pick at the trays artfully displayed on some of the small tables.

“Good morrow, Princess. Did you sleep well?” Daemon eyed the airy dress of Volantene style that Rhaenyra was currently wearing.

Due to the weather, Volantene women wore a lot less than Westerosi ones. The deep necklines and bare arms and sheer fabrics looked stunning on Rhaenyra. And Daemon could only find himself thanking their host for making them available to Rhaenyra.

“Yes, thank you. You must be Princess Saera.” Rhaenyra turned to look at the woman who was daintily cleaning her lips, lips that were painted a deep purple.

“I have not been addressed as such in decades, ‘Saera’ will suffice. And you’re Princess Rhaenyra. Shall I bow to the heir of the Iron Throne?” Saera acted as if she did not almost die from her wine reaching her lungs.

Saera paid no mind to the still wet stains on her dress or the fact that the lack of air as she choked made her pale skin a deep red. Instead, she went back to calmly sip from the same goblet whose content was running down her chin not a moment earlier.

Raising an eyebrow, Rhaenyra sat down beside Daemon who made no move to retract his arm from behind her, resting on the back of the seat. Saera eyed the whole thing silently.

“I am not sure how much Daemon has told you.” Rhaenyra started, ignoring Saera’s rhetoric question.

“Only that you are in contact with Vaegon. Why is the dusty book fanatic so interesting to you and yours?” Saera’s periwinkle eyes narrowed.

Rhaenyra took her time with the pastries and cheeses displayed. Their taste was heavier and creamier than what she was used to, and she mourned the fact that Volantis is a bit too far to have regular stocks of it for commerce with either Westeros or Dragonstone.

“How much do you know about what is happening in Westeros?” Rhaenyra answered with a question of her own.

Saera sighed and rolled her eyes. “I do make it somewhat of a point to be aware of the major events, especially if they can impact me, but idle gossip of court did not interest me when I was your age and wangling jewelry, horses and dresses from Jaehaerys.”

Both Rhaenyra and Daemon were a bit taken back but not wholly surprised that Saera called her father by his given name.

“Did the fact that your nephew married Otto Hightower’s daughter make it to your ears?”

Saera’s smile was too sharp, too pulled to truly be called a smile. “The man that replaced Baelon as Hand of the King now managed to marry his daughter to the King.” She snorted.

“I will assume by your lack of surprise that it did then.”

“My only surprise is that little Viserys who seems to be so eager to emulate King Jaehaerys the Conciliator, including his distaste for Maegor, seems to not care for the fact that he is the only other king with a Hightower bride.”

It was… an interesting point to be made. Rhaenyra conceded internally. “In all fairness, during Maegor’s reign, the Hightowers refused to heed his orders when Rhaena betrayed him… I use the words ‘reign’ and ‘betrayed’ very lightly.” She added.

But Saera rolled her eyes. “You know it, I know it, the realm knows it. But why focus on that part when Ceryse remained loyal to Maegor until the last of her days?”

Rhaenyra accepted the rebuke even if she thought that keeping in mind the counterarguments that one can receive was not a worthless endeavor. “Regardless, you are also aware that King Viserys made me his heir.”

Saera plucked a grape, threw it in the air and it landed squarely in her mouth, “I laughed like I haven’t in years. And I was also not very surprised when he remarried, although his choice made me pause, admittedly.” She sighed before periwinkle eyes landed on theirs. “I can’t decide whether Viserys is just an idiot or hates you… both.”

Rhaenyra winced but she was unsurprised to see Daemon having to control his temper. As far as insults went, they have heard much worse from Jeyne and maybe the fact that it was Jeyne’s own aunt that ended up as Viserys’ victim made Daemon stay his hand with her, Saera may be their aunt, but… it was different. There was no emotional connection there, no reason to measure themselves just because it might negatively impact her or her feelings. Much like Vaegon, Rhaenyra supposed.

Truth be told, the last remaining children of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne were very probably the farthest, not only to their own parents, but to House Targaryen as a whole. Half of it seemed to be on purpose and from both sides, parents, and children. Which was… sad.

“He thinks he loves us.” Rhaenyra settled for. “Whatever passes through his mind at any given moment, I can only guess. But over the years the one constant I have noticed is that my father values the council of Otto Hightower more than anyone else's.”

Saera sighed tiredly but agreed. “I also can’t say what Jaehaerys was thinking when he named that man Hand. Whatever the case may be, your father seems determined to follow Jaehaerys’ footsteps which does include Otto Hightower as Hand. If you think about it through that perspective, it does make some amount of sense. It doesn’t make it right or smart, but it does make sense.”

Rhaenyra nodded. It was merely a question of putting into words what she had long since noticed.

“He was not prepared to rule.” Daemon finally spoke up, a little quieter than Rhaenyra was used from him. More solemnly as well. “Our father received the same education as Aemon and for the next eight years that he was heir, he was taught by Jaehaerys, and he was made Hand as well, the same should have been done for Viserys but it wasn’t. I do not know why, but it happened. Rhaenys learned at the knee of Jaehaerys and Alysanne until her own father died, and yet Viserys had the crown thrown on his lap with basically no formal training whatsoever.”

“That excuse only gets Viserys so far,” Saera was clearly unimpressed, and it was something of note how this woman could make one feel chastised when wearing a wine-stained dress, “for it has been more than a decade. Hightower is Hand of the King, not the king himself… despite rumors.”

“Rumors that reached even Essos?” Rhaenyra frowned a little worriedly.

“Gossip,” Saera waved her hand dismissively, “still, it does not bode well when a king favors so damn much a single House. Most dismiss the Targaryen’s frequent intermarriage with the Velaryons for we are the two of the three last Valyrian Houses left. They will probably think nothing of it if we start the same with the Celtigars, but to erase us and ours so thoroughly for Andals… well… people talk, especially here in Volantis where the Old Blood is so praised.”

Daemon seemed almost vindicated, but Rhaenyra was honestly just annoyed. It was not so much directed at Saera as it was towards Daemon.

“My mother was half-Andal.” Rhaenyra uttered apropos of nothing.

When Daemon pinched his lips, Rhaenyra glared at him as if she could jump towards his throat. When he saw it, Daemon sighed.

“I doubt you want my thoughts on this, Princess.”

“Whenever has that ever stopped you?” Rhaenyra deadpanned.

“Very well… the great majority of it, is no fault of Aemma’s, I fully admit it… Daella was no example of strength to begin with, she never claimed a dragon, and to be perfectly honest, the tales about her fear of kittens are not encouraging and do not lead me to believe she even could had she tried. Aemma seemed, for the most part, to take after her own mother.”

“My mother never had time to herself, always bleeding and full of dead babies for us to even know if she had the fortitude that you find lacking in her.” Rhaenyra argued.

And Daemon didn’t disagree. “And that is a tragedy and, as I said, the great majority of it, is no fault of Aemma’s.” he repeated.

“But that has nothing to do with being Andal.” Rhaenyra pointed out.

Saera cleared her throat, not quite uncomfortable in seeing the family dispute but not wanting to waste time either. “There may be a slight miscommunication… not to mention a poor choice of words here. When I mentioned Andals, I meant their religion, costumes, and beliefs completely overrunning ours, although here in Volantis, it does mean the blood. Although diluting our blood, the very thing, the only thing that allows us to bond and ride dragons cannot be considered smart. I do not know either of you all that well, however, so perhaps Daemon does believe that your mother had worthless blood coursing through her veins.”

Daemon just knew that this was revenge for the way he revealed their contact with Vaegon. Quite the disproportional revenge, but Daemon could appreciate the devastation of the blow. Quickly, Daemon turned to Rhaenyra.

“My mother was never allowed to do or be anything. She was truly a royal womb, as quickly forgotten by her own husband as any other broodmare.” It was said blandly, no inflection. Facts.

Daemon winced. “I know what I said… what I have been saying all these years. And to be honest? I stand by it. It is like Saera said: to have children with any other is to dilute the very thing that allowed us to be kings. I was fond of Aemma, I was,” he insisted when Rhaenyra rolled her eyes but didn’t dare to commit to more, for once it would be a lie, and for another, Rhaenyra herself was aware of his lack of relationship with Aemma, “and there are plenty of other reasons why Aemma didn’t claim a dragon and she could, for she was still a grandchild of Jaehaerys and Alysanne, a daughter of a Princess of the Blood, my belief that we should not mingle with Andals does not mean that I am unable to be fond of her.”

Rhaenyra gritted her teeth to try not to yell. “And yet, it never occurred to you, in all these years, how your words could be taken? You can claim that the opinions of sheep are mere wind until you are completely breathless, but those sheep trampled on my mother day after day for her inability to bring forth a son and even the King’s brother spouts how the birth House of the Queen has dirty blood. At the very least no one will bat an eye for your disapproval of the King’s new wife even if she wasn’t the daughter of the man that you so despise.”

Daemon blinked at her words, as if he had never considered them before. And Rhaenyra wanted to throw something at his very face. Preferably something that would shatter on impact. Daemon’s words and comments through the years have offended Rhaenyra more often and more deeply than she could ever put into words. Much to her absolute shame, Rhaenyra was often so happy and elated that Daemon was back in the Red Keep that she barely put up much of a protest as he constantly derided Otto Hightower and Andals and their practices and Rhea Royce and Valewomen as if Aemma Arryn did not hail from an Andal House of the Vale, half-Targaryen or not.

Rhaenyra didn’t even notice that she snarled until she saw Saera’s eyebrows jumping up at the sound.

Saera and Daemon watched as Rhaenyra made her way back upstairs.

Saera sighed and reached for another piece of cheese. “If you ever had plans to fuck that girl, I am not quite sure if it will be as easy as it was mere minutes ago.” Daemon glared at her with enough intensity that Saera’s eyebrows raised again. “Sorry for the… lack of candor I suppose but if I understood… all that was said here, you brought this on yourself.”

“Aemma was Daella Targaryen’s daughter, Jaehaerys and Alysanne Targaryen’s granddaughter, my own cousin. She was blood.” Daemon repeated.

“… the same can be said of any child your brother shoves inside the Hightower girl.” Saera calmly noted.

“It is different.”

Saera rolled her eyes at the nonsense. “Why?” She asked instead of mocking the statement.

“Aemma was not planning to usurp the throne with a new child of hers, for hers should have been the only children around. Rodrik Arryn was loyal to House Targaryen, treated a Targaryen Princess as he ought to, never asked for a dragon or even an egg for he understood the politics and his place in them. Even further, he never even considered that a dragon could be part of the bargain of marrying Daella and also understood that Aemma was going to end up marrying back into the family for we wouldn’t allow anyone with Targaryen blood to remain without the Targaryen name.”

“You don’t have to say all that to me, unlike you, I was there to witness it all. Sure, I was only three and ten but still… more than old enough to understand what was happening around me.”

When Daemon only pursed his lips, the first drops of pity made their way into Saera’s heart. She sighed again and put the strawberry she was about to eat back down.

“I have known you for less than an hour and I can already say that the only thing bigger than your arrogance is your pride. But you seem to care for the little one that is rightly enraged at you, so… just maybe you can admit to her that you made a mistake. That you didn’t make things any easier for Queen Aemma, that you are sorry for hurting her… and the “her” I’m referring to is Aemma… just to make it clear.” She added eyeing Daemon who bristled at her.

“I am not simple.”

“Are you sure? You disparaged Andals and their inferiority with no thought of how those words would impact your own cousin and how others would perceive her supposed many failures.” And while it was clear that Saera was mocking Westerosi belief that childbirth was a woman’s only worthwhile achievement, she was not done. “Despite your fondness for her.” she finished with a smirk full of disdain.

Daemon’s eyes held a glint that Saera recognized. Periwinkle eyes narrowed at her nephew, and she braced herself.

“The King gives more and more power to his Hand and the Hand’s family. As response, we are hoarding ours as well, dragons and eggs are mostly in Dragonstone already, for the most part safely out of the cunt’s reach. This was Rhaenyra’s idea, this is why we are here: Vaegon claimed Grey Ghost, he renamed him a sennight ago, we want you to claim a dragon as well.”

Daemon didn’t wait to see Saera’s reaction before making his way up, towards Rhaenyra.

Saera’s jaw was slack, her eyes so wide, she could feel the breeze drying them. Blinking rapidly, she slouched back in the ridiculously big cushions, and unwillingly, a slightly hysterical laugh escaped her.

“Fucking hells.”

~*~

Daemon didn’t bother to knock. He simply slammed the heavy doors open. If he was any mood to notice, he would have been impressed how Rhaenyra didn’t even jump at the sound, she didn’t even react in any way, still carefully detangling her hair from the braid she slept in.

“Please… do come in.” Came the sarcastic if bland admonishment.

Daemon ignored it. “I am sorry.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened and she slowly turned towards him. Not even bothering to hide the fact that Daemon rendered her speechless. In other circumstances, Daemon would have many jokes at her expense.

“For barging in?” Rhaenyra did not want to make it easy.

Daemon took in a deep breath. Brat. “I did not think.”

“Do you ever?”

“Could you not?” Daemon gritted.

“Why should I?” Rhaenyra challenged.

“Brat.” This time Daemon didn’t bother to keep it just in his thoughts.

“Brat?!” Rhaenyra stood up from the vanity. “For defending my mother, a dead woman who was basically tortured during her entire life?”

Daemon closed his eyes at the words but… “You mean… ‘finally’ defending your mother. If this, all of this,” he motioned around, “is about your mother, then I will say my piece and stay silent through whatever you want to lay at my feet—”

“Of course, that this is about my mother!” Rhaenyra stared at him, completely incredulous.

Daemon continued as if he was not interrupted, “But if this is about the guilt you feel for only speaking up now that it is too late, I am not a convenient if justifiable, I admit, target for you to dispense your anger at.”

That made Rhaenyra fall silent. A bitter taste spreading on her tongue at the truth facing her. Daemon nodded as if he heard her acquiesce and sometimes Rhaenyra hated so much that he knew her so well, sometimes better than she knew herself.

“I am sorry.” He repeated, not quite softly, but then again, he hardly ever was. “I am sorry that I did not think how my actions would affect anyone but Viserys. I wanted to hit his weak spots, I wanted to be right no matter my arguments, I wanted to get rid of Otto and his ilk, and I did not… think.” Daemon snorted in amusement which made Rhaenyra scowl at him. “This is… I’m not laughing at… at this. Saera advised me to say that I was sorry for hurting Aemma. And I am, I truly am sorry that I hurt her. But I am sorrier that I hurt you and I am not going to apologize for that, Rhaenyra. It is as it is.”

Honesty was the rarest currency in the realm. Rhaenyra knew that well, like she also knew that her mother had no chance to get to know either of her cousins in much of any capacity before she was wedded a one and ten. Eleven summers… Rhaenyra still shuddered sometimes thinking of it. When she was that age, she was happy about the rare and beautiful dolls her uncle brought her from Qohor and yet Aemma Arryn was wedded and, mere two years later, bedded and, not long after, expecting her first dead child. How could Rhaenyra not defend her memory?

“You lived with her for nine sun turns,” Rhaenyra started quietly, “before you were married, and contact was scarce.”

“Not even you managed to spend all that much time with Aemma, Rhaenyra. And for the same reasons.” Daemon took her hand in his to try and soften his words.

“Likewise, I will not apologize for my words.”

“You were in the right.” Daemon agreed.

Rhaenyra sighed. “Daemon… I don’t know if you ever noticed that but… you constantly do so.”

“Do what?”

“In trying to hurt, hit and target my father in any way you can, you often disregard how your attacks can affect others. You did so with my mother, and you did it with me and I don’t think I am wrong in believing this could happen again.”

Daemon squeezed her hand unconsciously. “When have I—”

“You took Dragonstone over, declared your whore as its lady and stole an egg, the same egg chosen for my brother, my mother’s last attempt at birthing a son, for your supposed bastard.” Rhaenyra tried to keep all the accusation from her voice. And truth be told, she was not angry, not even annoyed, she was just tired.

“Rhaenyra, my intent was never to hurt you—”

“It was to hurt my father. He just lost a son, and you seemly gained one. He just named me heir, and you took the heir’s seat.” Rhaenyra said blandly. She did not take her hand away from his but used her other one to rub her aching temple.

Daemon almost couldn’t stop himself from wincing. And he also couldn’t deny the words, but Rhaenyra was shrugging before he could decide on what to even say.

“I understood it. I was almost not even surprised. My father slights you and you retaliate, and both think the other is in the wrong without even pausing to think it through, it has been so since I can remember, but…” Rhaenyra trailed off, not sure whether she even said too much.

“But…?” Daemon prompted.

Rhaenyra swallowed a bit, “But now I am the one fighting him, or at least I’m trying not to face the consequences of his actions. I am not asking for you to be against your own brother, I am asking… I am asking for your help.”

“You already have it. I have not attended that sham of a wedding… I am not here because I was bored.” He argued.

“Your help is not something I can take for granted.” Rhaenyra grimaced at the words, but she did not take them back.

“Excuse me?” Daemon leveled a stare at her.

Rhaenyra sighed. “I’m not my father. My father just… assumes he will have your support because you never wavered in it. Maybe it is subconscious… how he does it. Or maybe he doesn’t even think about your support at all. Whatever the case, not even once my father had to ask for your help, you proactively just… did it, just gave it to him before he could even consider the fact that he needs it… if he ever reasons out by himself that he needs it at all. Daemon… I am asking, if not for the same, then for you to think how something will affect me before you do something… at least… at least for the next few years.”

Anger was easy. So was the indignation and frustration. What had Daemon done except try and strengthen their damn claim ever since Baelon “The Brave” Targaryen was named heir? Slighting Rhaenys, a much beloved cousin with whom he had a much better relationship than Daemon remembers one day ever having with Viserys, raising an army that could match the Velaryon ships – no easy feat even back then – which in turn put a strain in the otherwise easy rapport he had with Corlys and not even once Daemon had even thought about asking for anything in return.

And he could have had, he had realized too late then. Daemon could have easily bargained his support in exchange for the position of Hand, for the annulment of his marriage, and yet such had never even crossed his mind, so focused he was in defending his brother.

Viserys had not even thanked him, even if, at least back then, he did not look surprised at the lengths Daemon went to help. Whether that means Viserys just took it as his due or did not even notice the efforts, Daemon sometimes did not want to know. Viserys also was not expecting Daemon’s request of an annulment once he was king, a possibility that only occurred to Daemon once the crown was resting upon his brother’s brow. But wasn’t that exactly what Rhaenyra was trying to say? He had done all he could and more… for Viserys.

During the succession crisis that resulted in the Great Council of 101, Daemon knew with certainty that his relationship with Rhaenys may never be the same again. This was no small disagreement that a few moments of praise or her favorite sweet delivered in a flowery manner would fix. It was the Iron Throne, it was history itself being written by them. It was a birthright, and it was a threat of war. A family being torn apart, sides being taken where before there was one single unity.

Daemon understood it and he was horrified to learn that apparently Viserys did not think about any such a thing. For Viserys, it was merely a wish, mayhap calling it a whim was not kind nor fair to him, but the throne held none of the importance Rhaenys always put in it for him. And so, Viserys merely went back to his merry way, talking to their cousin as if nothing happened, as if all was well now that the lords of the realm have chosen their new monarch and so now it was time for the family to have dinners together once more. For once, Daemon had no idea what to even say to Viserys… years passed, and he still did not know what to say.

Daemon had sacrificed a great deal of his relationship with Rhaenys so Viserys could have the crown. And now… Daemon shuddered at the thought that maybe he was treating the rest of what little remained from his family… like Viserys had treated him. That described his relationship with Aemma, and especially Rhaenyra too accurately, too horrifyingly accurately. Taking their kindness and always warm welcomes for granted, taking them for granted.

Perhaps it was a slightly better than his own situation with Viserys, and there was hope yet, but Daemon did not see how that was worth of any praise. For Daemon was aware that he would always be able to count on Rhaenyra, he will always have her support… but Rhaenyra had come to understand that she did not have his. Not after Dragonstone. Not after Baelon’s egg and Mysaria. Hells, perhaps not after all those years of what Daemon did to Aemma, indirectly or not.

Heart in a painful grip, Daemon barely managed to speak clearly. “You are not me.”

“What does that mean?” Rhaenyra frowned.

Daemon tried to clear his thoughts. “I will not allow it… for you to become me.”

“A Rogue Princess?” Rhaenyra tried to joke, but it was clear that she was confused.

But Daemon took her other hand as well and made sure that her eyes were on his. “You are valuable and if I failed to properly show how much, it is a fault of mine, not yours. I know you, Rhaenyra. You are one spoiled brat that honestly spends a little too much time in front of a mirror. But you also never get tired of books no matter what mind-numbing Faith rubbish they spat, what dry fact of history they try to teach you, what a bore of accounting books of your coffers they are. You happily agreed to be your father’s cupbearer despite thinking it is as far from an “honor” as it can be because it meant more time with your father. You sacrificed time with Syrax so you could be with your mother, even when she was too tired to properly give you any attention. You are stubborn and have a temper from all the hells, but determination is something you will never lack. You became fluent in High Valyrian despite the very few opportunities we had for you to practice, and you became a dragonrider at the age of seven. You are the very best of our House.” He repeated the words he had said not so long ago.

To Rhaenyra’s horror, she could feel her eyes burning, tears sometimes streaming down her face despite her best efforts. “Uncle… what are you…” but she had no words to finish her question.

There was a strange sensation of being stabbed… but that also felt like relief that Daemon’s words invoked. And Rhaenyra had no way to fight its effects.

“And I can see something happened. I do not know whether it was Aemma, or the Highwhore or your father or me or all of it together and despite disagreeing with some of your actions as of late, I am happy waiting for you to explain or if that never happens, I trust your judgement… because I know you, and you deserve the benefit of the doubt.”

Rhaenyra didn’t know whether some of it wasn’t Daemon projecting his own experiences. Because now she understood what he meant when saying he “would not let her become him”. All of it was probably what Daemon himself wished to hear from Viserys and yet… it was honest as well. And Rhaenyra understood what he was doing, what he was saying. I see you. You are more than just Princess Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra Targaryen is more than the Princess of Dragonstone, the heir to the Iron Throne and you are worthy.

She still had no words. No words on how to thank Daemon because nothing will ever describe how much that meant to her. Rhaenyra let out a wet chuckle.

“I think that if you were half as eloquent with my father then maybe you would get more out of him.”

“Please don’t mention my brother right now.” And simple as that, Rhaenyra’s heart lifted. Daemon’s priority was not Viserys, at least not in that moment.

“I thought how to properly defend his weaknesses was constantly in your mind.” Rhaenyra teased while drying her tears as fast as she could.

“For one… I have no desire to do this while thinking of him.”

“Do what—” Rhaenyra moaned in surprise as Daemon’s lips met hers.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Lips slowly responding, Rhaenyra kissed Daemon back. Her hands shook as Rhaenyra carefully raised them to rest at the nape of Daemon’s neck. Fingers stroked the silvery strands which made Daemon shudder against her mouth and kiss her more insistently. Daemon was still holding her hands in his and perhaps Rhaenyra should have expected how he pulled them around his waist, forcing her to hug him, chests colliding from the force. He held her against him, and Rhaenyra could do naught but drown in the sensations.

Daemon stood up, never disconnecting his lips from hers. His grip tightened and there was not an inch where they didn’t touch. Rhaenyra clutched at the back of his light doublet, the climate also having forced him to wear thinner fabrics and thus she could feel every muscle moving under her hands.

Rhaenyra could keep kissing Daemon for the rest of the entire day and through the night. However, Daemon’s tongue massaging her own and the feeling of the thin straps of her dress being undone snapped Rhaenyra out of the daze she had sunk into. Quickly ending the kiss with a gasp, she held her dress to her breasts. The style, despite being more revealing than anything Rhaenyra has even seen, was loose on the body, the straps around her neck being undone would mean the dress quickly making its way to the floor if not for her hand. Rhaenyra put her other hand on Daemon’s chest to stop him as he tried to kiss her again.

“One moment now.” Rhaenyra managed to speak, breathlessly.

Daemon gave her the requested pause but not even for a second put any more distance between them. His arms were still around her, their waists touching if not their chest thanks to Rhaenyra’s hand. Once he saw that she had managed to recover her breath, Daemon approached again, his intentions clear. Rhaenyra pressed more firmly against his chest.

“I…” her thoughts were swirling but Rhaenyra knew she had to stop.

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened as felt the hardness between their bodies and the haze that covered Daemon’s amethyst eyes. And yet… there was… nothing. Rhaenyra did not feel particularly uncomfortable being undressed by Daemon, and it felt soothing and enjoyable to join their lips, moving them on each other and tasting Daemon on her tongue. But there was… nothing.

In those Dreams of what could have been, she watched herself initiate contact, making her own advances. Truly, the only times men did so were Daemon himself in that brothel, Criston Cole, when he forgot himself and Ser Harwin. Criston did not need much from Rhaenyra to fall on her bed and Ser Harwin’s eyes had followed her since the hunt in Aegon’s second name day. Daemon was the one man that Rhaenyra had put any sort of effort and the only one she could remember wanting. And also, the only one that did very little to actually be with her.

For the stupidly pathetic attempt that Criston Cole made in running away with her, for all that Rhaenyra was fairly certain that he had a very mistaken image of her in his mind’s eye and for all that Rhaenyra had a feeling that the only reason he asked her to run with him was to make himself honorable for his own conscience once more… he made the effort. Harwin Strong was the steady presence that Rhaenyra never knew she needed, dependable and always there for her, never overreaching, never asking for more. Their stolen moments always cherished, Harwin was content to share but a fraction of their sons’ lives and of Rhaenyra herself, despite Rhaenyra knowing that the situation was very likely tearing him apart from the inside out.

On the other hand, Daemon took her to a brothel to be ruined, all to get back at her father, or maybe to ensure that no other man would have her, likely both. Her words were never truer than in that night. In trying to hurt, hit and target my father in any way you can, you often disregard how your attacks can affect others. Rhaenyra was not quite sure why, exactly, he stopped. Possibly a combination of a sudden surge of guilt, loss of control and realization that he felt more for her than he had first realized before concocting his little plan.

Whatever the case may be, Rhaenyra could not find it in herself to sympathize when Daemon was threatened with the Conqueror’s blade itself midst a hangover, asking her father for her hand or not. Weeks later, he came uninvited to Rhaenyra’s wedding and left just as suddenly as he arrived… this time taking Laena with him.

It was an eerie comparison to when he took Mysaria with him, but it hurt more. Laena Velaryon was no whore from Lys that sold her body in the Street of Silk. She was the daughter of one of the richest Lords of Westeros and a Princess of the Blood, not to mention the rider of the largest dragon the Known World could boast of, the last of the Conquerors’ dragons even, the Queen of Dragons, Vhagar. Ten years later and once again Rhaenyra had to cross distances, make herself vulnerable in order to be with Daemon as she had always wanted to. Because despite Criston and Harwin’s advances and efforts that anyone would compare to Daemon’s own lack of… for Rhaenyra there was no comparison.

Rhaenyra was relentless and passionate in those Dreams, she knew herself enough to see how she was burning from desire… and she felt nothing of the sort right in that moment. She pushed at Daemon’s chest a little more firmly. Cursing at herself for planning this so poorly. While Rhaenyra had the idea of making Daemon realize that he saw her as more than just his niece, she had failed to predict that he would want more as well.

“What is it?” Daemon asked, one of his hands leaving her waist to thumb at her own, the one that was holding her dress up. His other arm still holding her tightly to him.

Rhaenyra swallowed with some difficulty before coming to a decision. “I have two things to tell you… and one question to make.”

“Right now?” Daemon tried to tug her hand away from her chest, not minding the one on his.

Ignoring his attempts, Rhaenyra went on, “What, exactly, do you want from me?”

That made Daemon pause in his pursuit. “Excuse me?”

“I have heard of your exploits in the Street of Silk since I can remember, despite only understanding what it meant at a later date… but Daemon, I’m not quite… ready to be bedded.” Although readiness was not the right word to describe Rhaenyra’s feelings, to say that she knew she would not enjoy herself this time would only see Daemon doubling his efforts.

Frowning and with his lips pursed, Daemon took a slight step back. His arms still holding her to him. Rhaenyra was honestly counting herself lucky that he had yet to outright leave.

“If that is so, then you know what I want.”

Although the small distance made it so Rhaenyra could no longer feel his excitement against her own waist, she knew that was she to look down, she would certainly see it.

One last time. Rhaenyra promised herself with a deep breath. “I meant in the long term. If all you wish for is a night… or day as it is,” she took half a second to see through the window, clear skies and the sun of Volantis made for quite the glare, “then… then maybe another… occasion.” It wasn’t like Rhaenyra would be opposed to have some of the experiences she watched herself having.

Daemon’s frown only grew more pronounced. “Was that one of the things you wished to tell me?”

“No,” Rhaenyra answered promptly, “if you wish for something more, if you wish for something in the future, then I must point out that you are still married and… the two things I need to tell you… three things actually.”

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, and chose to trust Daemon.

~*~

(Third POV)

Saera watched with some interest as her nephew took his sword, she could recognize Dark Sister, and left for the yard where the guards looked surprised at the new company. Soon enough, the sound of fighting could be heard.

Light footsteps got her attention as her grandniece came back to the hall.

“Are you calmer?” Saera asked, just a little mockingly.

But Rhaenyra, despite somewhat sharing Daella’s small stature, proved to have a stronger spine for there was not much one could tell from her expression. “Quite.”

Saera eyed the rumpled dress, and the messy half-undone braids. Both were elegant and tidy… before. Rhaenyra’s lips were swollen as well, she half expected for her eyes to also be so for the way Daemon stormed away, but they were not. Saera smirked but did not comment.

Saera took the time to properly look at her. Long since used to accessing threats, Saera had first thought that to be only Daemon Targaryen, the infamous Rogue Prince. Tall and imposing, the sword strapped to his belt seemed to not be ceremonial either by the sounds of sparring taking place.

And yet there was something intense in Rhaenyra’s lilac eyes. Rhaenyra was a short girl, taller than Saera could remember Daella being, however. While Rhaenyra’s grandmother was more than half a head shorter than Saera, Rhaenyra could boast of a greater height. Her body had more muscle too, probably because of dragonriding. And while Daella was pretty, she was not often called beautiful, something that easily described her granddaughter. Whereas Daella had soft features that would often twist into distress and be wet in tears, Rhaenyra had sharper traits, big doe eyes would stare ahead, challenging despite the fact that Saera could see she was pretty tired.

“You two talked for quite a while,” Saera pointed out, “anything engaging?”

If Saera was hopping for some reaction, she was a bit disappointed when all Rhaenyra did was raise an eyebrow. There was some annoyance, Saera was amused to notice, though.

“Merely wondering about your own decision. I trust that, since it’s been quite a while, you gave some thought to our proposition.”

Saera raised an impressed eyebrow. Altogether, not an incompetent way to turn the conversation back to her. She leaned forward, giving a scandalous view of her breasts thanks to the extremely low neck of the dress, in a slouch that no royal, no noble would ever be caught dead making. Rhaenyra gave no reaction to any of it.

“What is it that you intend I do with a dragon?”

“At best, keep it away from the Hightowers, at worst… rain fire and blood.” Rhaenyra answered with no hint of hesitation. Her chin raised high.

Saera chuckled to hide her shock. Arrogant brat. “Why should I help?” She challenged.

“Besides the dragon being offered that is?” Rhaenyra mocked right back.

Saera shrugged. “I am three and forty and spent just as many years walking on land instead of flying in the skies.”

Rhaenyra did not know Saera enough to see the well-hidden feelings behind the words.

“You have no reason to help.” Rhaenyra admitted.

Once again Saera had to hide her shock, this time behind a piece of cheese and bread. “Oh?”

“Appealing to sisterhood as we are both women being wronged by men will probably wield no results and perhaps it is too much to assume that you care about Alysanne’s grandchildren, Daella’s granddaughter. After all, we are nieces and nephews that you, half of which you never met at all and whose connection to you are family members that you might have long since ceased to care for. And, by all accounts, you scarcely think about the Targaryen dynasty. You have no reason to help.” Rhaenyra repeated.

Saera smirked. “Indeed, not much, no.”

“Nevertheless, we ask for your help… I ask for your help.”

“You ask for a lot.” Saera pointed out. “Whether only my presence, or keeping a dragon out of the Hightower’s hands or as far as going to war in your name hardly matters, you are still asking for me to risk my life, whether the threat would come from shadows or by the means of scorpions.”

“No more than you have when stowing away in a ship to Essos.” Rhaenyra ardently wished to add that Saera’s life was also in a lot of danger when she played men’s sexual fantasies of deflowering a septa in what would be the start of her own business of pleasure.

“Freedom of the Starry Sept, of Westeros, and of Jaehaerys was to be my recompense.” Saera shot back.

Enough to risk your life? Rhaenyra bit her tongue in order to stay her words. Saera’s infamous trip to Essos was not something that would be out of place from one of Daemon’s exploits… when her uncle was six and ten. Rhaenyra had to forcibly remind herself that Saera was eight and ten when such a reckless endeavor was done. And reckless was indeed the only word fitting, "crazy" was also very apt. For Saera had not carefully planned her escape, gathered the right resources and spoken to the right people, she simply… knocked a septa unconscious and ran.

“Then think of such as a… an investment.” Rhaenyra changed tactics.

“How so?” This time Saera didn’t bother to hide her surprise.

“Expand your business ventures to Westeros.” Rhaenyra suggested.

Saera felt an amused smile spreading across her face. “You wish for me to open brothels in Westeros?”

Rhaenyra blinked at her words. She had not thought of such for a few reasons but, “I intend to secure Dragonstone for myself. My father is easily led by sentiment, especially guilt, and so it will be easy enough to make the keep my own. However, Dragonstone has long been dependent on King’s Landing, for funding, food, all kinds of export. Since the Conquerors themselves, Dragonstone no longer has income of its own, at least no considerable income. I want to change that and for that, I need your help.” Rhaenyra suppressed the urge to bite her lips and fisted her hands in order not to roll her rings, “I do not know whether it was education you received as a princess, but your knowledge in enterprises, especially starting them, would be valuable.”

“In exchange I would be able to… expand, as you said.” Saera’s tone was mocking, but her face was thoughtful.

“At his point, Volantis has already offered all it could to you, Westeros has yet to do the same.”

Rhaenyra had already flattered, beseeched and almost outright bribed. She was unwilling to concede more ground without some return. And so, Rhaenyra bit her tongue once more to stop the rain of arguments from coming.

Saera’s eyes were still sharp and too interested for the words that followed, “I am not quite sure if more coin is enough incentive for me to risk my life.”

Which was just, but Rhaenyra had already said as much. “As I admitted… twice… you have no reason to help.”

Against everything that was telling Rhaenyra to keep pressing, to keep trying to secure an alliance with Saera, she fell silent. Rhaenyra was very, very tired. The clash of metal against metal the only lullaby she needed. Rhaenyra did not fall asleep, but it lulled her mind into resting.

~*~

“I started to think that you were trying to find a way to dent Valyrian steel.” Saera commented without looking up from a tome that she found Trianna’s castle.

Although Saera’s eyes had narrowed a bit as Rhaenyra stared at nothing and seemed to, if Saera didn’t know any better, fall asleep with her eyes open, Saera was content enough to wait around for Daemon to tire himself to have a civilized enough conversation.

Sweating and panting, Daemon ignored his aunt in favor of making his way towards Rhaenyra whose eyes sharpened from their previously contemplative state. Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow in question to which Daemon merely nodded. Even Saera, who did not know either of them, could say that he was in a better mood than before. Whatever piece of conversation that Saera was missing to understand what Rhaenyra was asking, Daemon’s answer was enough to make Rhaenyra’s shoulders relax.

That was almost adorable. Saera smirked despite herself.

“Out of curiosity, but is this whole drama about star crossed lovers… a knight in a shining armor, a prince saving a princess?”

But that made fire almost incandesce in lilac eyes, Rhaenyra turned in a fury towards her aunt. “I am no damsel in distress,” she almost hissed, “I don’t need saving. What I need is support. That is the whole point, why I’m here at all. I can sprout reason and arguments at your face until I am breathless and exhausted, I already did, so how about this… rub it in your father’s face… claim the dragon you were denied, show Jaehaerys Targaryen all that you are, even if he is dead… or are you truly saying ‘no’ to a dragon?”

And Saera finally smiled. A brilliant, proud smile that transformed her face. And, in that moment, Rhaenyra understood the tales of Saera’s youth and how King Jaehaerys could rarely deny his daughter her wishes.

“Now this is fire and blood.”

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra enjoyed feasts and celebrations, she always had, even recently when they started to lose their shine. But just the thought of having to dress herself, pretend to mingle and be a gracious guest filled her with exhaustion.

Not to mention all the time that it would be required to spend with Lady Trianna herself. In other circumstances, Rhaenyra would have enjoyed the other woman’s company. She was sharp, intelligent and had keen instincts, it was little wonder she has been elected twice already, on her way to a third one as one of the leaders of Volantis. Nevertheless, Rhaenyra’s entire energy was spent in convincing Saera to help them and now she was relying on Daemon to ingratiate them towards the Volantene which was also unhelpful as their conversation was still clearly weighting on his mind.

Still, he had more practice than Rhaenyra. Soon enough, Daemon was showing guests and hosts alike a charming smile, the same one that Rhaenyra was trained and taught to show. Most likely the same one most nobles everywhere were trained to show, and yet it still fooled all that saw it. Rhaenyra never pretended to understand how that could be. The Valyrian spoken, a different version than Rhaenyra was taught at Daemon’s knees as a child, sometimes made communication difficult as well and it certainly grew harder for Daemon to ignore it for too long.

“I must ask, how is it that some, like yourself, Lady Trianna, can speak High Valyrian in its purest form and yet some of the Volantene…” Daemon trailed off, his voice genial and courteous.

Lady Trianna smirked in amusement, “Ah, the difference in blood,” there was some arrogance in her words despite her tone betraying none of it, “some of us left our Valyrian blood speak for itself, ignoring all else that made us who and what we are. Some us, however, know that there is more than what was given to us upon birth.”

They understood the sentiment well enough. Daemon smiled and nodded before his eyes found her.

Rhaenyra was never shy about her body. When smallclothes changed and corsets were added, when heels started to make an appearance in her shoes and boots, Rhaenyra accepted it all, just like she did with the new looks she received from men and women alike. And yet it wasn’t until Daemon replaced his gifts of dolls and books with fabrics, necklaces and tiaras that Rhaenyra started to feel bashful. She wanted to know what Daemon thought when he looked at her wearing his gifts.

Daemon had already made it very clear his opinion on the airy and revealing dresses of Volantis, and how much of her pale skin they showed. His eyes still burned her, however and Rhaenyra found herself mourning the fact that Dragonstone’s climate didn’t really allow for the style, and King’s Landing… well, Westeros as a whole, did not allow for the style, although it had very little to do with climate.

“You look as beautiful as the full moon itself, Little Dragon.”

Rhaenyra blinked a little at Daemon’s attire. It was to be expected that he would also be gifted some Volantene clothes, however. Airy tunics that were equally as thin as her dresses, evidencing hard muscle underneath.

Rhaenyra smirked at him before addressing Trianna first, as politeness required. “Lady Trianna, please allow me to express my gratitude, not only for receiving us but for preparing this welcoming.”

Trianna was a too seasoned in the game to express her annoyance. Surely their arrival came with not only a lot of sociopolitical pressure but also the chance is great that their timing coincided with any of the many issues someone like Lady Trianna faces on a daily basis that would make their presence inopportune.

“It is an honor to receive dragonlords within these walls.”

All true enough, flattering while not even hinting at personal feelings and opinions. She was good in a casual way that Rhaenyra never saw herself being. Be it now, especially now, or even in those Dreams.

“The honor is ours for being welcomed within the Black Walls.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Lady Trianna excused herself. From the direction she was taking, Daemon and Rhaenyra knew they were about to be introduced to a few more dignitaries. They were subtle, but some small favors were exchanged.

"It is good to form some informal contacts, Princess." Daemon waved away the servant offering wine before turning to her and continuing in High Valyrian. "Perhaps the moon was too humble,” Daemon started almost distractedly, a smile playing at his lips, “certainly the moon would not be as ravishing.”

“And you look comfortable for a nap.” Rhaenyra teased back, a pleased blush spreading across her cheeks.

Indeed, the typical Volantene man’s tunic somewhat resembled Westerosi style of night shift… women’s night shift. Daemon merely smirked back.

The Volantene music was very unlike Westerosi, as was the dance. They moved much more, there didn’t even seem to have patterns or actual established style, the people just let their bodies move along the song. Some of it was a bit ridiculous in Rhaenyra’s opinion, some of it so complicated and daring that Rhaenyra didn’t think her body could even twist that way and some of it so beautiful and skillful that she ached to learn.

Rhaenyra saw as Saera twisted and twirled, stretching her long legs, kicking high and bending at the waist. Saera had no partner to guide her and yet that did not seem to interfere with her ability to demonstrate her skills. Looking much younger than her three and forty years of age, Saera held the attention of many in the crowd of guests. She was clearly known, many glanced at her with recognition and yet rarely there was contempt. Saera was the owner of a pleasure house who formerly whored herself and yet as she danced to the rhythm of the music, Rhaenyra was mesmerized and so were many others.

Westeros had a very rigid set of rules. Be it in conduct, religion, and even dancing. The steps were, while fluid and elegant, very fixed, no way to actually integrate one to another. There were specific dances for specific songs and men and women alike were judged for missing a determined move in a determined part.

Despite some toes being stepped on, despite some of it making them look like drunks, Rhaenyra saw that all were smiling. Cheeks flushed with wine and happiness as dancing partners twirled around.

“Shall we?” Daemon invited, his hand stretched towards her.

Rhaenyra smiled and took it despite warning him, “I have no idea how to dance… this.” She looked around.

“Neither do I.” Daemon joked.

They stumbled, Rhaenyra almost knocked Daemon over, and they both spilled the drink of some poor lady that was just passing by. Daemon stepped on the hem of her dress and Rhaenyra accidentally elbowed him on the back, neither really drank much of anything, riding on a high of simple happiness and yet neither could remember a time where they had more fun.

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

“I am not hungry.” Rhaenyra raised her hand at the servant carrying that morning’s meal.

“The travel back to Dragonstone will be a long one, less stops as well. Eat what you can.” Daemon advised.

He also frowned as he could not remember Rhaenyra eating much the day before either. The last time when was when she was trying the new dishes in Pentos and Myr, hoping for something different than what she was used to and even then, it was in quite the small quantity.

There was a cold soup of beets being served, apparently a classic of the Volantene cuisine. It was sweet and very thick, but Rhaenyra still had no appetite for it despite Daemon knowing that it would be to her taste. Aside from those last words, admiring Rhaenyra’s nerve if nothing else, Saera made no more mention of any help that might come from her.

“We did what we could, Rhaenyra.” Daemon pushed the plate a little closer to her. “Now we should be leaving.”

“Empty handed.” Rhaenyra uttered.

Daemon shrugged. “Regardless, we both knew there was a big chance that Saera would say no. Her life is here in Volantis. Her family probably as well although I have heard little mention of those sons of hers. When she turned her back on Westeros, she did in a way that not only was there no going back but since then she built a very independent life away from court.”

Rhaenyra sighed. “That would have been quite useful.”

“If I remember correctly, Vaegon’s mask was of gold, mastery over economics.” Daemon pointed out.

“Yes,” Rhaenyra agreed, “but Saera started her business from the ground up, no help whatsoever. That kind of… success and determination are not something we see every day.”

Daemon’s amethysts eyes were sharp as they wandered over Rhaenyra’s face. Regardless of the fact that Rhaenyra retired quite early the day before, faint bruises still lingered underneath her eyes. Her features still dropping in fatigue. But that has been so since Daemon came back to King’s Landing.

Daemon’s frown became more pronounced, but before he could suggest staying an extra day in Volantis, just so Rhaenyra could rest a bit more, a servant came through the balcony’s doors.

“Forgive me the intrusion, my Prince, my Princess, but Lady Saera has arrived with some of her own slaves.”

Exchanging looks, Rhaenyra and Daemon quickly got up.

~*~

Daemon eyed the numerous chests being strapped to Syrax and Caraxes with mild distaste. Syrax, being a young she-dragon, was still big enough to carry them without slowing her down in her flight, even then, Daemon sneered a bit at the presumptuous attitude. He snorted, quite fitting of a Princess of the Blood, he supposed.

Saera showed up, as unannounced as her niece and nephew, with her belongings, in what could be passed as riding leathers. Servants in carriages were overseeing the remaining of her possessions.

“Are you planning on moving permanently?” Daemon raised an eyebrow.

“I do not know how long I will be staying, so for now I left my business to my oldest two daughters.” Saera responded lightly.

Daemon blinked but didn’t comment nor asked. It was honestly not his concern, either Saera’s brothel, her unknown daughters – for until that moment Daemon was only aware of the three bastards that tried to claim the Iron Throne all those years ago, but the thought was tempting. There was no mention of a husband, if there ever was one.

Rhaenys’ argument about bastards was a sound one. Daemon reminded himself. Still, he couldn’t help but consider the children Saera birthed as a possible last resort if need be. Three sons and now two daughters. Vermithor, Silverwing, Dreamfyre and Sheepstealer are without riders yet. The Cannibal was perhaps too much of challenge to a half Targaryen that Daemon did not even know if they were raised with the teachings of dragons - why would they after all - but still, if Saera managed to ride one, if they were willing to make the attempt… all the adult dragons would be claimed then. What chance did the Highcunt would have? Whatever whelp his whore of a daughter brought forth would only be able to claim hatchlings, to be of fighting size in more than a decade away. Ten years that the adult dragons would continue to grow.

Daemon’s eyes narrowed at Saera. The woman proved herself to be of extremely keen mind, she had to be aware of the numbers. Most of the wild dragons were already born in her time after all and even if they were not, more members with Targaryen blood could only work in their favor, in Rhaenyra’s favor.

Making sure that Rhaenyra was still within his sight, Daemon carefully approached Saera who was ordering her servants around. What could not be strapped to either Syrax or Caraxes was to be shipped to Dragonstone. Daemon almost snorted, Saera probably would not see those chests for weeks.

“My niece is young, still learning to properly read malice and underhanded tactics.” He started casually in the Common Tongue, for Daemon noticed the lack of fluency in it from most Volantene within the Black Walls, there was no threat in the tone, but the words were all the warning Saera needed for her to freeze on the spot. Periwinkle eyes met amethyst. “I am not an overly patient man myself. Court is terribly boring more often than not and the little game those vermin thrive on I find myself rolling my eyes at, despite recent years having forced us to play them. However, I do not hesitate to be Rhaenyra’s shield… or her sword if the need ever arises… or if I simply think there is peril heading her way.”

Saera’s jaw was visibly clenched, but Daemon had to give credit where credit was due. She was not as intimidated as many would be in her place. Daemon was not being as menacing as he could have been, he had no wish to gather attention to himself, nevertheless, for someone who has heard some of his exploits, for someone so close to his Blood Wyrm, Saera raised her chin, cautious but not fearful.

“I gain nothing working against Rhaenyra.”

The liberty of the use of his niece’s name annoyed Daemon. Although if there was anyone in the Known World who could treat Targaryens with such familiarity would be another Targaryen, Rhaenyra was still the heir to the throne and Saera was a disgraced daughter of a long dead king.

“And yet your aid comes unwillingly and unenthusiastically.” Daemon tilted his head.

Saera scoffed. “Are you telling me that Vaegon jumped at the call of the Princess?”

“Actually, yes.” Daemon smirked at her shocked face. “Perhaps ‘jumped’ is an exaggeration, but Vaegon was expecting our visit, had his traveling chests filled already.”

Saera huffed and uttered. “Mayhap I am not the only who has changed.”

“Reminisce about your remaining brother once we reach Dragonstone, for now I am more… curious about why you decided to help.” Daemon’s eyes narrowed once again. “I will say this right now, we are happy enough if you claim a dragon and leave Westeros, but if I have the barest hint of betrayal from you—”

“I will say this right now, I gain nothing working against Rhaenyra.” Saera repeated exasperated. “Just as I gain nothing working for the Hightowers.”

“And nothing explains yet your offer of reluctant help.” Daemon noted.

Saera was silent for a few moments as she watched slaves being conducted to the carriages. Elephants being ushered to carry some of her belongings as well.

“If I don’t go… my sons will likely take my place.”

“Excuse me?” Daemon frowned in confusion.

“They are headstrong and stupid.” Saera started with a roll of her eyes. “I was honestly surprised at how sentimental I am towards any of them, all of them, but they are stupid. I could not say if I wanted to laugh at them or punch them in the crotch for showing their faces to Jaehaerys and presenting their claim in that Great Council joke, what did they expect from any of it?”

Daemon recalculated his thoughts. “You wish to protect your children from Westeros?”

“From their own idiocy.” Saera corrected. “Westeros, Essos, does not matter the continent, they are a danger to themselves. The second they hear of this insanity, they will be knocking on your door to claim a dragon, with no regard on how that would paint a target on their backs.”

“Your motherly aptitude is inspiring.” Daemon commented blandly to which Saera glared at him.

“You wish to know why I’m doing this? This is it, my help in exchange for my children remaining uninvolved. They are as sheltered as a turtle within the Black Walls, they have no one to tell them gossip, rumors and whispers, they wouldn’t even know where or how to start looking for them. I will claim a dragon, I will throw my support behind Rhaenyra… my children remain here.”

Daemon eyed Saera’s familiar stubbornly tilt of the mouth. He had seen such in Rhaenys, in Rhaenyra, in vague memories of childhood, Daemon could swear he had seen such in his own mother, Alyssa. There was something being unsaid, he felt. Saera was not being untruthful, but her determination in protecting her children was not her entire reason.

Independently of anything else, Daemon shrugged, he had his answer and Saera knew her place.

Chapter Text

(Third POV)

“We’ll be stopping in Myr and Pentos, we will not be spending the night, however. Jeyne is probably itching to go back to the Vale.” Rhaenyra explained briefly to Saera.

“Jeyne… Jeyne Arryn, she managed to hold onto her seat then.” Saera scoffed.

“After stomping two attempts of being overthrown and throwing her cousin in the sky cells, yes.” Daemon commented as he tied the last of his bags to Caraxes.

Saera threw her head back and laughed loudly.

All three quickly bade farewells to their host, Lady Trianna, before Saera invited herself to Rhaenyra’s saddle. Daemon raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. They were all in a hurry to get out of Volantis, wearing leather in this climate was making even them sweat.

Both Syrax and Caraxes complained, not about the negligible extra weight, but about the awkward biding and chains around them to secure not only their traveling supplies but also Saera’s most immediate belongings. The dragons grumbled and roared, batting their wings to propel themselves in the air.

“Ah!” Saera exclaimed behind Rhaenyra, her arms tight around her niece’s waist. “I have forgotten this feeling.”

Saera’s voice was not particularly high, it was well matched to her features and personality. Strong, feminine and loud on purpose. This was perhaps the first time Rhaenyra heard her whispering, as if she spoke any louder it would break the spell of a dragon flight.

Smiling to herself, Rhaenyra urged Syrax to fly faster.

~*~

“By the Fourteen.” Vaegon whispered, completely exasperated.

Vaegon, Rhaenys, Corlys, Jeyne, Rhaenyra’s ladies in waiting and Maester Gerardys were waiting in Aegon’s Garden to form a welcoming party.

The beauty of Dragonstone was only ever outshined by the fact that when the Targaryens first commissioned its construction, they were very much aware that they were dragonlords first and foremost. Most balconies were either large enough for dragons to perch on if not large enough for them to completely land on, there were even some, like Visenya’s rooms in the Sea Dragon Tower that used long lost Valyrian knowledge so even Vhagar could support her weight on the window grates surrounding the solar. The open spaces allowed for the Targaryens of past to call their dragons to them instead, no Dragonpit was necessary then.

*Inspiration for Dragonstone*:

Caraxes and Syrax easily landed on Aegon’s Garden. A tight fit but Caraxes quickly twisted his body around the turrets so Syrax would land more comfortably.

“This was the original intent with all the open spaces and fortified structures after all, I may have to remind Laena to try with Vhagar.” Rhaenys smirked to Vaegon’s incredulity which turned to a polite smile as she saw another passenger with Rhaenyra.

Saera’s riding leathers were clearly new and whoever made them did not have in mind dragonrides. Dragons’ movements were much broader than a horse’s, wilder, even on air where they were grace and power made flesh, the rider’s legs spread much further as well despite the saddles made to each dragon’s specific bodies. So it was with little surprise that Saera was complaining very loudly of the pain she was in adding to what was probably chafing from the unbeaten, hard leather.

Vaegon frowned a bit, uncomfortable and nervous at the same time. Saera’s face had lost the roundness of girlhood, revealing the same high and sharp cheekbones both have inherited from Alysanne. She still favored her hair up, carefully placed curls framing her face and revealing a long neck. Age granted her fine lines around her eyes and mouth. The last time Vaegon saw Saera, she was nearing her twelfth name day. A loud and precocious and spoiled girl who commanded others as if she was queen despite having three older sisters running around at the same time as her. It was a lifetime ago.

Vaegon felt his eyebrows rising at the curses, both in Common Tongue and High Valyrian, that spewed from Saera’s mouth.

“Good morrow, Sister.” Vaegon started courteously and once he saw he had Saera’s attention, he continued. “You are as uncouth at three and forty as you were at one and ten.” It was perhaps not kindest of greetings after so many years, but Vaegon felt that honesty was preferable than the mind-numbing court proceedings.

Saera still pinched her lips when annoyed, Vaegon noticed absently. “And you are as insufferable as an old man as you were at five and ten, so I guess you took your vows of celibacy very seriously.”

At the corner of his eye, Vaegon saw Rhaenyra’s ladies in waiting either muffling laugher or outright smirking. Maester Gerardys seemed likewise amused. Good. At least the Princess chose those of strong spine to be in her household.

“I am surprised you know the meaning of the word ‘vows’.” Came the unfeeling reply.

“Oh, I know the meaning alright, I just choose to ignore it.” Saera sniffled.

Rhaenyra cleared her throat. “I assume that you remember Princess Rhaenys.” She started the introductions.

“We are only five years apart, Princess.” Saera rolled her eyes even as she was still appraising the other woman. “You have your father’s coloring in your mother’s features.”

“Thank you.” Rhaenys nodded, choosing to take the comment as a compliment.

“Her husband, Lord Corlys Velaryon.” Rhaenyra continued before Saera could say anything more.

Saera’s eyebrow twitched in slight interest, but she just nodded. “An honor.”

Corlys retributed a bit stiffly which not many could fault him for. Princess or not, Saera was… infamous. “The honor is mine, Princess Saera.”

Saera almost snorted. “Now that’s something to get used to.”

“My ladies in waiting and the Maester of Dragonstone—”

“Yes, yes, an honor and all that. I am in desperate need of a bath. Are there any quarters that I can use in the Stone Drum?”

Saera sighed a bit when no one seemed particularly offended. Instead, Rhaenyra called for the servants and knights in the outskirt of Aegon’s Garden to come forward and retrieve their belongings from the irked dragons. Most were visibly ashen faced, but none hesitated to comply.

“This is Ser Robert Quince.” Rhaenyra motioned to the rotund knight to her side. “He will show you to Queen Rhaena’s former quarters.”

They were the best chambers in the Stone Drum after all.

As they dispersed, Saera stayed behind to oversee her chests being carried to her new quarters.

Vaegon smirked a bit as he followed the servants and his limping sister to the Stone Drum. “You will have to find some other crowd to try and annoy, this one is made of iron.”

Saera rolled her eyes. “That is the bare minimum to expect from your closest allies in what could very well end up in a war of dragon against dragon.” Gone was the recalcitrant demeanor from before. Her eyes were stern as they met Vaegon’s. “What exactly is to be done?”

Vaegon raised an eyebrow. “We were waiting for you to start talking about our plans, less repetition this way.” He hesitated but for a moment. “I sent a raven to Rhaella.”

Saera almost choked on her own tongue. “Isn’t she a hundred years old?” She paused for a moment, “I did not even know she was alive.”

“Seventy.” Vaegon correctly lightly. “Regardless, in her case, it is less about being a dragonrider in on itself than about the message it would send.”

Saera hummed. “Whose idea was this?”

“Daemon and Rhaenyra’s. Granted, the three of us, me, you and Rhaella, have… some obstacles to be seen as any kind of authority.”

“That’s an understatement.” Saera glared bloody murder at the set of stairs she was supposed to climb.

Vaegon smirked again seeing her predicament. “Count yourself lucky, Princess Rhaenys forced me to fly on Meleys straight from Oldtown to Dragonstone, almost twenty hours of flight, and then made me claim a dragon just as we landed.”

Saera turned to him, ignoring the insanity that Rhaenys forced them both into. “Daemon mentioned it.” She scoffed. “Vaegon the Dragonless… a dragonlord at last.”

Vaegon narrowed his eyes. “Saera Targaryen, who tried to claim a dragon and yet the dragonkeepers stopped her from even seeing one.”

“Not this time.” She smirked.

Vaegon hesitated. “It is good to see you again, Saera.” He gave the briefest of smiles before leaving.

~*~

(Princess Saera Targaryen)

Saera snorted but she smirked and started to climb the stairs.

Once Saera had taken a bath, eaten and slept, she felt completely destroyed.

“Fuck!” Saera struggled to remain upright by leaning against walls and furniture alike.

“My Princess? Princess Rhaenyra sent us to help you bath and prepare for the day.”

Probably maids. Saera thought through the pain. “Come in!” no use trying to protect her pride, there was no way she could walk on her own.

Opening the heavy doors, Saera was surprised to see one single maid amidst what she recognized as Rhaenyra’s ladies in waiting from the day before. Their clothes were more lavish, elegant. Nobles.

The oldest among them wore the Arryn sigil across her chest. “I am Amanda Arryn, the late Queen Aemma’s half sister and Princess Daella’s stepdaughter.” She introduced herself.

“You helped Daella write to Mother.” Saera vaguely remembered being surprised when ravens started to arrive at the Red Keep, for Daella knew little of her words and letters.

Lady Amanda smiled politely. “Indeed, I did. It is an honor to meet you, My Princess.” She bowed. “I am also the head of Princess Rhaenyra’s household. Your presence, and that of Archmaester Vaegon’s are being kept secret for the time being. Only the Princess’ most trusted are to interact with you.” She indicated the other girls who were bringing a change of clothes that came from her traveling chests, Saera could recognize a few dresses. “These are Amelia and Nora Strong. We shall help you until such a time Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon assign more maids to Stone Drum.”

After selecting one of the stiffest dresses Saera remembers seeing for decades, the ladies prepared another bath to try to help her sore muscles. The almost boiling water surprised Saera.

“I have lived with Queen Aemma since before she was selected as a bride for King Viserys and have served her since she came to the Red Keep. She preferred hot baths as well, as hot as we could make it.” Amanda explained.

It was… strange. Saera settled for. To think of meek little Daella and whatever child she had as having the blood of the dragon, yet there was the proof. The Strong girls helped Saera down into the tub, she let out a grunt of satisfaction as the water loosened her muscles and she almost didn’t manage to summon enough amusement at how the sisters jumped back as soon as they could, sweat forming on their foreheads.

“This is Annora, the Princess’ personal maid. She will attend you as well for the time being.” Amanda motioned to the only maid that came with them.

Annora bowed low. “Princess Saera. Princess Rhaenyra took the liberty to ask Maester Gerardys for some milk of the poppy to be delivered if need be.” She put a tray with a goblet on one of the tables closest to the bathtub.

The only reason Saera didn’t leap at it was because she was too busy enjoying the heat. It was different from Volantis’s weather that was so humid that her hair curled around her, and it was different from King’s Landing as well, hot and fetid and dry if one strayed too far from the Red Keep. Pure heat would never bother a Targaryen, they felt more comfortable, more relaxed indeed.

“Lunch will be served at noon at the Great Hall.” Saera blinked at that, but a quick look through the windows and indeed she had slept through the entire morning. “There are still some introductions to be made. The Velaryons will be there, the Celtigars arrived last night not long before your highness. The Starks arrivedb a day after Princess Rhaenyra left. The Masseys sent an envoy, Lord Gormon Massey is among them. Lady Jeyne Arryn is needed back at the Vale so our meeting ought to happen today.”

Saera closed her eyes in completion. “Targaryens, Velaryons, Celtigars, Arryns, Starks, Masseys. Who else is to be there?”

“Invitations were issued to the Caswells, Darrys and Baratheons. The Darrys’ ships have been sighted as have the Caswells’, they will probably be there for lunch. The Baratheons apologized for their absence.” Amanda’s lips pursed briefly.

“Boremund?” Saera almost hissed her question.

But Amanda shook her head. “Borros, his son.”

“That little whelp?” Saera grimaced in disgust. Her only memories of Borros were that of an arrogant brat, five years younger than her, who had no reason nor substance to be arrogant at all. Shared grandmother in Alyssa Velaryon or not.

“That little whelp grew to be Lord of Storm’s End.” Amanda’s voice was even, no reproach to it, but Saera still huffed. “Nevertheless, he has agreed to have his second oldest daughter, Maris Baratheon as Princess Rhaenyra’s lady in waiting. Young as Lady Maris may be, she has proved herself competent and loyal.”

“That is not enough from Stormlands.” Saera uttered to herself as she started to ladder her arms with soap.

“No, it is not.” Amanda nodded before pausing for a moment. “Princess Rhaenys is… most displeased.”

“I am as well. Boremund is rolling in his grave.” Saera rolled her eyes. “Each province is represented, sans the Westerlands and Dorne. Not bad.”

“They were carefully selected not only for their House’s long dated loyalty but their current members’ disposition and personality as well as the personal story of the individual.” Amanda explained. “We have given it considerable thought.”

Saera sighed as she started to wash her long hair. “Is there only you and Jeyne Arryn from the Vale?”

“My sister, Elys, has agreed to be part of Princess Rhaenys’ household.”

“I did not even know that Daella got herself another stepdaughter.” Saera eyed her with some curiosity.

Amanda cleared her throat delicately. “They were not close.” At Saera’s raised eyebrow, she sighed a bit. “Elys had a poor opinion of Princess Daella and did not make… much effort to hide it.”

Saera was too jaded to wince but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a twinge of guilt somewhere inside of her. She hummed in understanding and focused on her bath, or at least pretended to. Not much concentration was needed to use a washcloth after all.

Over the years, Saera has never spent much energy thinking of the past aside from the worst of it. Memories of her parents were much stronger than of her siblings and Daella was not very prominent in them anyways, the last time Saera saw her she was nearing her thirteenth name day and Daella was marrying Rodrik Arryn. Then there was the shock and sadness of hearing about her death, five years later, Saera was shipping herself to Essos.

Daella was an easy target. And Saera had always been prone to what could give her instant gratification, it was why it was so fun to provoke those around her with cheap insults, their reactions alone allowed for those brief moments of amusement.

Saera scoffed inwardly as she was helped into her dress by Rhaenyra’s ladies. This was probably a bit of the reason for why Vaegon was so eager to help. His insults towards Daella that reduced their sister to tears were not common, but they were not rare either. And yet, what didn’t reduce that girl to tears? At the end of the day, what Vaegon and Saera herself have done was not exactly a sin. They were rude to their sister who was fragile and prone to crying at the barest hint of reproach. All done when Saera had not even had her moon blood yet and Vaegon barely reached their parents’ shoulders.

Saera still remembered the experience of giving birth. The last one… truly, the last two pregnancies left she abed for weeks. For a few moments, she had truly feared for her life. What chance did Daella have? Her mother, Alysanne, was not altogether wrong in blaming Jaehaerys for the early marriage and the childbed soon after that pushed Daella also to early grave. Her weak constitution a clear sign that any battle would severely affect her.

Still… Saera swallowed the uncomfortable feeling of guilt. Daella may have been simple, weak, and ridiculous, but she did not deserve the fate that awaited her. Siblings that scared her even when defending her, touring left and right and being paraded around to find a husband, one who was good and kind to her through sheer chance and luck  - certainly not through carefuly choosing - and then not having respite of criticism in her new home if Amanda’s words were to be believed, only to die giving birth to a girl that would repeat the cycle.

Saera did not know Aemma. She has long since been in Essos by the time Aemma was brought to the Red Keep. But she had heard the rumors. The Barren Queen, her detractors called her. Pregnancy after pregnancy would maul her life away until there was nothing left to take at all.

It grated her pride, but Saera was physically unable to refuse Amanda and Amelia’s help to walk towards the Great Hall. The long table was set, and the guests had already arrived.

“Princess Saera Targaryen. Lady Amanda Arryn. Lady Amelia Strong and Lady Nora Strong.” They were announced.

Rhaenyra, Daemon, Vaegon and Rhaenys were already seated and for one brief moment, Saera’s vision swam. She was back at the Red Keep, surrounded by too many silvery haired, purple-eyed people. The walls were suffocating, the jealousy burned her from the inside and made her feel cold at the same time. There was no place for her there, there was no place for her anywhere in Westeros.

“Princess?” Ser Robert asked a little worriedly.

Saera cleared her throat and took the seat clearly reserved for her. She did not question how it was one of the closest to the head of the table, where Rhaenyra was sitting. By Rhaenyra’s right was Daemon and then Vaegon, to her left was Rhaenys and then Corlys. The seat immediately to Vaegon’s right awaited Saera.

Cursing under her breath due to the pain she was still suffering and the stiff dress whose style she had grown unaccustomed to, Saera slowly sat down.

Brief introductions were made of the many guests that Dragonstone was hosting, and lunch was served which consisted of a lot of seafood. Fishes, oysters and lobsters were abundant. As Jaehaerys was never Prince of Dragonstone, his daughters never lived in the ancient keep, this was perhaps the second or third time Saera has been in the original Targaryen seat in her life.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra forced herself to eat a few forkfuls of the salmon before washing it down with the watered sweet wine. She slowly grabbed one small potato at a time when she noticed Daemon looking at her plate, cutting them in half or quarters as she waited for her guests to finish their meal.

“I apologize, My Princess.” Jeyne started from her seat, the formal way she addressed her already told Rhaenyra the contents of the conversation. “I am needed back the Vale. I have been away for almost two moons, and it will take at least a sennight to reach the Eyrie. There were mere weeks separating… news of your father’s new bride and the imprisonment of my cousin in the sky cells. I depart in two days at most.”

And indeed, she looked apologetic. Rhaenyra was not quite sure what to feel about all the help she received from her cousin, a cousin she never even met. Looking around the table, it was not hard to guess at what motivated most of them.

Some of them were prompted by guilt, Rhaenyra’s eyes briefly passed through Vaegon. Some of them by purpose and maybe by love, Daemon and Rhaenys conversed in low tones, the easy camaraderie of a family and friendship since childhood. Some of them by honor, duty and compromise, like the Starks, Celtigars, Masseys, Caswells and Darrys. Some of them were still mysteries and unknowns, Corlys seemed to be attempting to make small talk with Saera. And yet some of them were pushed by pure, unadulterated loyalty, Jeyne’s brown eyes still stared into hers.

“It is understandable. I am more grateful than I can describe for the support you lent me.” Rhaenyra was graceful in her recognition.

“I am but a raven… or a dragon away. And there is much we can still talk about in two days.”

“Speaking of which.” Benjen Stark seemed to have taken the words as his cue. “It is best we do so now that we are all here.”

“All?” Saera asked leaning forward.

“At least those of us more interested in the matter at hand.” Lord Stark grunted.

“More interested.” Saera echoed once more as her eyes surveyed the attending nobles, ending at Rhaenyra’s own ladies in waiting.

Rhaenyra understood Saera’s reaction well enough. Despite some veiled comments from Daemon at the beginning, it was maybe naïve to trust these men and women with so much. But weren’t the Hightowers about to do the same if not more? At this point in time, Rhaenyra was disgusted with her father’s new marriage, the speed of which it took place and with his choice of bride as well. The repercussions and implications a second marriage have over her own heirship, after the King himself asked for the attendance of lords high and low to the Red Keep in order to swear allegiance to her was also an affront and so, she was shoring up her own succession in response.

Employing new ladies in waiting, calling for what she perceived to be loyal allies… all seemed innocuous, almost expected truly. If the Targaryens in particular are aware of secondary plans with the dragon eggs and the dragons themselves, then it was another matter.

“My House is already aware of such,” Rhaenyra started before Lord Stark could take much offense, “but Prince Daemon, Princess Rhaenys, Laenor Velaryon and myself have transported the dragon eggs from the Dragonpit in King’s Landing, my uncle left decoys in their place.”

When eyes widened, Daemon continued before they were interrupted. “They are made of a material that stays warm to the touch. It would still be too cold and too heavy for anyone that knows what they are looking for, especially the newer eggs, but that cunt of a Hand was never comfortable with the dragonkeepers, and he does not know a word of High Valyrian to talk to them either way. My brother very probably would not even conceive asking them about it.”

Benjen’s eyebrows were as high as it was physically possible, deep creases appearing on his forehead. Clement Celtigar was smirking, on the other hand Allun Caswell paled. Derrick Darry hummed to himself and it was Gormon Massey who voiced it.

“That is ingenious… and very dangerous. The consequences should the Lord Hand hear about this…” he trailed off.

Daemon seemed satisfied with the lack of objections. “I wonder how he would find out.”

Allun, who has for many years been the Red Keep’s castellan, seemed shaken. “Please, My Prince, the Lord Hand is patient and intelligent, not to mention that he has the King’s ears. The dragonkeepers can still inform any… many of the switch.”

“We left four eggs behind for any possible child of the Hightowers.” Rhaenys answered in lieu of Daemon insulting someone. “Prince Daemon acquired fake eggs, Princess Rhaenyra is willing to make a spectacle out of the eighth one, the one she chose for the brother she lost to not be destined to the sibling coming from a woman that not her mother.”

Rhaenys did not say, but the only thing they could truly do at this point was pray and hope that no one finds out about the fake eggs. For all intents and purposes, the dragonkeepers do not really check the eggs aside from making sure they were all accounted for which does not include pawning at them. Of course, once a child from Alicent was born, Otto will probably be the first to insist on retrieving an egg which would then be a job for the dragonkeepers. In usual circumstances, the dragonkeepers would then retrieve the warming chambers they were stored in and bring it to the King, eventually the egg would then be placed in the cradle.

The dragonkeepers would be able to tell, but there would be nothing they could tell, for the eggs would be real... they just wouldn't hatch. Unless they were to handle the fake eggs. They would bring the warming chamber, open it in the presence of the king and sometimes the court, the king would then place it beside the new babe. Much to Rhaenyra’s disappointment, she also knew that her father would not easily find anything amiss with it. Of course, it also would not do to divulge the information that it was this relatively easy to swap them.

"I admit to my confusion." Lord Clement leaned forward. "Why leave real eggs behind?"

"They will not hatch." Rhaenyra answred easily.

Most of the lords seemed impressed at their sheer nerve, although Lord Allun looked very nervous. Which was understandable as he would soon enough return to the Red Keep and be a part of the King’s court. Rhaenyra sighed, silently, sadly and tiredly. Lord Allun Caswell, Lady Alora Fell, Lord Ralph Buckler, Lord Lyman Beesbury, Lord Marq Merryweather and Lord Denys Harte all lost their heads when they refused to be oathbreakers, but they could all still be saved. Rhaenyra swallowed as Daemon and Rhaenys kept the meeting going.

At the dead of night, the impression Rhaenyra had that some of the lords, right in the Red Keep where the Greens’ presence was strongest, those that kept their oaths became a reality. No longer flashes, but something more solid, more concrete, their identities now visible. Something that she could grasp, that she could use.

Rhaenyra had not even noticed that she was compulsively turning the rings around her fingers until Daemon’s hand covered hers. And she looked up just in time to see Saera throwing her head back and laughing uproariously.

“A wedding in mourning colors… a royal wedding, and not even any royal wedding, but of the King!” Saera laughed again.

“Showing our disapproval in the King’s new… wedding should be but the first step.” Corlys’ eyes were sharp.

Daemon did not say anything, but he tilted his head towards Corlys. It was Vaegon who addressed him.

“Princess Rhaenyra has expressed, to both me and Princess Saera, that she wishes to make Dragonstone more independent from King’s Landing. It would serve a dual cause, it shows that she is a strong and capable heir, skilled in leadership. Which is not something that any child born in the next few sun turns would be able to boast of for at least another decade and a half and as a way to consolidate her own base of power.”

It was clear that it was not quite what Lord Corlys had in mind, but before he could say anything, Saera completed Vaegon’s thoughts.

“It should not be so difficult. The Targaryens of old were smart in their choice of island on which to build Dragonstone, as was Aenar in capitalizing its natural resources. Firstly, the volcanic soil is extremely rich and fertile, the volcano itself is still active and brought forth many treasures from its depths that can be mined.”

“Princess Rhaenys has spoken of them.” Rhaenyra hesitated. “For what reason did we stop? If we ever started that is?”

Daemon scoffed. “Dragonstone was supposed to be but an outpost of the Valyria Freehold, not a commercial power. When Aenar came, for the longest time the Targaryens sold dragonglass but for the most part they lived with the fortune they brought from Valyria and taxing the ships that passed through the Gullet. In comparison to most of Westeros, they had gold aplenty to do so.”

“But mining the precious gems and dragonglass is possible, and the soil is rich for plantation.” Rhaenys pointed out.

“This could potentially put Dragonstone as direct competition with the Lannisters.” Bartimos tilted his head.

“It will have influence in the economy, but as we would not be mining gold, it would only indirectly affect the Lannisters.” Vaegon argued.

“It is still a worth venture to explore.” Rhaenyra placated. “I am also interested in the naval route from Essos. Claw Isle, Dragonstone and Driftmark are the only posts that can make that possible.”

“That is a solid plan.” Jeyne commented. “A strong chain of commerce would go from Essos through the three islands, and with a trade of its own, it will mean more independence from King’s Landing.”

“Not to mention the fact that King’s Landing’s only source of income are the taxes that the provinces owe House Targaryen.” Saera smirked.

Vaegon eyed her in exasperation. “King’s Landing also boasts of the largest harbor in the realm. Considering the fact that naval commerce already goes through King’s Landing before being distributed to the rest of the realm, then maybe we should stop envisioning scenarios where we simply take the capital out of debate.”

“We can have another project at the same time. Claw Isle, Dragonstone and Driftmark are basically what separates Westeros from Essos in the north. The only other controlling point between the two continents is the Stepstones.” Rhaenyra started.

Corlys leaned forward in interest. “My presence here is afforded for the temporary ceasefire we managed with the pirates. Craghas Drahar is still ridding the Stepstones of the last of them, although that has not stopped him from taking control of most of the islands.”

Gormon pursed his lips in slight aggravation at Corlys’ stubbornness before addressing Rhaenyra. “Stonedance is yours, My Princess. House Bar Emmon is sworn to Dragonstone as well, if we send a raven to House Bar Emmon and secure an alliance with them and with Lord Celtigar willing, then we control Blackwater Bay and the Gullet in a single move.”

“No ship shall travel through those waters without Dragonstone’s say so.” Bartimos confirmed.

Rhaenyra sighed discreetly. “Which leaves the Stepstones as the only other point of contact between the two continents.”

Derrick nodded slowly. “As skilled as your builders are, Lord Corlys, there is simply no ship that can make the distance between Essos and Westeros with no port in between. Claw Isle, Dragonstone and Driftmark are to be the ports in the north, the Stepstones in the south.”

Benjen narrowed his eyes. “As far as the first steps of financial independence goes, taking the Stepstones into consideration is quite ambitious.”

“Necessary, however.” Jeyne pointed out.

Vaegon hummed agreement. “Trading going through the Stepstones are arguably more important than the one that can one day go through the three islands as the ships going between Essos to and from Westeros through the Stepstones are importing and exporting products between the Triarchy to and from Dorne, the Reach and the Stormlands.”

A look was exchanged between Daemon, Rhaenys and Rhaenyra. The most contentious kingdoms of Westeros, even if Daemon and Rhaenys were unaware of the lack of support they could expect from the Baratheons, they all needed to be mindful of the fact that Dorne was the only region that felled a dragon and that the Reach was the focus of power of the Hightowers. And if they wanted to affect the Westerlands in any way then control of north and south trading routes was needed.

This was something that Rhaenyra had half-hoped to avoid. “For this to work, we need the Stepstones.” She said grimly, acutely aware of Daemon’s hand on hers.

Chapter Text

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

It was ironic. Daemon smirked without feeling as he watched Rhaenyra compulsively twist her rings around her fingers.

The Stepstones were, for the longest time, the only connection of trading routes between Westeros and Essos. Rhaenyra’s plan to use Claw Isle, Dragonstone and Driftmark as ports… it was a long term one, perhaps not for years until both Rhaenyra and the Celtigars built the ships and the harbors with the resources necessary to truly and fully be a usable route, for if they were, the Velaryons would have long since exploited the possibility. The Celtigars were no maritime force, Daemon knew, and they had their own source of income to be much interested in spending so much of their coin in what would be a very long project with a very slow return. Before Rhaenyra and Dragonstone, the potential was just… potential.

Whatever the case, for now the entirety of Westeros was dependent on those damnable islands. If it’s not pirates, it’s the Triarch, if neither then it’s Dorne. There was simply no ending to the strife over that blasted place. But what choice did they have? Westeros depended on it.

There were more than a dozen small islands that make the Stepstones, and garrisoning the area was an impossible task. There was simply not enough land to make turrets and fortify anything, decades of war made the land almost barren so there will be no local resource in case anyone decided to deploy a constant line of ships and men to ensure that Westeros held control of it, not to mention that to do so needed more coin than any continent had. It was cheaper to just fight and die over the islands for temporary dominion every few summers.

Daemon sighed and grabbed Rhaenyra’s closest hand, trying to stop her from chafing her fingers raw. Before he could even say anything, Rhaenyra was already talking hundreds of words per minute.

“I doubt I can stop you from going. Physically, with arguments… and because we need the damn place. I… I will try and convince Father to send supplies… ships, men, food, weapons… but he does not listen to me!” Rhaenyra hissed. “As if Prince Aemon, Prince Baelon and King Jaehaerys did not burn thousands of those pirates. And Dorne can still participate, they cannot possibly be happy with the Targaryens having definite jurisdiction over the Stepstones.”

“Rhaenyra, calm down.” Daemon ordered firmly but Rhaenyra, despite appearing to have heard him just shook her head.

“Caraxes is a battle-hardened dragon, Daemon, but those caves… you and Lord Corlys will play a game of rat and mouse with them… and how long until both sides are completely exhausted and then…” Rhaenyra turned the hold Daemon had on her hand, her nails almost digging into his wrist, her other hand shot up to hold onto his right shoulder, clutching at his doublet. As if she was seeing something that was not there.

For his part, Daemon’s eyes widened. Perhaps he had not dealt as well with it as he wished, as he thought he had. Daemon thought absently as he tried to gather Rhaenyra into his arms. Her shaking made it harder, but he tightened his grip until she calmed down.

All the while his mind was in turmoil. Daemon could barely think straight as realization came as destructive waves. Rhaenyra’s concern for him was nothing new. Even amidst the crowd of cheers, even as he reached for the crown of flowers of his victory, Rhaenyra glanced at him in concern, her hands never stopped clapping, and yet lilac eyes were still wary of injuries as he participated in jousts. Whenever Daemon confirmed that he was not going back to the Vale, but instead to another great adventure somewhere in Essos, as the years went by, Rhaenyra’s eyes lost the shine of admiration to be replaced for worry.

It was not her concern that made Daemon pause nor the fact that Rhaenyra didn’t want him to leave, she never did. But the fact that Rhaenyra did not want him to go to war and yet she needed him to.

Most of the nobles were probably thinking in a scenario that Rhaenyra remained heir. They were all working towards the goal of shoring up her succession, strengthening it as much as they could. But Daemon had time to come to terms with the fact that Rhaenyra’s efforts were based on a scenario that she was disinherited and she was feeling the desperation and despair that was accompanying it.

The humiliation that would follow a disinheritance was more than enough incentive. Daemon could still recall the bitter and painful feeling that gripped his entire body at the wake of his own. He had never truly expected to remain heir, however, his brother was young still even if his health started to falter, Viserys still had many years ahead of him to sire a boy. Daemon had known so even before contemplating Aemma’s own struggles on the birthing bed. For a few moments, Daemon had envisioned becoming king after Aemma died… for he had believed his brother had loved Aemma. Whatever the case may be, he had not expected to remain heir… just as Rhaenyra was not expecting to remain heir.

The blow would be worse in her case. Daemon knew. A second son with a failed marriage he may be, for a woman to be raised so high only to be brought so low… Rhaenyra’s reputation would lay in tatters. Perhaps not to the extent that his brother’s reputation would be. Daemon could not envision many lords being impressed that they were called from all over Westeros to swear to Rhaenyra only for those vows to mean nothing, but he was king, and his word was law despite the weakness of his reign.

Dragonstone was to be a consolation prize and Daemon had no doubt that Rhaenyra would be able to secure it for herself. Viserys was nothing if not led by his weakness, he might live to regret the decision, but by then, they would make sure that he is too late to do anything about it. That no one can do anything about it.

Still, the keep itself had more symbolic power than actual power. It was part of the reason Daemon and Rhaenyra had conceded to Rhaenys’ idea of revealing to the lords gathered about ensuring that any Hightower half-breed be kept dragonless. It was concrete and tangible proof that they were not sitting idle, that a statement in the King’s wedding was not all that was to happen and all that they were willing and capable of doing. Whatever power Dragonstone may be, it was all unrealized potential and Dragonstone needed to not only be powerful, but powerful enough to make other lords, even the King himself, pause before trying to make an enemy out of them.

Daemon knew well Otto’s overreaching, greedy and manipulative nature. He has been trying to open Viserys’ eyes to it for almost half of his life already and now the cunt was already half-way to his goal, his daughter was married to the King, temporary setbacks like the speed of the wedding, the clear disapproval of the realm and the fact that his whore of a daughter did not become queen were almost inconsequential when one saw how very far that leech managed to go. One would think that becoming Hand of the King was the height of success a second son would and could grasp.

With a son with Hightower blood born to the King… what else would Otto do? Daemon’s eyes landed on the top of Rhaenyra’s head, and he hugged her even tighter to his chest. The truth was that the second Viserys had officially named Rhaenyra as heir, the door was opened, the possibility was out there, and Rhaenyra had a claim, a veritable and strong claim to the throne, stronger than Rhaenys ever did for their cousin was not named heir while her father still held the position. And so, disinherited or not… Rhaenyra will always be a threat to that cunt’s grandchildren.

“The Stepstones will be yours.” He swore.

But the words merely made her grip on his doublet tighten.

“You are the King’s brother.” Rhaenyra finally mumbled.

“So?”

“And so, you will be expected to give the Stepstones to the king.”

Daemon frowned at the truth in her words. Just as fast, the solution came to him. “I never swore to you, as heir. Let me give you the Stepstones as I bend the knee to the heir of the Iron Throne.”

Rhaenyra stiffened against his chest. “Daemon—”

“I know.” He whispered.

“… do not die.” Rhaenyra asked. “Do not die.” She said more forcefully, an order. “There are other ways to increase Dragonstone’s power. The realm is not beggared despite Lord Corlys’ words. Right now, Drahar is more a Velaryon problem.”

“Soon, he will be Westeros’ problem.” The reproach was there in his voice.

Rhaenyra knew that, and yet, “Your life is more important.” She was not surprised when Daemon lifted her chin, or when his lips met hers.

Daemon regretfully stopped the kiss with a whispered promise. “The Stepstones will be yours.” He repeated.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

“I received word from Rhaella.” Vaegon started that night when the only ones attending a late-night meeting were the Targaryens. “She has agreed to a meeting. I am not sure how much we can expect, though.”

“From a seventy-year-old Septa? Not much I think.” Daemon rolled his eyes and discreetly pushed a plate of fruits closer to Rhaenyra.

Rhaenys pursed her lips. “Forgive me my words, but if we were not sure of Vaegons’ allegiances, what hope do we have for Rhaella? She has been living at the Starry Sept for the last five decades and a half.”

“Not hope.” Rhaenyra tried to loosen her tense muscles. “Closer to… the only option left.”

Rhaenyra was no happier than Daemon when she was informed that, in exchange for Saera’s help, her children were to be left in Essos. From a few comments from Saera, it was mayhap for the best. Something told Rhaenyra that if those three men were bold enough to try and claim the Iron Throne for themselves when they barely had a claim to the Targaryen name, then merely mounting a dragon and staying away from any Hightower would not suffice and if it was their sisters with the dragons, jealous siblings would do what jealous siblings did. Rhaenyra briefly wondered how old they were even as she tried to convince herself that, as bastards, it wouldn’t do for the news that it was Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen who let them claim dragons.

“How far our House has fallen.” Rhaenys grimaced.

Rhaenyra waved her hand. “For Rhaella… well, the emotional argument can work on her in a way that it wouldn’t with Princess Saera.”

“The title is not needed out of the public eye… Rhaenyra.” Saera insisted.

“What emotional argument?” Vaegon asked.

Rhaenyra smirked.

~*~

The choice of place was still being heavily debated, however.

“There is no way you will be going into the Reach.”

Knowing that it was not the point Daemon was making, Rhaenyra still tried. “Lord Lyman Beesbury is from the Reach. Why not ask for the Beesburys to host us in Honeyholt?”

Daemon was not the only one that leveled her a flat stare. Rhaenyra pursed her lips in displeasure.

“My absence at the Citadel has probably long since been noticed. We need to ascertain what the Hightowers know about it.” Vaegon interrupted.

Wich reminded Rhaenyra. “Ser Robert.” She called out loudly so the knight could hear.

A few moments later, Robert Quince made his way towards Rhaenyra. “My Princess.” He bowed with a smile.

Rhaenyra returned the gesture. It was difficult to be in a bad disposition around the amiable man. “Please send for my young servants.” She said carefully for it not to sound pointedly.

“Rhaenyra?” Rhaenys asked as Robert left to do as he was asked.

“I believe you have already met Crosby.” Was all Rhaenyra offered for now.

It took a few moments for Rhaenys to place the name. Her expression cleared. “I thought I noticed some really young servants about.”

“You will be noticing four children among the staff of Dragonstone. They have been in my employment for the last two moons or so. I left two behind in King’s Landing.”

The meaning became clear as said children were escorted inside. Rhaenys recognized Crosby and the smallest and by far the one who got the most attention was a girl of fiery red hair, she also looked the most tired.

“These are Crosby, Maisie, Enid and Mae.” Rhaenyra quickly introduced them.

“Rhaenyra… what have you done?” Daemon looked somewhat amused and somewhat impressed if a bit confused.

“They have been my helpers.” Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows. “I hope everything is alright.” She asked looking at Maisie.

The young girl, although pale, smiled at her. “Yes, thank you, My Princess.” She bowed.

“Ser Alfred was not happy for the lack of warning at the changes in staff of the keep.” Ser Robert alluded to the excuse they used to explain releasing Maisie.

A small price to pay. Rhaenyra reflected. If all went according to plan, Ser Alfred would not be staying for long.

Rhaenys hummed. “She was tired and there were some wounds from the iron shackles, but nothing that Maester Gerardys was unable to heal.”

“Good.” Rhaenyra nodded before turning to Mae. “Before leaving King’s Landing, I have asked Mae to search for a strange boy we have seen around the Red Keep. I know all the children employed at the castle and so it was strange to see him despite the clothes denoting that he was among the kitchen staff.”

Mae bowed quickly. “I knew the boy from sight, he lives around the Street of Sisters. A few days before Princess Rhaenyra left King’s Landing, I saw him talking to Lord Hand.”

Daemon straightened on his chair. “What did you say?”

“This is why I asked for their help.” Rhaenyra chose her words carefully to not insult and yet not give too much away to anyone. “Otto has too many ears and we do not have enough. Please, continue, Mae.”

Mae nodded. “I followed him on the day of our departure.” She bit her lip nervously. “I am so sorry, my Princess. I lost him somewhere at Flea Bottom, some of the girls… the… uh…”

“Whores.” Daemon supplied and ignored how Rhaenys elbowed him.

Mae nodded. “They didn’t let me through… but they let him through. We are not that different in age. They just said that no one was to enter that area without passing through the White Worm.”

“What’s white worm?” Rhaenyra barely managed to ask before there was a crash resounding in the room. Twirling around, she was met with an enraged Daemon.

A chattered chair was laying against the wall. Daemon himself was heaving as if all he wanted was to throw another chair.

“Daemon?” Rhaenyra called.

But he seemed beside himself. “Rhaenyra… I will fix this, alright? I will fix this.” He said firmly before leaving the room altogether.

Rhaenyra gawked at him before hastily getting up and following. “I will trust you with Rhaella.” She called out.

The last she saw and heard was Saera rolling her eyes as the heavy doors were left behind Rhaenyra. “What an honor to be given such duty.” And rolled her eyes again when Rhaenys and Vaegon immediately started planning.

~*~

“Daemon! Daemon!” Rhaenyra tried to call as she run behind Daemon. She paused as she noticed he was heading towards the nearest solar. Cursing under her breath, Rhaenyra reached inside herself for the connection that has always been there.

Roars were heard right outside the walls. The familiar shrill whistle announced Caraxes’ arrival. Syrax was not that further away either but she hovered in the air, unsure what to do just as her rider was. The Blood Wyrm was rolling his long body around one of the nearest turrets, leaning the bulk of his body on the huge balcony so Daemon can climb on the saddle.

Before he could, Rhaenyra almost tackled him. Years of training and experience made Daemon distribute the added weight automatically so they would both still be standing.

“Daemon!” Rhaenyra almost shouted. “What. Is. Going. On?!” She literally dug her heels in, Rhaenyra could feel the strain from her boots on the stone floor, her hands gripped Daemon’s wrists and by hells and heavens she was not letting go.

Not when Daemon was like that, not when Caraxes was saddled and ready to take his rider wherever is it that Daemon wanted to go. Although Rhaenyra was not naïve enough to think that the lack of a saddle would stop Daemon.

If there was one thing Rhaenyra learned about Daemon after so many years, so many overheard fights, so many Small Council positions, so many banishments and so. Many. Dreams is that when Daemon Targaryen goes on a temper, destruction follows. And, at a times, to Daemon’s own detriment.

Hand gripped her arms, just tight enough to hurt before letting go when he realized what he was doing. “Rhaenyra…” Daemon started and trailed off.

Rhaenyra tried to rehash the conversation in her head. What could possibly have provoked Daemon like that?

Her eyes narrowed. “You know what white worm is.” She said, very sure.

“… not ‘what’… ‘who’.” He gritted out.

Rhaenyra waited a few seconds before taking a deep breath. “Would you mind sharing?”

Daemon swallowed uncomfortably. “The White Worm is a moniker that a few detractors of Mysaria gave her, it is used somewhat often these days what with her insistence in wearing white and her aging features.”

That made Rhaenyra’s thoughts come to a screeching halt. Some pieces fell together and absently Rhaenyra understood just how much she had underestimated Otto's relationship with Mysaria, how he got his information so easily, as it was the same way Daemon thought to get his. Opportunity and occasion like the toast for the "Heir for a Day" was not all. But beyond that… the war… the later stages of it. "Lady Misery" was to be how Mysaria is styled, and it is how Rhaenyra had heard of her the most. A dancer from Lys, a whore from the Street of Silk… the woman that Daemon risked so much for, with whom he purportedly almost had a child with and who he proclaimed as Lady of Dragonstone, saying how he wished to take her to wife and who became the Master of Whispers in the small council in all but name during her own reign.

Just the thought made Rhaenyra almost retch.

Daemon seemed… he looked… regretful, underneath the anger. “Rhaenyra…”

Slowly, she let go of his wrists which seemed to wretch Daemon even more, but Rhaenyra was… she did not know what she was feeling. Truth be told… she had forgotten about Mysaria. And she did not care to be reminded of her despite the necessity. Rhaenyra knew that Mysaria couldn't be left to her own devices, and yet...

Carefully folding her hands in front of her. “I suppose I shall leave you to it.” The decision came as suddenly as Daemon’s anger.

“What?” He frowned.

“I assume you have a plan… or just thoughts of revenge. Whatever the case, now we are aware that Otto and Mysaria have been in contact, and we will act accordingly.”

And Daemon understood that Rhaenyra was leaving Mysaria's fate up to him. “Death is too good for the likes of her.”

Rhaenyra tilted her head. “Perhaps. And so, what is it you plan to do, My Prince?”

“What is it that you intend to do with the Hightowers?” He asked instead.

And it was Rhaenyra that understood now. “As it seems I am unable to do so directly, I will let them get burned by themselves.”

Daemon leaned against the nearest pillar. “Will your lessons on business with Saera take much of her time?”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, understanding his idea. “Do remember that despite our primary goal of keeping the dragons away from the Hightowers, we need also to send a message. We cannot have the fact that Saera… probably sold her body so blatantly displayed.”

“I agree. I did not mean for her to open her own establishments at Flea Bottom… rather… less competition and more a change in ownership.”

“Through middlemen?” Her hum was on consideration.

“Saera wouldn’t have to be associated with them… at least not visibly.”

“I had… some tentative ideas about that when we first mentioned Saera.” Rhaenyra admitted.

Daemon smirked in amusement, but Rhaenyra could still see the anger in his amethyst eyes. Not only anger, but betrayal as well. He had trusted Mysaria, perhaps not fully, but then again who did Daemon trust fully? But he had trusted her, nonetheless. Rhaenyra knew how much Daemon had done for Mysaria and felt very little sympathy for her despite the problems she likely faced.

Those problems came with being associated with royals. Even nobles. The second she got the attention of a prince, Mysaria had but two options, treat him as any client and then leave after a night, or completely grab his attention. And the attention of Daemon Targaryen was not something one gathers on a whim.

To get herself entangled in the constant power struggle of royalty and nobles was to court trouble itself, sometimes even death. The greater the power, the worse it gets. Mysaria had to know as much, so whatever anger and fear she felt as her safety was risked was but an obvious conclusion.

Ignorance only excuses her so far. Rhaenyra knew it very well as she herself have learned and experienced, as she herself have watched in her own father. And Mysaria seemed smart enough to go from a dancer from Lys to a whore in King’s Landing to a Prince of the Blood’s favored mistress to quite the accomplished spy. She was not oblivious to the game that can become bloody. When Daemon offered her more, what was Mysaria expecting? What can possibly excuse her actions then?

Rhaenyra shook her head. “Saera is no spymaster, however. This is why I did not entertain the idea any further.”

“Neither was Mysaria.” Daemon pointed out. “And Saera has had much better education and experience.”

Rhaenyra pursed her lips. “I believe… that we have compared your lover to enough princesses.”

Saera may be disgraced at the eyes of many and yet Rhaenyra felt offended on her behalf, for herself as well for saying that woman’s name so very frequently.

“She is just a whore, Rhaenyra.” Daemon tried to correct.

“Quite a few times she is mentioned by royalty to be… ‘just a whore’.” Rhaenyra gave a polite, courteous smile. “Whatever is it that you wish to do, I believe Caraxes has waited long enough.”

They both turned to look to an impatient looking dragon who was staring at his rider, completely unimpressed at the way Daemon made him wait around, perched on an uncomfortably small – for him – balcony. When Daemon turned to look at Rhaenyra, she was already at the end of the corridor. Her soft boots making almost no noise against the floor. It was with some amusement that Daemon noticed that Syrax had also left.

With a sigh, Daemon patted his annoyed dragon on the nose, and it was his turn to follow his niece. He did not turn back when hearing Caraxes growled huff of annoyance and the wind caressing his back as Caraxes took flight without his rider. His head started to ache.

As they returned to the Great Hall’s antechamber, it was clear that Vaegon, Rhaenys and Saera were no closer to a solution.

Rhaenys waited as they neared the table. “The simplest answer is for Rhaella to come to us.” She started.

But Saera looked annoyed. “The woman is seventy! She will die in the middle of the trip!”

“She will recover once bonded to a dragon.” Rhaenys retorted.

“Flying to her makes as much sense.” Saera tried again.

“We would alert the entire realm on our dragons.”

"You did as much when you went to retrieve Vaegon!"

"The attention was on the wedding of the King," Rhaenys mocked the event, "most of the lords and nobility were in attendance and even then I had the coverage of the clouds from the season, something that we no longer have. Getting Rhaella on dragonback at that speed and at that height will surely be more impactful than a few weeks in a carriage."

“There are ways and paths we can take to ensure discretion.”

“I do not disagree, but do you know of any? And a fast enough one to not make us waste another moon on this alone?” Rhaenys challenged.

Saera made a mocking noise. “Are we pressed for time? Unless something changed in the last few decades that I was in Essos and Westerosi found a way to birth babes within a fortnight, I believe we have roughly another eight moons before we need to worry about any Hightower whelp claiming an egg let alone a dragon!”

“Are you willing to risk Otto Hightower checking the Dragonpit himself? The moment Alicent is confirmed to be with child that man's eyes will turn to the Dragonpit. Those fake eggs can fool Otto, but it is chance if a dragonkeeper is to get their hands on one the decoys, and the first ones to be questioned would be either Princess Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon or myself!”

“What says you, Vaegon?” Rhaenyra turned to the only one that stayed silent.

Vaegon groaned quietly as he became the receiving ending of all those purple stares. “Rhaella is old. It takes three weeks to reach King’s Landing by horse, more if it’s a particularly big carriage.”

“It won’t be. She has a septa lifestyle.” Rhaenys interrupted.

“Be that as it may, it will take her three weeks to reach King’s Landing.” He repeated. “Another three days by ship to reach Dragonstone. As far as time is concerned, to make sure to be inconspicuous riding a dragon or waiting for her to arrive by carriage may end in the same frame of time. Not to mention… at her age… bonding with a dragon when young can have miraculous effect, we have it well documented with King Aenys and his own mount, Quicksilver, how the then Prince started to grow stronger and healthier but there are no records about someone that old claiming a dragon.”

“Put the decision to her.” Daemon narrowed his eyes and tried not to rub his sore temples. “You mentioned she has agreed to a meeting. Unless Rhaella has been living under a rock, she will know about Rhaenyra becoming heir, Viserys’ wedding, our own public steps. It is an easy assumption to be made that we are reaching out for help. A raven will reach the Starry Sept in seventeen hours or so, we will have an answer in less than three days.”

Saera and Rhaenys looked annoyed but nodded.

“What of ravens to Rhaella being intercepted?” Rhaenyra asked.

“If Vaegon’s reached her, then mayhap she found a way around that.” Daemon answered.

Vaegon hummed. “As I was saying before… we need to know the goings in the Citadel. My preference for solitude aside, my absence has surely been noticed at this point.”

“Maesters put aside their House name once they take their vows, I assume the same is true for Archmaesters, same for those that serve the Seven.” Rhaenys reminded them. “But you are still a Prince of the Blood, the uncle to the King. If things were right, the King would be notified.”

“Things are not ‘right’.” Rhaenyra uttered before sighing, “Notifying the King is not notifying him at all. Letters pass through the Hand first.”

“Excuse me?” Rhaenys turned to her.

“It has been so for the entirety of my father’s reign.”

“It probably started with our own father.” Vaegon interfered as he motioned to himself and Saera. “King Jaehaerys was abed for two summers before succumbing, during which time Otto acted as king in all but name.”

“He is still king in all but name.” Came Daemon’s bland reply. “And because it was done during Jaehaerys’ time, of course, Viserys continued the… tradition.”

Saera smirked. “Ah, such a nice thought. Jaehaerys’ ashes are probably writhing.”

“So, chances are good that Otto already knows.” Vaegon frowned in concern.

“Almost half a moon passed since the weeding and the Citadel, like the Starry Sept, owes much of their funding to Oldtown.” Rhaenys pointed out. “That Otto already knows is almost a given fact.”

When the silence stretched, Daemon scoffed. “I think we are giving too much attention to the cunt.”

“And I think that underestimating Otto is exactly what led us all to this situation.” Rhaenys snarled. “A second son he may be, but he has always been much smarter than his brother. Hobert’s health is failing, and Ormund will be lord and that whelp would not dare jump without asking Otto how high he should do so. They have the Faith and the Citadel on their side as well.”

Daemon sighed heavily. “I am not saying that they are no threat. What I am saying is that the damage they could have caused already happened. Otto is Hand, his daughter is married to the King and all Targaryens are too far to properly defend the King… by the King’s own orders we are so. What more can they do? And what can we possibly do to stop it if there is anything left for them to do?”

“Viserys can still name the Alicent girl as queen, just like he can disinherit Rhaenyra.” Saera spoke up.

“Then he does it.” Daemon looked as if he was swallowing a lemon as he said the words. “No matter what I do, no matter what anyone in this room does, Viserys will do as Viserys has always done, please Otto Hightower, please the masses and not even see that his actions are not pleasing anyone else. Pretending that everything is fine would be a step in the right direction at this point, at least some niggle of doubt would be allowed. Just like there is not much left for the Hightowers to do and the same can be said of us. The Hightowers are waiting for the birth of a son, and we are ensuring that any children, son or daughter, that the little Highwhore births has no dragon. That is what can be done directly. Indirectly we are also doing what we can, strengthening Dragonstone.”

It was not only Rhaenys who had to swallow the bitter truth that Daemon spoke.

“Have you never thought about a more direct approach? Assassins for hire may be the most common solution in history. It is quite the unoriginal idea.” Saera asked seriously.

“Mutual assured destruction.” Daemon mentioned, the only ones who nodded were Rhaenys and Vaegon.

“I am sorry?” Rhaenyra frowned.

Daemon cursed under his breath. “Rhaenys probably has been trained by Aemon.” He waited for the confirmatory nod. “Vaegon and I were taught some tools to properly argue, to properly strategize.”

“There is a such thing?” Saera seemed incensed at the knowledge and Rhaenyra agreed.

The way women and men were taught, what they were taught has always been unjust, and it was amazing how, no matter how many years pass, it can still dismay. She was set to fail, and her father did nothing to help. Rhaenyra recalled something that Daemon said… when Jeyne confronted her father in the throne room.

“You mentioned… fallacies… before.” Rhaenyra strained to remember. Truth be told, she was so tense during the week of her father’s… marriage to Alicent that details slipped through her memory.

Daemon took a few seconds to remember himself, his head was pounding. “Middle ground fallacy, I can give you the books about it. In any case, mutual assured destruction is what will happen if we simply start to kill any Hightower loyalist that crosses our path. Say that I order Otto’s death, his brother or his nephew will look at me first as prime suspect, it will not be long until there are assassins, sellswords, whatever the case may be after my own life. It will be a never-ending hidden war. Right now, we are out in the open, though. Less bloodshed, slower… and not that hidden considering Viserys’ proclivity to not notice what goes on underneath his own nose, but less deadly.”

“We start to kill them, and they start to kill us.” Rhaenys summarized.

Saera huffed, looking furious. “It does make sense.”

Daemon grunted, trying not to wince. “If that will be all, I think I will retire.”

Rhaenyra and Rhaenys eyed him strangely. It was not like Daemon to sleep so early, nevertheless it was already dark out and Lady Jeyne was probably ready to set sail back to the Eyrie.

Chapter Text

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

Daemon’s head was about to kill him. He was sure of it as he climbed onto his bed, not bothering to disrobe nor to cover himself despite the season. His head had barely rested but for a few moments on the pillow and Daemon was fast asleep.

Daemon has always known when he was dreaming while asleep, too deep into his cups or merely too bored about what was happening around him. He had wondered if that is not why he never put much trust in Dragon Dreams. Mirages of the future or past or present, as if he had not frequently imagined himself anywhere else but in the small council chambers and so fervently that he could almost taste freedom.

This was a dream. Daemon swallowed with difficulty. It had to be. A nightmare due to stress.

The Targaryen coat of arms was on fire, as it burned away, a tower surrounded by green flames stood in its place. It did not even look like the Hightower sigil or the High Tower, their keep, but rather what people like Otto thinks it ought to look like. Made of material much more resplendent than the light stone that he knew it to be, greater and more imposing.

Titanic crashes almost made Daemon lose his footing. Around him, the bodies of dragons lay dead, throats ripped out, eyes pierced with lances and, what should have been impossible… burned to death.

Drakes’ hides were not as hardened as dragons’, Daemon knew well. But a dragon as big as the one in front of him should not be susceptible to fire, even dragon fire unless it was one of the Conquerors' dragons that was responsible. Yet there it sprawled, its huge body unrecognizable but for the few old gold-colored scales, the sleek, elegant, and long horns also made Daemon conclude just what dragon fell to this fate.

Syrax.

No. No!

If Syrax was dead… where was Rhaenyra?!

Looking around, Daemon could not find her. He could not find her!

Dodging fiery, falling debris that seemed to be coming from nowhere as only open sky covered his head, Daemon ran around the huge carcass. In normal circumstances, his mind would not be hushing so. He would remember that Syrax was still young, perhaps no longer a young a drake, but not possessing the body to rival Meleys like the corpse that fell in front of Daemon.

“RHAENYRA!” he tried to yell as loudly as he could. Calling out to his niece every so often as he run aimlessly.

Daemon thought he saw bronze scales but right at that moment he couldn’t care less whether the mountainous body was Vhagar or Vermithor. Red scales made him pause, however. Side by side, two red dragons laid dead, one of the huge bodies had an extremely long neck, his form much leaner than most dragon’s.

“Caraxes.” He whispered, his very soul in pieces. Carefully putting his hand on the forehead of his oldest friend, Daemon released a sigh trapped uncomfortably in his throat.

An ominous rumbling sound accompanied shaking ground. Turning around, Daemon was shocked to see pillars of shadows and light and fire rising around him. And just as suddenly, he could see where he was standing.

King’s Landing. But the castle was of Dragonstone. The banners were of House Targaryen, yet there were Celtigar sigils destroyed as well. The fountain in the middle of Aegon’s Garden was the same that decorated Driftmark’s courtyard, now only intact enough for Daemon to recognize it.

Shaking his head, he looked around. “RHAENYRA!” Daemon called again, hoping against hope that this time she would hear and respond.

Before he could step much further, however, the images changed.

(“No queen has ever sat on the Iron Throne.”)

(“Heir for a day.”)

(“He didn’t choose me, he spurns Daemon.”)

(“The King must take a new wife.”)

(“One day.”)

(“And then Daemon sunk into his cups and, uh… abandoned me for some whore.”)

(“Wed her to me.”)

(“You deserve a husband.”)

(“I need you, Uncle.”)

(“You have lived too long, Nuncle.”)

It was supposed to end. He was dead… it was supposed to end.

(“Dear brother. I had hoped that you were dead.”)

(“After you. You are the elder.”)

“Daemon! DAEMON!”

He woke with a gasp. In front of him a flutter of servants was being pushed out of the chambers by Corlys, leaving only Rhaenyra and Rhaenys inside. Both wearing robes to cover their night shifts, both with their long silvery hair undone, waves making their appearance in the unbrushed tresses.

“Daemon?” Rhaenyra called his name.

Rhaenyra…

Amethyst eyes rolled back.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

“Daemon is not prone to nightmares, at least not like this.” Corlys raised a cup to his lips.

Rhaenyra was more concerned with the fever. She changed the now warm towel for another cold one as Maester Gerardys poked and probed her uncle. She was not quite sure of any Law of Exceptionalism, although that, childbirth and burst bellies aside, Rhaenyra has never heard of Targaryens that were bonded to dragons falling ill of the shivers or some such.

“Mayhap it was a bit inevitable. He had a taste of war in the weeks past in the Stepstones.” Rhaenys gathered her long hair over her shoulder. “Despite Daemon’s skills and training, this was his first real conflict.”

“But it has been almost two moons since he left the Stepstones.” Rhaenyra sat back on the chair beside the bed.

“And his mind has finally caught up with the experience.” Rhaenys took one last look at Daemon before the late hour almost forced a yawn from her. “Nothing either of us can do that Maester Gerardys cannot, Rhaenyra. We shall try to have what rest we can to see Lady Jeyne off in the morning which is but a few hours away.”

Rhaenyra knew she was right and, if only for the sake of the whispers not reaching the court back in King’s Landing, she could not stay unaccompanied with Daemon. Not least she was compared to Alicent, not if she wanted to keep Dragonstone.

With one last look at her uncle, Rhaenyra followed Rhaenys and Corlys out.

~*~

Rhaenyra woke with a start. She never had a particularly light sleep, so it was with shock that she realized that what had woken her up was Daemon sitting down on her bed.

“Daemon.”

Daemon was resting his elbows on his knees. “You left out some details when you told me about your… Dreams… back in Volantis.”

Rhaenyra tried to shake off her hazy sight. The manner of which she woke up ensured she was alert but not really understanding what was happening.

“I… Volantis. What are you talking about?” She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes.

“You told me I died… fighting for your claim… but you never told me how in vain that was.” His voice was even, almost calm but the words finally registered to Rhaenyra who froze where she sat.

Understanding cut through her like a sword of Valyrian steel. Daemon... he had Dreamed as well...

Through cold, unfeeling lips, she tried to speak. “There was nothing to be done by then.”

“There are still a few hours until dawn.” Daemon continued, ignoring her. “The second Jeyne and the rest of them set sail, Alfred Broome will meet Dark Sister and he will be the first in a long list.”

When he got up, Rhaenyra scrambled to follow. “Wait!” She winced at the way her voice echoed against the stone walls but calmed down when all Daemon did was sit down again, this time on a chair by the bed. “There is a reason I have not killed the man yet.”

“Please do explain.” Rhaenyra almost bit her lip.

To describe Daemon as mercurial was perhaps a euphemism and hardly encompassed his volatile temper. Right now, he was calm, indeed almost placid, which probably meant that he was seconds away from not waiting for sunrise at all and hunting down Alfred Broome right then and there.

Trying to calm herself, Rhaenyra finally had someone to talk to. Someone that knew as much as she did, no lengthy explanations to be given. It was a relief, Rhaenyra found. No more secrets, no worry about forgetting something that could be important, no fear of not being believed in.

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

Daemon made sure to support some of Rhaenyra’s weight as they said their farewells to Jeyne Arryn.

Sleepless nights were nothing unusual for him, but Rhaenyra has not been sleeping much as it was. Daemon felt a stab of guilty for his small part in it last night, especially now that he understood why that was. As a result, she had deep bruises underneath her eyes and, although she wasn’t swaying, Rhaenyra was clearly and visibly exhausted.

Jeyne eyed him suspiciously but did not comment on her cousin’s state. “Ravens to the Eyrie go directly to me, send me one if you need anything.”

“I extend the same to you.” Rhaenyra smiled a little wanly. “Please be safe, Cousin.”

Jeyne paused as if debating with herself. Finally, she took a few steps forward and hugged Rhaenyra. She was a few inches taller and in that moment those inches felt right, that way she could properly hug the girl that lost so much and so fast, who was her blood and yet they just so recently met.

Daemon just watched. His expression more solemn than any in the room has ever seen. The Arryns, much like the Starks, upheld their oaths until the end. Unable to properly be present due to internal conflict, geographic distance, he could not deny the fact that he never doubted their allegiance. Two Houses that Daemon could say for sure would die before betraying Rhaenyra.

He didn’t think it was possible to be so tired and to feel this relentless energy to get up and do something, anything at all. Starting with beheading any and all who he could remember even eyeing Rhaenyra in a way he disliked. Alfred Broome was maybe the first name Daemon thought for he was the physically closest one.

This could not be. This was impossible.

He was no Dreamer. This was not him.

This is what Viserys thinks Viserys is. Daemon thought with derision.

And yet, Daemon could recall it vividly, much more vividly than a memory, how Caraxes’ cries and roars were the fiercest they ever were. His oldest friend locked his jaws on Vhagar’s neck, once a friend, now enemies like their riders, not letting go no matter how much the other dragon, who was twice his size, tried to free herself. How Daemon, unchained from the saddle and with Dark Sister in his hand, leaped from Caraxes and drove Dark Sister to the hilt into Aemond’s already damaged eye.

Shakily, he reached for Rhaenyra’s hand who looked surprised at the gesture although she didn’t pull away. Daemon knew she wouldn’t, she never did.

The Darrys bowed before leaving as well, with a promise that their daughter, Rosamund, would be to Dragonstone shortly, and the Starks were the next to leave. Benjen talked briefly to his daughter before reaffirming his oath to Rhaenyra, his retainers quickly took the few belongings he brought with him into his ship. Lord Allum exchanged a few words with Rhaenys, clearly worried before bowing to them all and taking the same ship as the Masseys although not before thanking Rhaenyra for the opportunity given to his daughter to become a lady in waiting, Lord Gormon paused briefly in front of Rhaenyra.

“I believe that there will be no problems, but I shall ask my daughter about becoming your lady.” He promised.

“It would be my honor to have a Massey among us.” Rhaenyra smiled politely.

Gormon returned the smile as he bowed.

“That went very well.” Rhaenys seemed satisfied.

Daemon looked briefly at Rhaenyra. His eyes full of meaning but she shook her head. Rhaenys knew something happened because of their first conversation, but Rhaenyra did not tell her much. She did not even know how she could explain the death of her two children… Rhaenys’ own following just a few years later.

Corlys sighed tiredly. “We should probably talk about how to approach the Stepstones. The ravens I am receiving are discouraging at best.” He turned to Daemon.

But Daemon only had eyes for Rhaenyra. “In a moment, Corlys.”

Maester Gerardys cleared his throat. “I have sent a raven to House Hayford, inquiring after Lady Lyra.”

That made Daemon blink. “You are still planning on adding that girl to your ladies in waiting?”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “The Hayfords are less than a day away from King’s Landing, they know more of what goes on in the Capital than anyone else in the realm, they are a strategic choice.”

Daemon felt his eye twitching. “They…” he trailed off.

And Rhaenyra knew what he was thinking. If he saw the same things she did… “Their lord is loyal… besides with their daughter among my ladies, that can make the rest of their House pause long enough to consider their positions.”

“You intend on gaining a hostage?”

“Not in so many words. I also admit some pity for Lady Lyra. She is ten years older than me and, so close to King’s Landing, she would be an interesting option for my father to choose for a bride. Especially as the Hayfords are sworn directly to the Iron Throne. Either way, not a bad choice from the Crownlands.”

To Daemon, the arguments were a bit weak, but it was not like they had many options from the Crownlands. Indeed, it was better than their reasoning for contacting and relying on Rhaella, since they were only considering Rhaella because there was literally no one else.

Pushing those thoughts away, Daemon then asked. “Is there anything else?”

“Merely waiting for the replies from the Hayfords and Rhaella at this point.”

Daemon nodded before pulling her back towards the Sea Dragon Tower.

“We will reconvene at sunset.” Daemon declared without stopping.

Corlys, Rhaenys, Saera and Vaegon all eyed the way the sun had barely risen in the horizon.

“Do they really take all this time?” Corlys tried to joke.

But Saera merely eyed the dark bruises under Rhaenyra’s eyes. “I do not think that this is what Daemon intends.”

~*~

(Lady Maris Baratheon)

Amelia and Nora were explaining to Ada and Maris about the layout of Dragonstone. Even after a fortnight living in the keep, the island itself remaining a mystery to many, especially to them. The Strong sisters had visited it before with their father and they made sure to teach some of his own instructions to their new friends with Amanda sometimes interjecting. They all looked up when Daemon opened the doors to Aegon’s chambers, now being used as Rhaenyra’s antechamber.

“Help the Princess dress for bed.” He ordered before merely turning his back to them.

Maris was a little shocked at the display. Her parents would have never allowed such but when Amelia and Nora immediately complied, long since used to the stories their brother would tell them about Prince Daemon, she followed behind Ada.

The Princess looked extremely tired, but she had woken up like that. Lady Amanda had narrowed her eyes in displeasure when the Princess had to drag herself from bed in order to say their farewells to their guests.

Efficiently changing the Princess and undoing the intricate braids they made hours earlier, they pulled back the heavy bedding covers and helped her set in before Prince Daemon dismissed them.

Maris raised her eyebrows. Yet something else her parents would not have allowed. The last sight she had was of Prince Daemon taking a seat on the chair by the Princess’ bed.

~*~

(Third POV)

Daemon waited just long enough for the women to close the doors.

“Take some rest, I will wake you up in a few hours.” He turned to Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra’s eyelids were dropping but she still made sure to voice her complaint. “You just gave a lot of gossip to the staff.”

“Another reason for our hastiness in ensuring that Dragonstone have loyal servants.”

There was no answer to that.

“Are you just going to sit there and watch me sleep?”

Daemon raised a book in answer to which Rhaenyra almost scoffed but… feeling safer than she had in moons with Daemon as sentinel, she could feel sleep pulling her in. Deeper and heavier than she had managed since her mother died, since she had those Dreams.

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

True to his unspoken words, Daemon did not watch Rhaenyra sleep. Although neither did he read whatever book was there on Rhaenyra’s nightstand. He would have liked to say that his mind was quick at working out ways to counter their enemies and gain allies, to safeguard what ground they already gained, but the truth was that he simply did not know what to think at all.

His very first instinct was to spill blood as a mountain of corpses started to build up. Rhaenyra’s words, tentative and tired, pulled him back enough but Daemon, despite feeling guilty for his part in her exhaustion, tried to cling to her plans.

They were good, they made sense. And they took time. Daemon gritted his teeth.

His breath quickened and the grip he had on the book increased. Daemon was almost shaking in his urgency to kill all those he knew that put Rhaenyra in danger, however, he feared for her safety and for her life whenever Rhaenyra left his sight. His heart started to race in anxiety when he could no longer see her. It was the reason he went to her as he assimilated those damn Dreams, it was the reason he was not leaving her rooms right now.

Daemon left and Otto’s influence only grew. Daemon left and Rhaenyra started to trust that little whore, Alicent. Daemon left and Aemma’s life was drained. Daemon left and damaged Rhaenyra’s own standing in the eyes of the realm when he voiced his intention to make Mysaria as the new Lady of Dragonstone. Daemon left Rhaenyra in that brothel. He left again and this time bringing Laena Velaryon with him. He left and Jacaerys died and Little Viserys was lost to the sea. He left and Joffrey died and then Rhaenyra died.

At least half of it was not, logically, his fault. Most of it was his fault if only indirectly. And Daemon felt responsible for all of it.

The chamber was warm. The hearth was lit and blazing as only a Targaryen enjoyed but Daemon could only shake in paralyzing fear. And that was the problem, he almost snorted, he had never felt such a griping, all consuming fear. Daemon could not claim to know the fear that he saw on his own face when facing Drahar alone, he could not claim to know the fear of death in those last moments when he leaped from Caraxes’ saddle. He saw… he Dreamed, but he did not experience it.

Seeing Rhaenyra, determinedly shielding Young Aegon. Seeing the Usurper ordering his own mangled and burned dragon for the last time to rain fire on Rhaenyra, that scared Daemon. He was older and a warrior. In the but few times he had contemplated the end, he had always assumed he would never live to see Rhaenyra being embraced by Balerion. And the manner of which she did…

Almost as if to make sure she was still warm and breathing, Daemon stretched to take her hand. Warm, soft, the pulse strong beneath his own fingers. In response, his own heart and mind started to calm, maybe just enough to clear his thoughts.

To spend energy on Storm’s End was an useless task, Daemon sneered. Even if they had sent Rhaenys instead of Lucerys, Borros Baratheon wanted a man on the throne, no matter what oaths were given. He had more success than Viserys in having children, but his attitude in constantly impregnating his lady wife who was almost beyond her childbearing years in a bid to have a son was the same one that had Viserys risking Aemma’s life until the tipping point. The buffoon even wanted to name the boy “Aegon.” Daemon rolled his eyes.

The Brackens and the Blackwoods were almost predictable. If one had declared for the Greens, the other would declare for the Blacks. Although Daemon was impressed at the fact that, despite almost no signal being given, that happened without one side knowing to which faction the other declared for. Perhaps they were as fated to be enemies as the Usurper and Rhaenyra. Nevertheless, Daemon wanted to make sure that they still had their support.

Duskendale and Rook’s Rest were also to be rewarded by their loyalty. Daemon shook his head. Trying not to let those Dreams dictate his actions. Just because they were loyal to Rhaenyra before did not mean they would be loyal now, to an heir that was just declared, who is a few moons from being of age and whose succession was already weakened by… Daemon himself and his actions with Mysaria and Dragonstone, he winced, and the King remarrying so fast as if desperate to have another heir.

Still, in her isolation and betrayal from before, Rhaenyra did not send a message as she did in that blasted wedding – Daemon almost barked a laugh, using that whore’s own tricks against her – he thought fondly, she had not reached out for the Houses as she was doing now.

And who would support a dragonless king?

You did. Daemon frowned at the thought. It was different. Viserys did have a dragon, he may not have had Balerion, but he had Rhaenys, Rhaenyra and Daemon himself. They were his dragon. What would the Usurper have? Four eggs gone cold and three made of rock and polished obsidian, that’s what.

The realm did. That made Daemon narrow his eyes.

Even if they failed, even if the Greens got their dragons, it would be three, maybe four dragons of fighting size by the time any war happens. It was not the first time Daemon thought so, and it would not be the last, he was sure, for it was the truth.

This time, there would be no adult dragons to be claimed. No legendary beasts like Vhagar fighting against them.

Sunfyre and Tessarion had not even hatched yet and Daemon was sure there could be other arrangements for them as well.

Grey Ghost was not tried by war, but Vaegon would fly for Rhaenyra if asked.

When Daemon could no longer ignore the way that the sun was shining, he realized how much time it passed. Aegon’s room was facing west, the sun was beginning to set.

“Rhaenyra.” He gently shook her shoulder.

~*~

(Third POV)

“My Princess.” Maester Gerardys hurried to her. “Septa Rhaella has answered, a raven just flew from Goldengrove.”

“Goldengrove?” Rhaenys frowned in concern. “If Rhaella is no longer at the Starry Sept, something must have happened…”

“The Rowans are loyal.” Daemon assured, at least they were last time.

But Rhaenyra saw Rhaella’s answer with bemusement. Making no move to break the wax and read it. “I… for how long did I sleep?”

Daemon cleared his throat. “Almost twelve hours.”

Rhaenyra turned to look at him, incredulous and annoyed that he let her waste most of the day away. Daemon met her eyes squarely back, while he was not about to say that he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the passage of time, he also did not regret letting Rhaenyra rest when it was clear that she needed it.

Huffing, Rhaenyra opened the letter.

“My Princess,

It is with happiness I received news of family and with sadness that I realize how many years passed without a word exchanged.

Cousin Vaegon’s letter reached me just as I was leaving the Starry Sept. Word has come of Vaegon’s disappearance from the Citadel and the septons and maesters are worried, that is to say, tensions have risen in recent weeks.

No search party has been sent, neither were ravens. I have heard that his quarters were searched, but I have no way of verifying such information.

My name has been mentioned in recent times as well, too often I dare say. Even before news reached us of Vaegon’s disappearance.

I must admit that it has been years since I had feared for my own safety and now, I fear their sudden interest in me. Old as I am, the Stranger shall meet me before any succession crisis is to happen. And old as I am, I will be birthing no dragon riding children, old as I am and yet I have no useful political contact.

I shall ride on dragonback to King’s Landing, this way no enemy on road shall be an obstacle. Whatever remaining time and energy I have left, they are yours, My Princess.

Septa Rhaella,

Daughter of Queen Rhaena Targaryen.”

It said a lot that Rhaella acknowledged that it has been too long since she was a princess to call herself one anymore. And it said a lot that, despite having shed her House upon becoming a septa, she still remembered her mother fondly. The mother that was never truly crowned queen, at least not while wife to Aenys' oldest son, Aegon, who was equally and aptly named the “Uncrowned” and her marriage to Maegor was not a memory easily and lightly evoked.

“Rhaella being in danger after Vaegon left the Citadel was an oversight.” Rhaenys admitted with a discreet wince.

Rhaenyra agreed but, “There is nothing to be done about that now.”

She took a deep breath and tried to ignore how, that last time, neither Rhaella or Vaegon were even mentioned and, as far as Rhaenyra knew, neither were they harmed in any way. For sure once Aegon was born, both the Faith and the Citadel would increase the number of eyes on them. That neither were involved was probably more happenstance than anything else.

Daemon narrowed his eyes, but Rhaenyra thought that he would agree with her in this. If the Hightowers failed to use these potential resources, so did the Blacks, but that did not mean they were not considered. Much like Rhaenyra, at the beginning, however, they probably did not wish to risk Vaegon and Rhaella swearing their allegiance to the other side. Too bad that Rhaenyra was willing to chance more this time around. But the way Rhaella wrote… Rhaenyra also did not make as many waves… which in turn would probably make the Greens more complacent.

“On dragonback it is.” Saera smirked her victory.

But the reason behind her idea of retrieving Rhaella on dragon was made clearer later that same day. As if it was not obvious before. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes as they all watched Saera retrieving and leading a large cow towards one of the caves.

“Why some dragons you need… all that,” Maris motioned towards the entrance of the cave, “and others like Grey Ghost that Prince Vaegon rides, you can just... claim?”

Daemon smirked. “Some dragons are not so easily mounted. I would say it is personality,” before Vhagar, before Aemond claimed their biggest and most powerful dragon mere days after her previous rider died, “but who truly knows.”

They heard strong, loud roars. Saera emerging with no dragon but also no failure either. She was smiling. While the bond may not have been formed, the gift was accepted, and she was, at least, not rejected.

“Well… feeding is done.”

Vaegon got out of the same cave on his own dragon, standing by just in case Saera would have need of him. Quickly dismounting, he made his way to them as well.

“At least no fire was breathed your way.” He groaned a bit and stretched. “The saddle could have been made of softer leather.”

“The more you use, the softer it gets.” Rhaenyra commented lightly.

“I do find myself impressed how those saddles are made to accommodate a growing dragon, Aegarax is young still and is growing rapidly.” Vaegon said, just a bit happily and proudly.

Daemon raised an eyebrow. “The Valyrian god of moon and sun.” he turned to look at the clear, shining dragon that was reflecting the rays of sun off his scales. “Fitting.”

If in a particularly flattering mood, Daemon would also offer that Aegarax was the god of wisdom and knowledge and meditation, but he saw no need to kiss Vaegon’s feet.

“A very beautiful name as well.” Maris complimented.

“It is usual for Valyrian names.” Rhaenyra almost sounded boastful if not for her tired delivery.

“Once they stop roaring in defiance, it is time to ride them.” Daemon instructed briefly as Saera cleaned her soot covered hands.

Saera’s winning smile dimmed just slightly. “Our parents never really taught us such.”

Vaegon raised an eyebrow. “I doubt that the plan was to let us claim any dragon whatsoever.”

Rhaenyra interjected. “Whatever the case, who is set to meet Rhaella?”

“Vaegon and I will go.” Daemon answered blandly.

“It has been a fortnight since Vaegon claimed Grey— Aegarax, this is a twelve-hour flight for a slower dragon than Meleys, is that wise?” Rhaenys clearly wanted to be the one meeting Rhaella and yet she had not offered even once.

Daemon met Rhaenyra’s eyes, she hummed. “Perhaps not, but maybe Rhaella will be more receptive to a, if not familiar, then a known face instead of two unknown ones.”

Rhaenyra could not leave, not now and certainly not in a flight so close to the Reach. Rhaenys had her own reasons and despite Saera’s insistence, it was clear that she would not be ready to fly for so long as a rider instead of behind one.

They all turned when Aegarax roared his feelings, his wings spread as if in greeting. In mere half a moon since Vaegon had first flown with him, some of the changes they could see were impressive. Perhaps his size did not suffer much growth and he still much preferred to avoid conflict when possible, and yet no one that has known the dragon before he was claimed could deny that indeed he had changed. The pale grey scales that gave him his moniker were now pearlescent, no other color to be seen, much like Meleys, Syrax and Caraxes. Unlike most other dragons, the newly named Aegarax had almost no spikes save for a few around his face and neck, yet in the last week, quite a few had grown in his tail. Being taught by Daemon that, often, those were used in battle of dragon against dragon, especially when they were of matching sizes and ages as their fire wouldn’t burn the other, a swipe of the tail can still wound.

It was if Vaegon’s dragon was preparing for war.

Heart racing, Rhaenyra paid no mind to their company before grabbing Daemon’s hand in her own. Just as Caraxes flew to them.

“You remember my idea… for Rhaella.”

“Don’t worry, little dragon.” Daemon smirked before walking towards Caraxes, doing his most to hide how tired he, himself, was.

Daemon could now fully comprehend why Rhaenyra was so tired all the time. It was not merely sleepless nights. Dreams took more energy than he ever expected as random flashes of sound and images sometimes assaulted them in the middle of the day as well. Less new information, more like a repeat of what they Dreamed.

His smirk vanished, however, as he looked back, already on air, and saw Rhaenyra standing there. Quickly getting smaller as Caraxes beat his wings. The image was completely different. Rhaenyra was surrounded by her now five new ladies in waiting, by Rhaenys, by Gerardys, by Saera of all people, by servants alike. He was not leaving her...

But Daemon could not help but remember those Dreams. He never knew… Rhaenyra never told him… And he would deserve it as well, but the Rhaenyra he married after ten years of separation was not the same one that he left behind in an ill-fated wedding to Laenor Velaryon. Taller, curvier, sharper… exhausted and less trusting as well.

Rhaenyra may have not wished to hurt him, just as much as she no longer trusted him like she once did to be so vulnerable. Daemon felt a strange sensation. As if someone was stabbing his heart and squeezing it in a fist at the same time.

The sight of him leaving… his back to her, mounted on Caraxes, is not unfamiliar to Rhaenyra. But Rhaenyra had never told Daemon that after being forcibly wedded to Laenor, she had ran to try and see him one last time… and had watched as he left with Caraxes… this time with Laena on Vhagar by his side.

Chapter Text

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

“More comfortable than Meleys.” Vaegon commented lightly.

Daemon did not even have the energy to roll his eyes. “When you are riding your own dragon, you can better direct them, better predict their movements.”

Thaddeus Rowan had once declared for Rhaenyra. Daemon knew his support to be true and this was a rare opportunity to gauge the Reach as whole. In those Dreams, many Houses of the Reach supported the Blacks, much to Daemon’s amusement and smugness, but with less time as heir and a rushed second marriage from the king, Daemon was not about to lose the chance to gain more allies to Rhaenyra.

“Prince Daemon… Archmaester Vaegon.” Thaddeus greeted a little wrong footed at the sight of Vaegon. “Goldengrove is yours.”

Vaegon, for his part, smiled politely but for a second. Daemon was almost certain of his thoughts, for they were his own. Neither knew for sure for how long Vaegon would remain an Archmaester, at least one acknowledged by the Citadel.

“Lord Rowan.” Daemon nodded. “I am grateful that you welcomed Septa Rhaella into your castle.”

Vaegon and Daemon followed him as his servants fluttered about.

“It was an honor. I must say it has been years since the realm has remembered that the Targaryens of King’s Landing are not the only Targaryens around.”

Daemon felt his eyes narrowing. It did not feel like a threat, just ill-concealed curiosity. Still, the words did not inspire Daemon into lowering his guard.

“Indeed. We are always happy to reunite with family.” Was all that he offered.

In his case, not so much reunite, as meeting for the first time.

Rhaella was not dressed as a septa. Was the first thing that Daemon noticed. Her silvery hair was loose if well groomed, simple enough dress and, what would be completely out of place in a septa, wearing a bracelet around her right wrist, silver and with a dangling ruby, matching set of earrings, a simple golden band around her left finger ring. But perhaps the most telling of all was the silver, delicate circlet around her forehead, a ruby at the very center.

It was with somewhat less surprise that Daemon knew about the circlet and what it meant and Vaegon didn’t.

“Queen Rhaena’s first set after she came of age.”

There was a surprising lack of lines on her face, more like the hint of them. When Rhaella smiled thinly at his comment, they came to be, her voice was as soft as her appearance.

“Prince Daemon… as knowledgeable about our heritage and history as his fame says. It is an honor.” She bowed.

Daemon suddenly felt uncomfortable in not bowing back, but doing so would have some political repercussions. He was very acutely aware of the many servants running about and around them, just like he was aware of Lord Thaddeus not too far away either.

Instead, he merely nodded and let Vaegon take a step forward.

“Cousin Rhaella, it is good to see you again.” If it he was being truthful, Daemon could not say for there wasn’t even a hint of smile anywhere on his face.

Daemon almost rolled his eyes. And people spoke of his tendency to flaunt convention.

But Rhaella seemed pleased and genuinely happy to see Vaegon. “In King Jaehaerys’ celebration of his twentieth year of reign, is when we met, I remember it well. You were a lad of five years.”

Almost forty-five years since anyone from House Targaryen exchanged words with Rhaella. Especially if his suspicious are confirmed and no one contacted Rhaella in the Great Council of 101. Daemon suppressed a grimace. The longest Daemon himself has gone without any contact with anyone in his family was after a particularly harrowing fight with Viserys. Daemon had once again disrespected Rhea, Aemma had a miscarriaged and Rhaenyra had received the first offer of marriage. It all added to a prolonged banishment of almost three years.

After which would have been the almost four years in the Stepstones War and then the ten very long years after... after...

Don’t die. Rhaenyra’s words echoed about in his mind. Knowing that he emerged triumphant last time, Rhaenyra now also knew the price of war. His little dragon, who was so curious and marveled at his gruesome scars that her only interest was in the tale behind it and concern for the pain he endured not for the genuine risk of death for it was not something she had thought of.

Daemon had to admit a certain maudlin nature to his thoughts. Mourning as well. Knowledge is not experience, yet all the same, those Dreams dragged Rhaenyra from the ignorance that was protecting the little innocence she had left.

Daemon had to stop himself from grimacing, he did not wish for those watching as Rhaella and Vaegon talked, to think that it was in reaction to his cousin and uncle. The truth was that it was for himself.

If he was to ask Viserys… and if Viserys was forced to acknowledge the cruel reality, Daemon could almost hear his answer. Aemma’s death would mark the beginning of Rhaenyra’s inability to be a child any longer. Even without any Dreams, Daemon knew that it started before that. Viserys’ constant attempts at getting a son are both, understandable and hurtful.

Daemon knew very well that Rhaenyra, logically speaking, understood Viserys’ pressing need for a son. But logic had no bearing on a young girl that had to watch as her mother wasted away for a new child for she was not enough.

As a second son, Daemon understood it to some extent. Envy for that son being born who and what he was, guilt for not being enough and putting such a strain and such a burden on all around him, and pain for it all. Same feelings, different circumstances. And Daemon did nothing to help. The images of that brothel were seared into his head and would not soon vacate it, if ever.

“To Dragonstone, it is almost eighteen hours on dragonback, however.” Vaegon frowned in concern.

If Daemon thought that the comment would offend Rhaella, he was surprised at her kind smile, a disparity with what she said next. “Oh, the trip would certainly be cut short when I become unable to hold on and fall from the saddle.”

Daemon blinked. From the very, very few times Rhaella was mentioned around him, Daemon remembers how his grandmother, Alysanne, mentioned Rhaella as a well-mannered maiden, but shy. Although in all fairness, that opinion was formed almost five decades ago.

“There is no need for us to think about a trip directly to Dragonstone.” Daemon interjected. “Princess Rhaenyra regrets that she is unable to meet you as of yet, but she has an offer to make.”

Rhaella smiled again. It was kind and open just like her mauve eyes, a shade she shared with Rhaenys, but a contrast to her words.

“Is it an offer that she can make?”

Daemon finally smiled back, sharper and hiding none of his nature. “When has that ever stopped us before?”

~*~

It is no wonder that the Rowans fought for Rhaenyra. Daemon thought as he dinned with Thaddeus Rowan, and his three eldest children. Thaddeus’ wife was apparently on bedrest as she neared her nineth moon of pregnancy. Daemon would not go so far as to say the man reminded him of Ser Robert Quince, but it was not an unjust comparison either.

Laughing freely at something that Vaegon clearly did not mean as a jest, Thaddeus made a point to include all in his conversation. Servants retrieving and changing plates seemed genuinely cheerful as they went about their duties.

In some ways, Thaddeus reminded Daemon of Rodrik Arryn as well.

“I must say! Princess Rhaenyra has kept herself occupied! It has been many years since the last time so many Targaryens were together like this! King Jaehaerys is rejoicing, I am sure!”

Daemon would not know. At four and ten, Alysanne had informed him about his betrothal to Rhea, and at six and ten, Jaehaerys had enforced it, or, more accurately, did not fight against it. As a general rule, Daemon barely found it in himself to be all that angered at the Old King. The Great Council of 101 was the last time the Old King stood on his own, a little before that, he had knighted Daemon and gifted him with Dark Sister. Bedridden, delusional and seeing Saera Targaryen in Alicent Hightower, the man could not even rise his torso without aid.

But Alysanne? The woman that, in one of her last acts when she still had all the energy of life, made sure to chain him to a sheep of a woman?

Daemon almost shook his head. Whatever the case may be, the truth is that only Jaehaerys and Alysanne would know what Jaehaerys and Alysanne would want. As they aged, they made sure they were remembered as the King and Queen of Westeros by all, including whatever remained of their family. Saera was entitled to whatever she felt, but in many ways, she was right about it as well. For Aemon, Baelon and Alyssa had parents, most of the remaining children and grandchildren had monarchs.

“Thank you for the kind sentiment.” Rhaella smiled gently.

The rest of the meal went on without a hitch and, Rhaella being able and willing, she refused accommodations for the night.

“Dragon rides are hard enough for those unaccustomed to it during the day.” Daemon warned quietly.

But Rhaella shook her head. “Better so now, no one will see us. The night shall protect us, the clouds will block the moonlight as well.”

The three turned to the nearest window where they could see that, indeed, clouds started to gather, thick enough to block the sky.

“And into rain as well.” Daemon pursed his lips. He did not have an opinion one way or another over Rhaenys and Saera’s discussion for Rhaella, but he was starting to agree with Rhaenys.

This was going to kill Rhaella before she was ever useful.

But Rhaella seemed to understand his thoughts. “I am old but not quite nearing death.”

“The Old King died at nine and sixty.” Daemon mentioned apropos of nothing.

“King Jaehaerys suffered great loss over the years that sapped his strength.” Rhaella countered, as politely as she said everything else.

Daemon just hoped that it was just how she chose to express it instead of being genuinely how she felt. But if anything else, Rhaella would be able to endear herself easily enough.

Caraxes and Aegarax roared at the sight of their riders. To Rhaella’s credit, she did not falter at the sight, instead, merely smiling, she carefully, slowly approached the dragons.

“Better if you go with Vaegon, Caraxes is intolerant at best with new people.” Daemon quickly climbed up the red scales.

Rhaella glanced at Vaegon, pride in her eyes and features. “I do not know what King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne would think of… of our situation, but they would be proud of you.”

Vaegon smiled a little tentatively, not committing to anything, before calming Aegarax enough so Rhaella could climb his saddle. “Please warn us if you wish to stop.”

In the end, maybe Rhaenys was right. Even midflight, Vaegon and Daemon shared a look over the flapping wings of their dragons. Rhaella’s pained grunts were only heard by Vaegon, but from the tight grip she had over his doublet, from the hunched way she was trying to curve inward, she was in pain.

Middle of the night or not, Daemon signaled to Vaegon for them to land. It was only ever made visible the silhouette against the darkness of the night, and it was only ever luck that Vaegon noticed the motion.

Carefully making sure that there was no one camping nearby, they descended on a big enough hill for both dragons to land. Vaegon heeded Daemon’s instruction and tried to convey his worry and intent to Aegarax, reaching inside himself for the connection to his dragon. A low rumbling sound rose from a white scaled throat and Aegarax glided the rest of the way, but the landing would be hard no matter what.

Rhaella gasped as powerful claws dug into the dirt and Aegarax, who would usually be so happy after a successful flight and spread his wings out, was quiet and still while Vaegon helped Rhaella down.

Unlike Vaegon and Saera herself, Rhaella did not complain of the pain she was surely in, instead, she was almost heaving as she leaned heavily on Vaegon. Pale and with transpiration on her forehead that was more wrinkled than ever as she frowned in agony.

“Rhaella… I will give you two options,” Daemon’s voice was not quite kind, but it wasn’t as hard as his words would suggest, “I have milk of the poppy with me, and you can use it for the rest of the trip tonight. Or we can rest from flight every few hours, I believe it has been about three since we left Goldengrove.”

Rhaella gritted her teeth and for the first time since they met, she looked more like a Targaryen princess than a soft and kindhearted septa. “Resting means we will give up the cover of the night.” She extended her hand expectantly.

A little more impressed than he would admit, Daemon went to his saddlebag to retrieve the milk of the poppy he brought just for the occasion. They had to chain Rhaella to Vaegon and Aegarax more securely as her grip was compromised, she had to lean over Vaegon and her arms were a little too slack around his waist, but her mauve eyes were hard, her jaw was set.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Rhaella was the only Targaryen alive who experienced Maegor’s reign… sometimes it was easy to forget that the Hightowers also saved her life. Daemon clenched his jaw so tightly he was half afraid of breaking his teeth.

Vaegon had assured them that, much like Maegelle, Rhaella had spent most of her life in missions for the Faith. Her main residence may have been the Starry Sept, but she has travelled more than any Targaryen princess or queens doing tours for The Crown. And while that sounded quite like the political asset to have on their side, they knew much, much less of her than they did Vaegon or Saera.

What has become of the House of the Dragon? As if it was not enough having to rely on practically unknows, but those same unknowns were Princesses and Prince of the Blood and yet the only thing they truly had to prove so was their fluency of unpracticed High Valyrian, purple eyes and silvery hair. In some ways the Hightowers whelps were more Targaryen than Rhaella, Vaegon and Saera, they spent more time in the Red Keep at the very least, by the gods!

The flight and the milk of the poppy took a lot out of Rhaella. Vaegon and Daemon had to help her walk for she refused to be carried. Her words slurred just slightly, and her legs buckled just slightly. The carriage and horses but with no coach waited for them just like Rhaenys promised.

Daemon’s eyes were narrowed as the caves came into view, just some torches lighting their way now, the heavy breathing of a dragon unmistakable for those that knew what to hear for.

Doubtful of Rhaella’s physical capability at this point, Daemon had no other choice but let her go forward on her own… as much as she could. He grimaced at the way Rhaella could barely keep herself upright using the walls but stopped Vaegon when he made to help.

“If we go past this point, we both risk death by fire.”

Vaegon frowned a bit. “I thought it was a test… when Rhaenys made me go forward without her.”

“Not… inaccurate.” Daemon raised an amused eyebrow. “But probably not in the way you thought. While not impossible, the secrets to bonding with more than one dragon were lost with the Doom, the last Targaryens to do so were Aenar and his children. Still, claiming a dragon is a lonely endeavor, dragons do not take kindly to humans, when bonded, that can lessen or worsen depending on factors like exposition to new humans, personality of both dragon and the rider, even current temperament so imagine their feelings during the attempt.”

Vaegon hummed. “Vermithor and Silverwing did not seem to have such an issue, but I remember Aemon making comments about Caraxes… your own father wouldn’t keep Vhagar too close to the Red Keep even when our father assured him that Vhagar could roam free, some of the patios in the Red Keep were also big enough for her to land.”

“Silverwing and Vermithor have long since become used to not only Targaryens but humans in general.” Daemon explained briefly, his muscles tensing as they heard some loud grumbling that thankfully did not become a roar yet. While the sounds were not unfamiliar to King’s Landing, he did not want to attract the attention of the dragonkeepers with any commotion. “Caraxes has been a war dragon since reaching adulthood, so has Vhagar.” Daemon cursed and had to tackle Vaegon to the ground so they wouldn’t be knocked over by the huge beast.

Instead of a lumbering form making its way out, the dragon flew through the cavernous building into the open air. The torches’ light briefly illuminating pale blue scales as Dreamfyre flew with a rider for the first time in forty years.

They ran outside just in time to see Rhaella disappearing into the clouds, heading towards Dragonstone.

~*~

*Flashback*

“There is no need for us to think about a trip directly to Dragonstone.” Daemon interjected. “Princess Rhaenyra regrets that she is unable to meet you as of yet, but she has an offer to make.”

Rhaella smiled again. It was kind and open just like her mauve eyes, a shade she shared with Rhaenys, but a contrast to her words.

“Is it an offer that she can make?”

Daemon finally smiled back, sharper and hiding none of his nature. “When has that ever stopped us before?”

“Indeed.” Rhaella agreed easily. “Is it an offer than will mark me solidly against Ser Otto?” She corrected herself.

The lack of title of ‘lord’ did not go unnoticed by Daemon. For truly, to call Otto a “Lord” was only correct in an honorary capacity for his position as Hand.

“Quite.” Daemon answered. “The last remaining piece of Queen Rhaena Targaryen left on the Known World is yours to take… if you dare to do so.”

Rhaella’s polite smile slowly slid off as shock increased. Mauve eyes became misty as emotion took over. “Dreamfyre.” She whispered.

“Has been without a rider for far too long.” Daemon enticed.

If this was Vaegon, if this was Saera, they would have questioned him. They did question him, Rhaenys and Rhaenyra before truly committing to anything. They criticized their plan, called them out on their madness, demanded assurances on what exactly they were being asked for, and then worked to earn their trust in return, claims in a letter notwithstanding.

Rhaella on the other hand was so overcome by the memory of her mother that she made no inquiry about why they would want her, a seventy-year-old septa, to claim a dragon at all. Rhaella did not voice the connection between the tensions rising in the entire realm as the King took a new wife among scandals and a war brewing in the horizon. A war that could mean dragons killing dragons. Of course, it was not a war she was likely to witness, let alone partake in but it was telling that Daemon did not know her enough to say whether she thought about the possibility.

“Dreamfyre was my mother’s most beloved companion. Her ladies, my father… when they all faltered or turned their backs, Dreamfyre was there for her.” Rhaella whispered. Her grief marring her face more than any wrinkle could.

"Such is the nature of a bond with a dragon. Constant and everlasting and only death can break it.” Daemon agreed, his eyes were sharp as they followed Rhaella outside, towards the dragons. “Your mother was an interesting character… an interesting Targaryen.”

Rhaella’s thin lips trembled in pain. “She was a woman, a veritable hostage with no true home of her own.”

“A lot was taken from her.” Daemon prompted.

“Her husband, her crown, her daughter, her home, her mother… her happiness, her health, and ultimately her life.” Rhaella numbered.

And then Daemon decided to risk it, it was not as if he was being subtle in the first place after all. “History has a curious way to repeat itself. A war is coming, and Dreamfyre will be claimed before long and made to fight as well.”

Rhaella and Alysanne Targaryen did not look much alike. Being only six years apart, Rhaella still had an echo of a Targaryen beauty, the mauve eyes and the silvery hair that contained the faintest hints of gold. Alysanne was never a great beauty, even in her youth, although far from uncomely, she had inherited a lot more from her grandmother, Alarra Massey’s House than honey colored hair and blue eyes than from her Velaryon grandfather.

And so, Rhaella did not really have much in her that reminded Daemon of Alysanne. Even their anger showed differently. Alysanne would narrow her eyes, perhaps snarl if her temper was provoked enough, but ultimately, she preferred to stomp away like the child she insisted Daemon was and recluse herself. The power that Jaehaerys gave her, however, she had made sure to use it. Rhaella went silent, straightening her back as much as her age allowed it.

“Dreamfyre shall be mine. If she is to fly to war, she will do so on the right side of history.”

Never mind really the fact that Dreamfyre was killed by a damn mob. The images were still enough to make Daemon enraged. Syrax and the remaining dragons were slain that day as well. Rhaenyra’s decision and firmness when stating that while she governs Dragonstone no dragon shall be chained made more sense then. Daemon had been proud of the move, if for no other reason than the fact that for all the militant practicality of Maegor, building the Dragonpit never settled well with Daemon. But now he truly understood the reason Rhaenyra vehemently refused to contain them, no matter how uncomfortable or fearful the presence of dragons would make people.

She had confided that not even when they would be forced to come to King’s Landing was Rhaenyra planning to chain Syrax and Daemon intended to follow her example.

“The first flight is always the most unpredictable as you get used to think as one. A dragon follows much more your intention and desire than voiced commands, especially when you know what you are doing. Keep yourself calm, allow Dreamfyre to feel your resolve, and you shall be on Dragonstone in about six hours.” Daemon instructed. “Head northeast, Dreamfyre shall do the rest.”

Rhaella pursed her lips. “Can’t I just wait for you both?”

“The first flight is aways the most unpredictable.” Daemon repeated. “We need to take advantage of the initial connection to make the trip, aside from the fact that after claiming Dreamfyre there will be no way to hide what we did. Dreamfyre has grown since the years she was Queen Rhaena’s mount, not as much as if she was allowed to fly free, but grow she did and the entirety of King’s Landing will know she is gone once she leaves the Dragonpit.” Daemon paused. “You need to truly believe that you think as one with Dreamfyre, truly convey the need for silence and calm. If she roars, we will have very little time before the dragonkeepers arrive.”

“How are we to enter the Dragonpit without them noticing?” Rhaella frowned.

“That will be the easy part.” Daemon narrowed his eyes, but it was not like he could blindfold both Rhaella and Vaegon to stop them from seeing the tunnels.

*End Flashback*

~*~

For a man of nine and forty, Vaegon could run reasonably well. Daemon thought with not a small amount of gratefulness for the fact. They had to make a good time towards the horses and, therefore, the dragons to keep their presence in King’s Landing quiet. None can know of their involvement. None can know what even happened to Dreamfyre. At least not for a long time. Daemon had quickly retrieved the chains that Rhaella had left behind to free Dreamfyre and they quickly made their way back into the tunnels.

“Quickly.” Daemon heaved the chains around Caraxes who grumbled for more often than not, Daemon was not in King’s Landing for prolonged periods of time for the Blood Wyrm to be chained.

Unused to being ridden and having long since given up the idea of riding a dragon at all, Dreamfyre and Rhaella’s flight was slow and steady. Daemon had to wince at how Rhaella was using the last chain around the light blue dragon’s neck to hold herself to her. The spikes along the back could not possibly be comfortable either without a saddle.

Urging Caraxes, Daemon bracketed Dreamfyre between his own dragon and Aegarax and pushed her to fly faster. The sun was beginning to rise, and they needed to be out of sight by then. They had yet to contact the Bar Emmons, and so Sharp Point remains an unknown to them. After that, the only ones that would be able to see them would be Driftmark.

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

If Vaegon and Saera were sore and pained after their first trips on dragonback, it was unsurprising that the sight that greeted Rhaenyra was of Daemon carrying Septa Rhaella. By her side, Rhaenys watched, unimpressed, as Maester Gerardys and Vaegon prepared milk of the poppy and some other concoctions to relive her of pain and restore some of her energy.

“Where is Saera? I would think she would be the first to comment about Rhaella’s… survival.” Daemon mocked as Rhaella was taken to Windwyrm Tower, where there were less stairs and more aired rooms.

Rhaenyra, although visibly worried for the condition of Rhaella, motioned with her head towards the nearest window. “See for yourself.”

Roars filled the air. And something deep inside Daemon shook and trembled in remembrance. He knew those sounds. He knew them. Caraxes’ shrieking was unmistakable among dragons, too many confused dragons’ roars, but after so long living beside them, most Targaryens were capable of distinguishing their mounts.

Syrax was flying about, by far the most elegant of the dragons doing so. Dreamfyre was rejoicing in a way that Daemon has never seen. For many years, all he could connect to the dragon was a sour mood and unwillingness to leave her cave, let alone the Dragonpit at all. Jaehaerys once commented that Dreamfyre’s temperament was akin to Rhaena’s own. The way Alysanne had glared at him ensured that no other comparison was made since. Caraxes was lazily following Syrax, his sinuous body ensuring that he could make the same twists, he seemed happy to ignore Dreamfyre. The same could not be said of Vermithor and Silverwing who seemed thrilled at her presence.

Did Rhaena ever fly with her siblings, Jaehaerys and Alysanne? Daemon knew that it was Rhaena that had placed the eggs in Alysanne and Jaehaerys’ cradles, but have they ever flown together? Seemed unlikely. By the time Silverwing and Vermithor were big enough to be ridden and they had made their escape when Visenya died, Rhaena Targaryen would be widowed twice over by the end of the same year.

But one would be hard pressed to deny the fondness of the dragons for each other. Syrax came from the last egg that Silverwing had laid and although Daemon did not see much maternal instincts from dragons aside from protectiveness over the eggs, it was unmistakable how Silverwing seemed to be following Syrax. Dreamfyre was happy to chase and be chased by both Silverwing and Vermithor.

Vermithor was saddled and on his back someone with long silvery hair. Saera.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, amused against his will. “How much did spite influence her choice in dragon?”

“The only voiced reason was that Vermithor was the biggest of the currently unclaimed dragons.” Rhaenyra cleared her throat.

Indeed, Vermithor, despite being close to two decades younger than Dreamfyre, was almost twice her size. The Dragonpit truly limited the dragons’ growth. Daemon noted with disdain. Added to the fact that dragons seemed to thrive on Dragonstone, and this was the result. By all the gods, if those damn Dreams were in any way real, Syrax and Seasmoke would be almost Dreamfyre’s size by the time Viserys died.

“You do not believe that.” Daemon side eyed Rhaenyra.

“Perhaps it was indeed a factor… but Saera is very vocal in her… opinion of King Jaehaerys.”

“I suppose it matters not.” Daemon reached out and, just because he could, just because he wanted to, he held Rhaenyra’s hand in his.

Feeling the same calluses from dragon riding that matched his, Daemon could finally feel himself relaxing.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. Lady of House Velaryon)

Rhaenys watched. She has been doing a lot of it since arriving on Dragonstone. But today truly marked something else. Today the last piece fell into place.

Rhaenys heard Vaegon and Daemon’s account of their meeting and even then, she understood that Rhaella probably had no great mind for politics. She seemed to be aware of the changes in power dynamics. The fine details, after so long away from court, were probably lost on Rhaella. Even when, as well travelled as she was, Rhaenys was not surprised to learn that Rhaella understood when she was in danger.

Both sides would seek leverage. But whereas the Hightowers would see a maybe valuable hostage – they would have no way to know whether they would consider Rhaella an asset or not – the Targaryens learned since the cradle to be loyal to the Blood of the Dragon. Of course, not really something that the Hightowers would have much proof of considering Viserys’ recent actions. And they would not conceive the thought that the blood of the dragon rans hot no matter their age.

Rhaenys made sure that Rhaella was comfortable when Saera finally made her way inside. The Bronze Fury roared one last time as he followed the rest of the dragons inland. Probably to explore and fly to their hearts’ content.

Saera hummed, her decorative braids undone and hair a disaster from the wind. Rhaenys made a mental reminder to alert Rhaenyra’s ladies that Targaryen braids were about more than symbolism and looks. They were so tightly done for they were done with dragon riding in mind after all.

“She does not look much like Mother.” Saera leaned back against the wall. A smile that she did not care to hide across her face. Giddy and excited after a flight on dragonback.

“Rhaena and Aegon inherited all the Targaryen features. From accounts, our mother was the odd one out.” Vaegon did not look up from where he was preparing some thick paste.

“Like Alyssa.” Saera snorted and then eyed Vaegon as he applied the green thing to Rhaella’s reddened arms and thighs. “What is that?”

“This will relieve her sore muscles instead of getting a seventy-year-old addicted to milk of the poppy.” Vaegon said bluntly.

“… and we did not receive such honor because…” Saera narrowed her eyes.

“The herbs had to be dried for a moon to prepare this. There wasn’t really a need because the dragonlords around hardly fly for so long and so hard as to require it.” Rhaenys explained instead.

Saera grumbled. Rhaenys smirked a bit and did not say that they could have started the paste alongside their plans to retrieve her. She walked towards the door as Vaegon and Saera bickered over Rhaella’s bed. Saera, despite being disgruntled, still looked for another comforter to spread on Rhaella and fed the fire in the hearth. Targaryens did better in higher temperatures.

Rhaenys’ smirk slid off her face as she remembered the conversation she had with Daemon and Rhaenyra, when they had barely landed on Dragonstone after that accursed wedding.

“… how… what would be the repercussions… if the Velaryons claimed another dragon?”

The question was such that made Rhaenys freeze where she stood. Getting Daemon and Rhaenyra’s attention to the fact that they were not alone anymore. Absently, Rhaenys had noticed Alyssa and Aemma’s crowns and understood what Rhaenyra did… but it was not like she disagreed with the action and so, her attention was on the question.

Laenor had bonded with Seasmoke when he counted five summers, although only riding the dragon almost nine years after that and, despite being a Velaryon, he was allowed to do so for Rhaenys was both, slighted so Prince Baelon could become heir, and a potential heir herself. Laena claimed Vhagar for Viserys’ weakness in never having decreed that she could not claim a dragon… if it had ever occurred to Viserys to keep the Targaryen power contained to Targaryens.

But… another Velaryon claiming a dragon or receiving an egg in their cradle would never come to pass once Rhaenys was no longer heir, once Laenor’s own position was denied. There would be trouble if, once the time came, Laenor would not take the Targaryen name even. And especially not now that the Hightowers are as close to absolute power as they ever were. Any children Laena would have, would only be able to claim dragons or receive eggs if she had married a Targaryen herself and the only ones around were Viserys and Daemon. And now Laenor would only be able to get an egg for his children if he was married to Rhaenyra in specific as she was the heir to the throne.

So far, only Rhaenyra had noticed. Perhaps because Rhaenys’ eating habits changed as much as her own but at a times, Rhaenys had the thought that maybe Rhaenyra had noticed before Rhaenys herself had. She was about to celebrate her nine and thirtieth name day… and it was not impossible… Rhaenys carefully stopped herself from laying her hand on a growing bump. Alysanne had birthed Gael at four and forty… and it was not like Rhaenys had not tried to have more children after Laena. She and Corlys just thought that they would only be blessed with two…

Hidden away due to the high waist of the skirt that flared out was her growing midsection. Dragonstone truly was something else… Rhaenys should have known that laying with Corlys on the island would be different.

Rhaenys closed the doors to Rhaella’s chambers, Saera was braiding Rhaella’s hair so it wouldn’t get tangled while Vaegon washed his hands on the basin. Rhaenys smirked again. For all their recalcitrant attitude, they did value blood.

Rhaella, Vaegon, Saera.

Rhaenys hesitated, but her smirk became a smile.

Rhaenys, Daemon, Rhaenyra.

It was not supposed to be like that, she knew. It was supposed to be Rhaenys, Viserys and Daemon… it was supposed to be Laenor, Rhaenyra, Laena.

Maybe… Aemon, Rhaenys caressed her bump… would become so for Laenor and Laena.

The dragon has three heads. Rhaenys smirked proudly.

Chapter Text

(Lady Alicent Hightower. Wife of the King)

Alicent has never truly noticed how alone she was until Rhaenyra was no longer in the Red Keep. Truly, the K-… her husband and his family hardly if ever resided on Dragonstone aside from some trips in order to check the books and the smallfolk. It was on that island that Rhaenyra was born, likely conceived as well. It was announced that Queen Aemma was with child and V-… her husband declared that she was not to be moved in such a delicate state.

Alicent knew this for the tales told, as it happened when she was too young to remember it. It happened before she came with her father and brother to the Red Keep at all. The island of the Targaryens’ original seat was where Valyrian blood was the strongest. It allowed Queen Aemma to birth a healthy child. Alicent believed in none such a thing of course, if Rhaenyra survived, if Queen Aemma survived and gave birth to her, it was thanks to the Seven Who Are One. Perhaps the fact that Dragonstone’s sept was closer to the ancestral keep helped Queen Aemma with her daily prayers.

And it was on that island that Rhaenyra was practically banished to as well. Alicent bit her lip to stop the tears from falling. For Alicent, this was a just punishment for those horrible words, for her lack of support when Alicent needed her the most.

But Rhaenyra’s absence did not stop the looks… the whispers… They had stopped for a while, in the sense that people had other gossip to follow. It was a reprieve that Alicent had taken with gratitude, but it did not last and neither did it stop her nightmares.

Alicent had to run to her quarters to try and stop herself from throwing up yet once again. The thought that… that Viserys cut Queen Aemma open for the son within kept her awake night after night.

“… I shall thank His Grace for his mercy for if we stay, who knows who among the daughters and sons from my House will be slaughtered LIKE A PIG!?”

Alicent remembered being confused. The duty of a wife was to bring forth a son to inherit from his father. It was true that King… that Viserys was maybe known for his relentless pursue of a son, and not even Borros Baratheon made his wife swell with child as often as Viserys has done with Queen Aemma. And it was true that the endeavor sapped the Queen’s strength as each year passed. But so was the role and life of a wife.

To call it being slaughtered… Alicent knew the risks, she knew the pain. She bore witness to the loud and pained screams of the Queen since she came to the Red Keep. She just… never met anyone else aside from Rhaenyra who was bold enough to call it anything else but their blessing. For whom else would birth the next generation?

Jeyne’s next words explained it.

“What information? That the King was so obsessed with having a son that when Queen Aemma was failing to deliver his last chance from her, he was willing to cut Queen Aemma open like a damn fish whose guts we do not care for on our plates?”

Alicent’s mind emptied. It was blank and white and still. And then she was throwing up before she could even think of trying to stop herself. The images Lady Jeyne conjured too much for her. They were too much.

Prince Daemon had once taken Rhaenyra to fish in the bay. The Princess was too young to truly understand the long periods of time necessary to be silent and still to not scare the fishes away. Alicent was brought along to accompany her, and she had to admit, at least to herself, that the activity was truly very boring. Before long, she was chasing Rhaenyra around the harbor as Prince Daemon waited with his own fishing rod. Against all odds due to the ruckus they were making, Prince Daemon had caught a sizeable enough fish and offered to show Rhaenyra how to prepare it.

“This is not something a proper lady should know.” Alicent tried to protest as Prince Daemon had firmly grasped the fish so its underbelly would be up.

Prince Daemon had not even looked at her, instead making sure that Rhaenyra’s attention at least did not waver enough for her to hurt herself in the blade or hooks spread about.

“Indeed, we should be grateful that Rhaenyra is a princess then.”

Alicent had felt her cheeks burning back then. It was rare, if ever, that Prince Daemon even remembered she existed and she was always humiliated when he did.

It was true that Alicent had very little knowledge of tourneys and jousts and such but even she knew that Prince Daemon only ever asked for her favor in that tourney for the young Prince Baelon’s birth to anger her father. Queen Aemma’s death and then Prince Baelon’s death occupied much of the talk at court but one of the noble ladies from Queen Aemma’s household… Alicent had not intended to eavesdrop, she had not, but at her name, she had quickly hid behind a pillar.

“Amidst this tragedy, I suppose we can count on Prince Daemon to be a rogue.”

Alicent had thought that this was about his “heir for a day” comment that ended with his latest banishment.

“Asking for Lady Alicent’s favor…” The giggle that followed came from another lady in waiting.

The thought made Alicent’s heart race. It was quite flattering to be the focus of a ballad alongside the Rogue Prince after all and it all started with whispers at court before poets started their art. But it did not sound like the giggles that some of the women would give at the indiscretions of court. It sounded like an amused sound.

“Come now, ladies,” Alicent recognized Lady Amanda’s voice, “Lady Alicent clearly did not even understand the gesture for the degradation it was.”

“Oh, Lady Amanda, come now! Ser Criston, a lowborn knight, asked for the Princess Rhaenyra’s favor, didn’t Lady Alicent think it odd that a prince would ask for hers?”

Amanda had sighed, “All this shows is that her father was amiss in her education.”

Alicent had gone looking for what a favor given meant and her cheeks had burned at the information that knights would ask for the favor of ladies of a higher station than themselves. Prince Daemon was the highest ranked knight competing… and as daughter of a second son, truly, the only noble lady in attendance that was the daughter of a second son, Alicent was the lowest ranked noble in the royal box. Alicent was immediately reminded of the humiliation with the fish…

She was disgusted by the creature that she only saw already prepared and on her plate, but Rhaenyra, always eager to hear whatever Prince Daemon said, had sat down beside the Prince to watch as he retrieved a dagger from his waist. Quickly making a deep enough cut that Alicent had to avert her eyes from, the Prince reached inside and pulled out the organs. Alicent did not remember much more for she had fainted at the sight.

To imagine a human being in the place of the fish… erased all thoughts of shame… Lady Jeyne spared no one and no words. Over the years, Alicent was sometimes unfortunate enough to be ordered to throw the sheets from Queen Aemma’s birthing bed away… Alicent, much to her shame, couldn’t stop herself from throwing up in the middle of the throne room. She thought that the worst was the week of her marriage. The guests all but declaring their disdain. Little did she know that the worst was about to arrive alongside the Celtigars as it seemed that Lady Jeyne, for all the clear disdain, had held her tongue during the festivities.

Whereas before and during the wedding, Alicent had to hear about the rumors of her compromised virtue, about some baby that was not even conceived yet, now… now…

“The King killed his last wife for a son, what will he do to this one?”

“The Targaryens always preferred Valyrian brides, Lady Alicent is not even that much.”

Alicent shuddered again. To be cut open for the sake of a baby. It was just then that it occurred to her that she had never heard of what to do when a baby is breech. She never heard of what could be done, of what was done. For perhaps the first time in her life, Alicent felt a niggle of understanding of Rhaenyra’s aversion of the childbed. She was willing to do so, she knew that birthing babies put many a woman in the grave, but there laid the path that her father made for her.

To be queen. Alicent absently pulled her cuticles. She had stayed quiet and biddable as was expected of her during the weeklong celebrations, just as she was contemplating how to chastise Rhaenyra at the end of it. Alicent had good intentions as well, a wife must be more dutiful than this… this afront, she knew her father was rightful in his anger towards the attitude from the guests, what would be Rhaenyra’s own chances of securing a match if this is how she chooses to behave? Alicent had intended to do what Rhaenyra sorely needed, to be imposed some sort of limit.

A queen would do so. Alicent had thought as she watched Rhaenyra yet once again wearing such a stunning dress that no other talk could be heard aside from praises to the Realm’s Delight. A queen would have controlled this wild energy that Rhaenyra always seemed to have an abundance of. Molded her into a proper lady and princess. Alicent supposed that Queen Aemma could hardly be blamed for how her daughter turned out, she was kept too busy trying and failing to bring forth a male heir.

But at the end of the week, it was Alicent that would be crowned queen. The thought had kept her head high. Once she became queen, she would be able to dictate Rhaenyra’s education, her time and even her coffers. Rhaenyra would become a proper princess if it was the last thing Alicent did. And with some luck, her new husband would banish Prince Daemon more permanently if he knew the things he said about her.

The revelation that the childbed was not the only factor in Queen Aemma’s death shook Alicent to her core. Shivering and pale and trying to keep whatever non-existing food in her stomach, she had entered the small council chambers. Perhaps the third time in her life that she had entered those rooms, and the last time… the last time was when… the day after she was caught leaving the King’s chambers. When Viserys announced their engagement. And still, at this point, Alicent was almost fainting once more. The promise of a crown the only thing truly making sense in this madness.

“My good people. It is with happiness that I announce the addition to my family, the Lady Alicent Hightower.”

Alicent had dared a quick glance towards Rhaenyra, she did not clap. She noticed with sadness. Princess Rhaenys, as it became the norm in the last week, always by her side. What poison was she whispering in Rhaenyra’s ears? After Lady Laena was spurned, the Princess Rhaenys, bitter as the Queen Who Never was, would for certain sink her claws in the weakest link of the royal family. Alicent worried for Rhaenyra. She was keeping dangerous company.

It was then that the High Septon’s words made her froze.

“After a through discussion with His Grace, the King, and much consideration, I present you, her royal highness the Lady Alicent, the Wife of the King.”

Alicent frowned in confusion, she well remembers the crowning of Queen Aemma, but a few moments after the crowning of King Viserys himself.

“I present to court, Her Grace, Queen Aemma of House Arryn, Blood of the Dragon!”

All the talk of something called morganatic marriage made Alicent try to catch her father’s eyes again and again to no avail. Her father that was frantically, in the last week, trying to protect her honor and reputation, seemingly with very little results.

The King was happy with his decision. “A marriage between a man of higher status to a lady of a lower one.” Alicent heated up in embarrassment. The memory of the tradition of giving favors fresh in her mind. “To appease the Faith and, certainly, others like Lady Jeyne, it means that Lady Alicent and her children will not inherit any titles.”

If Lady Jeyne’s description of Queen Aemma’s ultimate fate made Alicent sick to her stomach and shocked beyond her capacity to maintain consciousness, then this… this could not be happening. Being queen would have protected her! Being queen was what visiting Viserys was about. Alicent had endured this entire week of what was supposed to be the celebration of her wedding but was instead a mummer’s show for the promise of being queen! What would stop Viserys from killing her if she did not deliver a son? Alicent was no fool. Whatever Viserys says about his trust on Rhaenyra… Rhaenyra was too much like Daemon and he will soon realize it too, her unfitness for the throne and then it would be her duty to provide another heir… what if the baby was breech? What then? He had killed him own cousin, the daughter of his father's sister... what protection did Alicent have?

It has been almost a fortnight since Rhaenyra was banished to Dragonstone, for sure the first time of many if Rhaenyra kept behaving like Prince Daemon and the Red Keep’s gossip has yet to die down. Her father was certain that once she birthed the next heir, none will dare to utter the disparities that they were comfortable doing so right then. But until that happened, Alicent was alone.

Ser Rickard Thorne and Ser Criston Cole seemed constant shadows if not companions. Ser Rickard, at least, seemed uncomfortable whenever having to address her. Alicent was grateful for that, for his hesitancy in calling her a mere lady when she was married to the king.

Ser Criston was… different. Alicent settled for the word. Still as dashing, as handsome as ever. She often found her eyes straying to him but when the reason he was assigned to her was revealed… Alicent… did not know what to even think.

It was but a few days after Rhaenyra left. A little over ten days since Ser Criston started to be found at her door.

“Ser Criston… if I may be so bold as to ask, I believed that you are Rhaenyra’s sworn shield. It would be a difficult job to accomplish so far from her chambers, so I can’t help my curiosity for why you are guarding my own.”

Alicent tried to smile as openly as possible. It was difficult to find companions to talk to after that small council meeting where Viserys announced his intention to marry her. Rhaenyra avoided her as much as she could and Alicent herself had no ladies to attend to her and she refused to address the maids that made so clear their opinion of her before the King even voiced his decree to not crown her queen.

“The Princess Rhaenyra was worried for the safety of the unborn child, My Lady.” He had bowed.

Alicent was but a moment away from asking what child he was referring to. And then the ugly truth came. Rhaenyra believed the rumors. Her dear friend, that she had known since they were girls of six, believed the rumors.

But were they unfounded rumors? A little voice whispered in her head. All knew of her being found in the King’s quarters so late at night. Rhaenyra came to the small council chambers for the same whispers.

“That a lady was caught abed… with… with someone she shouldn’t…”

Alicent, in the corner of her mind that was not taken over by panic, shame and stress, understood Rhaenyra’s hesitancy. After all, why would a small council meeting be called for something of the like? As a cupbearer, Rhaenyra came to do her duty and found Alicent there, for sure a queer sight for Alicent has never been in those chambers for as long as Rhaenyra was cupbearer sicne the age of seven. Indeed, the first and last time she could recall, was when her father brought her and her brother with him to King's Landing to receive the pin of Hand.

And she witnessed as Rhaenyra understood the implication, the reason for her presence in those chambers after hearing the gossip from her maids. Lilac eyes found her. Alicent tried to convey how this was not how she intended for it to go. How she was innocent, how she only did as her father told her to do and Alicent promised to do her duty.

A moon passed since then. The ravens were sent, the marriage prepared and performed. Alicent was bedded in the same night as Lady Jeyne was sent away from court and the day before it was announced that she would become no royal through her marriage.

Numb and not knowing what to even think, Alicent allowed her maids to clean the vestiges of the wedding night away. She had timidly asked about the difference between being banished and being sent away. Viserys had sighed tiredly.

“Daemon is banished for it is an official punishment. I can’t very well punish Lady Jeyne, she committed no crime.”

But Alicent found herself even more confused. Prince Daemon was often banished for being crass, for daring to question, for his disgusting remarks and insults. Didn't Lady Jeyne do much of the same?

Still, Alicent smiled candidly and went about her duties only to find that even as the Lady of House Targaryen, she was not really needed nor had the right to take them.

Lord Beesbury was sympathetic but firm when denying both Alicent and her father. “I apologize, Lord Hand, but only the queen can access the treasury or the information in the ledgers. Only the queen can make changes to the household, the staff and servants. In her absence, for much of the last few years, it was Princess Rhaenyra and the rest of the small council that did so.”

“She may not be queen, but my daughter is now married to the King. And these should be her duties after all.” Her father tried to insist.

But Lord Beesbury had frowned. Not in disagreement exactly, but Alicent thought he looked a bit confused. “But it was by your advice that Queen Aemma’s duties were to be redistributed to the small council and Princess Rhaenyra. Granted, Queen Aemma was often indisposed, however, what are we to say, especially to King Viserys and Princess Rhaenyra that while Queen Aemma was kept away from the duties and responsibilities and, truly, the power of a queen consort, Lady Alicent is to take them while not even holding the title?”

Alicent had almost bitten through her lip when Lord Strong joined the conversation. He cited the incongruity and the jokes that would surely be risen if a lady took the duties of queen when the small council and the heir herself were more than apt and had done them for years now. She could understand what they were saying, but if it was her father that proposed the arrangement because Queen Aemma was not capable of doing her duty, then now he was saying that someone was there that could do it well. Shouldn’t the Masters of Law and Coin heed her father’s advice?

And so, Alicent was alone. With no crown and no Rhaenyra. With nothing to do and no one to talk to. Just wondering how it all went so wrong when she was prepared to do so much good.

It was maybe even made worse by the fact that, a moon later, ironically enough at the mark of a moon turn since Rhaenyra was banished to Dragonstone, Alicent’s moon blood did not come. And neither did Rhaenyra when summoned by the King.

Viserys had sighed, heavily and despondently. “It was a request, not an order.”

Her father was exultant at the thought of his first grandchild. Never having stopped trying to convince the King to change his mind about the titles granted to Alicent and her own children, his focus was now on the growing life inside of her.

“Your Grace, maybe if we are venture into the Dragonpit to choose an egg for the new baby, this can take your mind off Princess Rhaenyra.”

“Nonsense, Otto. An egg will be chosen once the date of birth nears and then will be placed in the cradle once the child is born. Before the birth of the child to warm the egg, it is simply asking for it to go cold.” Viserys turned kind thistle purple eyes to her. “Mayhap Rhaenyra will be persuaded to choose an egg for the babe.”

Neither Alicent nor her father could claim much knowledge of dragons, and most, if not all the books on the subject were written in High Valyrian. But Alicent had almost cried at the news that Rhaenyra would not be there for her during her first pregnancy. With Prince Daemon gone to the Stepstones, what could possibly be holding her to that island that was more important than her plight?

Before Alicent could truly drown in her own loneliness, there was a ruckus in the Red Keep and her father was called to a small council meeting. Curiosity ate away at her. While Alicent did not wish to enter those chambers any time soon considering her last time in there, it was a very long council meeting.

Whatever happened, her father was equally angered and worried. Mumbling to himself almost at a manic pace in the Tower of the Hand.

“Father? Is there anything I can do?” Alicent hesitated in asking what was wrong, she knew better than to expect that her father shares the concerns of the realm with her.

But this time his hazel eyes were… conflicted. Almost mad truly. “The dragonkeepers told His Grace that Dreamfyre escaped the Dragonpit.”

“D-Dreamfyre…” she tried not to stutter even more. “Do we… are we expecting a dragon's attack?”

Alicent had brief glances at the blue dragon that she never saw taking flight. But Alicent took a long time to not be scared anymore of Syrax, who was the size of a horse when Rhaenyra took her to skies for the first time and was the subject of Alicent’s nightmares for that night. Dreamfyre was almost thrice the size of her friend’s dragon now and all Alicent could think of was King’s Landing being bathed on fire.

“No. At least they don’t think so. The few who watched that beast escape say that she flew away from King’s Landing, towards east.” Her father waved it away.

But something in his strangled voice made Alicent too curious to not ask. “Are… what are your thoughts?”

Her lord father barely seemed to realize that it was Alicent who asked. “I tried to convince His Grace to send scouts to look for it. But he would not hear of it. Dreamfyre was the only dragon in King’s Landing big enough… big enough.”

“Big enough, Father?” Alicent tried to ask.

“The chains are gone. The dragonkeepers seem to think that the beast pulled them straight from the hooks and left with them still wrapped around it. It does make sense. Doesn’t it? It does.” But he didn’t seem to be truly whispering or trying to convince himself even.

Alicent didn’t know what he was trying to do. And if she didn’t know any better, she would think her father was shaking. But he did not seem scared exactly.

But personally… maybe it did make sense, that Dreamfyre escaped. Alicent’s worries that Dreamfyre was not about to torch King’s Landing assuaged, she had little interest in it. She knew little of dragons and wished to keep it that way.

~*~

(Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Getting all the Targaryens now residing in Dragonstone acclimated was easier and harder than Rhaenyra had thought. Rhaella was in a lot of pain and required a lot of help from them and the servants to move about. In turn that made Daemon a bit nervous.

“I have no idea what the effects of someone that old claiming a dragon are. Whatever the case may be, she needs to mount Dreamfyre again, as often as she can in this beginning to strengthen the bond.”

And Rhaenyra had no frame of reference for that. Syrax hatched in her cradle, Rhaenyra never knew a moment that the constant song of her Dear Lady’s roars was not in her heart. Rhaenyra had also taken to the skies the moment Syrax was big enough to be mounted. But she could see the meaning behind Daemon’s words in Vaegon and Saera.

Each time they flew with Aegarax and Vermithor, the more the dragons seem to respond to their riders. The more in tune with their riders they became. Answering to their very emotions the way Syrax had always reflected hers. In turn, Dreamfyre never failed to visit Rhaella’s window, perching herself on railings and turrets in order to level her enormous head so Rhaella could pat her and speak softly in unpracticed High Valyrian.

“Dreamfyre has always been a sweet dragon. Well, as sweet as a dragon can be.” Rhaella smiled.

Rhaenyra thought of how Aemond tried to claim Dreamfyre, only for the she-dragon to almost turn him to cinders.

“Mayhap she recognizes you.” Rhaenyra did not compromise herself.

Rhaella smiled at her. Her mauve eyes were sharp despite the kindness in them that matched the one reflected on her face. “I have talked to Rhaenys and Vaegon a lot, Saera as well, although she is more interested in riding Vermithor than talking to an old crone like me.” She laughed a bit. “Risky but brilliant. It seems to describe you three well.”

“Us three?” Rhaenyra asked, but she already knew the answer as she let Rhaella lean her weight on her as they walked towards the great hall to supper.

“Rhaenys, Daemon and you. Saera would protest, but maybe now that there are Targaryens willing to exert their power over the King, the realm will be better for it.”

Rhaenyra hesitated. Rhaella was old and likely would not be alive if Alicent’s children waged any sort of war against her, but she seemed to know what was on Rhaenyra’s mind for her smile turned a bit sad.

“It is maybe cruel to Rhaenys and Daemon… and you as well. Vaegon… Saera and myself… we all witnessed the House of Dragon at the very height of its strength. Most of it was the remains of the Conquerors’ reign and then King Jaehaerys made sure it rose again.”

Saera scoffed at her place on the long table. The sight of so many Targaryens in one place, with their silvery hair and purples eyes, never failed to awe Rhaenyra. For so long there was only ever her parents and sometimes Daemon and Rhaenys at court but this… this almost felt like coming home.

Rhaella did not raise to the bait but, “Regardless of his personal failings, much of the Targaryen dynasty is owed to him.”

“Much of our downfall is owed to him as well.” Daemon swallowed some wine.

“I thought much of our downfall was owed to Viserys.” Vaegon did not quite challenge the notion so much as Daemon’s own words.

“Viserys continued the Old King’s work.” Daemon returned.

Rhaella thanked Rhaenyra for the help as she assisted Rhaella in siting down before taking her own seat. The septa turned her attention to them then. “Jaehaerys Targaryen was the king we needed at the heels of Maegor’s death. Much like the Conquerors giving at least the image that they were now following the Faith after turning most of the realm to ashes.”

Vaegon sighed. “There was a time that Father could have been written in history as the greatest king the Targaryen dynasty could ever have.”

Rhaella nodded as food started to be served. “It was luck that he never had to face Maegor upon Balerion. In any case, Jaehaerys has always been very intelligent, he did extremely, exceptionally well to deal with the damage dealt by Maegor. Forgiving those that sided with Maegor and yet holding hostages from their Houses, sending knights to the Wall with their lives or executing them should they refused. Even then he was firm in punishment for when royal lives were lost. All those involved in his brother, Viserys’s death were put to death themselves, he managed to reconcile with the Faith as well… he earned the moniker of the Wise. Mayhap it is true that he lost the right to be called such later in life,” her mauve eyes landed on Saera and then Rhaenys, “but it is undeniable that he built back what Maegor destroyed and did even more after that.”

Saera finally slumped back on her chair. “That is not the Jaehaerys I can recall, Rhaella. Maybe it was age, maybe loss, maybe a lot of what we do not know for he hardly shared about himself. But the Jaehaerys I had for a father was never present enough for me to witness this great wisdom that so many professed him to have. Gifts were plenty but attention sparse. Perhaps the first time I ever saw with my own eyes this famed king that so many held in legend even while he was alive was when he was killing one of my lovers.” Saera was visibly impressed against her will. “Nine and forty… and the man bested a knight of nine and ten in a trial by combat.”

Rhaella nodded. “I only ever knew Jaehaerys when he restored House Targaryen to its former glory, still full of energy to be a father and spend time with all his children, full of energy to be a king as well and animatedly talking about the projects that would build roads to travel. And even then, he already knew loss for Aegon and Daenerys both died too soon. You knew him at the beginning of the end, and Rhaenys and Daemon knew him at the end.”

Rhaenyra bit her lip but could not help herself. If she could not speak her mind freely here and with them, with who else and where else would she do so? “It is not every king-to-be that would take the advantage and time that his... elopement gave him to better himself. Thirteen summers of age, and yet King Jaehaerys took those three years before coming of age to study and train every single day.”

“You were four when he died, Rhaenyra.” Daemon frowned.

“Exactly, Daemon, sometimes I do not know what was King Jaehaerys and what was Prince Baelon in my memories.” Her words were a bit cruel, but they were the truth. There was not much attachment, neither was there resentment.

“Is that what you will try to do in this time away from court?” Saera tilted her head.

“Part of it,” Rhaenyra tiredly rubbed her eyes, “there is simply not enough time. I need to study, and I need to make Dragonstone independent and yet not enough on the chance that my father denies me this seat as well.”

Vaegon seemed to recall something. “For the sake of disclosure, I did hear the rumors that I was the one to suggest the Great Council. Yes, that is correct.”

Rhaenys seemed to noticed how carefully he was staring at her, and she rolled her eyes. “The entire debacle can hardly be traced back to only you.”

“Maybe,” Vaegon allowed, “but still, going forward I do feel the need to explain myself.” He took a deep breath. “Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s reign was… and continues to be one of the least contested ones since the Conqueror which is a wonder considering how long it lasted. A succession crisis is hardly something new after all. Father asked me what the most peaceful path would be, and I answered as I honestly as I could.”

Saera snorted. Inelegantly, un-lady-like. Rhaenyra’s septas would be horrified. But then again, they were horrified if Rhaenyra would lay on the grass.

“That blasted Council should never have happened. Perhaps it maintained peace when tension was rising, but it also showed the realm that House of Targaryen was… if not weak then certainly weaker.”

“In hindsight maybe,” Vaegon agreed easily, “for one I did not have any stakes in it, and Father had not asked me what the most politically sound move was, he asked for the most peaceful one.”

“Your reticence will still be death of us.” Saera sneered.

“Didn’t King Jaehaerys ask you to be heir?” Rhaenyra asked. Like much of the realm, she had heard the rumors that this was the other possible reason the Old King contacted his last remaining son.

Vaegon snorted, genuinely amused at the question. “No. I am as unsuited for a throne as one can be, and I would have said ‘no’ as well.”

Rhaella smiled thinly. “In hindsight…” she trailed off jokingly.

Vaegon narrowed his eyes but ultimately sighed a bit. “The truth is that the succession crisis had everything and nothing to be a crisis. Jaehaerys had options, he just lacked the will to enforce them.”

Daemon pursed his lips but did not say anything to which Rhaenyra sent him a questioning look as Saera talked around her goblet. “Sometimes I think Mother tried so hard to push for Daenerys and then for you, Rhaenys, because of Rhaena.”

They all turned to Rhaella who smiled sadly. “My mother was not quite angered at the robbed chance of wearing a crown… so much as how Jaehaerys and Alysanne behaved towards their own. It is true, however, that the most grace she found in herself to give was to keep silent and make no comment when Alysanne insisted that Daenerys was the heir… I suppose the same could be said for when she supported Rhaenys’ claim if Mother was still alive.”

But Rhaenyra could see that all of them knew well about the rift among siblings. Hard not to when most of it happened publicly and those who knew more details made no secret of them. Rhaena was resentful of that the fact that her support for Jaehaerys’ ascension went pretty much unrecognized, Rhaenyra chanced a look towards Daemon. Rhaena was also bitter and probably hurt that her importance seemed to have died with Aenys and Aegon, her husband, so far as to call herself the Visenya to Alysanne’s Rhaenys. Even if Rhaena understood that the love Jaehaerys had for Alysanne was different than the love he had for her, it would be no easier to know that he was willing to risk Rhaena’s safety but not Alysanne’s. Was she not at least his sister after all?

Vaegon nodded to himself. “The Good Queen, in the end, suffered the same as Jaehaerys. She was brilliant, sharp and kind. But with age came mistakes.”

“I am… I admit that I am surprised that you seem so calm when hearing criticism towards our parents while you so seem to lack them, or at least seem unwilling to voice them.” Saera commented but her voice was not acerbic.

Vaegon was silent for a few moments before answering. “I got what I wanted. Being an archmaester suited me very well. At five and ten of age, the reasons behind Father's decision to send me to the Citadel were barely a consideration for me. I was just happy that I was to do exactly what I wanted to do. In time, I understood that Father did not come to the realization himself, and he was just happy that he got a solution for me. I cannot bring myself to resent it, however, given the results.”

“Too many children, not enough keeps or titles or lands to be inherited.” Rhaella concluded as gently as she could.

But Vaegon smirked a bit. “And the fact that I was no warrior unlike… all those that decided to pick up a blade that Jaehaerys knew… aside from Aenys himself that is.”

Some of them coughed uncomfortably. The tale of how Alyssa Targaryen had humiliated Vaegon in more than one occasion, one of which was in the yard with training swords, was also one that has yet to die down among the Targaryens.

Rhaenyra frowned a bit. “Where was the Good Queen’s influence… in… this?” she finished lamely, not really knowing what to call the lack of planning from her great-grandparents in having so many children.

Saera rolled her eyes but it seemed half-heartedly at best. “Probably nodding along since she couldn't marry Vaegon off. Vaegon is right. Mother was another figure that could have gone down as the greatest Targaryen queen in history… well perhaps after Visenya.” She corrected herself and then she grimaced, but it looked more pained than anything else. “She was once great. Viserra and I… we used to want to be queens because of her. Which is ironic since Jocelyn and Alyssa never saw being queens as something that they wanted to do. They would become one but they never strived towards it, it was not an interest.”

But Rhaella seemed sad at the conversation. “The same thing that happened to King Jaehaerys, happened to Alysanne as well. She fought and accomplished much to and for the women of the realm. King’s Landing has drinkable water thanks to her. Even today she is lauded and remembered for her deeds. In the end, it is sad that her family remembers Alysanne as this woman that feverishly tries to marry all her children away. I think she forgot what made her the Good Queen as she was kept busy with her matches.”

Daemon snorted. “She kept herself busy with that.”

But Rhaenys slumped back on her seat, clearly not hungry anymore. “Daemon you really need to stop mentioning Rhea Royce, or alluding to her, every single time Grandmother is mentioned.”

“You know what is the most insulting? What stings even after all these years?” Daemon seemed to ready himself.

“I am sure you will tell me.” Rhaenys met his eyes squarely back.

“Everybody knew that she was in her last damn moments. Her memory was in hells, her hearing as well. Her last damn moments, and she used the little energy she had left to chain me to the Vale, to a sheep of a woman, all in the middle of the crisis of succession.”

Rhaenys stopped short at the choice of words. At the choice to mention the succession crisis. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, please.” Daemon rolled his eyes, exasperated. “Whatever her reasons, she wanted you on the Iron Throne. And she certainly worked very hard towards that goal.”

It went unsaid, but Alysanne certainly tried to make Daenerys heir and she fiercely defend Rhaenys’ claim. Despite the fact that she certainly did not protest when Rhaena and Aegon the Uncrowned’s line lost the crown. Rhaenyra felt her eyes widening. But a quick look around the table and the implication seemed to have occurred to Vaegon, Saera and Rhaella even.

Rhaenys’ lips trembled for the briefest moment before her jaw clenched. “Are you really saying that you think Grandmother married you to Rhea to keep you away from the throne? In order to protect my succession?” To her credit, Rhaenys did not sound disdainful.

“My marriage to Rhea is like a possible marriage between Rhaenyra and Laenor.” Daemon’s eyes narrowed but Rhaenyra’s widened in alarm.

What in the Known World… why would he even mention something like that?!

“Please, elucidate.” Rhaenys was at her most dangerous when she went quiet as she did.

“At the surface it seems sound. I am a second son, I would not inherit anything and so, Alysanne married me to an heiress of enough repute. But oh,” Daemon’s voice was filled with contempt, “even if I had forced myself to lay with the Bronze Bitch, would our issue have the Targaryen or Royce name? Would they be of the House of Dragon or the House of the Very Fragile Bronze Armor?”

“Of course, that they would be Targaryen.” Rhaenys frowned.

“But would they?” Daemon challenged. “The Bronze Bitch is the heir, if her children assumed another name then it means that the Royces would no longer hold their own seat of power. Targaryens would.”

“Perhaps that was Grandmother’s intention. Further our influence.” But even as Rhaenys said it, Rhaenyra could see that she did not believe it herself.

“What a coincidence that neither my father nor Vaegon were forced into the same.” Daemon shot it down.

Rhaenys likely had to bite her own tongue not to say that Alysanne knew that Baelon was to Alyssa. Putting focus on the fact that their grandmother had it in herself to consider her family’s feelings would hardly win her any arguments here.

And then Daemon continued. “The Royces may not have the same level of struggle as the Arryns but many of their bannermen are not rejoicing at the thought of being led by a woman. And while I am kept busy with all this infernal strife over crumbs, I would be unable to properly shore up a defense or offense for the throne.” Daemon’s smile was sharp and deadly. “And let’s be honest, considering everything, I would have just as good a chance as Viserys. Second son or not, I was already of age, and I was already knighted… and I already had a dragon.”

Rhaenyra was surprised that Rhaenys’ teeth had yet to break so hard she was gritting them. “All of that is conjecture at best.”

“Maybe.” Daemon shrugged, conceding it too easily for Rhaenys’ peace of mind. “But it had always tasted a bit strange.” He smirked at her.

Saera scoffed, breaking the silence. “You, my dear nephew, are sharp.” She toasted him.

“You agree?” Vaegon asked.

“Not necessarily with everything.” Saera tilted her head. “But Daemon is not wrong in saying that the timing and context are bit a convenient.”

Rhaella’s eyes were sharper than Rhaenyra had ever seen so far. The mauve color that she shared with Rhaenys never made her look more like her cousin as they carefully analysed Rhaenys and Daemon and then landed on her for a moment before focusing on Daemon and Rhaenys once more.

“Or, maybe, they were humans.” Rhaella offered lightly. “Closer to gods than to men, Jaehaerys and Alysanne were king and queen, their power came for a price. It means that their successes were legendarily applauded, and their failures ruined entire lives. Whatever their mistakes, perhaps they already paid for them. In the end, they died almost alone and with much of what they once held dear lost to them one way or another.”

“The only person who could have answered the question is dead.” Rhaenys looked just a bit shaken at Rhaella’s words, but she was as resolute as ever. “So, now what I want to ask now is about the comparison you made with my son.” The glare she leveled at Daemon would make weaker men crumble.

“With Viserys’ marriage to that little goat, the relationship with the Velaryons is damaged.” Daemon stated and that Rhaenys did not contradict already told them all about Corlys’ mood. “What better way than to offer another path so that Corlys’ blood can be on the throne.”

Long since used to stares on her, Rhaenyra could almost feel herself turning grey as the five pairs of purples eyes landed on her. What was Daemon doing?

“At a surface it seems sound?” Rhaenys mocked, her voice hard.

But Daemon remained calm. “Isn’t it?”

Their eyes were fixed on each other for so long that Rhaenyra did not even notice she was not breathing until Rhaenys averted hers.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra was being tutored by Vaegon and Saera. With Rhaenys back in Driftmark it made the most sense and while she was planning on asking them just for just that, being awaken at dawn with her maids announcing that “Archmaester Vaegon wished to see her” to have classes in economics and how to manage small and big amounts of coin was perhaps not how Rhaenyra envisioned it.

For one, they did not even broach the subject yet. The saving grace, Rhaenyra thought to herself, was that Vaegon had mastery over economics as his golden mask indicated, and as she fought with her eyelids, Saera hated early mornings and would probably only open her own eyes close to lunch.

“Potential, but unrealized.” Vaegon gestured to Dragonstone’s ledgers.

“They are a bit better than I thought they would be, actually.” While it was no sizeable income, Dragonstone was still sometimes used as a route for the Velaryons in their shipping expeditions. Nowhere near as often as Rhaenyra was planning for them, of course. Their port, while well maintained, was too small for the influx that Corlys dealt daily but brought about some coin.

The island was fertile and big enough to sustain its citizens but there was not enough surplus nor reason to produce it to commerce, taxes were also very sparingly collected. Ships full of coin to maintain the keep and the island made their way to Dragonstone monthly and, for the most part, they were used accordingly. Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at the shipment of Arbor gold for whenever Daemon stayed over. Still, as no one truly resided in Dragonstone since the year 100 After the Conquest and Prince Baelon was made Hand, the gold managed to accumulate.

“Enough to start construction of the port or to invest in the soil.” Vaegon concluded.

Rhaenyra’s heart was racing in nervousness. She twirled the little mirror she bought in Myr. This was the kind of decision that she would have to make if she wanted to make a proper keep out of Dragonstone.

Vaegon eyed her. “What do you think takes priority? Let’s start with the soil. What are the advantages and disadvantages?”

Rhaenyra bit her lip briefly as she averted her eyes towards the Painted Table. Rhaenyra and Daemon had added chairs despite their own personal rule of not resting anything on this piece of their history. The map was so exquisite, so detailed and so well preserved that it felt like a sin to rest goblets, plates or candles. At most, Rhaenyra would open books, scrolls or letters on it. She eyed the ledger books.

“The soil would benefit both: the smallfolk of Dragonstone and the coffers. It will be a while before we produce enough of anything to export however.” Rhaenyra finally answered.

“I would add that the soil requires more time before being used as well. It needs to be properly prepared, properly sowed in the proper season by the proper seeds. Building the port can start as soon as we give the order.” Vaegon pointed out.

But Rhaenyra frowned. “Building the port would also take time. We will need to commission the materials, hire the workers. Properly see to it that they are trustworthy to do this.”

Vaegon smirked. “Very good. What else?”

Rhaenyra almost rolled her eyes. She got the feeling that Vaegon would take some of the opportunities presented to give her lessons. Rhaenyra briefly wondered what he would do in the case she didn’t answer correctly.

“The ships themselves. Dragonstone has maybe ten ships ready, fifteen if pushed, but those are hardly big enough to add to the numbers of the Velaryon ships. We will need to build more which also require workers and material.”

“There is one last thing.” Vaegon pointed out.

But Rhaenyra was at a loss. Coin for the ports and also ships so they can use the ports. Hire workers, trustworthy workers…

“I… do not know.” Came out through gritted teeth. No Targaryen, not even Rhaella, was very good with their pride.

“To whom are you going to be exporting?”

To Vaegon’s credit, he did expect someone whose education as heir was so lacking to be described as nonexistent to know and did not blame her for it. Although according to Saera, there was plenty of blame being thrown to Viserys and even partially to Daemon and even sometimes Rhaenys.

Rhaenyra felt herself blushing just a bit. “We… did not even discuss what to plant and who would buy it.”

Vaegon nodded, a small smirk back on his face. “Exactly. Produce in itself is a necessity. Most of the realm’s needs are easily fulfilled by the Vale and the Reach, however, as far as plantation goes.”

“Well… then…?” Rhaenyra trailed off inquiringly.

“I believe you have already discussed the possibility with Princess Rhaenys. About mining for Dragonglass and other precious gems. It is, however, a luxury, not a necessity. I think the exoticism of owning something… well… Valyrian so to speak, would attract many of the nobles to do business with Dragonstone. However, unlike needs, luxury can be cut in times that the economy is weak.”

Rhaenyra tried to remember some of the lessons Vaegon already gave her. “There are… uh… five necessary group foods. Fruits, vegetables, grains, animal and milk. Fruits, vegetables and grains are fulfilled by the Vale and the Reach. Animal is bought from the Riverlands or hunted for in the surrounding areas. Same as milk.”

“Very good.” Vaegon nodded.

“Dragonstone needs those five to be independent. We can do as much, we have been doing so since the Targaryens came to Dragonstone at all. But to truly grow…” Rhaenyra groaned softly. “It will be like the Lannisters… luxury.”

Vaegon chuckled briefly before clearing his throat. “I can see you are thinking too much on the precious gems and Dragonglass. But think about your short time in the Essosi cities. Not only Dragonstone is closer so they can have Westerosi crops at a cheaper price and fresher but what got your attention?”

Rhaenyra blinked but answered. “The sights, the trinkets I found… the food.” Her eyes landed on the small mirror that she had been distractedly spinning between her fingers. “In Myr, there was this wine that I found to be much richer than Arbor gold. Pale green nectar wine. It paired better with fish and did not leave a sour aftertaste.”

“Why did it get your attention?”

“Because Arbor gold can’t get any worse.” Rhaenyra answered blandly.

This time, Vaegon could not help himself and laughed. “Hippocras or spiced honey wine may be more to your tastes then. Both are sweeter and hippocras can even be served hot.”

“Hippocras is too strong. I feel my head exploding after a few goblets. Spiced honey wine is… good.” Rhaenyra admitted grudgingly.

“The Lannisters truly sour the best vintage.” Vaegon was forced to agree, easily guessing what had turned her mood.

“Are maesters even allowed to drink wine?” Rhaenyra would not claim to know.

“I have no idea.” Vaegon shrugged. “I am an archmaester.” He smirked when it was Rhaenyra’s turn to laugh.

“… wine then?” Rhaenyra asked hesitantly, confused.

“Maybe.” Vaegon allowed. “It is an interesting venture for sure. And men can never find enough drinks.” He rolled his eyes.

“I would not even begin to know how to start a… vineyard.” Rhaenyra protested.

“An interesting venture.” Vaegon repeated. “But, considering all that we discussed. What do you think?”

Rhaenyra sighed a little disappointed. “I guess I was too excited about the idea of joining Houses Velaryon and Celtigar. Alongside Bar Emmon and Massey’s Hook, it would be easy to control naval commerce at the north of Westeros.”

“But…” Vaegon prompted.

“But it will take time and proper workers and materials to join them effectively. Same with the Celtigars who never really explored the possibility beyond taxing the Velaryon ships that used their ports.” Rhaenyra slumped when she remembered that detail. “On the other hand, making sure that Dragonstone is properly independent is the more practical and also the more pressing matter before we try to make external connections. The smallfolk already know how to work the land, we just need to improve it enough, so we do not need to buy bare necessities from the rest of Westeros.”

Vaegon hummed in affirmation. A hint of pride in magenta eyes even as he gave constructive criticism. “I realized that you used the terms and meaning interchangeably when you would talk about Dragonstone, Princess Rhaenyra. Independence is not the same as increasing income. In the practical sense of it, Dragonstone has been one step away from independence since the Conquest and was already independent before the Conquest. After the construction of King’s Landing, the island was pretty much abandoned and then steady ships with coin would be sent for its maintenance, but before that happened, Dragonstone did not need Westeros… just like Westeros did not need Dragonstone. Independence. Now, you are talking about living in the island on a permanent basis and truly, especially for a royal, the income that the island itself generates is not enough, at least not enough to keep your lifestyle.”

Rhaenyra cleared her throat a little uncomfortably. “So, what do you think? We use what we already have. Steady increase over time until we can properly fund the ports and ships.”

“Very good. Any questions?” Vaegon started to reorganize the ledgers.

“If all we need is create a surplus… in other words, more than we need. Why is it so expensive? Why is it we can only invest in one? The soil or the ports?” Rhaenyra kept spinning the small mirror between her fingers.

“Because Dragonstone is small.” Vaegon paused and sat back down again. “It is a small island that you can cross in a day with a horse that is fast enough. The populace is even smaller. There is only so much they can produce and so much it can be produced.”

Rhaenyra sighed in understanding and finally put the small mirror back on the Painted Table. That thing was being quite the substitute for her habit of twirling her rings. It reflected such a beautiful light when caught in the sun.

“On the other hand, investing in the plantation is the less costly choice. Think of how to use the rest of the coin.” Vaegon tried to encourage.

Before Rhaenyra could reply, she yelled in fright, and both had to jump away from the table as the sunlight reflected from the mirror onto the table made flames erupt. Quickly pushing the ledgers off the table and running to the pitch of water, Vaegon kept Rhaenyra away and doused the flames.

“What in hells was that?!” Rhaenyra stared wide eyed at the little burn mark on the now drenched table.

The doors of the Chamber of the Painted Table burst open, and Daemon and Ser Robert entered in a hurry. Daemon quickly looked about the room as if he was expecting an attacker. And Rhaenyra had to force herself not to rub her temples as Ser Robert tried to position himself between her and any perceived danger.

“What happened?!” Daemon almost shouted once he was sure that the only ones around were them.

“The mirror reflected the sunlight and made a small fire. All is well, we are sorry for the alarm.” Vaegon was surprisingly calm.

“That is normal?” Rhaenyra asked, indignant at how serene the man was.

But Daemon had relaxed and dismissed Ser Robert who was already laughing the incident away. “Yes, actually. We sometimes use that trick while camping.” He went to see the damage and tsked. “Not too bad, I will ask for the table to be waxed and I think it will be easy enough to fix.”

Rhaenyra warily approached and quickly put the incendiary mirror back in her pocket. There was a little scorch mark on the part that was representing Dragonstone. The wood was darkened but Daemon was right, it was more the initial light that frightened Rhaenyra, the heat itself was not enough to do much more than mark the wood.

Rhaenyra ignored the conversation between Vaegon and Daemon, something about Vaegon fixing the table himself if need be. The mark on Dragonstone was right where Dragonmont would be. The volcano was still active, all the Targaryens knew well, it was how Dragonstone had hot springs and easily accessible hot water for bathing and other needs. It was half of the plan that Princess Rhaenys had presented. Every so often, a dragon would drag precious gems from the lava, a lot of them.

But that was not what Rhaenyra was thinking about.

“Uncle Daemon… Uncle Vaegon… tell me… if I am crazy…” Rhaenyra turned to both men.

~*~

Saera laughed in a way that would send Rhaenyra’s septas weeping. Un-lady-like was perhaps the kindest description that one could offer. Loud, snorting, and shaking almost her entire body, Saera leaned so far back that the front legs of the chair got off the ground.

Vaegon was staring at her with exasperation which was a welcome change from staring at Rhaenyra as if she was crazy. Daemon had laughed at her plan, but he was all for helping her accomplish it.

“Oh!” Saera tried to dry the tears that came from mirth. “I like you! You are mad! I don’t see why not try.” She sniffed.

“Of course, you don’t!” Vaegon exploded. Which surprised the rest of them, Vaegon was not much one for intense feelings. “I should have known you would agree to this insanity!”

“Please.” Saera rolled her eyes. “It’s not as if it will hurt anyone as long as we make some preparations.”

“Some preparations.” Vaegon mocked. “Where is Rhaella?!” He almost shouted at one of the servants who jumped and assured Vaegon that he would go look for her.

“Calm down, we have already sent a servant after her.” Saera rolled her eyes yet again.

“I need someone that will say ‘no’.”

“Then we will be tied in votes.” Saera spat back.

“Oh, I had no idea we were voting. Silly me to think that we could talk like mature adults and reach a reasonable conclusion!”

“What reasonable conclusion?” Rhaella did not bother to let anyone announce her before entering the chambers. The Painted Table still wet and dripping water on the ground. Rhaella raised an eyebrow at it.

When all Vaegon, Saera and Daemon did was stare back at Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra thought that the gods would surely not consider severe maiming as ‘kinslaying’. With a forced smile, Rhaenyra turned to Rhaella.

“Vaegon pointed out the problem of Dragonstone’s size and small populace in consequence. Surplus of plantation therefore is not an easy… goal and neither is opening any other business for the lack of space. Since we have reached the conclusion, however, that improving the island itself took precedence before focusing on external alliances, that endeavor was limited because of the island's size. So… I had the thought of… expanding the island.”

Rhaella frowned in confusion. “How?”

“… we would use our dragons to breath fire into the volcano and make Dragonmont erupt.” Rhaenyra finished and pursed her lips.

~*~

(Third POV)

“We are going to die.” Vaegon stated unfeelingly as they readied their dragons.

The preparations themselves took no more than a few days. Vermithor was more than happy at the exercise of knocking dirty and rocks to make a path for the lava. Caraxes rounded the game that was too close to the mountain… and made a meal out of some of them. Aegarax and Syrax were patiently waiting their turn.

Rhaella mounted Dreamfyre for the second time in her life, wearing the riding leathers that had once belonged to her own mother. She would spread word of what they were trying to do. According to her, the smallfolk of the island had gawked at her much like they had gawked at Rhaenyra which had amused Rhaella greatly, but it was easy enough to make them stay away at a safe distance… while still close enough to watch the whole spectacle.

Caraxes’ shrills filled the air as Daemon got as close to Aegarax and Syrax as he could.

“The Cannibal is on the other side of island, Caraxes did not want to get too close, but we could see where he was!” He shouted to be heard at the distance the dragons’ wings forced them to.

Rhaenyra raised her arm in understanding and Daemon flew to where they were trying to lead the lava. Daemon and Saera, riding the biggest dragons, would try to direct the magma if anything happened.

As the smallest dragons, Aegarax and Syrax would provoke the eruption as gently as they could. Vaegon had once again closed his eyes, this time at the words Rhaenyra had used.

“We will ‘gently’ provoke a volcano to erupt.” He mocked, full of disdain.

Trying and failing to suppress an amused if hysterical smile, Rhaenyra had turned away from him to at least hide it. She was very aware that the plan was as crazy as it could get, there was no need for Vaegon to reiterate it. Needless to say, Vaegon was very much terrified when Rhaella had hummed in consideration instead of outright saying ‘no’.

Although Vaegon had gotten his own promises. “Be ready to evacuate the smallfolk. And whatever the result, we will do this once. There are matters that we should not meddle with, nature is one of them.” He looked around, magenta eyes hard on each of them. “This is what destroyed the Valyrian Freehold, and pride is what killed the Valyrians, the same way we do not treat dragons like pets, we should not flirt with destruction.”

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Contrite, but determined, Rhaenyra had promised. Saera and Daemon followed suit and the vow coming from them sounded almost a bit childish.

Rhaella came back and raised her arm on Dreamfyre’s back. She was at her limit already and needed to land.

“Alright… here we go.” Rhaenyra raised her arm to signal to Vaegon who visibly against his will, raised his own.

They commanded their dragons to get closer to the mouth of Dragonmont. The lava inside was already visible, the closer she got, the hotter it got until even Rhaenyra was sweating a bit and that had never happened because of just heat before. In contrast, Syrax grunted in satisfaction as the hot air brushed against her scales.

Rhaenyra had a few moments to hesitate before clutching the horns of Syrax’s saddle.

“DRACARYS!”

Impossibly, even at the distance they had between them, Rhaenyra heard Vaegon command his own dragon to do the same. The stream of fire came stronger and faster than ever before. It made sense, Rhaenyra thought as she shook watching it hit the lava, making the surface ripple and waves to form, she had never commanded Syrax to burn anything… anything other than her mother.

The land shook. Rhaenyra realized faintly. She could hear the groans and, even on air, feel the shakes and the earth shifting. And then the magma came.

“Syrax, get away!” Rhaenyra shouted and the she-dragon roared as she batted her leathery wings.

Rhaenyra tried to keep in mind all she knew of dragonriding. All Daemon had ever taught her.

“Dragons are not pets, little dragon. We command them, but they have minds of their own, intelligent and powerful. Think as if you are Syrax. Think that these are your wings batting and keeping you afloat. What do you want them to do? Where do you want for them to bring you?”

Feeling the heat of the lava that was still coming from Dragonmont, she urged Syrax to dodge just in time so a stream of it would not hit her.

Up, go up! Rhaenyra did not say it out loud, but Syrax already angled her body to raise her height. Everything darkened for the briefest of moment and then Rhaenyra felt herself and Syrax reacting on instinct, her Golden Lady tucked her wings and legs close to her body and spun mid air to avoid the wave of lava. Syrax opened her wings the abrupt change in direction made Rhaenyra’s teeth snap shut painfully, but then they were safe.

Rhaenyra was breathing heavily from the effort and sweating from every pore. She could feel her braids undone and vaguely remembered Rhaenys trying to teach her ladies in waiting about Valyrian braids.

She had not noticed she was laughing until movement to her side startled her out of it. Vaegon was sitting back. Aegarax hovering as Syrax was doing and Rhaenyra turned to watch as well as the magma made its way as it intended. It was… in much greater quantity than they had expected but the path that Vermithor had carved was serving its purpose as a trench well. Caraxes spewing fire whenever the lava spilled out, redirecting it as intended. Vermithor would sometimes join him.

The carved trench went down the mountain, creating a valley into the sea and it took a lot of energy out of Vermithor, however. Saera had made sure that it was deep and large and leading the magma away from the keep, the problem was that it meant inland, towards the smallfolk. They had to get really creative then. The tight turns meant that Caraxes had to take the brunt of ensuring that no house burned, that no one was hurt.

As the lava reached the sea, steam rose.

“I don’t think it will finish any time soon, Rhaenyra!” She heard Vaegon shout.

Turning around and indeed, Dragonmont was still angrily crying its contents. Thickly and heavy, the magma made its way towards the ocean. It was steady, however neither Daemon nor Saera moved from where they were flying. Her part was done and knowing that Syrax’s flames were not strong enough yet to do what Daemon and Saera were doing, Rhaenyra flew to where they were.

“What now?!” She tried to shout over the flapping wings.

“We need to stay until it stops! In case it increases!” Daemon yelled back.

Her heartbeat, that was going down in rhythm, increased again. Did Rhaenyra make a mistake? To call it a risk was almost criminal, was Vaegon right? For now, the trench was holding, if the volume did not increase, then… then all would be well. But if it did… there was so much lava, and it did not look to be slowing down…

Syrax still had plenty of energy that was escaping Rhaenyra by the moment. But she held the horns of the saddle more firmly and decided to wait with Daemon and Saera.

“Rhaenyra!” Daemon tried to get her attention. Seeing that she was turned to him, he tried to shout louder. “This can take a long time! Go back! Or all of us will be exhausted! We will take turns!”

Rhaenyra saw how the volcano made no sign to stop spewing, much the opposite indeed, sometimes the wave of magma would increase, the stream of it thickening as it went down towards the sea and she knew that Daemon was right. Saera raised her arm to her, and Rhaenyra reluctantly returned the gesture. Grateful when she saw that Vaegon would stay behind with Daemon, Rhaenyra followed Saera back to the keep.

If they did not return in six hours, Rhaenyra would drag Saera back out to replace them.

A fortnight later and Rhaenyra was flying over a now calm Dragonmont. The lava back to its normal levels, the land no longer shaking. According to Vaegon it would take years for the lava to cool enough and solidify, but the prospect of waiting that long was not as depressing as Rhaenyra thought it would be.

In front of her, there was new land.

~*~

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

Daemon interceded Gerardys before he could properly extend the scroll the raven just delivered.

“From King’s Landing, My Princess.” The Maester managed to say before Daemon had taken it from his hands.

“I think that was supposed to be for me, Uncle.” Rhaenyra protested lightly. All knowing that she was less than eager to hear the King’s message.

“The little Highwhore is pregnant, your father is summoning you back to King’s Landing to… share the happy news.” Daemon extended the letter but as he thought, Rhaenyra made no move to take it.

Vaegon hummed. “If it’s a son—”

“It will be.” Daemon and Rhaenyra answered in unison.

Vaegon frowned at them before sighing and trying again. “If it is a son, then your position will be shaken, Princess. Perhaps it is not out of hand to make your presence known back at court.”

But the thought of watching… of Rhaenyra watching that little bitch swelling with child, the child that will more likely than not grow to order his dragon to burn and devour Rhaenyra filled Daemon with red hot rage.

As the days and nights passed and those Dreams became more consolidated in memory and images and sounds, the harder it was to deny them. Whatever Daemon’s feeling upon waking from them that first night, panic, disbelief and yet more panic, he was tormented almost all nights from flashes of them. Seemly not even in any particular order of time or importance.

One night, he watches himself executing Vaemond Velaryon from daring to call Rhaenyra a whore in open court. The next night, Daemon sees the birth of their Aegon… such a perfect merge between Rhaenyra and himself that he had difficulty doing anything at all that day without being reminded of that precious life that he never even imagined could happen. And then he watched as he got pierced by a flaming arrow in the Stepstones.

If Daemon believed for more than one second that the gods were truly watching over, he would give into the temptation to scream to the skies, demand what the fuck did they want from him?! But alas, he sometimes questioned whether those images were a product of being Targaryen or a true message of whatever god was out there.

Taking deep breaths, Daemon almost threw his goblet against the farthest wall when Rhaenyra’s plans truly registered.

“Perhaps a ruse.” Rhaenyra offered.

“To what?” Vaegon asked.

“I have put aside the… honestly pressing need to control my hand in marriage. I shall notify Father that I intend to go on tour.”

“In search of a husband?!” Daemon almost didn’t recognize his own voice. He would almost describe it as strangled if not for the fact that he had almost yelled.

Saera adjusted herself on her seat. Not really having contributed to the conversation and more than happy to eat the strawberries served with cake. Rhaella and Vaegon frowned at him. Rhaenyra’s ladies, that started to excitedly comment about a possible upcoming trip fell silent.

Rhaenyra knew the reasons behind his outburst, she had to. So, Daemon did not appreciate the unimpressed look upon her face.

“Three years away or fourteen years away, I still need to consolidate my own basis of power, Uncle. Unfortunately, that means I need a husband. And if left at the hands of my father, I might as well ask Otto Hightower what the least commendable prospect is.”

Vaegon tried to approach. “It is a bait… but Daemon… she is not wrong.”

But Daemon didn’t need to be told such. Everything Rhaenyra said was factually correct, he knew very well. Almost snarling in pent up frustration, Daemon quickly grabbed her wrist, careful so the grip was firm enough so Rhaenyra would not escape, but not strong enough to hurt her. Not that his niece put much of a fight as she was almost dragged away.

“What is supposed to be the issue?” Rhaella asked no one in specific.

“I am fairly certain that Daemon is against the idea of sharing.” Saera’s snort and Rhaella’s humming of understanding were the last things Daemon heard as the heavy doors were shut behind them.

Daemon could not really blame Rhaella. He thought absently as he walked briskly towards the nearest private chambers. She has been to Dragonstone for a fortnight and most of it was spent on bed trying to heal from her flight on Aegarax and then Dreamfyre. Then Rhaenyra’s brilliantly mad idea of increasing Dragonstone’s area took much of their attention. Rhaella had volunteered to take a daily flight of an hour or so to oversee any potential new eruption of Dragonmont and get used to flying as well so she did not have much opportunity to witness the fact that Daemon was very much against the idea of sharing as Saera put it.

Daemon pushed open the first set of doors he found. If he was not mistaken, no one but Saera had chosen the Stone Drum as residence. If anything, last he heard, Saera was deeply regretting her choice. There was a reason it was so aptly named, with the coming of summer, the storms arrived as well, and the rain and thunder made the walls themselves shake and echo, the booming sounds having startled Saera so badly that the first storm had her walking about in a sleeping chemise, scandalizing the entire staff in order to reach the Sea Dragon Tower to finish her sleep.

He had the stray thought that the chambers were most likely being used. Personal items spread about in an unorganized mess told Daemon that Annora was dismissed from cleaning the chamber. Or at least the personal affects.

“Ada will not like that we have invaded her quarters.” Rhaenyra pointed out.

It made sense, Daemon thought finally released Rhaenyra’s wrist, the Stark girl was the least likely to be too fussy about her dresses.

“What exactly do you intend in this… suitor tour?”

“The name is fairly self-explanatory.” Rhaenyra clasped her hands together in a demure gesture that Daemon had always found amusement in.

As if anyone that truly knew the Princess would believe the serene image. But this time the sight of it annoyed him beyond measure. Daemon did not know whether she was toying with the situation or serious about it. And the worst was perhaps the fact that he could not find the words to properly articulate what he wanted to say.

And Rhaenyra seemed to be in no hurry. Patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts. Was she not hungry? She barely touched the bread when they were breaking fast, her tea being sipped sparingly as well.

Convulsively swallowing, Daemon opened his mouth, but no sound came. Seemingly getting tired of standing, despite Daemon having witnessed many a time where Rhaenyra would do just that for hours on end in small council meetings, she took a seat in front of the vanity.

“I thought, there was… an understanding.” Daemon finally managed to voice.

“An understanding of what?” And the bitterness of it was that Rhaenyra sounded genuinely confused.

“Of… us.” Why was it so hard to say it? Daemon almost growled in irritation.

“What of us?” Less confused and more challenging, which Daemon honestly preferred from Rhaenyra.

“Of our… marriage.”

“You mean thirteen… actually almost fourteen years from now?” She made herself straighten up on the chair. A princess… a queen about to pass a sentence.

Daemon saw red again and finally threw the goblet against the wall. He did not even realize he had brought the damn thing with him. Rhaenyra watched in silence, not even flinching at the thunderous noise, the now wine stained rug and the dented silver cup.

“This,” Daemon started with a hiss, “is exactly what made Viserys’ reign so pathetically weak! Those fucking dreams!” He was beyond caring that anyone would hear him. “Allowing himself to be tormented and led by the nose by whispers, images and mirages! This is exactly what killed your mother!”

Daemon regretted his words the second they left his mouth. Rhaenyra did not deserve to hear such a thing. The pain of knowing that he never meant as much to Viserys as Viserys meant to him, that he was distrusted beyond what he ever thought he was and it was too much when face to face with the fact that Rhaenyra was about to allow herself to fall from the same cliff. Beg and bow all for the sake of Dreams. Then, when she was ready to accept any and all peace terms, at the cost of her crown itself, and now that she seems to intend on waiting fourteen years to be in his arms.

Absently, Daemon thought about what those passing by could overhear, and yet he cared not for the possibility.

Dragonstone never had a full household. Lacking a proper court or more permanent residents, the staff was very small. Just enough servants to keep the place clean, enough knights to keep it safe, a septon that Daemon had yet to see tail or hide of and a maester with a couple of acolytes. They were certainly overwhelmed at the number of royals and nobles currently in the castle.

Daemon found himself caring little if they overhear any of it. What would any witness say beyond fear of madness? For sure the Targaryen history was full of it. He was half convinced that following after whisps and smokes was responsible for it.

“I believe that I have done much to change those Dreams.” Rhaenyra said quietly, not whispered, but calm in the face of Daemon’s anger.

Untouched by what he said, he noticed in equal relief and shame.

She had always done so. Matched his anger either with anger of her own or a calm disposition, easily challenging him. Rhaenyra was never afraid of him, despite Daemon giving her plenty of reasons for that. But then… he took in a shuddering breath. Rhaenyra Targaryen showed no fear even in the face of death itself. Brought along by the same creature of legend that was supposed to represent her own strength and power.

“You did… I assumed… that I…”

Rhaenyra clearly did not wish to provide any reprieve but her patience at this age was a far cry from the determination of her adulthood. As it was, Daemon was almost thankful for it.

“You assumed that we would be wed… before any match with the Velaryons can even pass through anyone’s head… Rhaenys is reasonable more often than not. She understood well your reckless comparison with Rhea Royce. A marriage with Laenor would be just as fruitless, she is forced to face that reality and truly conform to what it means.” Rhaenyra tilted her head in contemplation. “But I admit I had more than one thought that, unlike with Rhea Royce, a marriage with Lady Laena Velaryon would be to your taste.”

Rubbing his face and completely exasperated, Daemon refrained from reaching towards yet another object that he could destroy.

“Would you please stop mentioning Laena Velaryon?!”

Both knew that there was much that Rhaenyra could have retorted but instead she just nodded. “As you wish.”

Which almost made him demand that she fought him properly. Daemon felt his energy draining and took his own seat so he could stare at Rhaenyra.

“Why do you insist on thinking that I had any sort of feelings towards her? I barely spoke half a dozen times with her in her entire life.” He tried to change his angle.

Rhaenyra let silence take over the conversation for longer than Daemon could bear, but just as he felt he was about to go crazy, she sighed.

“I do not know about any feeling whatsoever. You hardly if ever explain yourself, Daemon. That forces people to take your actions at face value. Be it when you refused to give your side of the story for the comment of ‘heir for a day’, be it when you abandoned me in that brothel, and then again at my wedding.”

“I came back.” But it was too weak even to his own ears and Daemon was unsurprised when Rhaenyra continued as if he had not spoken at all.

What use was it that he comes back when he keeps leaving?

“You willingly tied yourself to another and had children with her. After years of asking the King for an annulment of your first marriage, you killed your first wife, you killed Laena’s intended and then married her, had children with her. Whatever I believed, whatever I thought, that told a story itself.” So, Rhaenyra did believe that Daemon killed Rhea for her, small consolation for when the time came to act, he balked, just like he did in that brothel.

“… I never had to consider… how people feel…” but Daemon trailed off without truly finishing his sentence.

“I suppose… that I am trying to give you something that I never truly had… choices. My father may have spat about me making my own match but we both know his promises are not worth the air in his lungs.” Rhaenyra pointed out. “You have the choice and chance to have your daughters back. They were beautiful… Rhaena and Baela.”

Both girls were Rhaenyra’s own age when she met her end. Laena come again truly, even if Baela was very aptly named, her spirit clearly that of Daemon’s and his own father, Baelon’s.

But Daemon could not find it in himself to begrudge if they did not come to exist. The idea of children foreign. Truly even his own with Rhaenyra. He felt more for the idea of them, of what they represented than for them as people, so at this point in time, Daemon felt no shame in admitting, out loud, if need be, that Aegon, Viserys and the unborn Visenya meant more to him, simply because of what their very birth meant and whose mother they came from. But strangers they all were. Although the same could not be necessarily said for Rhaenyra. The thought made Daemon feel cold.

“Do you intend on having them, then? With Breakbones? Jacaerys, Lucerys and Joffrey?”

“Do not be ridiculous, Daemon.” Rhaenyra frowned at him, but there was a hint of sadness in her voice. “I am not going through it all again to make the same mistakes, no matter your lack of faith in me.” Daemon winced but he knew he deserved that, so he allowed her to see that the blow had landed true. “Marrying Laenor would force me into the position of seeking another, marrying Harwin has the exact same problem I had faced the first time with potential suitors, the same problem Laenor himself presents.”

Daemon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “The disadvantages an heir has, a lady paramount faces the same, especially a new one.”

Rhaenyra made a gesture of indifference with her head. “All the same, I have made my stance very clear. I have plenty of practical and logical and strategic reasons to ask you to be my husband. They were true before and they are true now. As a Prince of the Blood, you would require no raise in station. A dragonrider that would only strengthen my military power with a dragon as battle tested as Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, and ensure dragonriding parents to my children from both sides, give them the Targaryen name from birth as well. In pure theory, it is no wonder Lord Strong suggested Laenor for even though he is no prince, he is the son of a princess and a dragonrider himself.”

“Laenor has other disadvantages, aside from the obvious one, so does Harwin.” Daemon needlessly pointed out. Arguments that no one had voiced but all had known… aside from Viserys it seemed, came easily, as if they were both just waiting to voice them, as if an excuse to finally voice them. “You cannot marry a second son for all the reasons Viserys was an idiot for marrying the daughter of a second son. It brings you nothing. And you cannot marry an heir, no matter if they are the heir to a lord paramount or a minor House. Men like that were taught and expect to rule their entire lives, unlike women that were instructed to birth the heir of another House. Their loyalties will forever be divided. They will think of their birth House first and foremost, especially since there will be an inevitable debate about whose name any issue will inherit. Whose House will sit on the throne after you.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “Laenor aside, perhaps even Harwin aside, most heirs are quite unwilling to leave their seat of power, and most would expect my husband to rule through me. Give up their own keeps and titles to be subservient to their wife, no matter if it comes with a royal title, would make many hesitate and, in time, resentment can grow when they realize that the raise in station does not mean dragons for their Houses. Thus, the divided loyalties will weaken my position. Divide my power even before eggs and dragons were in discussion.”

“And they will be in discussion.” They both knew that very well.

“Changing the name of the dynasty will also breed resentment from the Houses that were not chosen. All want a piece of the dragon.” Rhaenyra well remembered Jason Lannister’s insufferable presence. Even if the man was working on the belief that she would soon be supplanted instead.

“One of the smartest decisions King Aenys took. Rhaena married to Aegon the Uncrowned may have sent the pious into a frenzy, but none of the nobles could complain that way. We were just ensuring that the throne was inherited by a Targaryen. A woman inheriting the throne would open the possibility of a future king or queen with another name.”

Rhaenyra almost chuckled. “Some would argue that adding their armies to ours is sound. But, as previously stated, you have a dragon and the loyalties of two thousand Gold Cloaks. And forty-five thousand men at arms weeks if not moons away is paltry protection if compared to two thousand men already at our doorsteps. More tangible proof, a hatchling instead of an egg, a grown dragon instead of a hatchling.” She compared.

The actions of one Luthor Largent would not be soon forgotten.

“That is something to keep in mind.” Daemon agreed. He smirked without any amusement then. “Saera may want to wring my neck, but there is a reason Jaehaerys and Alysanne, she often forgets to include her dear mother in this, did not let most their children claim dragons. There is a reason I have some respect for Rodrik Arryn. Dragons are the Targaryens’ claim to power.”

Rhaenyra hummed. “I suppose I have your answer then… about another Velaryon claiming a dragon.”

Daemon was silent for a few moments, thinking before answering. “Securing more than just her cooperation is fundamental. Rhaenys’ children may be an exception. I believe the reason Laenor was able to bond if not outright claim a dragon was partially because of Alysanne’s influence and because Rhaenys had a veritable claim to the Iron Throne. No matter how weak it was then, she still did. I very much doubt that Jaehaerys was happy about it, but after Alysanne died… something within the Old King died as well. The Jaehaerys that people like Vaegon, Saera and Rhaella remember and tell us about would never have allowed Laenor to get anywhere close to a dragon, let alone let Laena claim any, especially not Vhagar. But he is a far cry from the Jaehaerys that capitulated to the lords of the realm’s wishes.”

“I think he no longer cared by that point.” Rhaenyra whispered, a little sad for the end the Old King brought to himself, sadder still than the one that met Alysanne.

“Indeed. Either way, an egg, if hatched, would bring forth a dragon of battle size by the time any whelp the Highwhore births thinks of waging war.”

“But not a grown dragon.” Rhaenyra concluded.

“… I would hesitate.” Daemon admitted.

“Rhaenys’ children… can be argued for. Rhaenys’ grandchildren…” Rhaenyra trailed off.

“I would not give them access to dragons, no, not even eggs. There is no guarantee that Corlys would be able to find a match that would concede to use the Velaryon name instead either and thus, yet another family, probably not even of Valyrian ancestry would have dragons. Their great-grandchildren if the parents marry back into House Targaryen then yes. I already think it was a mistake to let Laena claim Vhagar.”

“I am fairly certain that permission was not quite taken into consideration.” Rhaenyra pointed out.

“True.” Daemon shrugged which made Rhaenyra visibly a little amused.

But then any merriment left her face. “I want you as my husband, Daemon. And the logical and strategic reasons played a second part in that wish of mine. I did not even think of them until… until I saw who Alicent would become, until I saw the need for such a husband. I wanted you as my husband for the simple fact that I have loved you all my life.”

And Daemon felt himself burning. In happiness and in envy. The first and last time Rhaenyra told him she loved him was at their wedding, in the language of their ancestors. And envy at the ease with which Rhaenyra said those words. He felt once again the weight of regret, bitter and heavy in his chest. Daemon had always been fond of Rhaenyra, but the connotations of that, of that word even, were not lost on him, after all, he was also fond of Aemma. He remembered how Saera mocked the word and how Rhaenyra was also unimpressed by it. Rhaenyra had always known the specific importance that he had in her life, whereas Daemon came to that conclusion so very recently too. And he still had trouble admitting it out loud.

“I have… loved you all your life as well.” Not for the first time, he resented that they were not born closer together.

Rhaenyra smiled a little sadly. “As a niece… and even then, I had my doubts, I have to say.”

Daemon was almost relieved at the familiar anger that started simmering. “Excuse me?”

“Daemon… if you loved me, as a niece or in any other way… you would never have brought me to that brothel at all. It humiliated me that you left me there, but it also hurt me that you brought me there and I don’t mean just my claim. Three years passed and nothing changed, you were still using me to hurt my father, at least that time it did not involve Mysaria.”

Daemon could not help but flinch. At what she said now and the memory of Rhaenyra snapping at him that she had already mentioned a whore’s name one too many times. It was almost a crime, Daemon was finally forced to confront so, the fact that a Princess of the Blood even knew a whore’s name, let alone be forced to voice it as often as Rhaenyra was made to.

“The brothel will not happen.” He promised. “In any way.”

“Alright.”

And mayhap it was the lack of commitment in the word that made Daemon almost desperate. After all, what kind of promise did he just give? "I promise not to compromise your virtue, not to humiliate you, not to make you the subject of gossip and misery"? He got up and quickly crossed the distance between them, falling to his knees so they could continue the conversation, this time with her hands firmly grasped in his own. Daemon felt that if he didn’t hold her then she would leave… and this time it would be for good.

It was the horror of the thought of losing Rhaenyra that made Daemon force himself to talk. It was both easier and harder than he thought.

“I am sorry.” They taste foreign in his tongue. The second time that Daemon could remember saying them and it was unsurprising that the first time was also addressed to Rhaenyra.

“You did not bring me to any brothel, Daemon.” Rhaenyra pointed out.

“Nevertheless, I know myself, Rhaenyra and I never shied away from my faults. Even now, I can see how I would find the idea appealing. It would hurt your father, it would hurt your position as heir, and it would force Viserys to marry us. You deserve an apology, not only for that, but for what I have already done, I never apologized for bringing Mysaria to Dragonstone and proclaiming her its Lady.”

Rhaenyra gave him a watery smile and Daemon almost winced at the sight. “Thank you then, I accept your apology.”

His grip around her hands tightened. “I would recite poetry, but you already know all the ones I know as well. My own words pale in comparison then. And I can only regret that for the longest time I could only hurt people that I love. Even when I did not mean to. I love you, Rhaenyra.”

Chapter Text

(Prince Daemon Targaryen)

“Did you two fuck?” Daemon would never admit that he felt his heart stopping for a second.

But the only thing he did was snap his head towards Saera who was watching him curiously.

“How is that any of your business?” Daemon challenged.

“It is not, just curiosity.” Saera shrugged and followed him down the hallways, away from Queen Rhaenys’ chambers that Rhaenyra was living in.

Daemon rolled his eyes. “Well, if it is to sate Princess Saera’s curiosity. No, we did not.”

Saera hummed. “You know, if you care for people to think that you didn’t, then you really need to stop getting out of her chambers at random hours of the day and night. Rhaenyra does not have the loyalty of her entire staff here.”

Daemon almost snarled. Saera was very intelligent, but she has been in the island for just over a moon and in that time, she has already noticed as much. Daemon had to force himself to not hunt down Alfred Broome and cut him in half where he stood.

The Whore of Dragonstone. He took in a sharp breath.

As much as Daemon hated it, in the game of politics, Viserys was right in one thing: perception matters more than the truth. While he had his doubts about their intention beyond destabilizing Rhaenyra’s power base, one thing was certain, the Greens’ propaganda against Rhaenyra wielded results.

Say someone was a whore, and people will start looking.

Treat someone like a whore, and people will start believing.

Rhaenyra was smart. She turned the game around before the Greens could even properly be dubbed ‘the Greens’. Using their own tactics and weapons against them just as once they would have done against Rhaenyra herself.

Now it was Alicent a step away from being called a whore publicly, living in a keep with another woman of superior rank despite being a part of the royal family and whose son’s legitimacy will be called into question. Daemon almost snorted to himself when he recalled that Rhaenyra reassigned Crispin to guard "the baby". Once, he would have cited Viserys’ love for Aemma as a defense, for sure Viserys would have more respect towards his wife of twenty years and queen of ten years than to insult her memory like that, now Daemon knew better. Nevertheless, one still had to consider the little sheep that Viserys chose to marry and her shaky disposition. Daemon could even believe that truly nothing untoward happened, although he was wrong about Viserys, maybe he was wrong about little, bland Alicent too.

Alas, whispers tend to grow.

Daemon felt himself shaking just as he felt Saera’s eyes on him. Despite still believing that dragons should not concern themselves with the opinion of sheep, such behavior was only ever possible when their House was at the height of its power. Before Alysanne and Jaehaerys let age and politics get in the way of protecting blood, before Viserys took the crown with no preparation and no training for it.

He closed his eyes briefly as the sound of Syrax’s dying roar resounded in his head.

And yet, it was the incredulity in Rhaenyra’s lilac eyes that pushed Daemon over the edge. At nine and ten, his niece was ecstatic at the fact that Daemon took her hand in his. At nine and ten, she lit up when they kissed in that damnable brothel, not caring about where they were, not caring whether they were seen, she was just happy that he was there.

At five and ten, with knowledge on her side, Rhaenyra looked at him in disbelief as he proclaimed his love for her.

Rhaenys’ voice came then. Those Dreams showed him a lot of her and of course, that his cousin would confront him after marrying another a mere sennight after Laena died… after Laenor seemingly died as well. Although "confront" was perhaps the wrong word for what she did. She was tired, like they all were of trying to keep themselves afloat in the storm that Viserys insisted on creating. On ignoring.

(“Despite your reckless nature, I never took you for a coward, Daemon. Rhaenyra was willing to give up the throne for you. And maybe you left so she wouldn’t have to, so she would get the crown that was denied to my father, to me, to Uncle Baelon, to you… but ten years is a long time. I then started to believe that maybe I was wrong about your feelings for her… you are and were within your right to reject Rhaenyra.”)

(“What are you talking about?!” Daemon took a step forward, enraged at what she was implying.

(But Rhaenys remained calm in the face of his anger. A trait she shared with Rhaenyra truly. “The reason I agreed to the marriage between Rhaenyra and Laenor is the same reason Viserys should have agreed to marrying Laena: respect and peace. I was not unaware of my son’s preferences, Daemon, yet what choice remained? Corlys’ anger is slow to abate and regardless of the fact that Viserys, as a man, is no prize, he dealt a heavy insult towards Laena when he rejected her, heavier still when his choice of bride was revealed.”)

(His eyes were narrowed. “What kind of conflict was brewing?”)

(“Not the armed kind.” Rhaenys eyes matched his own in enmity. “Regardless of his ambitions, Corlys is no kingslayer. However, he would not be above getting some inspiration from the prices the pirates and the Triarchy levied on Westeros. I suppose Viserys was also worried about the match that Corlys was arranging for Laena, the son of the Sealord of Braavos would bring quite the bride price as well as many ships to our House.”)

Petty and yet no more than Viserys would have deserved. How convenient that suddenly the Stepstones and who controlled them were an issue that only marriage to the Velaryons would solve.

(“I fail to notice the relation to my marriage to Rhaenyra.”)

(“I always thought it strange.” She had started much to Daemon’s confusion. Certain that the first words out of Rhaenys’ mouth would be in Laena’s defense. “Rhaenyra was the one creature in this realm that was both, aware of your darker nature and happy just to see you. Not that you ever failed to bring back beautiful gifts, but before you ever opened your satchel or searched through your tunic, she was running towards you, always smiling.” Rhaenys’ mauve eyes were shining with an indescribable feeling. “I would be unable to do something of the likes… destroy the trust of someone like that… happy at my mere presence.”)

Daemon had always been a good actor, but he could have a very good guess what he felt in that moment.

(“What are you talking about?” He asked again.)

(“The conclusion I came is that despite Rhaenyra’s clear love for you, you did not feel the same. Why else would you leave her alone in that nest of snakes for ten years, why else marry another woman? And now… why marry Rhaenyra?”)

Daemon did not know what happened later, he woke up then.

Daemon was counting himself lucky that the Rhaenyra of now was jaded but still thought they could get married. But was it any wonder that Rhaenyra would be skeptical of his feelings? Daemon has given his very life for her claim and yet so did many others, some that have not ever even met Rhaenyra, but he has never done anything to show that he loved her, and so, when the opportunity came to love Rhaenyra openly, she no longer believed him. No one did.

Rhaenys, one of the few, if not the only one that has ever thought that maybe Daemon cared for Rhaenyra more than an uncle to a niece, questioned why he married her, when Daemon could very well support her claim without tying himself to her. Why, after ten years, Rhaenyra no longer dared Daemon to act on any supposed feeling but begged him to help her survive and defeat the Greens instead. She no longer relied on feelings whose existence she now doubted, but used cold logic to have him as her husband, citing all the reasons that such union would strengthen her claim.

Ballads and poems and plays were done for the great love story that was the Rogue Prince slaying his own wife and the intended of one Lady Laena Velaryon. None would ever be done for the Rogue Prince and the Realm’s Delight, however. Politics and power were to be the reasons they united in history books.

Daemon turned to Saera. Impulse and desperation guiding his actions, the melancholy that never left Rhaenyra after that last night making him almost shake if he did not do anything.

“Saera, I am going to ask for your help.”

~*~

“I made sure that Rhaella would tell Rhaenyra that we would be back in a few days at most.” Saera readied a satchel bag with dried fruits and meat, a change in clothes, if need be, as well and a skin of water.

Daemon found it in himself to wince. Thinking of how Rhaenyra would feel when she woke up to find him gone.

“Thank you.” He expressed his gratitude stiffly.

“It is no trouble.” Saera was much quieter than usual, however.

Daemon did not know her well enough, but he would wager that she was giving this insanity second thoughts. He was also beyond caring if she was or not.

“Rhaella, despite her lack of experience and early age when she was sent to Oldtown, had quite good instincts. We will use part of her plans. The night will provide us cover and we will fly above the shore.”

Saera tilted her head. “If you want to make it so that no one knows what we did, we will need more than that. Choosing the right night so we will have plenty of clouds to cover our dragons was good, but if the thunders are anything to go by, then there will be plenty of rain as well. Not to mention waiting around the area, for sure nothing will happen at the hour of the wolf.”

Daemon gave no indication he heard except putting some more provisions into his own satchel.

Vermithor grumbled and growled at being risen and moved away from Silverwing who opened her eyes but otherwise did not move. Caraxes was shrilling his energy away, used to his rider’s moods and frequent flights.

Side by side, the difference in size was more evident. Caraxes was a bit smaller. Perhaps the same difference between Vhagar and Vermithor put Vermithor and Caraxes apart.

Saera huffed beside him and said where the sight of the two dragons brought her. “I was… sorry when I heard about Aemon and Baelon. They were… as perfect as it could get. Sons and brothers.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow but did not thank her, he had the feeling that saying sorry for his loss was not Saera’s intention. They moved to mount their dragons.

“If the storm hit us, make your way up, above the clouds.” Daemon instructed briefly. Which proved to be a smart decision.

It seemed that all the rain and wind that Rhaella was lucky to not have faced, Saera and Daemon were now fighting against. Thunder and lightning all that would guide them in a new moon night. Although they had enough foresight to leave at the hour of the eel.

Daemon would have smirked in grim amusement if not for the fact that they were barely able to see what was in front of them. The rain pelting their face for sure making it seem as if it took too long to reach the clouds and then… clear skies.

Caraxes threw his head from side to side to dry a bit of his snout.

“Fuck!” Daemon faintly heard Saera yell as Vermithor made his way through the clouds.

Vermithor was hardly in a better mood himself, grumbling and blowing smoke.

Quickly looking back, Daemon bit back an amused smirk. Both were wet to the bone, but unlike his own carefully tied hair, Saera’s long one was undone from the braids and sticking wetly to her face. Still, she might have complained and cursed but not even her was immune to the amazing sight before her. The last few rays of sun ensured that they were not lost. Daemon put it directly on his left and urged Caraxes forward. They had to arrive at the hour of the wolf.

Daemon has never been more thankful for the fact that what they were now facing was a harbor city. There was no need for mountains or forests to really hide their approach as long as they kept to the coverage of the clouds. Although, to be perfectly honest, Daemon very much doubted that he had cared enough if anyone would see him that first time and he did not particularly care now.

It would only ever be a headache if anyone truly had proof that Daemon Targaryen killed Rhea Royce.

~*~

(Princess Saera Targaryen)

Saera had huffed tiredly when they landed back on Dragonstone, the sun barely peeking up in the horizon. With some disgruntlement, she noticed that Daemon, despite the bruises under his eyes indicating a sleepless night, did not look all that tired. They were pushing almost an entire day without rest.

“I do not understand.” She finally said when they left the dragons be and they took flight to wherever they pleased in Dragonstone.

“I assume that you understand that I wish to marry Rhaenyra, and I cannot very well do so if I remain shackled to the Bronze Bitch.” Daemon did not even look back as he started to make his way back to the castle.

“Oh, no, that part is obvious. But it is… odd. At the same time, you act as if you do not care whether people know you killed the Royce girl, but you care enough to conceal your presence to be almost hit by lightning in the middle of the night… a moonless night so none would be able to see us in our dragons… and that it would almost blind us, the riders. You could have run her through with Dark Sister, but you let her ramble on with mockeries about being replaced by a little girl, about consummating your marriage and then how you are being a craven for being unable to finish her off properly only to bash her head with a rock. And finally, you looked like a madman when you asked for my help and yet calmly went about committing murder. Rumors and gossips about you often made their way to me, Nephew, and I always thought them too flowery, but your coin must truly have landed upright.”

Daemon chuckled without much humor and recited the old tale that no one genuinely knew the origins of. “Every time a new Targaryen is born, the gods a the coin in the air and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.”

“People forgot about it,” Saera pointed out the obvious, “they really should not have.”

“The first person that her House will look at for her death will be me, it is true. But for twelve years I have been chained to that woman,” he started uncaringly, “and never once I moved to finally rid myself of her, that will be enough to make them hesitate. My so-called fame will also mean that people will not expect me to mourn, but they also would not expect me to take any steps to conceal my hand in her death. Although it is true that I do not overly care whether someone simply knows that I did it, I did just enough for there not to be concrete proof.” But then he hesitated. “I let her talk because despite her dim personality and grating appearance, this entire situation is not her fault. At least not completely. She was used as much as I was… at the end I ended up hating her more because of what she represented, she was just in the way.”

Saera was exhausted, she has been quite impressed by her youngest nephew in the last few days. She did not know him well, not to say, "at all", but Saera had to admit that no Targaryen she ever met was as easy to understand as their actions would lead one to believe.

~*~

(Third POV)

“Good evening.” Daemon’s voice almost made Rhaenyra choke on her tea, not having heard him approaching.

Firmly patting her on the back, Rhaenyra glared at him. Annoyed at yet another one of his sudden departures and embarrassed at being caught by surprise like that, she could feel her face warm also because of the lack of air.

“Good eve.” Rhaenyra gritted out.

Before Daemon could say anything else though, Maester Gerardys was announced before entering the Great Hall.

“My Princess, My Prince.” He bowed. “I have dispatched the raven to House Bar Emmon. And we have received answers from Darry and from Dreadfort.”

“The Darrys and the Boltons finally answered.” Rhaenyra uttered to herself and accepted the scrolls.

Daemon frowned, trying to remember the names of the potential ladies in waiting but ultimately not overly caring for now. “What about Caswell and Hayford?”

“Lord Allun says that his wife is enjoying this last moon with Lady Estell but soon his wife will be sending a raven from Bitterbridge to officialize her employment, Lady Lyra will be arriving in a few days.” Rhaenyra quickly went through the contents of both scrolls before humming. “Lady Ada was right. Lady Barba is more worried about her House’s survival than any political play. She beseeches provisions during the worst of winter. The North prepares all year long for winter alone.”

Daemon was not surprised. “Northmen are too worried about survival. Dreadfort was also aptly named. Small castle, massive walls, surrounded by nothing during winter, much like all the keeps in the North to be truthful.”

“Well, at least the North will not be affected by the King’s decision to increase taxes on Vale products. The Weeping Water river will still have direct access to Widow’s Watch and the Vale.”

“Even still, if the plans of increasing produce are successful enough in time, you may be able to cultivate good will by sending a few ships.” Daemon suggested.

Rhaenyra tilted her head. “I like that. Thank you.”

Daemon hesitated. “In a sennight I will have to join Corlys in the Stepstones if we want the Velaryons’ allegiance.”

Rhaenyra nodded, unsurprised. “Rhaenys’ influence on her husband extends so far and they will not win without you.”

“Friendship with Corlys is simple to cultivate.” Daemon shrugged and hesitated once again to which Rhaenyra rolled her eyes.

“I never saw you dither, Uncle.”

“If you have finished dinner... walk with me?” Daemon eyed the still half full plate of roasted pig a little disapprovingly even as he extended a hand.

Ignoring the look, Rhaenyra took the offered hand. Daemon guided her out of the Great Hall to the Outer Bailey, their destiny clearly being Aegon’s Garden.

Nights during summer in Dragonstone were frequently visited by storms, Rhaenyra briefly smiled thinking about Saera’s reaction to the real thunders that would be arriving with autumn, but the days were sunny dotted with clouds until nightfall. A soft breeze bringing relief to the island as the lava forming new land had yet to cool.

If the petitions were anything to go by, the smallfolk of the island were still in awe over the display of a few days before. Their eyes wide, voices trembling in emotion even as they presented their pleas. The lava itself that mostly surrounded the keep did not influence their daily activities besides some increase in temperature.

Saera and Vaegon agreed that this would probably earn her the respect of most… but Rhaenyra knew that "most" was not "all".

“Have you… Dreamed about us exploring the cave system here in Dragonstone?” Rhaenyra started as they walked calmly.

“Yes.” Daemon answered simply. “The cave that Silverwing and Vermithor are most fond of leads almost directly to the dungeons.”

It was an interesting finding for sure. Especially since Daemon never had any reason to explore the dungeons, much less Rhaenyra.

“Something you said when… when we were leaving King’s Landing gave me… an idea… a possibility.” Rhaenyra started to explain.

Daemon frowned. It felt like that happened years before. Meeting Vaegon, retrieving Saera, talking to the Lords, sending ravens, retrieving Rhaella, provoking a volcano eruption… those Dreams. It was hard to conciliate with the fact that it all happened in less than three moon turns.

“What would that be?” He asked finally.

“That there is no better security than dragons…”

“Indeed, there is not. Especially without chains.” Daemon pursed his lips.

“Do you recall those stories that people like to spread among themselves? How dragons jealously guard treasure of gold and jewels?” Rhaenyra led on and Daemon understood.

He laughed amusedly. “You want to do the same to Dragonstone’ treasuries?”

“There is no better security.” Rhaenyra repeated.

“Maegor was much inspired by Dragonstone to build his own secret passages in the Red Keep. The caves that the dragons nest connect to the tunnels that connect to the keep… and that connects to the dungeons. It seems ill advised to keep the dungeons so close to the treasury.” Daemon pointed out.

“We don’t have to keep the coffers and the dungeons close. We just have to keep the coffers close enough to the dragons to benefit from their presence.” Rhaenyra corrected.

“And if in a particular foul mood, they can melt and destroy all the coin and jewels.” But Daemon did not sound completely against it.

“We do not know what the spells used to build Dragonstone entails to withstand a dragon’s weight. And unless the Cannibal decides to attack the castle, the rest of the dragons are claimed and bound to protect it, maybe we can convert one of the underground chambers. Away from the dungeons.” Rhaenyra tried to work out the steps for such a plan.

Daemon hummed. “You are doing good progress.” He complimented. “Your household is solid, and you are already in contact with the Houses sworn to Dragonstone and working to increase its standing.”

Rhaenyra sighed a little tiredly which did not escape Daemon’s attention. “Thank you.”

“But…” he prompted.

“It is frustrating. I barely even know what I am doing.” She confessed her insecurities. “If not for you, for Rhaenys, Saera and Vaegon, and now Rhaella, I would not even understand half of what was supposed to be done. Let alone how to do it.”

“I think you are being too self-critical.” Daemon raised a hand when he saw Rhaenyra about to argue. “It is true that some of the results were luck, some of it were unintended despite working in your favor. You still had the idea and still worked towards making them reality, you were brave enough to try and make them reality which is honestly more than most of us would dare. Do not undervalue your part in all that was accomplished.”

The circumstances made her recall another instance that Daemon had managed, with no care in his choice of words, to actually lift her spirits.

“What happened to your mother was a tragedy. But this is a tragic world. You cannot live your life in fear, or you will forsake the best parts of it.”

He was not callous, exactly, he just refused to shelter her. Just like now. And that meant a lot to Rhaenyra. Viserys treated her like a child and disregarded her opinions just as fittingly, but then demanded she behaved like an heir in equal turns. For all of Daemon’s mercurial moods and brash actions, he never wavered in that.

As they reached Aegon’s Garden, Rhaenyra nodded faintly. The red amaryllis and purple carnations, Queen Rhaenys’ favorite flowers were still in full bloom, the garden was as beautiful as the first time she ever saw it. A spot of softness that Aegon the Conqueror had personally built for Queen Rhaenys who insisted on naming it after her husband. She sat down on one of the benches artfully organized.

Rhaenyra looked around and took deep breath, the sent of the flowers soft and calming as ever. She had always loved this place.

“Uncle?” Rhaenyra was a bit surprised to find Daemon kneeling in front of her.

Daemon for his part did not stop to analyze it, did not stop to think. For the first time in many years, he was just genuinely honest no matter how vulnerable that made him look and feel.

“Rhaenyra, when you were born it felt like hope. House Targaryen had lost so much that a new life seemed to beat impossible odds. And you never stopped beating those odds. Bringing delight wherever you went since before you could walk, becoming the youngest dragonrider in our House’s known history, fluent in High Valyrian even faster. This is a tragic world with the vilest and weakest of people inhabiting it, but you are still here and still fighting, and I deeply admire you for that. We have talked, we have shared, and we have worked together in a way I had never expected to be able to do with anyone in this life. You have become my friend and I found myself surprised. For so long I have dedicated my life to House Targaryen for they were my blood, but I never expected for one of them to be my friend as well. We can return the House of the Dragon to its proper glory but with you, it feels like what we could build together is a family instead of just a House.”

Daemon swallowed at the sight of her tears. They made their way to her chin before falling to her lap and marking the dark purple silk. Rhaenyra endured it all, she didn’t cry when he left, she barely let a few tears escape when Aemma died, when he left again, when she was forcibly married to a man that all knew would be unable to be a proper husband. But all it took was for Daemon to be honest with her, to open himself for her and this was already the second time it made water gather at her eyes. Taking her hands firmly in his own so they could both stop shaking, Daemon held her gaze. Purple on purple, the High Valyrian came naturally then. The words that he should have said back came then.

“I love you. You and I are made of fire. We were always meant to burn together… will you marry me?”

The shock that made Rhaenyra unable to act when Daemon declared himself to her but a few days before was present now as well. And it hurt just as much as the first time. And yet was it so unexpected? When had Daemon ever done anything so they could be together in those Dreams?

“Yes.” It came out choked and wetly, Rhaenyra smiled so fast through her tears that Daemon would have missed it if his eyes were not locked on her face. “Yes!”

Quickly getting up and gathering her in his arms, Daemon lifted her to meet her lips. Kissing her softly and insistently, with all the time on their hands. It felt like home.

~*~

They laid on the grass, surrounded by the flowers in Aegon’s Garden. Rhaenyra had quickly made herself home in Daemon’s chest. They were whispering to themselves, sometimes kissing each other just because they could.

“What made you do all this?” Rhaenyra asked at some point. Her fingers trailing the embroidery work in his doublet.

Daemon stayed silent for a few moments. “Thinking about that ridiculous tour you went, paraded like a prize mare to be sold… thinking about the circumstances of your betrothal… thinking about your wedding.”

“Which one?” She teased, her voice light for the first time in so long that she sounded almost sleepy.

Daemon chuckled but he felt almost sad. “Your first one… but also ours as well. You are a princess, Rhaenyra. Thinking about how much you mean to me… how much you should have meant for our House, for the realm… it feels like the direst of crimes that your first wedding happened in the dead of the night, your dress bloody and your hair a mess with just half a dozen people as witnesses. And then our own, in secrecy and hurry and with even less people attending it and a horrible weather that was about to rain on us at any second.”

Rhaenyra froze. She was silent for so long that Daemon half thought that she had indeed fallen asleep. “I did not… really think about it. I used to dream about getting married and then I knew that I would have no say in it. And then I became so scared of it after Mother died that I… and I was ready to fight tooth and nail to avoid it for as long as I could. The idea of marriage being so intrinsically associated with childbirth… and then I had those Dreams and everything else happened. I did not have… time and space to think about it.”

“They were weddings unworthy of a princess.” Daemon whispered.

Objectively, Rhaenyra could not deny that.

“Do you plan on rectifying that?” She tried to tease again, although she sounded a bit too tired to get the desired result.

Daemon tightened his arms around her. “Yes.”

They enjoyed the soft breeze and the last rays of sun for a few more minutes before Rhaenyra chuckled, at the cusp of falling asleep.

“What is it?” Daemon asked running his fingers through her long hair.

“Even if Criston had not caused that commotion during my wedding to Laenor, my hair would still look horrible, that dress could be better as well. I almost think that it was Alicent who chose them and she did it on purpose.”

Chapter Text

(Third POV)

Vaegon raised an eyebrow. “Dare I ask?”

Saera, who had just made her way to the Great Hall and sat heavily in front of him to break her fast just glared at him. Her hair was a disaster because of the rain, there were heavy bags under her eyes from going an entire day without sleep and now she had a newfound respect with a healthy dose of fear for her brat of a nephew.

Rhaella who was calmly sipping her tea sighed. “It was quite a few years ago but I did have the passing thought that if you and Prince Daemon ever met, the Known World might not survive. Granted, I was going by reputation and gossip that made to my ears alone.”

“Not to mention that you probably never pictured yourself coexisting with them at the same time?” Vaegon offered mildly, clearly projecting.

As answer, Saera gave such a rude one fingered gesture that it made Rhaella’s eyebrows jump up. She turned to look at Vaegon who was unimpressed and alarmingly unsurprised.

“She has been doing that since she was nine years of age.”

Which only ever shocked Rhaella even more. But before she could even say anything or just decide to keep quiet, Rhaenyra and Daemon arrived.

“Good morrow.” Vaegon and Rhaella greeted them.

“Good morrow.” Rhaenyra returned but Daemon looked as exhausted as Saera.

Which just made Vaegon turn to look at his sister again, whose head was now resting on the table, hair spilling into the plate she was supposed to eat from. Rolling his eyes, he was still feeling suspicious about what those two schemed.

Daemon waited as Rhaenyra ate a few pieces of melon before broaching the subject. “I will be joining Lord Corlys at the Stepstones by the end of the week. We want advice about Rhaenyra going back to King’s Landing, alternating between living there and here in Dragonstone.”

Saera supported her head on her hand, her elbow on the table. “To support your dear stepmother in her first pregnancy?” She jested, knowing very well that there was no love lost there.

“Certainly.” Rhaenyra answered drily before sighing. “Either way, I need to convince the King to hand me control over my match. If he thinks I am easily considering it when I was violently against it… and I use enough emotional pressure about my own mother, I think he will be easy to convince.”

“Make him swear.” Vaegon suggested then. “Make the King give you an oath. Publicly as it can be done.”

Rhaenyra swallowed a little heavily before exchanging a look with Daemon. Of the seven councilmembers, only three would hold their oaths as sacred when it was given to a woman. Especially if they can benefit from breaking them.

“At court then.” Rhaenyra decided, uncomfortable but determined. “After the petitions, when the greatest number of nobles shall be in attendance.”

“What would the numbers be then?” Vaegon leaned forward in interest.

“There are seven members in the small council with the Lord Commander of the Kingsguards, the rest of the kingsguards add another seven, nine nobles that currently make the court, twelve landed knights and sixty retainers and servants in total.” Rhaenyra answered promptly.

“Quite the crowd.” Saera nodded in approval. “There is no way that Viserys will be able to break an oath made in front of so many people or where so many people will hear about it.”

A crowd that, Daemon and Rhaenyra knew, at least two thirds of which were loyal to the oaths made to Rhaenyra. The same two thirds that lost their heads for it as well.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath to keep herself from shaking. “Very well then.” She hesitated briefly, exchanging another look with Daemon before continuing. “The matter of the Stepstones…”

“I wish to give the lands I acquire through right of conquest to Rhaenyra, not the King.” Daemon finished when he saw that Rhaenyra had no words to properly describe the situation.

“Just say that this is an apology for how you did not swear felty to Rhaenyra when ordered by the King.” Saera shrugged and gave no more thought about the wreckage her words left behind.

Daemon chanced a look towards a stone-faced Rhaenyra, and he refrained from grabbing the candle holder to pour hot wax over Saera’s head. “Nevertheless,” he started through gritted teeth, “the intention is to ask for the control over any future match, if I give the Stepstones to Rhaenyra, regardless of the reasons voiced, maybe Viserys will not grant me this boon.”

Realization swept through them although not surprise.

“Ah.” Saera intoned in mocked surprise.

“Are congratulations in order?” Rhaella asked kindly.

“Only if we convince the King.” Rhaenyra answered truthfully.

“Elopement is a possibility, but we would rather have the official… permission.” Daemon cleared his throat.

Vaegon rolled his eyes. “Why is it that I have this… thought that King Viserys would not rejoice at this match?”

“Because you are smart.” Rhaenyra answered, as bluntly and as dryly as she could.

Rhaella frowned. “A marriage between the two of you seems… logical. If nothing else, wouldn’t your father and brother wish you a happy marriage, however?”

Rhaella was certainly no skilled politician, but it was amusing to hear as much even from her.

But Rhaenyra was curious about something else. “I am… a bit surprised, I will admit. Does the Faith not condemn such unions?”

If Rhaella was surprised at the question, she did not show it. “My parents were siblings.” She answered simply.

And once again Rhaenyra and Daemon asked themselves what in hells was Viserys’ problem. One of the arguments, if one could call it that, that Viserys constantly made use of to argue against their union was, "She is your niece". Rhaenyra, in one of her increasingly rare moments that she tried to defend her father, reasoned that maybe Viserys meant the age difference and the fact that "Kepus" meant both, father and uncle. No matter how far he has grown from their Valyrian culture, he was still raised in it, so, maybe Viserys meant that Daemon should have been a paternal figure to Rhaenyra. It still did not make sense in the greater context, however.

Daemon rolled his eyes. “Whatever the case may be. I would also need his leave to marry as my King and Head of our House.”

Vaegon hummed. “And you do not have the same… emotional weapons against him.”

Not a hard conclusion to arrive to, especially considering everything that was said and done in the last few moons.

“The original… plan, was to win the Stepstones and rid the realm of those pirates, well… Craghas Drahar now. Restore trading routes.” Daemon explained.

“That would make the King give you a boon, and then you would as for his permission so you could have the hand in marriage of whoever you want… but Dragonstone and Driftmark need the Stepstones to grow.” Saera raised an eyebrow, a little impressed.

“The matter of the Stepstones has reached even the Citadel. The situation there is direr than most seem to think. It will take moons if not years to unroot all those pirates. At least, their influence.” Vaegon frowned.

“Excuse me?” Daemon turned to look at his uncle.

“What is it?” Vaegon raised his eyebrows in question.

“The Citadel knows about the Stepstones?” but Daemon shook his head and corrected himself, “Actually, the Citadel considers it… dire?” He mocked the word.

Vaegon looked a little lost at the hostility. “Yes…? I feel that I don’t need to repeat all the discussion we already had about the place and its importance.”

When Rhaenyra saw that Daemon was simply too enraged to properly form words, she explained. “Otto Hightower has been advising my father that the matter is not a concern.”

Saera, who was already opening her mouth, closed it with a click, reconsidering her words. “… not a concern.” She repeated a little confused. “For a moment I thought for certainty that you were about to say that Hightower lied to the King and said that he knew nothing of the place.” She explained her bafflement. “But to call it ‘not a concern’?”

“Roughly his sentiments if not his words.” Rhaenyra confirmed.

“And the King believed it?” Vaegon tried again.

“Well—” Rhaenyra started before being interrupted.

“By the gods!” Saera rolled her eyes.

Rhaella was frowning. “I have heard a lot of Viserys Targaryen… first of his name. When he was born, during his reign and since I have arrived here in Dragonstone. Some of you are more critical of him than others, but all seemed to agree that lack of training, of preparation for the throne is a factor in his actions. Much more than King’s Landing, especially since Driftmark seldom docks there first after filling their ships in Essos, the Stepstones are vital for commerce in Westeros. So, how can anyone say those islands are of ‘no concern’?” Her voice was low, and she was much more worried than disapproving, but Rhaenyra and Daemon almost winced at her words either way.

“This goes beyond lack of training.” Vaegon agreed. “Maesters educate us in the economy of the realm when we are barely weaned off our mothers, in preparation for one day be an influence in it and depend on it. I can understand not being ready, not being taught to be king, the scale is much bigger, but the essence of it is the same as any lord’s duties, for which Viserys would have been taught for.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, a little tired of discussing her father’s failings… of discussing her father at all really. She was almost a bit worried, to be honest. In the recent past, she would have something to say, no matter if it was in defense of her father, or in agreement of the harsh words levied against him. And right now, Rhaenyra felt almost impatient to be done with the subject.

“Whatever the case may be, we would both rather have his leave to marry who we wish.” Rhaenyra refocused the conversation.

They blinked at her, as if they had forgotten about what prompted this whole exchange in the first place.

At last, Saera sighed. “For however long this war on the Stepstones lasts… be on your best behavior. Be the most loving of daughters. Tug not at the King’s heartstrings, but his entire soul. Present this idea to go on tour, do not specify that it is to find a husband, if your father or the lords think that a hunt for a consort is the reason, let them, but do not present the idea yourself. While you travel through the realm, send back small trinkets from the kingdoms. Something thoughtful, it has no need to be extravagant, but present it in the most flowery way possible. ‘This reminded me of that, when we did this or that’, or ‘this reminded me of Mother', 'this reminded me when you and Mother said something to me’, make him miss you as if he was missing a limb.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes were a bit wide at the blatant manipulation, and of course Daemon was fascinated. Rhaella seemed amused and Vaegon…

“Is that how you convinced Father that you absolutely needed fourteen stallions of the best and most exotic breeds that Westeros and Essos had to offer?” He looked as if he had no idea what to even think about what he had just heard.

Saera blinked innocently. “But Brother! Each of those fourteen stallions represented one of the Fourteen Flames of the Valyrian pantheon. I am so very sad that I cannot ride my own dragon, but so wanted a small reminder of our culture that was lost.”

“Unbelievable.” Vaegon uttered. “No wonder Mother always said that Father was blind.”

~*~

(Lady Maris Baratheon)

Maris breathed a little more of the sulfuric air, somehow feeling like the last moon in Dragonstone made her freer.

The island and the castle with the same name were as intimidating as the first time she laid eyes on it. Maris could count the number of times she traveled on her fingers, be it by horse or ship. Borros Baratheon was hardly a father that brought his daughters along if not for the purpose of furthering his own power and influence. And so, Maris and Ellyn got somewhat used to be largely forgotten.

Cassandra, as the eldest, was grudgingly treated as heir presumptive to their father. Their mother’s increasingly numerous summers in this life were stacking and Borros' ill temperament souring. Even still, he had allowed the measters to start Cassandra’s education to be a proper lady paramount instead of a lady wife, slowly and very clearly unwillingly.

Maris and her younger sister Ellyn on the other hand were seen as ways to increase lands and connections. She knew that it was only ever marginally worse than Cassandra’s own temporary placement, their father made no secret of it. Much like he made no secret of his lack of regard for her and Ellyn, always in the wait of a son that is taking decades to arrive.

The Baratheons were a well-established presence in the Stormlands. Their power and place uncontested since the Conquest. Their riches properly accumulated and a few marriages with the royal family themselves made sure to lend them all possible legitimacy. Until Borros Baratheon failed to bring forth a male heir. Then it was if all the happiness in his life seeped away, as if he was facing the Doom of Valyria itself.

The Baratheons were odd with religion. Maris was instructed by septas since she could remember, but much like her trips to other regions, she could recall each time she went to pray to the Seven in the closest sept so rare those visits were. At the same time, they had a weirwood tree in one of their gardens, well-tended as well. Not to mention their own Valyrian roots that were not so far away from the marriage between Rogar Baratheon and Alyssa Velaryon, her own great-grandparents.

Maris knew her chances of a good marriage, at least a marriage that would have the approval of her parents and her own at the same time, were low. Without her father’s regard and when it became clear that she would not grow up to be as beautiful as her mother, Maris felt the walls closing in. Any lord who spent the barest moment with her and her father at the same time would see that they would get no sizeable dowry from the Lord of Storm’s End. All she would bring to a marriage was herself. Not even Maris' name would add much to it considering the lack of connection between herself and her father. She was one and ten… and her mother was already considering the Silent Sisters for her.

When the news reached them that Grandfather Boremund sworn to Princess Rhaenyra as heir to the Iron Throne there was almost a brief moment of hope. Maybe this would inspire their own father to name Cassandra as heir, finally. But not four moons later, they were being invited to the King’s marriage to Lady Alicent Hightower. And just a couple of more moons after, her grandfather was being laid to rest and, it felt like, the honor of House Baratheon with him.

Maris knew when to keep quiet and most of the servants got used to ignoring her in a way that they no longer ignored Cassandra and Ellyn. Cassandra was always the greedier one and Ellyn seemed to not know how to be subtle, but Maris learned early that if she wanted to listen, she couldn’t speak.

It was almost easy what with the way the servants at Storm’s End were gossiping about how Lady Alicent was found at the dead of night in the King’s private chambers. Maris could feel her eyes widening at such information. She knew the Houses and their respective reputations well, the septas never failed to make their disapproval known and House Hightower, with its historical association to the Starry Sept and the Citadel had always been one of the most pious of the realm, their reputation practically flawless.

The name of Saera Targaryen was whispered for not since her was the royal family involved in such scandal. Maris thought that their servants were being very silly, didn’t Prince Daemon constantly mock his own marriage to Lady Rhea Royce?

Still, she could understand the difference. King Viserys was… well… the king, and the seven kingdoms were under the impression that he loved his Queen Aemma. To disrespect not only her memory but her mourning period and worse, with Princess Rhaenyra’s own lady in waiting that was of an age with the Princess herself?

That was hardly the end of the insults coming from the King, however. If the King was contemplating marriage, all the realms had assumed that Lady Laena Velaryon was to be the next Queen of Westeros. Bridging the chasm that was created by the Great Council of 101 by uniting the lines of Prince Baelon and Prince Aemon, bringing two dragons back under the banner of the Targaryen sigil, one of which belonging to the famed late Princess Alyssa Targaryen herself, the King's own mother.

That not only it was not so, but the choice was the daughter of a second son with no impressive dowry was a blow that Borros Baratheon was clearly not expecting. Cassandra was only now nearing her thirteenth summer, but barely a sun turn separated her from Lady Laena. Rarer than the intermarriages with the Velaryons were the infrequent alliances with the Baratheons, and yet more common than the non-existing unions with the Celtigars.

Having three daughters, two of which already bloomed, Borros was incensed at the King’s choice of bride. Cassandra was not very far behind. Once she understood that she had lost the chance to wear a crown, no matter how flimsy that chance was, Maris’ sister was inconsolable. But Maris saw all that was transpiring with much confusion for the reasons behind the King’s decisions. They had made no sense to her.

The confusion lasted for as long as she caught sight of Princess Rhaenyra. Unlike most of the Princess’ ladies in waiting, Maris knew what to expect. The silver-golden hair and purple eyes were captured in the painting of Alyssa Velaryon back at Storm’s End. But then she watched as the Princess approached the Starks and talked especially with Ada Stark who was of an age with the Princess. Lyonel Strong, the Master of Law, had two daughters who did not live very frequently at court, yet the two were in attendance for the wedding and already casually striking up conversation with Princess Rhaenyra.

Maris was hit with realization. Subtly glancing at her sisters, it was clear that Cassandra was just pouting at the loss of a crown and Ellyn, only just past her fifth summer, did not even know what was going on. She had no way of requesting a meeting with the Princess, however. And as the Princess greeted their House and eyed Cassandra with interest, Maris could feel desperation mounting within.

Excusing herself to grab some refreshments and no longer caring whether it was deemed inappropriate, Maris approached the Princess who was likewise eying the trays of food with a critical eye.

“My Princess.” She bowed.

“Lady Maris.” The Princess had greeted back to her relief. At least she knew her name.

Maris knew that, despite being observant, she had no practice in the games of court. She did not know how to play with her words to convey what she wanted to say without truly saying it, but she had to try.

“I… did not have the chance to congratulate His Grace yet, but I offer the same to you, My Princess, on the new addition to the family.” Maris winced a bit at what sounded like the greeting of a new babe instead of a royal match, it could also be seen as an insult to imply that the new Queen is with child.

But Princess Rhaenyra smiled, quickly hid it, of course, however it was clear that she was amused. Which already told Maris all that she needed to know about the current state of royal relations.

It was part of why she was so confused. The King had summoned all the paramounts, all of the lords in truth, to swear to Princess Rhaenyra as the new heir… and then four moons later, disrespecting the mourning period of a queen that has been queen for ten years and his wife for twenty years, he gets married again, as if desperate to get new children.

Obviously, the Princess was far from happy with the situation.

“Thank you, Lady Maris.” The amused glint had yet to fade from lilac eyes and Maris pressed her advantage.

“Although if My Princess allows me the jest, His Grace broke my sister’s heart.” Maris tried to affect a small giggle that was so unlike her that she could just picture her mother’s raised eyebrow.

But Princess Rhaenyra seemed to catch the hidden message. “Oh, indeed he did with many maidens.” And it apparently the Princess had as little patience as Maris herself when both were talking about the same thing. “Speaking of which, I am looking to increase my household… now that my only lady in waiting has other priorities.”

Maris did not know whether it was lack of patience or if the Princess just did not put much importance for double meanings when hers was clear and Maris could not care less. She got what she wanted.

The next moon was a whirlwind of the likes Maris never experienced in Storm’s End. Her parents were not expecting for one of their daughters to be invited into a royal household, so they had only prepared for the week that the wedding was supposed to take place. Sending her belongings from Storm’s End was easy enough by ship and Maris tried not to react when she noticed that most, if not all her effects were in the chests that arrived two days later.

No matter, she tried to convince herself. The servants at the Red Keep were ordered to arrange her dresses and other possessions in Maegor’s Holdfast at the Princess’ insistence, her chambers were right beside the one given to Lady Ada Stark, across from the one now occupied by Lady Amanda Arryn. The two Strong sisters, Amelia and Nora were down the hall as well.

“Don’t pack up half of your belongings.” The Princess had said once she was more or less settled. “If everything goes well, we will be going to Dragonstone but a few days after the wedding.”

All the ladies nodded in agreement. And by any gods out there, the wedding itself made Maris unsure whether to laugh or cringe in embarrassment. She would not claim to know all the details between Lady Alicent and the Princess Rhaenyra’s relationship, but Maris knew she would feel utterly humiliated if one of her own companions and ladies became the new Lady of Storm’s End, a higher station than her own.

“Good eve, Lady Maris.” Maris blinked at the sight of Amanda Arryn at her door, behind her the rest of the new ladies. “I trust that you have found these chambers to your taste?”

Maris looked around, taking in the airy space that would be impossible in the Stormlands due to the weather, the heavy tapestries included some neutral views of mountain and plain fields with deers eating the grass. She almost smiled a bit at the obvious attempt of currying favor. Still, the chambers were spacious and luxurious.

“I did.” She admitted with honesty. “It is an honor to meet you, Lady Amanda, Lady Amelia, Lady Ada and Lady Nora.”

“The honor is ours, Lady Maris.” Amanda bowed a bit.

From there it was easy to see that Lady Amanda was very familiar with the layout of the Red Keep and they soon found out that she was the lady in waiting of the late Queen Aemma. Her half-sister as well. With Queen Aemma's death, Lady Amanda half-expected to be integrated into Princess Rhaenyra’s household or to be sent back to the Vale.

“Wouldn’t King Viserys wish to invite you to stay? There is no noble from the Vale in King Viserys’ court.” Amelia asked curiously.

Lady Amanda had smiled politely but her blue eyes were a little too hard to be considered kind. “I can’t claim to know the King’s thoughts. Nevertheless, Princess Rhaenyra requested that I stay and… she is still my niece.”

From there to their departure to Dragonstone, they had little chance to speak. As Maris thought about it, it made sense that Amelia and Nora would know a bit more as their father was the current Master of Law and had occupied the position for many years now. But Maris, and she was willing to bet, many of the nobles in general, knew little of the happenings in King’s Landing.

For whatever reason, King Viserys rarely went on tours through the realm like his own grandparents. And so, much mystery and gossip and too little fact and meetings marked his reign.

Despite his irascible nature, Maris’ father was not altogether wrong in claiming that The Crown seldom if ever acknowledged their family and gave them due respect. Of course, in Maris’ opinion, The Crown failed to do so with the entire realm, not just House Baratheon, and she had the feeling that her father had a different idea from reality of what “due respect” would imply in their case. However, the lack of ravens sent, and the lack of positions offered could be indeed an insult if one would consider the familial ties between the two Houses.

Alyssa Velaryon was her great-grandmother, and Princess Rhaenyra’s own great-great-grandmother. She did not quite know what that made them, but despite only having met the Princess three moons before, Princess Rhaenyra had already trusted her and the rest of her ladies with the plans for Princess Saera, Archmaester Vaegon and Septa Rhaella. Princess Rhaenys was her second cousin despite the fact that her interactions with the older Princess were as rare as her trips across the realm and visits to the sept.

Whatever the case may be, the almost three days they spent inside that ship to Dragonstone made the noble ladies better acquaintances which was good as Maris has only ever been to King’s Landing and now to Dragonstone. Once again, Lady Amanda would tell them more details of the island and the keep, the Strong sisters were slightly more familiar with the island than the Red Keep, which surprised Maris and Ada.

“It was a conjoined gift for our nameday,” Nora explained, “it has been almost three years since we have even seen our father so it was easy to make this one simple request when King Viserys tasked Father the… what should have been the yearly visit to Dragonstone.”

Maris suppressed a wince. All her life she was taught that lords were to be given esteem and royals were to be given the utmost regard. Lessons were repeated until exhaustion so she would learn what Houses were above their own – the Targaryens, the Velaryons – which Houses were to be afforded the same respect – the other Paramounts or Houses that rose to have almost the same power – and what Houses were bellow them and how far below them they were.

It was a little mind wrecking that respect for the King seemed to be decreasing with every day that passes. Logically, Maris understood it, even agreed with it, tactically, she was anxious. At some point, they would return to the Red Keep and habits die hard.

Still, from what she witnessed, King Viserys might not even notice the sort of subtle criticism that they were getting used to levy against him. So… in the end… what difference did it make?

Even with all the political nightmare that was waiting for them back in King’s Landing, Maris never felt happier.

Every day they would break fast with the Princess before her attention was snatched by either Prince Daemon or one of the other Targaryens. Maris was impressed whenever they would talk. Lady Amanda had warned them all to watch, listen and learn and Maris could see how they could all benefit from the discussions being had.

Six and forty, Lady Amanda was well used to court and, Maris soon found out, well used to shielding her family as well. Ever since they bore witness to Lady Jeyne, Lady Amanda’s own niece, condemning the King for his part in Queen Aemma’s death, the usually kind woman seemed to have hardened against the monarch, she was even, if not cold then unhappy with Princess Rhaenyra herself. Until a few days after the Princess returned with Princess Saera and, uncaring of the fact that Lady Ada, Lady Nora, Lady Amelia and Maris herself were bearing witness, Princess Rhaenyra bowed in apology.

Well, not quite bowed, but as close to it as a princess was ever gonna reach.

“I am sorry that you had to find out how your sister died the way you did. You deserved more than that, and I am sorry that my own thoughtlessness hurt you.”

Blue eyes were pained and watery but surprised as well. With good reason, thought Maris. As little as they all knew the Princess, one thing was certainly shared among the Targaryens, pride. To admit to a mistake, to admit that they hurt someone… perhaps even beyond that, for a royal to show themselves so human… for anyone to so clearly understand where they were wrong and to apologize for it, emphasizing the relation between Lady Amanda and Queen Aemma… for Queen Aemma was Princess Rhaenyra’s mother, but she was also Lady Amanda’s sister. In the absence of Princess Daella Targaryen, Lady Amanda, having accompanied Queen Aemma to King’s Landing all those years ago, would have raised the Queen herself.

Much like Lady Jeyne a few days before, Lady Amanda ignored protocol and stations and hugged her niece. The Princess, much like when Lady Jeyne did so, stiffened in the embrace even as she returned it. It took Maris a while to realize that the Princess was simply not used to this kind of display of affection. Much like Maris, the Princess, despite having quite a few relatives that apparently loved her, was simply not hugged.

And Maris found herself sad for the Princess. Maris’ own parents did not give their children affection for they did not feel it, the Princess’ parents clearly felt affection for their only daughter but chose not to show it. And that included her uncle, at least until recently. Maris recalled the many occasions in the last few days that Prince Daemon would take any chance presented to have Princess Rhaenyra’s hand on his. Taking her into his arms even if they had witnesses to it.

Maris started getting used to it all. Exploring Dragonstone escorted by Ser Robert, usually in the company of the rest of the ladies. Gossiping about the new additions that would soon be arriving. Talking about the not at all subtle choices of decorations of the castle, talking about Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, giggling about how they were so enamored with each other.

Even when there were deep and long conversations about strategy and politics, Maris found herself fascinated.

Having to tend to Princess Saera and Septa… Princess… Rhaella was adding to their duties and sometimes they felt overworked, but then a dragon would roar in the distance, or fly by the windows of the keep and Maris would be in awe all over again.

“Waking up to this is well worth it.” Maris had once said to Ada who was complaining about Princess Saera’s unreasonable request to find a seamstress that could integrate the Volantene silk into Westeros’ style of dress.

And indeed, the fabrics used in the heavy and hot Volantane weather were simply too light for Westerosi style. Maris would smile to herself as once again Ada rolled her eyes behind Princess Saera.

“The woman has become unbearable since she claimed Vermithor.” Ada grumbled to herself, trusting the heavy tapestries hung in the walls of the chambers in the Sea Dragon Tower to muffle her voice.

The Sea Dragon Tower was where the royal chambers were located. The biggest and most lavished were where Aegon the Conqueror and his queens, Rhaenys and Visenya, had lived. Princess Rhaenyra had been using King Aegon’s chambers as their place to talk or simply rest, it was connected to Queen Rhaenys’ chambers, where the Princess now lived, by a heavy set of doors. That there was none connecting to Queen Visenya’s chambers was something that they did not dare comment on.

“Princess Saera is better and worse than stories would have her being.” Amelia shrugged while penning a letter to her brother and father.

“It has been twenty-five years since any Westerosi had contact with the Princess. After all that time, it is unsurprising that she would have changed.” Nora pointed out from where she was practicing Valyrian braids on Ada’s hair, who looked more than a little disgruntled at her position.

“Father once told us about Princess Saera, some of the things she did would have us in much worse places than being sent to the Faith.” Amelia looked torn between impressed and incredulous. She shooked her head. “It came directly from Lord Lyman who was worried about King Jaehaerys, all know how, at the end, he would confuse Lady Alicent for Princess Saera.”

“Lord Lyman would be the only one that would know.” Maris agreed, but now she was curious about it. “Her reputation precedes her, but some of the tales sound so outlandish that I can’t help but question them.”

Amelia eyed the doors a little nervously, but Nora finished with Ada’s hair and turned to Maris. “It seems that Princess Saera would torture the court’s fool of the time, he was simple, and she found him to be an easy target. And then she had given her maidenhead and coerced her own ladies to give theirs to their preferred knight, when King Jaehaerys confronted her, Princess Saera simply mocked the whole thing.”

Maris felt her jaw dropping. If she had dared to even think of something like that… she shuddered. The Silent Sisters were already in consideration for her and she…

“Maidenheads.” Ada rolled her eyes. “You southerners give too much importance to it, as if a ride in a horse wouldn’t break it. I find it crueler her behavior towards others, her ladies and sister especially.”

“How do you know of such a thing?” Amelia eyed the door again before turning to Ada.

“Something… or at least the way Lady Amanda mentioned Lady Elys’ attitude towards Princess Daella when Princess Saera first arrived. I asked her and, despite Lady Amanda not condoning gossip, she wanted me to be in my guard when it became clear that I was to attend Princess Saera. It seems that Princess Daella would tell the story with fear instead of sadness.” Ada explained while she examined her new braids, clearly not sure whether she liked it or not.

“It has to withstand dragonflight.” Nora joined Ada in inspecting her handwork.

So far, only Lady Amanda, who has been doing them for many years now, knew how to make the sort of tight braid that was the custom among dragonlords. Elegant, carefully pulled up, so tight that not even on dragonback they would come undone, yet loose enough on the scalp not to pull.

“Still,” Ada turned to them, “it seems that most, if not all, of Princess Daella’s siblings scared her, even when they did not mean to. Queen Alysanne intended for her to marry Prince Vaegon maybe, but he insulted her and any possible children that would come from her, even going as far as saying that a man should want simple children if they wanted to marry her.”

Their eyes widened. Archmaester Vaegon was not warm in any sense of the word, but despite his straightforward nature, he was courteous.

“Father mentioned that Princess Alyssa defended Daella, and that Princess Maegelle was very kind to her.” Amelia offered.

“Yes, but Princess Alyssa, true to her reputation, would defend Princess Daella very loudly and violently which scared her. Princess Maegelle was only two years older than Princess Daella and took the vows of a septa as soon as she could.” Ada countered.

“Lady Amanda told you all this?” Maris could not believe such.

“Of course not,” Ada rolled her eyes. “One thing is for Lady Amanda to warn me of Princess Saera, another is for her to rehash old history that she did not even witness. Still, when a woman of strong spirit comes forth, the North hears of it soon enough.” Her voice turned light in clear jest. “It is rare for that to happen anywhere but the North.”

Amelia threw a pillow at her face. They all laughed, and they laughed harder when Ada’s Valyrian braids came undone just from that movement.

“How come you northerners did not hear of Princess Saera then?” Nora pulled a pillow to herself and sat on the carpeted ground.

Ada pursed her lips before sighing. “We did. But Princess Saera was considered less spirited and more… well… cruel. I did not know that she coerced her ladies into losing their maidenheads, one of which came to be with child from that scandal,” Ada nodded at the gasps that gathered, “but we did hear how she tried to steal a dragon.”

“What?” Maris whispered, shocked.

“I will not speak details, those are probably only known to Princess Saera and whoever witnessed the whole thing,” Ada joined Nora on the ground, “but eventually enough of facts spread through the realm for us to piece it together, especially after Lady Amanda told me enough to convince me that if Princess Saera ordered me to do anything improper, to go to her. It all started with the court’s fool at the time. I do not know what happened to him, but he had to be rescued by the kingsguards themselves. Princess Saera’s ladies and favored knights were questioned, the knights were imprisoned.” Ada shook her head. “I do not think the ladies knew what King Jaehaerys was asking about for suddenly they were admitting to the improprieties that took place among them. One of them fell pregnant and that is not possible to hide for long.”

Nora bit her lip. “What happened then?”

Ada’s grey eyes darkened. “King Jaehaerys, at that point, was trying to understand what was going on. He even asked if Princess Saera had given her maidenhead to any of the three knights, to which she answered that each thought they were her first. She then said that she could get married to all three like King Aegon the Conqueror… or Maegor the Cruel.”

If they gasped at the thought of a noble lady being coerced by the princess she served to the point of being with child, the comparison to the most infamous of Targaryens made them blanch. It was history well known, truly, recent history that Maegor Targaryen had raped and then forced Queen Rhaena into marriage, King Jaehaerys’ sister. He had tortured and killed Prince Viserys, King Jaehaerys’ brother. And imprisoned not only King Jaehaerys himself, but his then sister Alysanne and mother, Alyssa Velaryon.

For his own daughter to compare herself to the man that destroyed his family…

Maris swallowed heavily. “I… stories tell that, despite King Jaehaerys renouncing his daughter later, he very much spoiled her. All she asked, he would give.”

“Does Septa… Princess Rhaella know?” Nora asked nervously.

“If she doesn’t, we are not the ones that will tell her.” Ada did not even consider it.

Amelia was confused. “But what about stealing a dragon?”

“Oh, after the comparison to Maegor the Cruel, King Jaehaerys was furious, obviously. He had her confined to her rooms.”

“That’s all?” Maris was incredulous.

“And then she tried to claim a dragon as the King and Queen were still discussing what was to be done.” Ada finished. “Many criticized King Jaehaerys at the time. They thought him soft for merely sending Princess Saera to the Starry Sept, only then the Silent Sisters were considered, and all doubted that this was truly what was to be done to Princess Saera. Even if it was, Princess Saera would still be under the care and supervision of her older sister, Septa Maegelle.”

“That’s all?” Maris repeated, not believing her own ears.

She did not behave as her mother wished for her to. Maris would complain about the too tight dresses and the uncomfortable shoes, and get them dirty in their gardens and her mother had already mentioned the silent sisters… Princess Saera did all this and… Maris suppressed the tears burning at her eyes. Princess Saera did all this and in the end, she still claimed the second biggest and most powerful dragon of House Targaryen, her father’s own mount.

Ada seemed to know what was on Maris’ mind. Grey eyes that were usually hard as steel seemed to melt a bit in sympathy and pity. “Well… one of the knights, Ser Braxton Beesbury, demanded a trial by combat after Princess Saera tried and failed to claim a dragon. King Jaehaerys himself met the challenge. Princess Saera was forced to watch as her father slayed him.”

And they remembered when the royal family was discussing the Old King and his wife. Maris did not know that those were the circumstances behind Princess Saera stating that the only time she saw her father’s legend come true was when he was killing one of her lovers. Maris did not wish to even imagine what her father would have done if she did any of it, let alone all of it.

Nora slumped back against the cushions. “She… does… not seem… to be that way… at least… anymore?” was said almost as a question.

“Twenty-five years passed.” Ada echoed Nora’s own earlier words. “People change.” She finished. “Still, I am thankful for Lady Amanda’s warning. She had to tell me about Princess Saera’s ladies for me to understand and actually heed her words. The one that fell pregnant married into a House of the Vale, that is why Lady Amanda knows of it.”

“Has she… asked you anything improper?” Maris asked, almost afraid to know the answer.

“No. She is just annoying and has unreasonable expectations, but then, what noble doesn’t? People change.” Ada shrugged as she repeated herself.

They were silent for a few moments, just contemplating all that was said. But at the end, despite any feelings, there was only one worry.

“Do you think it is a mistake… to trust her? Princess Rhaenyra seems to trust her.” Maris asked.

“I am not quite sure whether she… they have a choice.” Ada answered bluntly. “Have you not been paying attention? Princess Rhaenyra has been contacting Targaryens that practically forgot that they were Targaryens, all to counter King Viserys’ new marriage. Even in the North, you cannot mention the King without mentioning Otto Hightower, my own father was angered at the new marriage. King Viserys had made many promises and oaths when he married Queen Aemma, although the letter was respected, the spirit certainly wasn’t. And he had made new ones… asked for the oaths of the lords to his heir as well.”

“Ladies?” They all jumped and turned towards the door that was now open and where Lady Amanda was standing. “In the future, do make use of the lock on the door.”

Amelia, as the only one that worried about it, blushed. “Lady Amanda… we…” she trailed off.

Amanda merely raised a hand.

“Whatever was discussed and whatever will be discussed, take precaution so others won’t hear it. Princess Rhaenyra has yet to rid the keep of dissenters and anything can be used to discredit her.”

“Yes, Lady Amanda.” They answered, properly chastised. And understanding that it wasn’t so much what was discussed but how it was discussed. They were lucky that the one that overheard the tail ends of the conversation was Lady Amanda and not someone else.

“Then come, Princess Rhaenyra will share her plans for the next few moons.” They all followed her to the Chamber of the Painted Table where the royal family was already seated at.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

“Prince Daemon will leave to fight in the Stepstones in the morrow.” Princess Rhaenyra announced then. “We will be dividing our time between King’s Landing and Dragonstone. Lady Elinda Massey and Lady Estell Caswell will be meeting us in King’s Landing as will Lady Lyra Hayford. At first Lady Lyra was supposed to set sail to Dragonstone, but since we will be returning, it seems a waste of a trip for now. Lady Rosamund Darry will be joining us in a fortnight, but may arrive alongside the others if the weather and roads permit it.”

They understood it as their orders to pack their more personal belongings. They should still have what they left behind as well.

“Did Barba Bolton refuse the position, My Princess?” Ada frowned.

“Not in so many words.” Rhaenyra did not divulge, however, that the Boltons seem to be behind in terms of preparation for winter. “For now there is not much more we can do for Dragonstone,” she glanced at Archmaester Vaegon for confirmation which he nodded to, “and so King’s Landing it is.”

“Do we know how long we will be spending in each place?” Nora asked, clearly calculating how many clothes to bring or to leave.

“The tentative plan is for every two to three moons.” She answered.

Before anyone else could say anything, a dragon’s roar echoed in the walls. A glance through the windows revealed Meleys circling the keep.

“Were there plans to meet Rhaenys?” Daemon asked no one as they made their way outside where Rhaenys was already waiting for them.

She looked… tired. Rhaenyra finally settled for. There were bruises of sleepless nights under her eyes and her hair was not as carefully done as it always was. Her eyes were focused on the still cooling, still flowing lava.

“Princess… what—” but Rhaenyra was interrupted.

“Is that your doing?” Rhaenys’ eyes did not stay in anyone in particular as she pointed towards the lava.

“… yes.” Rhaenyra admitted after a few seconds of hesitation.

“Has it occurred to anyone here what would happen after a volcano eruption that created this much new land? Driftmark is almost knee deep in water! And I don’t even want to think how Massey's Hook and Crackclaw Point fare right now!”

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

“Most of the coastal cities were washed. The keeps were not affected, but ports were submerged, thankfully no damage… aside from the lost furniture. Some people were caught by the waves and hurt, but no deaths as far as I know.” Rhaenys waved Annora when she approached with hot towels for her.

“And the Houses?” Rhaenyra put down her satchel bag, understanding that her own flight to King’s Landing would be delayed for now.

She sent her ladies and then Annora ahead. A ship as fast as one of the royal ones would arrive in King’s Landing in a little less than three days or so, Syrax can make it in a little over six hours.

Rhaenys sighed and then grumbled in frustration when her hair fell on her face. “The destruction is not so bad that you cannot take… credit,” although "credit" was clearly not the word that Rhaenys wanted to use, “for this… idea, that, because of the results, can be brilliant.”

Rhaenyra was too tired to rationalize much more than the fact that Rhaenys and Saera had the same expression when they were scheming.

“Just tell me what I have to do.” Rhaenyra could not even find enough energy to grimace at the glare she got from Rhaenys.

“Rhaenys.” Daemon warned when she opened her mouth.

Rhaenyra understood that she couldn’t afford to just having someone there to direct her decisions. Her attitude was probably an insult to Rhaenys, who never in her life had allowed herself the same.

Rhaenys took a few breaths before raising an eyebrow. “The Celtigars and then make your way inland. Claw Isle is the furthest that could have been affected. From there Houses Pyne, Hardy, Crabb, Cave, Brune and Boggs from Crackclaw Point. Massey’s Hook should not have faced the same problems due to the height they were, it would still be in good form to visit and make sure, however. Stonedance and Sharp Point especially. Have you heard back from Bar Emmon?”

Rhaenyra winced. “Not quite, I… sent a raven yesterday morning and have yet to hear back from them.”

“If this was simple matter as you taking the seat of Dragonstone we would have heard from them by now. But House Bar Emmon was among the Houses that arrived only for the ceremony day at the sept for Viserys’ wedding. They are probably weighting their actions right now. And accessing the King's as well.” Daemon tried to disperse her worries while being truthful at the same time.

Rhaenyra met Daemon’s eyes. The Brunes declared for her, as did the Bar Emmons and the Crabbs. They were one of the first to answer her ravens when the Green usurped her, they kept their oaths. The knowledge calmed a bit of Rhaenyra’s heart.

“Visit them, as if on tour. You do not have to stay the night or any such a thing, for your arrival will not be expected. If nothing is amiss, do not add to it. If they question, then see to their humor. If they are in need of appeasement, be charming, give it to them. Do not mention that the eruption was done on purpose, do not mention it at all if possible. We cannot attract attention to Dragonstone right now and due to its half-abandoned state in the last few decades, thankfully other Houses should not have many ears about.” Rhaenys instructed.

“Very well. I… shall do as Rhaenys says. It will take me extra few days maybe to reach King’s Landing then.”

“Do make yourself as presentable as possible.” Rhaenys narrowed her eyes. “You have been away from the Red Keep in protest of the King’s marriage, regardless of the fact that you were sent here by him or not. You were not drowning in self-pity you were making a stand.” She declared.

~*~

“Rhaenys always had the gift of spearing sore wounds.” Daemon uttered as Rhaenyra readied Syrax. Both watching Meleys and her rider disappearing in the horizon.

Vaegon, Rhaella and Saera ignored them as best as they could to give the impression of privacy. As they re-checked that their belongings were properly strapped to their dragons in a rather redundant way, it was obvious but kind of them to do so. At least the rest of Dragonstone’s staff was back at the keep. No knights, no maids around.

She sighed. “Rhaenys is not wrong.” Rhaenyra bit her lips briefly before asking. “Sometimes… sometimes do you think she would be a better queen than my father is king?”

Daemon was silent for so long that Rhaenyra chanced a look at him and wished she didn’t. To call his expression tortured was an exaggeration, still, it was more pained than Rhaenyra had ever seen from her uncle.

“Much of Jaehaerys’ decisions were taken based in trying to not to be either Aenys or Maegor. For the most part, it meant prosperity and development, it was successful. It meant he committed his own mistakes, however.” Daemon rubbed his brow. “The Great Council was the wrong and right decision and… at our most impartial moments, both Rhaenys and myself are forced to admit that there was no right step to be taken.”

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. “You… both heavily criticize the Old King for such… even Vaegon was not spared some… rolled eyes.” She turned to the archmaester that was approaching them.

Clearly the rest of their family gave up their attempt in pretending they were not listening.

Daemon chuckled. “Yes. The truth is that no matter what Jaehaerys did, he would be displeasing someone. Andal… Dornish… Valyrian… dictates that it is daughter before uncle.” He raised an eyebrow with meaning and smirked when that gathered a brief smile from her. “Many lords want their own line to inherit, not their brother’s. But even Jeyne has had trouble with her leadership being contested, and she is a lady paramount, not queen. For a ruling queen… Westeros as a whole was not ready. Rhaena’s line was passed over with nary a thought when Aerea should have inherited instead of Jaehaerys.” Daemon nodded to Rhaella who smiled softly.

“My sister was most eager to be queen, it is true.” Rhaella confirmed.

“Maegor needed to be met with a military challenge that Aerea did not represent, while Jaehaerys had a dragon, untested as it was, and smaller than even Quicksilver, he still had one. By the time Maegor was found dead, Alyssa Velaryon was backing Jaehaerys and Rhaena had already thrown her support behind her younger brother, neither could change their minds then and support Aerea’s ascension even if they wanted.” Vaegon followed suit. “But it does not change the fact that Father was mere eight years older than Aerea herself, both were still children, and none would be surprised to find out that Rhaena would rather be regent for her daughter than for her brother.”

“Obviously, no one protested it, of course they did not.” Daemon returned to his original point. “Rhaenys probably had better prospects than Aerea to argue her case, but bleaker considering who she was up against. Both Aerea and Rhaenys were the heirs of the last heir. Unlike Aerea, Rhaenys was eight and ten, married to a powerful Valyrian lord and newly pregnant, but with no guarantee still that her child would survive infancy while my father, unlike Jaehaerys, was a man grown, trained in both, the sword and the pen and already with two heirs of his own that were not that younger than Rhaenys.”

Saera snorted. “Do not forget that Rhaenys’ child also had no guarantee that it would be male… while Baelon had two sons. Rhaenys would never say it, but it was a lost battle against Baelon.”

“But it should not have been so against Viserys.” Rhaenyra whispered.

Daemon grimaced but nodded grudgingly. “On scale, we were even. I had Caraxes, Rhaenys had Meleys. Your egg hatched for you, Laenor had already bonded with Seasmoke. Corlys had the biggest fleet in the realm, I amassed an army that could make front to it… Westeros would always prefer to have a man on the throne, however.”

Vaegon hummed. “Jaehaerys was not the king he once was. He did not have the strength to enforce his will, even if he wanted to crown Rhaenys. Which would only weaken himself. He became king by ignoring his niece in the order of succession after all, which did not give him much choice when Aemon died. He either named Baelon or be considered a hypocrite at best and a usurper at worst, no matter how much word spread that he was… maybe righting wrongs in history.”

Daemon shook his head. “In the end, and to answer your question, Rhaenys was better prepared. Her mind was stronger, and she suffers no foolishness. She was raised and trained as an heir, so she would always put Targaryens first. But despite some of Viserys’ weak attempts to keep the dynasty under the Targaryen name, Corlys is the lord of the wealthiest House in Westeros and he did so by building the biggest fleet of Westeros, and he was the one to raise his House to such heights, which only ever adds yet another layer of… not undeserved pride. To think that his firstborn will not bear his name…” he trailed off.

“Lord Corlys… is prideful but he is no stranger to making concessions.” Rhaenyra hinted at their Dreams.

Corlys was not only unsurprised that the marriage between Rhaenyra and Laenor bore no fruits, but he supported and protected the boys that Laenor claimed as his own. He may vocalize his indifference at the fact that his son would never be happy in any recognizable marriage that Westeros would accept, but Corlys promptly ignored the fact that his blood would not sit in either, the Iron Throne or Driftmark. Caring more about the names written in history books than in blood.

Daemon understood what Rhaenyra was saying but he still shook his head. “Corlys was younger back in 101. When the first hint of discord was shown, he gathered his entire fleet and sailed to King’s Landing. So, what do you think he would do ten years prior to that when Prince Aemon died? It was too great a threat to simply trust his word for it, not matter how honorable he had always presented himself. Regardless, say that we ignore whatever machinations goes on inside his head and how Jaehaerys himself had to name Baelon heir or else he would weaken his own position, no matter how long and well established it was… as far as being reigning monarch goes… she would commit her own mistakes, but Rhaenys was the better choice.”

~*~

“We have dismissed most of the staff we were not sure about. Only a few knights are left and only because they and their families have served for so long that a better prepared excuse is needed in their case.” Rhaenyra explained as she walked beside Syrax.

Saera rolled her eyes. “Alfred Broome is basically the only one left who is any kind of threat and he would be easy to dispose of.”

“True.” Rhaenyra ignored Daemon’s pointed look. “I need him until… a certain point.”

“‘Need’?” Saera echoed.

“It was perhaps a strong word.” Rhaenyra conceded. “More like… I have a convenient and also practical way to kill the man.” She started to climb Syrax to her saddle.

“Let me know if you need anything.” Daemon met her eyes.

“If I can do anything, let me know as well.” Rhaenyra returned the sentiment. They did not hug… and they had not kissed since Rhaenyra accepted his proposal.

Daemon reached with his hand and Rhaenyra took it. Just for a few more moments.

It was an interesting feeling, refreshing certainly. Rhaenyra reflected. It was the first time that they flew away from each other, each with a goal to be accomplished, instead of Rhaenyra, a girl whose life was controlled by someone else just watching as Daemon left once again without a purpose, once again banished.

~*~

Claw Isle was more impressive than Rhaenyra had expected. Knowing well that both Celtigars that were Master of Coin, to her great-grandfather and to herself, failed, did not inspire much confidence in their ability to manage their expenses, it seemed that her worries, based on reality as they are, did not affect their own coffers.

Rhaenyra knew well that, unlike Targaryens and Velaryons of recent generations, the Celtigars took pride in their Valyrian roots and that has always been the case. The keep, the island itself, showed it well in Celtigar colors.

Rhaenyra was almost tempted to just keep flying, clearly her idea with Dragonmont did not disturb the Celtigars, but their small folk…

Syrax made her way down. Giving some weak excuse of wishing to exchange a few words became having tea with Lady Celtigar which just made Rhaenyra understand how Clement turned out as jolly as he did when both his parents seemed so cheerful to the point of smiling when being stabbed with a fork. She thought that the woman was about to dance when Rhaenyra complimented their keep, city and port.

Knowing she was breaching protocol but presenting it as being her fault for arriving unannounced, Rhaenyra expressed her gratitude for the sheep given to Syrax and waited just enough for her Golden Lady to eat before taking flight once more.

(Ocean Temple by etienne_hebinger)

Rhaenyra still turned to appreciate their port one last time, it was truly beautiful.

Houses Pyne, Hardy and Brune were more of the same. Although some needed more flattering comments than others to accept her offer of help. It was only when Rhaenyra reached the lower point of Crackclaw that she winced at the destruction wrought by her idea. The port itself suffered less damage… the houses surrounding it on the other hand…

Lord Crabb was charismatic enough in his surprise at her presence, though a lot less courteous than most. In a manner that it seems and feels more that they don’t see the need for flowery words than lack of respect.

“Princess Rhaenyra! It is an honor to meet you. The Whispers are yours.” Dick Crabb bowed.

“Rise, Lord Dick. The honor is mine to be hosted with no warning.”

Later that day, and Rhaenyra eyed the sun that was at its peak with some nervousness, they were seated in the lord’s solar. Accompanied by his heir, a child of five, and his wife, quiet but smiling. It would have been almost pleasant if not for the subject that Rhaenyra had to approach.

“I fear that the reason for my visit is less than joyful.” Rhaenyra started, not quite sure if Rhaenys and Saera wouldn’t be rubbing their temples and shaking their heads at her. Or just Saera. Rhaenys was more subtle than their shared aunt.

Lord Crabb seemed confused. “If House Crabb can be of assistance, we will gladly do so.” He offered.

But Rhaenyra was more nervous than she had ever been in her life. This was her fault. House Crab in itself may not have been much affected, but it did not stop the fact that their smallfolk are suffering and…

Rhaenyra had to stop herself from closing her eyes. Her dear Golden Lady. Kept chained most of her life… kept chained as she was killed as well. Despite all odds and circumstances, Syrax had grown formidable in her time in Dragonstone. Mere six years free and living in the island still filled with their blood and Syrax easily rivalled Dreamfyre in size. Perhaps even surpassed her. All for her to die at the hands of smallfolk.

Rhaenyra knew that she was too weakened by her recent and unsuccessful childbirth to ride Syrax. Let alone ride Syrax into battle. Yet the way Rhaenys and Daemon had almost forbidden it, with the backing of her council rankled. Syrax deserved more and better.

Still…

(“I do not wish to rule over a kingdom of ash and bone.”)

“It is I that wish to offer assistance, Lord Crabb. A show of reparation and hopefully an alliance.” Rhaenyra squared her shoulders. “Dragonmont, the volcano in Dragonstone, erupted a fortnight ago. As result, I became aware that many port cities suffered the subsequent rage of the sea. I shall offer the gold to reconstruct their homes if you allow me.” She nodded gracefully in acquiescence.

To say that Lord Dick looked shocked was to compare a candle to dragonfire. Brown eyes narrowed, but he did not look suspicious exactly, more thoughtful than hostile.

“I admit that I was not expecting such, My Princess.”

When he did not answer either way, Rhaenyra knew that Lord Dick was smarter than most would give House Crabb for. He likely understood that there was more to the story than a volcano erupting, he likely also understood that it was improbable that he would be told about it. Accepting Rhaenyra’s help would make him, as indirectly and as weakly as it was, indebted to her. Which in turn would put his House in confrontation against the Hightowers. Or maybe not, depending on how much Hobert Hightower himself was displeased with his brother’s actions on occasion.

Being a lord for many years now, there were probably a lot more considerations that Rhaenyra did not think of and he did.

“I understand, Lord Crabb.” Rhaenyra had to bite the inside of her cheek to not insist.

Lady Crabb cleared her throat delicately. “My Princess, if I may be so bold to invite Your Highness to spend the night in our keep, we can prepare mine own chambers during your stay.”

Rhaenyra could feel the exhaustion in her very bones. Her ladies would probably only reach King’s Landing in another two days. Rhaenys’ own words about presenting herself well echoed in her mind.

“I would be most grateful.” Rhaenyra smiled charmingly.

Lady Crabb’s chambers were very big but sparsely decorated and Rhaenyra was pleasantly surprised to see the Lady happily being escorted by her husband to shared chambers. While Rhaenyra’s own mother had her private chambers, Aemma Arryn would share her husband’s quarters every night. The queen’s chambers being used more like an antechamber or sitting room than anything else.

Most of Westeros’ marriages preferred separated beds, Rhaenyra just did not know whether that was about religion or mere custom. Whatever the case may be, she did notice that happier matches were certain when it was the wife that seems so happy to share living space with their husbands.

The next day was met with a Lord Crabb that seemed in better spirits, his Lady wife’s smile more pronounced as well. Rhaenyra controlled herself and how much she wanted to raise an eyebrow. Maybe she was spending too much time with Saera.

“Good morrow, Lord Crabb, Lady Crabb.” Rhaenyra greeted to which she was warmly welcomed to their table.

Conversation flowed rarely but easily. Rhaenyra barely felt the taste of the eggs she served herself. The loops that the maids from the keep braided in her hair were too loose and Rhaenyra knew that they would not survive a flight on Syrax and the thought was a bit distracting as she tried, with some success, to remember how she managed to make even the most taciturn of lords and ladies to smile and laugh at her jokes and compliments. It seemed so long ago that Rhaenyra would distract the court so her mother could have some rest.

“Certainly, court benefited greatly from members of House Crabb.” Rhaenyra praised as she forced an open smile to her hosts. Despite the Crabb’s presence being almost pleasant, Rhaenyra got used to just show how tired exactly she was. “Ser Clement, Ser Rupert and Ser Clarence. All famous Kingsguards from House Crabb! I regret that I never met Ser Clement if he was so well matched with Ser Ryam Redwyne.”

The Lord and Lady of the Whispers were wide eyed at her knowledge. “My Princess, you honor us with your words!”

“Not at all.” Rhaenyra smiled again. “The realm benefits from the warriors that came from your bloodline.”

Which seemed to mollify the man even more.

A tentative and informal promise to send ravens about the reconstruction of the commoner’s homes was given. For Rhaenyra that was good enough for now. Her swift departure with an excuse of being summoned by the King, and a veiled comment that implied her discontentment with her father’s new marriage for good measure, she was trying to think of what to say to Lord Bar Emmon, especially considering that she has yet to hear back from them, and to House Massey, whose youngest daughter would soon become her newest lady in waiting.

Not an auspicious start. Rhaenyra sighed.

Lord Bar Emmon was easy enough to talk to. Especially once Rhaenyra had made sure her visit was merely about Dragonstone’s new possible trading route and not about her succession. To which he seemed interested if cautions, his eyes sharpening with the possibilities. The Lords of Crownlands were shrewder than she thought. But the more Rhaenyra reasoned about it, the more sense it made. They were closest to King’s Landing, and so gossip and facts both reached them first, as did the consequences of whatever decisions the royal family and the small council makes.

Elinda Massey’s soft blue eyes were wide as Syrax landed in Stonedance. With a pang, Rhaenyra realized that the young girl just saw mere seven summers of life. And she was loyal to Rhaenyra until the very end as well. In that life unlived, Elinda had become her lady in waiting not long after she married Laenor, by then she would be ten of age. While still very young, it was not the sight that met Rhaenyra now.

Soft, mousy hair laid limply around a small, pale and equally soft face. Elinda would one day reach Rhaenyra’s own height in adulthood, Rhaenyra would be nine and twenty, Elinda would be twenty, but her sweet and kind demeanor would never cease to exist.

Lord Gormon seemed happy to see her, thankfully, even if his Lady Wife’s smile was wet and shaky as she gripped her youngest daughter’s shoulders. “My Princess, you honor us! Stonedance is yours.” They all bowed.

~*~

(Lady Alicent Hightower. Wife of the King)

Letter after letter were burned or destroyed in a rage by Otto. Alicent watched as her father almost marched about the Tower of the Hand, so stiff was his walk.

In the last moon since her marriage, the ravens that flew almost daily seemed to be coming mostly from her father instead of to her father. Ladies that seemed to flock towards her, tentatively and hesitantly as they were during the wedding, seemed to be all but gone. Requests to many lords after their daughters, cousins, sisters and even wives were met with apathetic politeness at best and veiled mockery at worst, all wrapped in the most courteous of words that even Alicent had winced at. Lady Rhea Royce was especially cold when they asked for her cousin, Lady Alyssa Royce.

Alicent’s father was in a particularly foul mood after that raven. “If nothing else, I had thought that our enmity towards that whoremonger would suffice to create some friendly correspondence.”

Alicent bit her lip. She could have told her father that inquiring after the lords of the Vale was a moot point. They were fiercely loyal to the late queen for, Targaryen looks and blood aside, Aemma Arryn was still one of their own, especially because of the fact that she failed to do her duty, it stood to reason that the Vale would safeguard what little dignity they had left.

Cassandra Baratheon, twelve years old, was the first addition. The first addition that went from grudging to very unwilling to vocally indingnant. Alicent tried not to feel offended at her constant unhappy expression. Lady Cassandra, she was the oldest daughter of a lord paramount that, Alicent had learned, was aghast at the thought that she could have been queen if only King Viserys had announced his search for a new wife, she then was supposed to serve in a queen’s household but now she was serving the daughter of a second son from a House that was not even paramount. Wife of the King or not. And Cassadra had made sure that her displeasure was voiced.

Alicent thought that she would be reprimanded by her deplorable words, but it seemed that Lord Borros agreed with his daughter's sentiments. Not much could be done, the contracts were signed and, short of Alicent herself dismissing her, Cassandra Baratheon became Alicent Hightower’s lady in waiting. As the oldest daughter of Lord Borros Baratheon, she was truly the diamond in Alicent’s treasure, as Otto reminded his daughter when Alicent tried to bring the idea of dismissing the clearly ungrateful girl from her service.

Her father’s words proved true in the moon that passed, however. Noble ladies from grand Houses rejected her invitation, penned by her Lord Father, to join her household.

Swallowing, Alicent tried to lift his spirits.

“Lord Redwyne seems swayed.”

But Otto merely scoffed. “Paltry victory in the face of all the rejections.”

Bethany Hightower, her own cousin, was to join her in almost a year’s time. As a symbolic gesture when she was to attend the first anniversary of the marriage between Alicent and King Viserys. Alicent had fond memories of her before she left the Reach when her father became Hand and was eager to reunite with both, Bethany and Patricia. It would also be good to be surrounded by brown haired and brown eyed ladies at long last. Many were in awe of the silvery hair and purple eyes of the Targaryens but to Alicent, they were eerie, unnatural. Nevertheless, even if Alicent was happy that her childhood friend, Patricia Redwyne, was set to arrive in a fortnight, she knew that the search for proper ladies in waiting for herself was frustrating.

The Woodhulls were another House that agreed, after demanding a serie of promises from the Hand of the King, to send Lady Henrietta. Her father sneered at her House and at the thought of the young girl, just nine of age, that was to be her lady in waiting, but Alicent thought that it would be good practice for when the babe within her came to the world.

Alicent tried to control her breathing and ignored how her fingers were bleeding so much that a few drops fell on her dress. Alicent still had trouble facing Viserys after learning the fate of the late queen. She kept herself busy at the thought of heading her own household.

The next to agree was Ysabel Staunton. Not quite a minor House but Otto was not very happy with the agreement either. Still, from Lady Henrietta who had met Alicent’s attempts at mothering her with confusion and frightened stutters, and the sullen silences from Lady Cassandra when she was not throwing fits, Alicent found herself enjoying the lively, if a little too lively, demeanor of Lady Ysabel.

Sometimes too lively. Alicent struggled a bit to keep up with the lady’s hurried steps as it seemed to be her intention to try and explore the entirety of the Red Keep in a single day.

“The Red Keep has so much art! Rook’s Rest may have fresher air, but we do not have all those decorations! These tapestries are… something else.” Hazel eyes were wide as Ysabel stared at some of the Valyrian heirlooms.

Alicent winced. It is true that, as time passed, she found it in herself to almost ignore the lewd acts depicted in fabric and statues alike, but she could not blame newcomers from gawking at them. Although Lady Ysabel looked more surprised than disgusted, Alicent felt the need to defend herself.

“Yes, indeed… I am trying to convince the King to let me replace some of them. Perhaps with pictures of the Seven. The Mother would certainly be more appropriate for the antechamber of the throne room.”

Ysabel frowned before smiling hesitantly. “Uh… well… aren’t those… Valyrians?” She motioned to the clearly silvery haired people in various position, be them something that should only happen in the privacy of a bed or a very violent battlefield.

Eyes were rarely caught. Hidden as they were behind eyelids that were closed in ecstasy or behind helmets, but Alicent had seen the odd picture that showed purple shades.

“They are.” She answered shortly.

Perhaps too shortly, Alicent winced when Ysabel not so subtly changed the subject. However, Ysabel held a clear, if subtle, dislike towards her father.

“I am sorry, My Lady. The Lord Hand has the fame of being most wise and pious, but his eyes unnerve me.” She bowed in apology.

And what could Alicent say to such? “Do not fret, Lady Ysabel.” She pulled at her cuticles a bit more insistently. “My father knows what he is doing.” She watched as confusion filled Ysabel’s hazel eyes.

Ladies Cassandra and Henrietta did not even bother to pretend deference to her father. Despite being one of the most powerful Houses of the Reach, Lady Cassandra knew that House Hightower was nowhere close to her own, House Baratheon. Especially the daughter of a second son of House Hightower, as she sometimes uttered under her breath much to Alicent’s humiliation. And if Lady Ysabel hesitated around her father, Lady Henrietta almost ran to the opposite direction in fear.

So busy that Alicent was kept trying to get her new ladies accustomed to life in the Red Keep that she simply had not state of mind to worry about any queenly duties, especially as those were sent by raven to Dragonstone, under the careful eye of Lords Lyonel and Beesbury. The thought still made her purse her lips. Alicent did not dare to try and take a look at the ledgers and the documents that pertained the servants that worked in the keep. If not even her father swayed the Master of Coin and the Master of Law, then she had very little chance, especially without the title of queen.

Yet, corralling the three ladies around took much more effort than Alicent thought it would. She was not used to leading noble ladies, only servants, and was almost frightened when she opened her eyes to be met face to face with Lady Henrietta waking her one day.

“I am sorry, My Lady.” Henrietta was quick to take a few steps back once Alicent gave a shout of surprise.

“My Lady?” Ser Rickard asked from the other side of the door.

“All is well, Ser Rickard.” Alicent assured once she felt her heartbeat return to its normal pace.

She quickly reached for her robes before getting out of her bed. Almost four moons since she was given quarters in Maegor’s Holdfast and the opulent space and decoration still made Alicent sigh in pleasure. Not to say that her old chambers were lacking in anything, but it cannot be said that Maegor did not have a taste for luxury.

“My apologies, My Lady. I only ever sought to wake you. Today there is a fitting for the dress that you shall wear in the feast celebrating your pregnancy and the Lord Hand asked to break his fast with you.” Lady Henrietta quickly explained as if afraid she would not have the chance.

Alicent, now a bit calmer, frowned at her lady. “I see. I… thank you, Lady Henrietta, still, in the future, please do not bother with such things. The maids are well used to waking me, failing that, I shall wake on my own.”

Henrietta bowed which made her fiery red hair hide her pale blue eyes, not quickly enough to hide her confusion from Alicent, however. “As you wish, My Lady. Shall I… shall I fetch the dress for today? Lady Ysabel is ensuring that the food is to your and the Lord Hand’s liking.”

Alicent closed her eyes briefly. “Ysabel should not have bothered with such either. But do bring me my silver gown, the one with gold stitching in the sleeves.” At least now they were in more familiar waters for Alicent.

Helping Rhaenyra dress her lavish gowns were maybe the most and least enjoyable part of the day for Alicent. Certainly, the one that she did not quite know how to feel about. On one hand, Alicent loved to assemble the intricate pieces that made the whole. The sleeves that had to be tied to the bodice and over the shoulders, the laces in the back that needed nimble fingers, the feel of the velvet and silk and the precious stones stitched to the fabric, and yet it was the knowledge that she would never own such dresses that made it less enjoyable.

Which was yet something else to get used to. Alicent had the castle’s maids tend to her every morning and now there was a noble lady doing the same thing. It was an uncomfortable experience for a noble to see her in such a state of undress.

Still, remembering how Rhaenyra never once faltered when it was Alicent doing so, she tried to face it with dignity. Despite the fact that Alicent knew that she was a calming presence, unlike Lady Henrietta who looked harried with all the layers.

When Alicent’s growing and carefully nurtured motherly patience was almost its end and she was about to call for the maids to dress her, dragon roars sounded in the distance. Ignoring the way Lady Henrietta almost tripped at her abrupt motion, Alicent hurried to the nearest window facing east.

She did not know how to identify dragons by their very roars like Rhaenyra can. Unless it was the painfully shrills from the Blood Wyrm that was. And so Alicent had to take a look before knowing who was visiting them.

“Is that…” Lady Henrietta’s admiration was clear in her whisper which also made Alicent realize that she was destroying her cuticles once more.

“Princess Rhaenyra.” Alicent answered a little unwillingly.

A moon ago, nothing else would make Alicent happier. Now… too much has kept her busy to properly miss Rhaenyra. Lady Ysabel replaced the laugher they used to share in the godswood of the castle, even if Alicent thought she was a bit too embarrassingly excited to be at the Red Keep, it was nothing if compared to the extravagance that Rhaenyra would sometimes react with. Lady Henrietta’s blunders made sure that Alicent employed all the hard-earned serenity that years as Princess Rhaenyra’s lady in waiting created within her, admittedly, trying to correct her clumsy nature was more taxing than trying to make Rhaenyra behaved like a proper princess. And Lady Cassandra certainly reminded Alicent of a younger Rhaenyra, although, even now, Alicent had to admit that Rhaenyra was well versed in hiding her displeasure behind charming smiles and words, venting to her only in the privacy of her chambers, something that Lady Cassandra did not care to spend energy on.

“My Lady?” Ser Rickard knocked once more.

“Yes, please a moment more.” Alicent rolled her eyes and asked forgiveness from the Seven after Henrietta got her small fingers tangled in the laces for the second time.

“The Lady Ysabel requests entrance.” Ser Rickard explained.

“Please let her in.” Alicent called from behind the folding screen.

Lady Ysabel quickly shut the doors behind her when noticing that Alicent had yet to finish dressing.

“I only need to inform My Lady that Princess Rhaenyra has arrived and the Lord Hand has foregone his plans to break fast with My Lady. The King wishes to greet the Princess properly and has ordered My Lady’s presence to the banquet hall where court will have lunch.”

Past caring that her laces were awkwardly tied by clearly childish hands, Alicent dismissed Henrietta who hurried to get out of her way.

“Very well then.” Alicent paused and tried to be kind to Lady Ysabel that seemed to be waiting for her. “In the future, you need not concern yourself with such simple messages, Lady Ysabel.”

Ysabel frowned briefly before nodding, a bit slowly as if in confusion. Alicent smiled gently to her before making her way out.

Rhaenyra may insist on being a child that grew up too sheltered to properly understand the world, but Alicent was above such pettiness. She would greet the princess and show her that duty sometimes means uncomfortable positions and doing what one must not what one wanted.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra did not land Syrax in the Dragonpit. She landed her Golden Lady right in the middle of the Red Keep’s patio. Foregoing the bore of the carriage ride from the Dragonpit to the castle. Ignoring the gawking knights and the frightened servants that never saw a dragon so very close, Rhaenyra dismounted elegantly.

“Thank you, My Lady. Try not to stray too far from King’s Landing, I do not trust others with you. And please enjoy freedom for I am rather unlikely to bring you to the pit ever again.” Rhaenyra promised, her hands briefly tightening around one of Syrax’s horns.

Syrax, for her part, grumbled softly, almost a purr to calm her rider. Offering her a brief smile, Rhaenyra watched her Little Lady taking flight.

“M-My Princess.” A stutter announced Ser Willis to her left.

Rhaenyra turned to see that his eyes were still on her dragon that soared freely around the Red Keep, circling it. She had to admit that it seemed a bit ominous.

“Good morrow, Ser Willis.” Rhaenyra greeted with what she hoped was a polite smile.

While far from the cruelest of the Greens, Ser Willis Fell still sided with them. Rhaenyra did not know his motives, and after everything the Dreams showed her, she cared not for them. Time would ensure to show the entire realm the reality of the situation.

“Should… should not uh… Syrax be at the Dragonpit?” Ser Willis inquired and hurried along once he realized that she was almost halfway to the doors to the keep.

Rhaenyra hid her grimace and suppressed the urge to correct his pronunciation of her dragon’s name. The way Ser Willis said it, might as well call her “Silas”.

“I do not see the need for it, to be truthful.” She would have shrugged if she was fonder of Ser Willis.

This was a detail that Rhaenyra did not mind being spread about the Red Keep. After all, what was the purpose of keeping the dragons in the Dragonpit? Keeping the dragons safe? Unless there were hidden scorpions somewhere, there was no danger that a dragon would not meet with their teeth, claws, or fire… or all three.

Rhaenyra merely watched, without slowing her already calm pace, as Ser Willis struggled to answer.

“It is… a custom.” He finally answered, rather weakly and he seemed to be aware of it.

Rhaenyra hummed but chuckled charmingly, as convincingly as she could after almost two days pretending with various lords. “Something that only ever started with King Jaehaerys.”

Ser Harrold was waiting for them and at his sight, Rhaenyra allowed herself to lower guard just a little bit. It seemed to have been all that Syrax was waiting for. With a roar that made everybody but Rhaenyra duck for cover, her Golden Lady flew to what seemed to be in the general direction of Visenya’s Hill. Far away from Rhaenys’ Hill where the Dragonpit was.

“My Princess.” Ser Harrold bowed. “You were sorely missed.”

“Thank you, Ser Harrold.” She smiled kindly at the man that has been a more constant presence in her life than either Viserys or Daemon. “I trust that there were no more… commotions in the last four moons.”

Rhaenyra affected a tired and wary tone to her voice to not sound like she was searching for gossip. Ser Harrold was not fooled, but Ser Willis was. She smiled at the Lord Commander’s fleeting smirk.

“The Red Keep has been busy, My Princess. Lady Alicent’s new ladies have accommodated themselves well in the White Sword Tower. Lady Cassandra Baratheon, however, sounds unhappy with the arrangement.”

The White Sword Tower, famous for its small size and the fact that there were only five available chambers before Rhaenyra left King’s Landing four moons ago. All she needed to know. Absently, Rhaenyra thought to herself that the chambers given to her was just the last slight in a long list that Lady Cassandra was surely keeping in mind.

Rhaenyra well recalled her lessons with Saera, who was almost horrified at how much of the court proceedings Rhaenyra did not know. It was… a bit insulting that Saera started her lessons where Rhaenyra could recall her own had, at the age of four that is. Naming the ranks of royalty and what responsibilities each one had. She grudgingly accepted Saera’s explanation that it was much better to cover the entire basics first, seeing the wisdom in it. They had already begun on play with words and make people think they were the ones that had the idea or thought. Now, it was time to use them. A moon and a half of lessons were certainly not enough to compensate almost ten years of faulty education, but Saera taught at a feverish pace.

Rhaenyra sighed in fake despondency. “Ladies in waiting are usually meant to attend royalty or high-ranking nobility. Alicent’s shaky position and lack of royal title would make many Houses hesitate to send their own daughters, however. Still, if that was the only issue the Red Keep faced in the last few moons, I count it as a blessing.”

She put just enough relief in her voice to imply at the disastrous wedding at the heels of a too short mourning period and Lady Jeyne’s reveal of how, exactly, the former queen had died. Ser Harrold hummed in agreement while Ser Willis shifted uncomfortably.

“Many… many have been expressing their displeasure, however.”

Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows at Ser Willis. Not expecting the man to pronounce himself. “Disrespected mourning period and the… circumstances surrounded their engagement aside, the King’s decision to marry Lady Alicent while not giving her a royal title seemed to be a brilliant move on his part.”

Ser Willis straightened at her reproach. Light enough to not call attention to their conversation, stern enough to convey the feeling to be careful with his words… no matter how much Rhaenyra herself had publicly and visibly disagreed with said union.

“My apologies, My Princess. I did not mean any insult.”

“I did not think you did. Merely be careful where and to whom you speak to.” She smiled kindly.

“Indeed.” The man squared his shoulders. “I meant that, after My Princess’ departure, many of the nobles continued to express their unhappiness with the current situation. My own Lady Mother withdrew from court and asked permission to leave. I received a raven from her, from Driftmark. Princess Rhaenys was kind enough to invite her to her own household.”

Rhaenyra suppressed a smile. Pride and triumph in her heart for Rhaenys burned from within.

“Lady Alora always respected my mother very deeply.” Which was not a lie and was all that Rhaenyra offered.

She did not turn to look at the affects her words might have had.

“Speaking of ladies in waiting, might I inquire where are yours?” Ser Harrold took a single look backwards as if expecting them to show up at any moment.

“You may. I came ahead, but they shall be arriving at King’s Landing in less than a day barring any unforeseeable issues. By the way, please inform the servants and the guards that I expect a retinue in the next couple of days. I have invited Lady Lyra Hayford, Lady Estell Caswell, Lady Elinda Massey and Lady Rosamund Darry to join my household.” Rhaenyra decided against mentioning Barba Bolton as that was not a surety and Saera always said to only say something if she was certain of it.

“Certainly, My Princess.”

“Thank you, Ser Harrold. Please escort me to my chambers, I am in need of some refreshment.”

“I shall alert the servants.” Ser Willis excused himself.

“My Princess, if I may.” Ser Harrold started.

“What is it?”

“The Lord Hand has asked for more small council meetings in the last moon than what is truly needed in a year.”

“Let me guess. About possible titles that the King could bestow upon his daughter and future grandchildren?”

“Yes, but he was most insistent in building Lady Alicent’s household. So far, it is as you say, not many are eager to serve a Lady, royal consort or not. Quite a few Hightower knights or their bannermen are now living in the Keep, however, all under the… leadership of Ser Gwayne Hightower.”

Rhaenyra smirked in amusement. “The man is one and twenty and was just knighted. What little leadership there is amounts to nothing.” Although more sensible than Alicent, not much more than that would change in the next decade.

“Even the Lord Hand seems aware of such, My Princess.” Ser Harrold agreed. “However, I must caution you. There has never been as many Reachmen in the Red Keep as now. And the number will only increase. Lady Alicent’s cousin, Lady Bethany Hightower is set to arrive in eight moons, to celebrate Lady Alicent’s first year of marriage. Lady Patricia Redwine will soon serve her as well, over a moon or so, she shall be arriving. Lady Ysabel Staunton, Lady Henrietta Woodhull and Lady Cassandra Baratheon have already been serving Lady Alicent for the past moon.”

Five noble ladies. Rhaenyra released a soft thoughtful sigh. None had the same political clout as her own save for Lady Cassandra and, for Ser Harrold to take note of such, it means that Cassandra was not so much “unhappy with her arrangements” as raging mad at her circumstances.

Rhaenyra had nine ladies. Five of which she already secured the loyalties by showing them respect and her own abilities. Granted, one of them was Lady Amanda, and her aunt have known her since she was born.

But Rhaenyra was just a bit worried with the fact that they have overlooked searching for knights for her own household. The Kingsguards are, as the name indicated, the king’s guards. They were to protect the rest of the royal family second after the king. She pursed her lips in aggravation.

The Gold Cloaks were not exactly unwelcomed in Maegor’s Holdfast, but they were not seen very trustingly seen either. Rhaenyra stomped on the urge to call for Ser Harwin and Luthor Largent to build her own protection. The Queensguards she had chosen in those Dreams would all be too young to be proper knights at this point, to explain her choice, aside from those that already occupy posts as Kingsguards that is.

“Thank you, Ser Harrold.” She was grateful for the warning given.

“It has been a fortnight, full of pointless meetings,” Ser Harrold finished when he was about to close her door, before the hallways filled with servants that would tend to her after a flight home, "where the Lord Hand has been trying to convince the King to allow Lady Alicent to take over some of the queen’s duties. At least her charities.”

Rhaenyra blinked at that before her eyes narrowed in thought. “Thank you, Ser Harrold.” She said again, with more feeling.

As the maids entered with the bathtub and started to fill it with boiling water and prepare the many oils and soaps for her, Rhaenyra allowed her mind to wander.

Whatever Rhaenyra had said to Ser Willis, it did become somewhat expected, if not "traditional" of the queen to carry on charitable deeds, and it started with the Good Queen Alysanne. The realm had turned to her mother to care for the smallfolk, many Houses started to expect the same of their lady wives. Keep the commoners happy, keep them from rioting. Become beloved to the people.

It certainly stagnated. There wasn’t enough time between the deaths of the Old King and the Good Queen and her parents’ ascension to truly immerse themselves of what was expected of them. Her mother was simply too weakened and too busy with childbirth to do much more than maintain an image of a kind queen, which was no hardship as it was exactly what she was. Kind…

Rhaenyra sighed as she lowered herself in the steaming water. The maids never failing to express their incredulity that anyone would be comfortable in a water of such a high temperature. But Rhaenyra felt her muscles, stiff from such a long flight, finally relax.

Syrax’s roar sounded in the distance and Rhaenyra smiled with her eyes closed. Her Little Lady seemed to be enjoying herself. After the last four moons that Syrax enjoyed open space and all the time to fly by herself, Rhaenyra was loathed to chain her ever again.

Truth be told, Rhaenyra never really gave much thought to the common folk, be their needs or grievances. By the time she saw twelve summers, it was clear that whatever brother that might one day be born from her mother would be too young to marry her. And so, her royal education tapered off. Not that, according to Saera and Rhaenys, she lost much from their shoddy lessons.

From the highest of nobles to servants that now Rhaenyra was fully aware had their own loyalties, the common folk also need appeasement. Each of them could be used to bolster one's image. Otto knew that very well. That is why he was pushing for Alicent to be in charge of the charities usually given to the queen to oversee. If Alicent is not queen, but had queenly duties... It was to be a popularity contest… well… perhaps not contest, as they don’t seem to think there will be much competition.

Rhaenyra sighed in contentment as one of the maids started to massage her scalp. Washing her hair from sweat and a bit of soot from her flight from Stonedance, another maid started to drain the tub, two others quickly replacing the boiling water and adding fragrant oils and other essences. But only started to wash her body once the water cooled enough for them.

It was… interesting, to say the least, how the common folk saw Queen Aemma as kind and loving and she was beloved by them even when she did not really do anything for them. The same happened to Helaena. Queen Helaena, Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. She did not do anything for them either, the commoners barely knew what she looked like, yet her death was pretty much the trigger to form the riots. Having a Celtigar as Master of Coin when they were historically unskilled at it did not help, of course. Rhaenyra had to wince at the ridiculous taxes levied against the people whose homes were almost destroyed in the royal family’s civil war.

All that it taught Rhaenyra, however, was that the common folk did not overly care who sat on the Iron Throne as long their own lives were not too affected by it. That it took very little to be beloved by them as well. Of course, there were legendary figures like Alysanne Targaryen who revolutionized their way of living…

Well…

Rhaenyra smiled as she got up and the maids started to dry her. Rhaenys’ and Saera’s lessons already proved themselves advantageous, especially together, so it was time to see if Vaegon’s will prove themselves to be just as rewarding alongside Rhaenys’.

“Thank you all.” She expressed her gratitude as the maids finished dressing her.

The maids, too young to be proper ladies and too noble to be called servants, bowed and smiled before leaving.

~*~

“Rhaenyra!” Viserys greeted her with a huge smile, hurrying to give her a hug. “Please, come sit down! It has been so long. You must tell me how you found Dragonstone. We have not been to the island in many years.”

Rhaenyra refrained from raising her eyebrows. Completely and utterly ignoring the last time they were in the same room and what caused their separation was a long honored tradition between Viserys and Daemon but she had to admit that she was not expecting it to extend to her as well. In those Dreams, her father needed some… guilt in order to recall her to court.

This, however, Rhaenyra expected. She made sure that nothing was reveled through her expression as she found both Alicent Hightower and Otto Hightower already seated at the table.

Constant shared meals in a senseless attempt to foster good will was going to lead Rhaenyra to premature grey hair. At least she hoped that this time around it would not lead to an early grave.

Still, despite her father’s warm welcome and tight hug – it seemed he truly missed her – the silence was oppressive and heavy. An obvious conclusion to what amounted to a meal shared among Alicent Hightower, Otto Hightower and the only person between their blood and the throne. Rhaenyra refused to be cowed, however. Her back was straight and her head held high.

“Lady Alicent, Ser Otto.” Did not mean that she could not be passive aggressive.

Viserys turned to look at his new wife and his new good father expectantly. Obviously not noticing the insult behind the term of address that Rhaenyra chose. Technically, Alicent could still be called “Your Grace” despite her lack of royal title, and “Ser” was certainly lower than “Lord Hand” and yet, it was still accurate.

With the King’s eyes on them, however, they were helpless to answer in kind. For unlike themselves, Rhaenyra was a Princess of the Blood. Her blood gave her the title, her station was not raised through a place in court or through marriage.

“Princess Rhaenyra.” They bowed as shallowly as they could. At least Otto did, Alicent looked more uncomfortable than rebellious.

Rhaenyra smiled politely back which seemed to be enough for Viserys who beamed at all of them as if they had just proclaimed their love for each other.

“Tell me, Rhaenyra, how are the affairs in Dragonstone?” Viserys asked animatedly when he saw that she would not eat much more than she already had.

The bread was the grainy one that Rhaenyra knows Alicent preferred, and the wine was Arbor gold, something else that was to Alicent’s taste. The truffled pears was a new addition to the royal table but not in court, Rhaenyra knew that they were Otto's preference. Rhaenyra already did not have much of an appetite but just seeing those plates… She picked at some grapes and tea being served while choosing her words to further a particular plan of hers.

Preferably before Saera and Daemon’s patience, or lack thereof, got the better of them.

“Dragonstone is more impressive than I recalled. Some of the workers, however, are a little…” Rhaenyra trailed off, as if she did not know how to say it, “difficult.” She settled for.

“I am sure you will do fine, Rhaenyra.” Viserys looked at her fondly.

But Rhaenyra was not paying attention to him right at that moment. Otto looked interested in the struggle mentioned. Perfect. Rhaenyra smiled awkwardly as if uncomfortable. And then tried to keep Saera’s advise in mind. Making her father sentimental. All the while not revealing anything about what they were actually doing in the island.

“Some of the original pieces of the Valyrian Freehold model were still in the heir’s solar.” Rhaenyra gave a small smile.

Viserys laughed. “Oh dear. In those first few years there was a whole lot of nothing to do in Dragonstone after petitions were done. I needed a hobby.” His voice was fond.

Rhaenyra stopped herself from eyeing her father in disbelief. Petitions were but the beginning of the work that Dragonstone takes. It was supposed to teach the heir how to rule before they had to rule. And with it came all the responsibilities of the position. Budgeting, organizing staff, securing the island, making sure that it is properly maintained, keeping good relationships with the Houses in Crackclaw Point and Massey’s Hook not to mention the Velaryons in Driftmark.

Rhaenyra could not quite recall as she was too young, but unless Dragonstone’s enjoyed a smaller populace in the two years her father was heir, she could not see how petitions would take such a small amount of time either. Usually, Rhaenyra had to schedule at least two days every week to hear at least a reasonable portion of them. And then the matter of how to solve the problems the common folk brought to her.

Forcing another smile, Rhaenyra tried to tease to hide her shock. “I am glad that your skill as a craftsman increased. I was not sure whether I was looking at a gargoyle or a house until I found the other pieces and realized what I was looking at.”

Viserys laughed to her satisfaction.

Otto interrupted then and Rhaenyra took another sip of her tea to hide a grimace. By the gods.

“Your Grace if I may,” but he continued before Viserys could answer him, “if Princess Rhaenyra is kept so busy at Dragonstone, maybe my daughter is willing to help alleviate some of her duties here at the Red Keep.”

“Oh, nonsense, Ser Otto.” Rhaenyra smiled charmingly. “Now that my lessons with septas are to be replaced with my trips to Dragonstone, it still leaves me with the same amount of time to care for my mother’s duties.”

Too subtle to be caught by Viserys, but the attack hit true. Septas were to teach young girls about the Faith, it is true, but also how to be a good and dutiful lady wife – as if they had any experience in that. Instead, now Rhaenyra was to be taught how to effectively rule the original seat of power of House Targaryen, the heir’s seat. Not only that, but not even Otto could rightly feel offended at the fact that Rhaenyra mentioned her mother, and a queen’s duties, after all, wasn’t Otto himself that broached the subject? And wasn't Otto himself that suggested the redistribution of duties all those years before?

If Rhaenyra had any less self-control, she would be laughing right now. Otto was turning a surprising shade of red in his anger and Alicent was quickly following suit but in embarrassment.

“And you do a brilliant job of it as well, Rhaenyra.” Viserys’ praise only made it harder for Rhaenyra to hold her laugher back. His words only ever soured Otto’s mood.

The leech was too used to have to whisper in her father’s ears. A little too hesitant to voice his duplicitous words in front of the small council or Daemon. As rarely as Viserys paid any heed to either one, contradicting words was still, at a times, enough to make him pause. Otto probably thought that Rhaenyra being some silly, spoiled little girl and his own biddable daughter as his only audience, it would be just the same as being alone with the king.

Perhaps it was a too risky gamble to show that Rhaenyra did know, and very well, the importance of the task. But she also knew that there was no other choice right now. She had to do it and do it before Otto could stack his game.

“Speaking of queen’s duties.” Rhaenyra started when she saw that Otto was about to try again. “I was actually quite interested in revisiting some of Queen Alysanne’s projects while I am in King’s Landing.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed as Rhaenyra knew they would. “What a splendid idea, My Princess. Maybe it is something that you can do alongside Her… the King’s Consort. A show of unity. Your Grace, you may recall that I have mentioned how my daughter has been idle, and very eager to contribute to the realm.”

“A most judicious proposition!” Viserys exclaimed, eager to grab any opportunity for his image of perfect harmony.

For a few moments, Rhaenyra was entrapped by images and sounds. Dreams of what could be… what could not be, they could not. She gritted her teeth hard in order to stop her lips from shaking. Swallowing with some difficulty, Rhaenyra fought the way her head felt light, her vision darkening.

("Let them rule together.”)

(“A most judicious proposition!”)

Rhaenyra focused on the way Alicent was visibly pulling at her cuticles. Her dress simpler, of simpler fabric, her necklace and earrings were plain, her fingers still unadorned with the many rings the King would gift her over the years.

Trying her best to ignore the deafening noise inside her ears, Rhaenyra smiled as best as she could. “Why not have two projects? It can only be to our people’s benefit.”

Viserys looked a little disappointed but even he seemed to understand not to push Rhaenyra at this moment. “Very well, I do not see why not. We shall present the idea to the small council.”

Rhaenyra smiled and hid her hands beneath the table, gripping the arms of her chair tightly enough to make the ornate wood dig into her fingers. The pain grounded her just enough for the next part.

“I will need five more chambers prepared for new additions in my household.” Rhaenyra added. She reached for the scrolls inside her pocket for her father to sign. “I sent the agreements for Houses Baratheons, Arryn, Stark and Strong already. These are for the Hayfords, Masseys, Caswells and Darrys.”

Otto sneered as discreetly as he could right beside the king. While Alicent blanched.

Was she being very petty? Yes. Rhaenyra could not find it in herself to care for a single second.

“Five chambers?” Viserys asked.

“I am hoping to hear back from one more House.” Rhaenyra answered easily.

Alicent made a small noise, not quietly enough to not get their attention though and Rhaenyra almost jumped towards her throat. She was at her limit.

“What is it, Alicent?” Viserys glanced at his wife.

Rhaenyra swallowed some choice of words. If she was not so focused on finding ways to conclude the conversation and this nightmarish meal, she would be raising an eyebrow in disgust that Viserys already found himself comfortable using Alicent’s name like that.

“I…” Alicent glanced towards Otto and Rhaenyra almost couldn’t stop herself from rolling her eyes.

“Your Grace, for sure there will be enough chambers in Maegor’s Holdfast for Lady Alicent’s ladies as well.” Otto hinted at the issue.

“Oh!” Viserys blinked. “I do not see why not.”

Rhaenyra bit her tongue. She almost did not stop herself from commenting, very snidely that, with five more chambers being readied for her own ladies in waiting, that meant only six bedrooms of the royal wing were left for Alicent’s own household. After all, if the Princess’ ladies were in the royal wing while… the King’s Wife had her own ladies in the guest wing instead… but oh, what court would say?

However, Rhaenyra kept herself silent. She was not supposed to know about Alicent’s troubles to fill her household after all.

She stayed just long enough for Viserys to stamp and sign the agreements for her new ladies and took the scrolls back before Otto’s reaching hand could even approach them. Carefully tucking them into her pocket, Rhaenyra tried to smile.

“I wish you all a good day, but may I be excused?”

“Oh! But it is still so early.” Viserys tried.

“I understand. I am just most eager to send the agreements. They are scheduled to arrive in less than a sennight.” Rhaenyra lied through her teeth.

After getting a grudging agreement from Viserys, Rhaenyra got up and a gauntleted arm was offered to her immediately. Looking to her right, she was so grateful to find Ser Harrold that she could weep right then and there.

“I shall escort Princess Rhaenyra to her chambers.” Ser Harrold bowed before supporting most of her weight on his arm on their way out.

Thankfully, her quarters were not that far from the King’s. Ser Harrold helped her inside and to lay on her bed. Rhaenyra’s last sight was of Ser Harrold closing the door behind him after a promise to guard her during the rest of the day.

Her last coherent thought was that this time she did not feel as alone.

~*~

When Rhaenyra woke up, her body was sore from having slept in her corset and all the layers that composed her dress and her head was aching from not undoing her braids either. Another knock to her door revealed what had dragged her from unconsciousness.

Painfully getting up, Rhaenyra cleared her dry throat. “Yes?”

“My Princess, the King wishes for you to be informed that a small council meeting is to take place in two days.” Ser Harrold answered.

Groaning as silently as she could, Rhaenyra started to undo the laces of her dress. Her arm was stiff, it seemed she slept on the right one.

“Thank you, Ser Harrold.” She called out.

“The royal ship of your ladies was sighted an hour ago. They shall be arriving soon.”

That made her pause. Donning a robe to hide her half-undressed state, Rhaenyra crossed her room and winced once she passed a mirror, but there wasn’t much she could do about her hair in a few seconds.

Opening just a sliver of her door, Rhaenyra was relieved to see that only Ser Harrold was at the post.

“For how long… did I sleep?” She whispered just in case.

Ser Harrold’s blue eyes were gentle once they landed on her pitiful form. “For an entire day, My Princess. I took the liberty to announce that you were preparing for your new ladies to the King and Lady Alicent when they tried to gain entrance to your chambers.”

Fondness filled her. “You have my gratitude, Ser Harrold. Please send for the maids so I can look more presentable.”

Bowing, Ser Harrold closed the door for her, not seeing her thoughtful look towards his cloak.

Rhaenyra started to take the gems holding her hair into the intricate Valyrian braids needed for dragon riding. As the last braid fell undone, the maids entered and Rhaenyra breathed a sigh of relief as she started to massage her head.

“I shall go with my hair loose today. And please send for a tub with hot water and some light snacks.” She ordered softly as one of them took over kneading her scalp.

It was the perfect time to finish getting ready and for her ladies to be announced. As they entered her chambers, Rhaenyra managed a small smile of amusement. She knew that she still looked tired and rumpled after an entire day asleep in one of her dresses and her hair still up from the day before. But three days in a ship was not any easier now than it was four moons before. After a bath and a change of clothes or not, the five ladies looked tired.

“Yes, yes.” Ada rolled her eyes even as they narrowed in concern at her too pale skin. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“I have just woken up so… no.” Rhaenyra appreciated the concern, however.

“I thought I saw my sister… Cassandra, I mean. It was from afar though.” Maris commented as she took a sit in one of the chairs spread about Rhaenyra’s quarters.

Rhaenyra smirked briefly before answering. “You thought right. It seems Lady Alicent has acquired her for her own household.”

Maris was not the only one to stare at her incredulously.

“I cannot imagine Lord Borros allowing his firstborn daughter to be lady in waiting for a lady…” Amanda trailed off, baffled at the term, “if there is even such a thing.” she frowned.

Rhaenyra knew that Amanda well remembered their very first meeting to discuss her potential ladies in waiting. When they mentioned how a possible competition between sisters that served in different households would benefit Rhaenyra, especially as one of them would serve a bit unwillingly, they were considering the household of a queen. With the news that the King would not give a royal title to his new wife… well, in all honesty, Alicent’s situation is unprecedented in Westeros.

“Cassandra… serving a lady… a daughter of a second son…” Maris blinked in astonishment which was slowly morphing into amusement. “If she did not spend so much time in that hair of hers she would be tearing it out.”

“Is there anyone else?” Amelia shook her head in confusion.

“Lady Henrietta Woodhull and Lady Ysabel Staunton are already in the Red Keep. From what I understood, Lady Patricia Redwyne will be coming in a moon’s turn and Lady Bethany Hightower is to join in the anniversary of Lady Alicent’s marriage to the King.” Rhaenyra explained briefly.

Nora pursed her lips. “It is… smart. Another Hightower lady joining her in the anniversary of their wedding signals that theirs is an officially stable match.”

Amanda, very uncharacteristically, rolled her eyes. “It is but a poor attempt to mimic Queen Aemma’s own movements. I volunteered to accompany her the very moment she was summoned to be King Viserys’ wife, then only Prince Viserys. Eventually become her lady in waiting if she would have me. Queen Aemma’s retinue was full of Vale knights and ladies to symbolize the union of our Houses and the support behind King Viserys.”

None dared to comment on the fact that now, the only one left from the Vale in King’s Landing was Amanda herself.

“You will be happy to know that quite a few Reach knights are to join her household then.” Rhaenyra’s voice was as devoid of emotion as her face.

Amanda huffed in disgust.

“Lady Henrietta Woodhull does not bring much to Alicent.” Amelia hummed to herself, continuing the current topic. “If anything, it just looks like a desperate bid to fill the ranks.”

“What of Ysabel Staunton?” Ada asked then.

“She was someone I considered to be my own lady in waiting.” Rhaenyra admitted. “But then I would have three ladies from the Crownlands, and I already am about to have three from the Riverlands.”

“Favoritism.” Amanda agreed unenthusiastically. “Especially because we only have one from the Reach, the North, the Vale and the Stormlands.”

“And none from Dorne or the Westernlands.” Rhaenyra completed.

“We would still outnumber them almost two to one.” Ada pointed out.

“Well, nothing to be done about it for now. What are our next steps?” Amanda asked Rhaenyra.

“The reason I came back to King’s Landing at all did not change with the fact that now Alicent has ladies of her own. The control of my own hand in marriage is still the priority. Still, while I have yet to broach the subject of a possible tour with my father, I do not plan to let the Gr— Hightowers grow their influence.”

“What has Otto accomplished so far?” Amanda asked.

“He has been unsuccessfully trying to convince Lords Strong and Beesbury to allow Alicent to take over the… a queen’s duties. It is just unfortunate that he convinced the same lords to redistribute those duties to myself and the rest of the small council years ago due to my mother’s… fragile health.” It was bittersweet and still the most soothing of balms.

Maris and Ada almost snorted their laugher. Nora rolled her eyes while Amelia smirked, proud of her father.

“I cannot help but feel a twisted sense of poetic justice.” Amanda raised her chin.

Rhaenyra pursed her lips, but she knew she had to say it. “I have allowed a window of opportunity for Alicent to pursue the queen’s charities however.”

The shock was expected, as was Amanda’s narrowed eyes. “Why?” she asked before saying anything else.

To which Rhaenyra was grateful. “For the same reason I told Lady Jeyne about my mother’s fate. I shall give the Hightowers enough rope to hang themselves.”

Rhaenyra explained her plan and was gratified at the impressed looks sent to her in return. When they started to praise her, Rhaenyra quickly pointed out their decreasing time before they were called for a meal with the King.

They all straightened up at her words.

“What else is to be done?” Ada squared her shoulders.

“For your duties, not much different than in Dragonstone. Aunt Amanda will be the head of my household. Amelia and Nora will tend to my clothes and hair. Maris will be in charge of messages within the keep and Ada, you are to receive and deliver me my letters, as you both are new to King’s Landing no one will be able to fault you if sometimes you get lost and wander somewhere you should not have had.” Rhaenyra gave the two ladies a meaningful glance and Ada smirked back.

“This place is so big, and the corridors all look the same.” Ada mocked.

Maris just nodded in understanding.

Nora smiled but Amelia looked a bit worried. “About the new ladies?”

“Elinda Massey is too young to truly be entrusted with much, but she is loyal to her core.” Rhaenyra declared, very sure of it. “Ladies Caswell, Darry and Hayford however, I am not sure about. Please do keep an eye on them. Gauge their actions. Their Houses are loyal but that does not mean they will be as well.”

Ada seemed unhappy. “The Boltons are still not favorable to send Barba?”

“I am hopeful. In my ravens I made sure to be very clear that I am willing to send what provisions I can to their House and that it is no way correlated to whether Lady Barba accepts my invitation to be my lady in waiting.” Rhaenyra replied.

“Good.” Ada seemed approving of Rhaenyra’s actions even if not particularly appeased that a fellow Northwoman was dithering so much.

“Maybe Lady Hayford can accompany you in small council meetings about projects for the city. The Hayfords are an almost common sight in the Red Keep… in King’s Landing truly, as their seat of power is so close, after all.” Amanda suggested.

“I like that.” Rhaenyra agreed. “Maybe sometimes with Ladies Nora or Amelia… maybe both.”

“This way you are never alone with just Lady Lyra.” Amanda nodded her approval. “I do not think she actually smothered anyone, but it does not hurt to be careful.”

“Lady Estell has a connection to court through her father.” Maris started. “What Nora and Amelia cannot glimpse through Lord Lyonel, Lady Estell may be able to do so through Lord Allun.”

“What of Lady Rosamund?” Ada inquired.

“She is relatively unknown.” Maris trailed off.

“Very unknown.” Nora added a little disdainfully.

“Which would make her perfect to run small errands.” Rhaenyra thought out loud.

Amanda cautioned. “Much like with Ladies Ada and Maris, the ruse of… getting lost about the keep will not last forever, Princess.”

“I will use whatever advantages I can.” Rhaenyra said tiredly.

Looking about her room that never saw so many noble ladies together and Rhaenyra suddenly felt lonely without Daemon voicing his opinion, his often rude opinion. She smiled briefly. She did not quite know why. Her childhood was quite marked by Daemon’s absence but in that moment, she felt it more keenly. Maybe it was because Rhaenyra had never spent so long with him by her side than in the last four moons… truly almost five, maybe because those five moons shifted their dynamic.

Rhaenyra always had the thought that Daemon was… or at least she felt that Daemon was the only one that ever took her seriously, that ever listened to her, truly listened to her. Maybe it was the childish point of view of a solitary child, but the last five moon turns made it more concrete for Rhaenyra.

Maybe the Dreams had a bigger influence, Rhaenyra would not claim to know, or maybe the fact that they were now meeting as equals was what triggered it. Rhaenyra had always known Daemon’s faults, hard not to when everybody around her never tired of listing them and Daemon himself never cared to hide them, but for whatever reason, it was perhaps the first time that she was missing more than his presence. She missed his council, she missed his voice, she missed his lessons, she missed his kisses, she missed his insightful comments… she missed him.

"You have become my friend and I found myself surprised."

Rhaenyra finally understood those words. And for the first time in her life, she prayed. Not to the Seven, but to the Fourteen.

Be safe.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra felt a bit wrong footed. She looked around the small council chamber, for the first time seating at the table instead of serving wine to the men. In those Dreams… she had done the same. Rhaenyra wondered how she felt. How she would have felt. If ambition and plans as a queen were leading her, instead of fear and countermeasures.

And was it such an exclusive phenomenon? In less than a decade’s time, Alicent herself would have joined her at this table when Aemma Arryn never did. Her only consolation was that Alicent was not participating yet. Otto tried but even Lord Tyland Lannister – the new addition since Corlys left to fight in the Stepstones – balked at having "a mere lady" join in their meeting. While the words spoken were not those, the feeling was there, and Rhaenyra had to suppress a hysterical laugher at the look on Otto’s face.

Rhaenyra had to remind herself that there was no reason for Tyland to simper around Otto and Alicent just yet. Despite the Lannister ilk abhorring the idea of a woman on the throne – and as such, it would be just a too laborious work with too little reward to entertain the idea of swaying them to her side, especially now that her major support in court were all women – he was a new addition to court, a still potential ally of the Greens instead of an assured one.

“King Viserys, First of His Name. King of the Andals, The Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realm.” Ser Harrold announced.

Rhaenyra stood up alongside the rest of the councilmembers and then sat down when Viserys gave leave. Seeing him almost effortlessly, at least physically, carrying on his usual duties was a bit jarring. Rhaenyra had yet to reconcile the image of her father eaten away by disease with the man in front of her.

Viserys Targaryen was lost already. Came the realization, that, for some reason, startled Rhaenyra. Hasn’t he always been lost?

Rhaenyra stopped herself from shaking her head. But she could not help the sad resignation. Alicent, the willfully blind and hypocrite pawn that would one day become a vile and cruel queen. Helaena, the innocent and voiceless, the true victim that Alicent thought herself to be. And now Viserys. Rhaenyra took a deep breath and tiredly watched as Beesbury and Strong passed some written reports to the King. No more excuses, no more explanations, just what it was. A too pampered Prince that grew up in times of peace and never once thought about the price paid for that peace to be had. Lessons were given by the best teachers that gold could acquire, and a crown landed on his head. Viserys once again never considered all the struggle and sacrifice behind the act.

The truth of what it was… Viserys Targaryen enjoyed all the perks of being king and blinds himself to all the disadvantages.

(“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice? It’s trampled under your pretty foot again!”)

Rhaenyra almost laughed right then and there. Uncaring that the most powerful men in the realm were to be her audience. If only Alicent knew… that she was directing those words towards the wrong Targaryen.

Viserys cleared his throat, clearly a bit uncomfortable, clearly having heard the last little ruckus. “Well, if we can start the meeting.”

Otto, predictably, tried again. “Your Grace, I merely meant that as Lady Alicent is about to be responsible for such an enormous undertaking, should she not be here to oversee it?”

But Tyland seemed to tire quickly of the subject. “If it is such an enormous undertaking,” he mocked, “then maybe Her Grace should be abed. For sure the extra rest will do her good in her delicate position.”

Rhaenyra, for the first time, regretted having missed the small council meetings in the last four moon turns. On scale, what she did in Dragonstone, what she learned was by far the greater prize, but, as she discreetly looked around the table and the tired and bored and annoyed looks in the councilmembers already told her that Otto… advocating… for Alicent was not a new development.

Ser Harrold was polite, tactful… and played the game of words masterfully. Rhaenyra chanced a look towards the Lord Commander who, of course, did not return her gaze lest it gave him away. She honestly felt a bit amused at his more subdued version of events. It was not in Ser Harrold’s nature, but Rhaenyra felt a stab of unprecedented desire to hear the tittering of women’s court.

While needle work was as boring as it could be, Rhaenyra sometimes amused herself with the gossip whenever attending women’s court with her mother, and it was always delivered in such a theatrical way that Rhaenyra could not help but be entertained. Aemma Arryn did not hold women’s court looking to hear and assuage what troubled the women of the realm as Alysanne had done. They quickly learned that their queen’s power in court was as equally weakened as her body, still, despite the decreased number of attendees, some of the noble ladies were so fond of the kind queen that they stayed.

Without meaning to, her mother had secured their loyalty just by being herself. Like Alysanne had once done when she was still underage, her marriage was not yet consolidated, and she was isolated in Dragonstone and noble ladies were sent to spy on her.

Would she, Rhaenyra, be able to do the same? She questioned in the privacy of her thoughts as she watched Otto turn bright red at Lord Tyland’s words. Rhaenyra remembered when she first got the moniker of the Realm’s Delight. Like much in her life, it was from Daemon that it was so.

Rhaenyra remembered easy smiles when turning to someone she was genuinely fond of or when all she wanted was to rage and stomp away. She remembered sweetened words that spewed from her lips with no prompt whether she meant them or if she cursed whatever noble was in front of her. A graceful movement of her hand would make sure that her hair fell perfectly into place, just enough to catch the attention of an entire crowd. Her feet felt light as she walked in any keep, in any hallway. Assured of who she was no matter where she was.

It all seemed so long ago.

The stillness from her mother’s chambers vanished her smiles. A new marriage to her former companion, surrounded by scandal, ate away at her grace until there was nothing left. A crown, so bloody and baying for yet more blood made her movements lack their former elegance, her steps were now heavy. She felt ill at ease within the very walls that were all Rhaenyra has ever known.

“Regardless.” For once, Rhaenyra was grateful to hear her father’s voice. “Let’s commence lest we waste more time.”

Rhaenyra should be well used to this by now. Viserys Targaryen… First of His Name, never measured words when speaking. Never thought before acting or not acting. It was not out of malice that he destroyed her own claim before Rhaenyra had the chance to properly shore her succession. It was ignorance.

What matters the numbers of most learned of men that paraded about the Red Keep all in order to teach the royal members of House Targaryen when those royal members would rather dream with their eyes open? Rhaenyra thought of the still incomplete model of the Valyrian Freehold and absently wondered if her father would ever pay attention to what was happening in the present, instead of dreaming of what was no more or dreaming about what could be or what could have been. She wondered if that would happen if he ever finished the model.

“Not much to discuss, Your Grace.” Lord Lyonel announced. “It was but a few days ago that we held our last meeting. And so, there is nothing of note to be said.”

The frustration in his voice was barely hidden behind a placid expression.

“That, Lord Lyonel, is no longer true.” Otto gritted through a tight smile. “His Grace agreed to let Lady Alicent lead some charitable ventures.”

Otto was visibly relishing in the looks of shocks passed around and Rhaenyra abhorred the idea of Otto being happy. “At my behest, His Grace allowed myself and Lady Alicent to pursue the noble endeavor.”

The shock increased and this time aimed at her. Rhaenyra could see in the narrowed eyes of Tyland Lannister and the way Lord Lyman frowned at her that they thought her foolish. Maybe it was so. Rhaenyra thought. She was hardly the most accomplished of politicians. She was hardly Rhaenys.

“What… a thoughtful gesture.” Lord Lyonel settled for the word.

Rhaenyra went to explain before either the King or Otto could. “We are to have two separate projects.”

Lyman’s eyebrows jumped up. While the other lords eyed her shrewdly, of course the Master of Coin was worried about but one thing.

“Two projects, Princess? Well… I suppose that depending on the… the size of the plans we can… we can…”

To his credit, as Lyman trailed off, he did not try to convince Rhaenyra to make a joint one.

The silence that followed the news was only a little less awkward than the one from the in the meal shared the day before.

Mellos cleared his throat. “If... no one has any other issues to raise—”

“Oh! But there is!” Viserys exclaimed, startling many of the councilmembers for the abrupt end of his silence. He turned to Rhaenyra with a hesitant smile, and she froze in place. “No issue, far from it. But I would like to celebrate my daughter coming of age in a moon.”

Fuck.

~*~

Rhaenyra let her father do as he wished for her name day. A much more pressing matter weighted on her mind. So busy she was kept in the last few moons that she completely forgot about this particular date, and much more importantly, what it meant for her.

Time was passing by and slipping through her fingers and Rhaenyra had yet to secure her father’s agreement to let her make her own match. She knew very well that it was her parents’ habit of seeing, and treating her like a child that held off the bolder offers of marriage. But once she reached her sixteenth name day? The ravens would start to arrive, and her father would start to get more obnoxious in his hastiness to marry her off. All in the guise of shoring up her succession.

Rhaenyra wanted to roll her eyes. While she did not doubt Viserys’ intention, it was a such a paltry effort on his part if in comparison to everything he did to ensure the opposite that Rhaenyra could not help but wonder if that was all that Viserys had to offer.

As the small council was dismissed, Rhaenyra made no effort to contribute to the idea of a grand feast with a mummer show. She thought about those Dreams. Rhaenyra had never noticed that particular trait of her father and mayhap she never would have if not for those Dreams.

Sometimes Viserys acted like he knew what he was doing. Like all the lessons that Prince Baelon certainly ensured for him to have bore fruit. He knew the theory. But he did not seem to adequate his teachings to reality. Daemon sometimes was like that, but with him, Rhaenyra understood where it was coming from. He was a man of action, not words. Diplomatic until that failed.

Rhaenyra shook her head. She could not spend the rest of her life trying to decipher what goes inside Viserys’ head.

“Hmmm… that is interesting… for us.” Maris specified as Rhaenyra finished recounting the happenings in the small council meeting.

Ada was grimacing. “I have watched a single mummer’s show in my life and I almost fell asleep.”

“Not that part.” Maris rolled her eyes and grimaced as Nora pulled her hair a little too harshly in order to braid it. “Well… at least not entirely. My sister, Cassandra, often uses… well… used mummer’s show back at Storm’s End to make subtle attacks at our mother.”

Amelia quickly looked to the door to make sure that Lady Amanda was not coming through before asking. “How so?”

“She would have a character… a mother behaving belligerent towards a poor daughter that only wants a memento as beautiful as the ones her mother has for her name days. Like that.” Maris explained.

Rhaenyra let a small, amused sound. “Maybe not… maybe something more subtle.”

But Amelia’s brown eyes started to shine. “It can be more subtle, My Princess! Just about the message it sends. We just need to be more creative.”

“And find a way to have it presented before the court in the Princess’ name day celebration.” Ada pointed out the other flaw in the plan.

Rhaenyra bit her lip. She knew a way that it could gain popularity. She didn’t know whether enough popularity to justify it being presented to the court, but, Rhaenyra supposes, that would be the final touch. A gem but not the entire treasure.

Her eyes found some of the books she left behind in King’s Landing. Not many, it was true, most of them, gifted by either Daemon or her mother, were too precious for her to leave behind even temporarily, and so they were already in Dragonstone. Still, among them, Rhaenyra recognized some from her childhood, years past that her mother would read to her.

As a small child, Rhaenyra took enough joy out of tales of gallant knights rescuing helpless princesses that, like many other young girls, she would daydream about it herself. By the time the folklores started to feature slayed dragons, however, Rhaenyra was already too bored of them to feel even offense. The stories did not live up to history, to her family’s history.

Instead of a helpless princess, Rhaenyra knew of two warrior queens who conquered right alongside their king. Instead of slaying a dragon with a single swing of some supposedly mystical sword, they rode them and commanded them to rain fire on their enemies with Valyrian steel in their hands.

Still… not everybody was a Targaryen dragonlord. The commonfolk would more readily relate with the damsel in distress being saved than with an all-powerful queen.

“Nora… Amelia…” Rhaenyra called softly. “Could you two please discreetly call for your brother?”

“Please tell me you mean Harwin.” Nora grimaced.

Rhaenyra blinked. Oh… Larys… someone else that she would have to find a way to deal with. She forgot.

~*~

(Ser Criston Cole)

“Good morrow.” Ser Erryk greeted with a yawn.

“Good morrow.” Criston greeted back with a nod.

Criston was too recently added to the Kingsguards for him to tease the other man. Although there was a small urge to joke if guarding the Princess’ door was that tiresome. Still, he did not know Ser Erryk enough to predict whether he will joke back or take it as a slight to his duty.

So, Criston merely took his position. As he has been doing for the last sennight. This was the greatest honor a low knight like himself has ever received. To be hand picked by the Princess herself to be part of the Kingsguards.

Of course, that all changed one night. Ser Steffon was the one with the night shift guarding the Princess and Ser Criston was still asleep at the White Sword Tower, but he heard of what happened from Ser Lorent who was usually the one guarding the King himself during the nights.

Uncomfortable was a too mild word to describe the other knight.

“Soon the whole realm will know of it.” Ser Harrold commented gruffly. His eyes were reddened from a sleepless night despite the Commander not having the night shift.

As Ser Lorent started to explain, Criston understood why that was.

“Lady Alicent… Hightower has been visiting the King for the last three moons.”

“The last three moons… and what do you mean visiting the King?” Ser Arryk’s… or was it Ser Erryk’s… either way the man’s eyebrows raised at the statement.

Clearing his throat, a flush started to flood Ser Lorent’s face, and no one could blame the poor man. “Lady Alicent would arrive, usually at the hour of ghosts, sometimes a bit before… and… and leave only at the hour of the wolf.”

“What in the world was she doing there?” Ser Rickard asked incredulously.

Criston shook his head at the man’s naïveté. Perhaps it was the fact that Criston had already seen his fair share of other lands, other people that made it clear what was happening for him.

The Lady Alicent was angling to be queen. Seducing a grieving king into bedding her like a common whore. What did the poor Lord Hand was going through right now was something that no father should have to face.

Criston frowned in sympathy. For sure, the Lord Hand, despite being as pious as one can be, will try to mitigate the fallout as far and as much as he can. Criston did not envy his position. His beliefs and scruples would dictate to turn his back on his daughter but a father’s love was a powerful thing.

The Lord Commander snaped them into attention, however. “Regardless! We shall do as we ought to. Leave the gossip for the idle!”

Ser Harrold was right, Criston squared his shoulders. Of course, he was right.

The scandal of a noble lady, the daughter of the Hand or not, is not their concern.

In all this, however, Criston forgot one monumental detail. The Princess Rhaenyra’s pale face greeted him the next time he took her guard and Criston had to inwardly wince.

So busy the court was to condemn Lady Alicent that they forgot about what the King’s actions would bring to his family. Three moons exactly have passed since Queen Aemma died and Princess Rhaenyra lost her mother… and now her father was caught abed with her servant…

Criston did not fault the Princess for not even noticing the pitying glances towards her. She was probably too busy dealing with such a betrayal. And Criston could only watch from afar as the usual soft greys and pinks and yellows of her dresses slowly turned into solid greys, browns, dark purples… and then black.

Ser Harrold once gathered them in the White Sword Tower to make yet another startling announcement. “The King is going to remarry… in a moon’s turn to Lady Alicent Hightower.”

As unflappable as Ser Harrold always was, delivering this news clearly rattled the man.

“Commander?” Ser Erryk asked.

“Security will be tightened up. You know your posts, memorize the knights under your command. Guests will be arriving soon.”

Criston was in equal parts horrified and confused as they all watched the Lord Commander leaving the room. A blind man could see how highly the King considered his Hand. As a king should, Criston knew that the Hand is the highest position in the realm, second most powerful man and second only to the King himself. It was to the Hand that a king turned to when in need of advice and it was the Hand that he most trusted.

And then it dawned on Criston. The King was merely uniting his duty to his pleasure. The Princess Rhaenyra served her purpose as the King’s only child but the King was young enough still, young enough to sire new children and for certain would prefer a son on his throne. Now it was the perfect opportunity to do so.

The King would marry a young lady that was in her most fertile years. A young noble lady with the right lineage and with her father being a loyal friend to the King in order to give Westeros a new queen. At the same time, the King would be shielding the lustful but misguided Lady Alicent from her misdeeds. Criston was not too sure if he agreed with rewarding such a whorish behavior with queenship, but, as his Commander stated, it was not for him to gossip about such.

Princess Rhaenyra continued to don black, but Criston rather thought that she seemly did not even realize the fact that maybe it was not entirely proper. Her eyes were always a little dazed these days. Grief was a strange and powerful force, he knew.

Still, as the guests arrived, the Princess seemed to remember her duties and went to greet them accordingly. Even as she tiredly addressed him.

“Ser Criston, I do not pretend to understand many of the decisions… surrounding me as of late. But still… I would like to request for you to start guarding Lady Alicent’s chambers… Lady Alicent as well.”

The request should surprise him, but somehow it didn’t. Criston nodded his head and tired to smile as softly as he could towards the Princess. For sure she was worried about Lady Alicent after losing her own mother to childbirth.

Criston heard the rumors, of course, he did not participate in them. But considering that Lady Alicent seemed much more anxious these days, it was almost an obvious conclusion that she was carrying the King’s bastard. Legitimized or not, the stress the situation might be causing Lady Alicent probably mollified the Princess enough to worry about her former lady in waiting… despite circumstances.

The wedding itself was entertaining enough. He was assigned guard inside the castle in the day of jousts which was good since Criston wouldn’t have to see Prince Daemon’s face. It almost disgusted him that such a man had a rank and title that forced others to show him deference.

And the way he constantly sought the Princess’ presence when she was an unmarried maiden was simply disgraceful.

“That has been the case since the Princess was born.” Ser Harrold once explained after Criston commented on it, might be considered more complained about it but Criston could not help but worry about the Princess. “Prince Daemon has been bringing gifts, teaching her how to fly her dragon and about their culture since the Princess could walk.”

“From what I understood, that was before… now Princess Rhaenyra is almost a woman grown.”

But Ser Harrold did not seem worried. “And now she has other ladies in waiting, among them her mother’s former one and the Princess’ aunt. Lady Amanda Arryn has been steadfast presence in the Princess’ life since she was born.”

He motioned to the older woman accompanying the Princess. She had light brown hair and blue eyes. Tall for a woman, although not as tall as Princess Rhaenys. In true, Lady Amanda and Princess Rhaenyra did not resemble much of each other, maybe in the shape of the big eyes… if one was kind. But it was undeniable that the Lady Amanda looked at the Princess with fondness.

Ser Harrold motioned with his head subtly. And Criston looked ahead to see the Princess surrounded by three more ladies of varying ages. That made him feel more at ease. There was no way that Prince Daemon could take liberties with the Princess with so many companions at her side.

Criston was not sure what to think of Lady Alicent. She seemed nervous yet spoiled, she seemed kind and yet was prone to ill temper. She was… a bit strange if he was honest with himself.

A few days after the wedding was over and Criston could not help himself anymore.

“Ser Arryk?” He called out and immediately knew he got the wrong twin.

“It is fine, Ser Criston.” Ser Erryk waved it off with a good-natured smile.

“Well… is the Princess Rhaenyra alright? It has been a while since I last saw her in the godswood.”

It wasn’t until the question was already out of his mouth that Criston realized how inappropriate it was. Especially with the way Ser Erryk’s eyes narrowed at him.

“The Princess went to Dragonstone, the original Targaryen seat of power. None know for sure what happened, but after King Viserys announced that Lady Alicent was not to be queen—”

“What?” Criston could feel his eyebrows jumping up.

Ser Erryk shrugged. “It was a wise solution to appease the Faith. No many approved of the match, especially for the hastiness, especially given the circumstances. Either way, the Princess Rhaenyra left for Dragonstone for the foreseeable future.”

Criston frowned even as Ser Erryk walked away. Criston understood that Rhaenyra was worried about her friend, but he thought they reached… well… perhaps not a closeness, but an understanding. He was feeling, if he was honest with himself, a bit hurt that Rhaenyra had not thought to inform him of her departure.

Still, Criston frowned. Maybe it was less about leaving for Dragonstone than getting away from the King. Regardless of the Princess’ waning anger and growing sympathy to Lady Alicent, the same may not be said of her father.

Shaking his head, Criston immersed himself in his duties. And, in doing so, it did not take him long to tell Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk apart. If only for the company that each man kept.

While both twins were taciturn at the best of times, Ser Erryk smiled more freely in the company of Ser Lorent, Ser Steffon and Ser Harrold. At a times, Criston saw them conversing amicably with Ser Harwin, the newly appointed Captain of the City Watch.

Not to say that Ser Erryk did not enjoy his brother’s company. But it was true that Ser Arryk seemed to find solitude calming unlike his brother.

Ser Rickard Thorne seemed disapproving of almost everything around him, however. And it did not take Criston long to learn that the man thought that Lady Alicent should have been made queen. But someone with such… such a reputation… queen? Criston frowned.

Ser Willis Fell was often found in the company of the Lord Hand and, from what Criston understood, he was usually assigned by the King to guard the Lord Hand. It made sense to him. Ser Harrold, as the Commander of the white cloaks, would protect the King first and foremost. Then the Princess, then Lady Alicent. But it is true that the Lord Hand should also benefit from the protection of the Kingsguards.

Three moons passed quickly, which saw the arrival of three noble ladies.

Lady Henrietta Woodhull was a nervous little thing, her wild red hair kept in tight braids lest it revealed how untamable it usually is. Lady Ysabel Staunton seemed well trained to be a lady in waiting despite her presence being met with surprise, after all, being almost eighteen she would be better served being the Princess’ lady, for certain a princess would have a better chance of securing her a proper match than a lady.

But the true shock came a sennight later when Lady Cassandra Baratheon graced the halls of the Red Keep with her presence and her obnoxiously loud voice.

“Fitting.” She disdained, uncaring of the fact that Lady Alicent was present as were most of the Kingsguards and quite a few servants. “Not only am I serving someone of lower station than myself but my new quarters in the royal palace are smaller than mine one in Storm’s End.” She threw her coat over one of the chairs.

Criston looked about the chamber made available for Lady Cassandra, and he could not see why she disliked it so. It was spacious, decorated, had its own hearth, a desk…

“As Princess Rhaenyra’s own ladies in waiting increased in number, the more secure chambers of the family wing in Maegor’s Holdfast are now occupied, My Lady.” Ser Harrold explained. “Taking into consideration your safety, it was decided that the White Sword Tower is appropriate.”

Lady Ysabel glanced nervously at Lady Alicent who was growing red with each passing moment. She smiled as best as she could towards Lady Cassandra.

“Lady Alicent is married to the King. She needs to lead her own household now and who would be more suited than yourself, the oldest daughter of the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands to make part of it?” She complimented.

But Lady Cassadra remained unimpressed. At two and ten, she was tall for her age although her face retained the plumpness of youth. Her dark eyes held a hint of purple in the light.

“Lady Alicent…” she recited, but Lady Cassandra did not seem to be calling for the woman she now served. “Married to the King indeed… and yet ‘married to the King’ is not a title, is it? What in the Known World is even her position within this keep? Or is it simply as shaky as her hands?” They all collectively turned to look at the Lady Alicent almost mincing her own fingers, she immediately stopped and tried to hide them behind her back, but that only ever caused her to look like a misbehaving child caught sneaking cakes before dinner. Lady Cassandra just sneered. “I know my own value, which already makes my point.”

Lady Cassandra turned her back to them all, effectively dismissing them.

A little offended, they left. As it seemed that none had any real argument against Lady Cassandra.

And then another news. And Lady Alicent was announced to be with child to the surprise of no one, barely three moons after getting married. The King sent a raven to Dragonstone, summoning the Princess Rhaenyra back to the Red Keep.

A few weeks later and a dragon’s roar announced the arrival of a dutiful daughter. And before Criston knew it, Ser Harrold was commanding not only the kingsguards but all the knights in the Red Keep to increase security.

New noble ladies were to arrive to make part of the Princess’ household and the Princess herself was about to make weekly trips to the city. Both would need their own team of sworn shields.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Ser Harwin made justice to his moniker. Breakbones. Tall like no one else Rhaenyra has ever met besides Ser Luthor Largent, the knight before her was loyal and true and seems to be fond of her… and it was little wonder that, in another life, Rhaenyra would turn to him.

Although lack of choices certainly played a part. Rhaenyra tried to swallow that particular bitter brew.

“My Princess. My sisters tell me that you wished to speak with me.” His blue eyes were curious as they stared from Amelia to Rhaenyra.

“Indeed. Over the past few moons, I have entrusted you with more than a few secrets.”

That was perhaps quite the euphemism. From escorting Wilbur and Masie that smuggled gold and a dragon egg to Dragonstone, to being part of the meeting that would choose her ladies in waiting, by any interpretation, an honor does not even start to properly describe it and finally to helping them transport the rest of the chests and eggs all in secrecy from the King of Westeros himself… at this point, trusting Harwin was not so much a dilemma, but a concluded thought.

“I shall not fail in safeguarding them.” Harwin promised with a bow.

“I have yet another favor to ask.”

“Anything in my power.” He answered without thinking twice.

“How familiar are you with the men of the City Watch?”

“I have been one of their captains for the last four moons only. Although my own deference to Prince Daemon has ensured their loyalty.”

The natural way with which Harwin spoke, no grudge on his voice, already told Rhaenyra of much. High or lowborn… all Gold Cloaks saw firsthand what it was like when the Rogue Prince saw them as one of his. The City Watch was going to be Daemon’s for as long he drew breath, and that included Harwin.

“As discreetly as possible, I would like for them to… spread the word about a story for a mummer’s show.” Rhaenyra then explained what she wanted done.

Amelia’s eyes shined at her side.

Chapter Text

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Rhaenyra glanced at the royal ledgers with a frown. Jaehaerys left the royal coffers filled to the very brim which was fortunate considering Viserys’ fondness for the lavish. Feasts, grand tourney prizes… the commoners loved Viserys for a reason, even if Viserys did not really understand the need for their love.

Still, Lord Lyman was not wrong in worrying. The man’s sole job was to ensure that the crown had enough coin for any eventuality and despite the steady income of taxes from high and lowborn citizens of Westeros, two grand projects at the same time… and her name day celebration in a moon’s turn was maybe straining their ledgers.

Well, the year is almost over and with that the horses will start arriving with the realm’s coin instead of just King’s Landing. Still…

“Princess Rhaenyra,” Maris called before being allowed inside, “The Ladies Massey, Hayford, Caswell and Darry have arrived, they will be in the Red Keep in less than an hour.”

Rhaenyra quickly got up from her seat, Amelia and Nora following so they could dress her. Amanda left her own letters to braid Rhaenyra’s hair.

“They are early.” Nora grumbled as she hurried to pass Rhaenyra’s arm through the sleeves.

“It can be to our benefit.” Amanda expertly finished the braid and put it up in a bun. “This way we can start our own plans once Lady Lyra arrives.”

Rhaenyra glanced once again at the ledgers. “To our benefit indeed. Lady Amanda, Lady Ada, forget our plans. We shall follow mine own and Nora’s instead.”

Amanda raised an eyebrow at the newfound energy that Rhaenyra spoke with, but Ada frowned in displeasure.

“It will do us no good to deplete the budget set aside for this. Lord Lyman was already recalcitrant with the amount.”

“I plan to use my own stipend.” Rhaenyra explained shortly. “The gold transported from my coffers to Dragonstone was the gold I have never used, accumulated from the years Daemon gifted me all that I could want, let alone what I could need. For the last three moons since the wedding, my own coffers here in the Red Keep would start to be filled, there would be more than enough gold for what we planned.”

“More than…” Ada echoed, sweating a bit. She was the daughter of a lord, well learned in budgeting and ledgers for the day she would be responsible for those. But that amount of coin was…

“You will certainly be seen as the Princess of the City.” Amelia joked lightly, looking equally pale.

A shelter was the first idea. Of course, Rhaenyra knew very well that greed existed. But among the commonfolk, the need for survival was greater, crime for the sake of survival was more usual than crime for the sake of avarice. A shelter was a too humble description for what Rhaenyra and Nora had envisioned in true. A grand building, full of food and learned men, Maesters or not, to care for the people. Bedrooms for those that had no roof over their heads, food for those that could not afford it, medicine for those that desperately needed it.

With her father’s preference for opulence focused on Rhaenyra’s name day, there wasn’t much left for the rest of the year, however. And Lady Ada, well used to rationing dwindling supplies in the harsh North, advocated for a food hall instead. King’s Landing did not have harsh weather and so a shelter was less needed than food, and much of the illness was because of their fragility which came from hunger.

Three moons of coin separated to the royal princess’ coffers was almost as much gold as the amount put aside by Lord Lyman. Rhaenyra just doubled their resources.

Nora’s eyes were wide. “This way we can build or renovate an entire building for this, buy the beds and what other necessities they might need, employ healers if not maesters, buy what supplies we can.”

As Nora and Maris excitedly started to revise their original idea, Ada eyed the whole thing a bit worriedly. Amelia looked almost faint at the amount of gold they are to spend, and Amanda was staring at Rhaenyra instead.

“Rhaenyra…” the lack of title snapped her to attention. “You understand that, eventually, this will go beyond merely destabilizing their power base.”

Amanda was old enough, experienced enough, to understand the consequences. To understand what was it that Rhaenyra was doing. Rhaenyra will now provide a whole new way of living for people that never experienced better.

Rhaenyra thought of Syrax… of Joffrey then… she squared her shoulders.

“Yes.”

~*~

(Lady Maris Baratheon)

Maris sighed as the last of courtiers went to have lunch. She had a lot to report to Rhaenyra.

The Reachmen loitering about the Red Keep were not exactly subtle. To be fair, that seemed to better describe Otto Hightower than the Reachmen. Maybe it was because the leech in human form started to make moves that not even a blind man could ignore anymore, from what Maris understood, he was not very popular before but not many would accuse the man of any crimes.

But after his pious and meek daughter was caught in the King’s chambers in the middle of the night? There were whispers that Otto is personally responsible for the invention of scorpions. Maris rolled her eyes. Princess Rhaenyra always insisted that Otto would not do anything too overt before all his pieces were in place and she was inclined to agree.

One thing was to be disliked for being too favored by the King. Eventually that dislike would befall more on the King than the person itself. But another was for all to know how far he would be willing to go for more power.

From being the King’s favorite to the King’s family was a leap that not many would dare to try without the King taking the first step himself. Still, the King’s silence on the matter was all but an agreement, especially when it came from him the idea of marrying Lady Alicent.

“It is a good thing that you are not much to look at.” Maris almost jumped at the voice. “You would make for a terrible spy indeed.”

Cassandra was leaning against the wall behind her, her hands gracefully together, her carefully braided hair not touching the stone. Her expression did not give anything away, and her dress was as impeccable as always.

Maris stiffened herself not to reach for her hair or dress. Knowing that after an entire morning of walking about the keep and, just sometimes, pretending that she is lost, her hair was a lost cause and her habit of bunching up her skirt as to not trip often wrinkled it.

“Cassandra.” Maris greeted instead of addressing the insult. Which, coming from her sister, was pretty mild. “Shouldn’t you be brushing Lady Alicent’s hair?” her voice was polite which only sharpened the words.

But Cassandra just smirked and walked towards her, forcing Maris to look up. Maris cursed the three inches separating them. “Luckily for me, Lady Alicent dismissed her ladies. We are not to bring her messages nor help her dress, nor wake her up in the mornings.”

Maris was fast in hiding her shock. She knew well the implications behind the words, just as she knew that Cassandra understood the implication of imparting the information with her.

“Lucky for you to be so idle.” Maris returned. They were never much one for flowery words, especially with each other. Maris’s black eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”

Cassandra scoffed. “What else? To go home. Storm’s End is not much to look at, but it is a damn sight better than the chambers given to a lady in waiting for a lady.” She mocked the non-existing title.

Maris understood it very well. For someone as high ranked as Cassandra, the firstborn daughter and, so far, the heir of a lord paramount, each second that she would spend at the service of Lady Alicent was an insult like no other. And the only one that did not seem to understand as much was Lady Alicent herself. What Maris didn’t understand was…

“What exactly do you think I can do about that?”

“You, nothing.” Cassandra dismissed. “But whatever is it that Princess Rhaenyra is planning may.”

And Maris could not be more on guard than she already was. “You don’t actually believe I will tell you anything.”

Cassandra dark purple eyes rolled, and Maris suppressed the stabbing of envy she always felt at the hue that revealed itself in the light. “If you did my opinion of you would be even lower than it already is. Granted,” she sounded a bit grudging, “throwing yourself at the Princess’ feet to escape the ilent sisters was a move I did not expect from you. Congratulations, sister.” And it was the fact that she sounded so unwilling that convinced Maris that she was genuine in the compliment.

But Maris was tired and tiring more by the moment. “Aside from going home, as you and I both know that Father would not allow a break in a written contract, so you are stuck in King’s Landing until Lady Alicent herself dismisses you… what do you want?” She repeated the question.

“The simplest minded of creatures could understand the Princess’ plans if they cared enough to pay attention. I care not for details but considering that I am the biggest diamond in Alicent’s tiny chest of jewelries, there are very few options for me to leave her service.”

Maris interrupted her, out of patience with her ridiculous sister. “I understand that you like to pretend to not only be most beautiful, but also the only intelligent human being in an entire city, but I am also aware of your position.”

Cassandra would be dismissed in very few circumstances.

If Alicent became queen. After a few years as a well-established queen, finally above Cassandra’s station and finally no longer needing the prestige that Cassandra brings, If Alicent had a modicum of self-respect, dismissing Cassandra would be one of the first things she does. And it was exactly why Maris knew that she could not lower her defenses around Cassandra. Maybe her sister burned enough of any potential friendship and favor that Lady Alicent would ever feel inclined to give, but Maris was not about to take the chance that her sister was helping Alicent.

If King Viserys set Alicent aside. Her very odd and unstable position was due to the fact that Alicent may be married to a king, but she was no queen, and such a thing has never happened in the century since the Conquest. And Maris doubted that it happened before that either. Well, if Alicent was no longer the King’s wife, then there would be absolutely no doubt whether or not Cassandra was superior in the hierarchy. She would be able to dismiss herself.

If King Viserys died. Categorically, there would be no real reason to stay if the King died, as he had the power and influence and Alicent was not even allowed inside the small council chambers. And wife of the former king was even flimsier than wife of the king.

If Alicent died. Maris shook her head to rid herself of the image of Ada smirking. Firstly, because Ada was a Stark. They would be flayed alive before forsaking their honor and vows and Ada was too smart to smirk at the thought of Alicent dying, even in private.

And finally, if Alicent was stupid enough to dismiss Cassandra herself when she had no other ties to gain the Stormlands’ loyalty. Which would not happen with Otto Hightower still living in the Red Keep and breathing down his daughter’s neck.

Cassandra raised a skeptical eyebrow and Maris gritted her teeth in irritation. “If you say so. I admit that being dismissed by the daughter of a second son is not exactly an ideal scenario and deaths are dirty business.”

Maris tensed as that left one option still. “I am glad that your propensity for theatrics did not suffer the same blow as your pride.”

However, Cassandra has always proven herself to be more immune to poison than most. “I had few paths… until I realized what Princess Rhaenyra was attempting to do.”

“I thought the simplest minded of creatures would notice.” Maris mocked.

“And it is so. Maybe it is a good thing that the King’s indiscretions were outed when they were. They were quite the effective distraction for the fact that the Princess is not so much accepting the condolences for the loss of her mother but securing alliances… what a coincidence.”

Maris understood what Cassandra was suggesting and honestly? Even if she was right and Rhaenyra had anything to do with Alicent being found when she was, if it was done on purpose or not, Maris heard enough about King Viserys to know that not much would change. Not much… aside from the fact that Alicent may not have been found… she may have become queen… and now she was in limbo, discredited, her reputation in shambles…

Maris felt her eyebrows rising. “Even if you are right… how does that help you?”

“I am not sure yet.” Cassandra admitted freely. “Still, I am keeping an eye on opportunities.”

Cassandra was already turning to walk away, and Maris realized that they were equally out of their depths. They were the daughters of the Lord of Storm’s End, the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. Their education was second to none but the royal family’s. But this was their first real challenge. Their first time living out of their own castle where they were surrounded by people loyal to their blood first. And it was all about blood, was it not? A wrong movement away from being spilled.

Before she even realized what she was doing, Maris grabbed Cassandra’s arm.

“I know you are well used in getting what you want at the expense of others but as you said yourself, I threw myself at the Princess’ feet. My fate is on her hands, her fate is mine own. You play your little tricks at home and Father and Mother threaten marriage to some unsavory lord, here, we are dealing with life and death. Do what you will, Cassandra, but know that I will return it tenfold.”

Cassandra yanked her arm free with a sneer. “Such a sentiment when your sister is entangled in the game of thrones.”

“You got yourself in danger, Father or not.” Maris challenged back. “You could have kept your head down, done as you were told, befriended Alicent, made her believe that you were desperately missing home and then beguiled her into dismissing you. That girl certainly thinks highly enough of her own inherent good nature to fall for the ruse. Even Princess Rhaenyra knows the value of long-term goals, but no, Cassandra Baratheon is too good for such.”

“Three moons… and it is enough to start kissing her skirts?” Cassandra scoffed.

“Yes.” Maris met her eyes.

Cassandra’s eyes widened before narrowing. “Maybe there is a storm inside of you after all. Don’t worry your plain little head. I can see where the winds are blowing.”

Which promised Maris nothing and told her even less.

~*~

Rhaenyra snorted in quite the un-lady like fashion when Maris told her about her encounter with Cassandra.

“Alicent has never been quite my lady in waiting. At least, not in the strictest sense.”

Amanda shook her head. “All this just shows that Ser Otto was remiss in her education.”

“Or that Alicent was educated well enough just not on being a lady in waiting.” Ada narrowed her eyes.

“What do you mean by that?” Amelia asked.

“When did Alicent become your lady in waiting?” Ada asked Rhaenyra instead.

“Roughly around the time she arrived in King’s Landing.” Rhaenyra answered indifferently.

“And what do you mean when you said that she was never you lady in the ‘strictest sense’?” Ada continued.

“There was never a formal contract. Neither King Jaehaerys nor my father ever drew and signed one. Let alone sent it back to Oldtown for their liege lord.” Rhaenyra explained. “King Jaehaerys was grief stricken and abed and delirious. My father was still familiarizing himself with the duties of a king.”

Amanda’s eyes widened but Ada seemed feverishly determined. “The Hightowers certainly savored the late Queen Aemma’s waning health.”

Rhaenyra was not the only one to wince. Although she suspected that her reasons differed a bit from the others’. When she thought of Queen Aemma, Rhaenyra thought of her mother first. Yet she knew that everyone else thought of the Queen of Westeros. Regardless, even for people that never even met her mother like most of her ladies, there was certain level of respect owned.

“Where are you trying to get with all this?” Amelia shook her head.

“That maybe the reason that Lady Alicent seems to not know what to do with herself, never mind her new household is due to the fact that Ser Otto has always been aiming for more power. I do not know whether the lack of contract was an oversight or if that somehow would work on his favor, but I do know that, from the few days we have been back, from the few days we had to look at what was happening, Alicent has no idea how to lead a household. Not only as queen or royalty, but at all. Isn’t that at least a bit odd? She is still a noble lady, her father may not inherit anything, but her family is still wealthy, her dowry should be nothing to scoff at for some lord or knight with his own keep, yet… she doesn’t seem to know what that entails.”

Maris rubbed her temples, indifferent to the fact that her mother always told her not to do so for the wrinkles it may cause and the unseemly red marks that are left behind. “You and Cassandra… speak plainly, please!”

Ada pursed her lips. “What I am saying is that Ser Otto redistributed the Queen’s duties to the small council and Princess Rhaenyra. What I am saying is that Alicent was a lady in waiting in name only but legally and in practice she was no more a lady in waiting than a visiting friend and,” she sent a mildly apologetic look towards Rhaenyra, “she was given liberties that no lady in waiting should have possessed.”

“You are saying that Otto’s plan has always been a royal match to his daughter.” Amanda concluded.

Ada shrugged. “If you are in court, you are grasping for more power. But I have to admit that, if I’m right, Otto Hightower went about it in a very brilliant way.”

Nora made a disgruntled and incredulous sound at the back of her throat. “Brilliant? Alicent is drowning and she doesn’t even seem to notice that she lacks for air!”

“But she is married to the King of Westeros.” Ada pointed out. “I am not saying it was smart in the truly long term… but it did wield results.”

“I will advise to be careful where you say such a thing, Lady Ada.” Amanda’s voice was stern even if her blue eyes were a bit shaky. “The implications…” she trailed off.

“If we go far enough back, the implication is that someone orchestrated Queen Aemma’s miscarriages… her death too.” Ada spoke bluntly.

Rhaenyra closed her eyes. At the end, she too had wondered about it. But…

“We can’t do much about it.” Rhaenyra whispered tiredly. When all her words gathered were incredulous and shocked looks, Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “This is not the first time the thought occurred to me. But even if there was… this conspiracy, there is no way to prove it. My mother has been dead for moons… ashes to the wind. The only ones that could confirm it or deny are either from the Citadel, the Faith or a Hightower.”

Amanda closed her eyes at the truth in Rhaenyra’s words.

Ada pursed her lips again before sighing. “Well… it’s just a theory.”

“A theory that sounds scarily possible!” Nora almost yelled.

Amelia swallowed. “Not… perhaps not necessarily… Queen Aemma… has had difficulties… before Ser Otto arrived in court.” She chanced a look towards Rhaenyra.

“Yet the Queen gave birth to a healthy child the second she left King’s Landing.” Ada retorted. “And I never said that it was Ser Otto that did anything.”

“Enough.” Amanda was firm in a way that none in the room ever experienced it. “All this talk is pointless in the end. True or not, it does not change our immediate plans. We should focus our energy in properly receiving the new ladies.”

Maris remembered the dark cloud over Cassandra’s eyes when whispers of the King’s new marriage reached Storm’s End. All thought that it was to Lady Laena Velaryon… a single year older than Cassandra.

“All for the crown.” Maris whispered numbly.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

For some reason, Alicent had insisted on welcoming the new ladies into the Red Keep, and alongside her were her own ladies and several of the knights that now belonged to her household. Rhaenyra had to admit that while her ladies in waiting were clearly more elegant and more organized, Alicent’s knights cut a more impressive view.

Lady Ysabel might not be able to hide how uncomfortable she felt, Lady Henrietta, being only nine did not have it in herself to stiff her nervousness, and Lady Cassandra did not even bother to pretend to be supporting Alicent, leaning against a pillar on the far back from the group. And then, at Alicent’s right stood Gwayne Hightower. Rhaenyra did not quite dismiss the man, but it was hard to remember not to underestimate her enemy when they did not look all that extraordinary. She tried to keep in mind Daemon’s contacts in the assassin world, not many would give much thought to the man that called himself Cheese, even if his companion, Blood, was more imposing. Still, much like Otto, Gwayne was tall, but did not possess the physique of the more notable knights in the realm, something that his armor, as skillfully smithed as it was, could not quite hide.

If he was by himself, Rhaenyra would be… if not less on guard, then certainly less tense. But Ser Rickard Thorne seemed to have taken Alicent under his wing for whatever reason and Ser Arryk seemed indifferent if not glad to be assigned to protect the pregnant "Wife of the King". Criston Cole closed the circle and Rhaenyra could not help but want to shout at her father. Three kingsguards were now responsible for the would-be-queen’s protection.

Well, Rhaenyra took a deep breath, at least there would be less need of too many eyes on them if they kept so close together. She straightened as Ser Harrold started to announce the noble ladies.

Lady Lyra Hayford was of a height with Rhaenyra. Ten years her elder and it showed in the class of her hairstyle and the subtle gold accents of her dress that complimented her dark skin. Her hazel eyes looked calm and sure. She certainly didn’t look like someone that would smother someone… at least not out of jealousy. But then, Rhaenyra was forced to concede that she was not the best judge of character. She grimaced and tried not to turn to look at Alicent.

Lady Estell Caswell had brown hair, straight with a few strands tied back to keep them away from her face, light brown eyes seemed happy to be there. She was almost as small as Maris despite being eight years older than her fellow lady, a round face that she visibly inherited from her father but with enough youth to make it even rounder.

Lady Rosamund Darry was almost as tall as Ser Harwin and very lean. The style of her dress did not do much to hide her lack of curves and she seemed not to care if it did or not. Which was a contrast to the careful way her hair was kept up in an intricate style. Her dark brown hair was very curly from the few loose strands, her dark skin was flawless. Now Rhaenyra understood why, despite Ser Harwin’s not inconsiderable number of admirers, Nora only seemed to deem Lady Rosamund able to catch his eye with looks alone and therefore considered her more of a threat. Dark honey-colored eyes took in the Red Keep in polite interest.

And finally, Lady Elinda Massey. Blue eyes, soft, mousey hair that she preferred to wear as loosely as she could, a few freckles in a slightly pale face. She was a bit scared to be in a new place, her hand was tightly holding her mother’s, her age allowing for it, at least for now. Rhaenyra’s Dreams showed such a kind and gentle lady that, for the briefest of moments, she was reminded of Aemma Arryn. Due to her age, newly turned seven, she was still small, the smallest of her current ladies which, as she was side by side with Lady Rosamund, the tallest, was almost a bit comical.

Rhaenyra smiled as best as she could and addressed the veritable crowd. “I welcome you all to King’s Landing and the Red Keep. Please, feel welcome within these walls for the duration of your stay. Lord Allun and Ser Harrold shall escort you all to your chambers that, it is my hope, pleases you. Your retinue and horses shall be tended to of course.” A sudden bolt of inspiration hit Rhaenyra then and she turned towards Alicent and her new household. “I also take this fortunate chance to welcome those that I did not have the opportunity to do in the last few moons when I was absent, tending to my duties in Dragonstone. I hope that, in the meantime, the Red Keep received you with grace.”

Not many would miss the veiled blow that just landed at Alicent’s face. Even little Elinda Massey and Henrietta Woodhull had wide eyes on her. Rhaenyra was pleased to see that many of them were impressed by her and unimpressed at the fact that it seemed that the Lady Alicent was not affected simply by virtue of not understanding it.

Rhaenyra assimilated well the information brought to her by her own ladies. Ada and Maris provided important knowledge and she made sure to recognize it as she met their pleasantly surprised eyes and properly start to use it. Alicent's presence was likely cajoled by her father and she did not know to properly greet guests or more permanent residents as the case may be, accordingly as there were none since she came to King’s Landing. But Rhaenyra just did, which only emphasized the differences between them, the difference between their educations and stations.

At the same time, as the heir to the Iron Throne, Rhaenyra owned these people some sort of explanation. Which she just gave, for she was taking care of her own responsibilities. Her own, formal and official responsibilities as heir, while Alicent cannot even vocalize her own rank within the Red Keep for none, including her, knew what it was.

Then there was the fact that many would surely expect for Rhaenyra to be set aside as heir when the King remarried. Maybe it did not happen because none could be sure that the baby inside Alicent was a boy, but tongues wag, maybe the fact that she wasn’t set aside yet was not because the King did not wish to break oaths and force others to do so as well, of course not, but because Lady Alicent was unworthy of such after the scandal surrounding her. After all, Rhaenyra, a woman, was still the heir. What use was a boy from a disgraced lady, daughter of a second son from a House that was not even Paramount when Rhaenyra was the granddaughter of a lord paramount and a Targaryen princess, whose mother, the daughter of said lord paramount was of imppecable reputation and was queen consort of Westeros for over ten years?

Oh, but Viserys Targaryen’s blindness was easy to exploit. Rhaenyra thought, her heart racing.

Finally, there was the subtle taunt that Rhaenyra knew that Alicent’s ladies were housed in the White Sword Tower for the last few moons, whereas her own ladies always had quarters in Maegor’s Holdfast. And, as Rhaenyra knew well, it would not have occurred to Alicent to fight for them to have better accommodations.

If all that was not enough, Alicent clearly did not know what she was doing. Made clear when all that Rhaenyra’s words received was silence. Not even a voiced welcome to the retinue of the four noble ladies that were now part of a royal household.

Rhaenyra hardened her heart against the pity that surged suddenly. This felt like taking cake from a toddler, and she has seen that exact scene enough times between Aegon and Aemond to know that it was not too dissimilar to what she was feeling right now. However, the repercussions were much, much direr.

“Please, allow me to escort each one of you to your respective chambers.” Rhaenyra added.

~*~

(Lady Amanda Arryn)

With the new additions, it took longer to have a moment alone with Rhaenyra. She was kept too busy with her new charity project, consulting with Lord Lyman and then making sure that her new ladies were comfortable so they could start their own duties soon. It was almost a fortnight later, after they had dinner together in court, that Amanda approached Rhaenyra. And Rhaenyra was already aware of what she would ask.

“Are you sure about this?” Amanda could not help but ask again.

“Yes.” Her voice was as firm as it was a fortnight before.

“Desperation can do strange things to people, Rhaenyra. I want you to be careful. We will start looking for knights for your household.” Amanda cautioned. “Perhaps start with the new ladies’ retinue. Some of those knights are, after all, guarding the precious daughters of lords.”

“Thank you.” Rhaenyra’s shoulders relaxed a bit, but Amanda was not finished.

“Much like pretending to get lost in the Red Keep, there will be a time that Otto Hightower will notice his daughter’s flawed education and seek to rectify it. For all our sakes, this better be farther in the future.”

“I will… soften… my actions.” Rhaenyra agreed with some reluctance, but she saw the wisdom in her aunt’s words.

Amanda shook her head. “You do not need to do so, I meant… more subtlety is needed. With less audience that can alert Alicent, perhaps not to do so in front of Alicent herself either. More time on our hands will never be a bad thing.”

Spreading rumors behind Alicent’s back, while not something that Rhaenyra had not already done moons back, still brought forth those Dreams. That other Rhaenyra, ignorant and so trusting of her father’s power and law and the oaths given, turned her nose up to those tactics that she saw as beneath her, as low. Despite the fact that the Greens did not deign to extend the same courtesy.

True or not, the heir to the throne could not have their children’s parentage questioned. More than just disinheritance would face them, especially from a female heir. Rhaenyra closed her eyes. Mysaria would have advised to send Alicent and Helaena to brothels across King’s Landing. It was cruel, a torture really. But there was a reason most thought Rhaenyra had seriously considered it.

For more than a decade, Alicent and the rest of the Greens spread the rumors of bastardy of her three oldest sons. If Rhaenyra was yet unmarried, being disinherited and shamed would be the result if the King had judged that to be the truth. But she was not, and Alicent was accusing her of cuckolding her husband, in which case, Rhaenyra’s last concern would have been disinheritance. A possibility, the Faith would have demanded her execution, and thanks to Alicent, more specifically, thanks to Otto, never before had the Faith had such a strong political grasp on Westeros.

Without her… those three Strong boys would follow swiftly. Likely it would not be so, after all, the only time that Rhaenyra could remember her father speedily allowing an execution was with Vaemond Velaryon and precisely because of his accusations of her three sons being born from another. But it was still a possibility, there was still a chance. And the thought had cost her many sleepless nights in that future that will not be.

There was a point that Rhaenyra did not believe Alicent to be capable of cold murder. Rhaenyra had defended her against Daemon himself… but what difference did it make when Alicent surrounded herself with people that were capable of cold murder? And was ignorance any better an excuse? Alicent not knowing what her actions would bring?

When Daemon had Jaehaerys, Helaena’s son, murdered, Rhaenyra had slapped him so hard that the rings on her fingers almost gouged the skin on his cheek. When Aemond killed Lucerys, all Alicent did was utter, "Mother have mercy on us all", doing nothing when Aegon received Aemond with a feast, proclaiming that his brother "started well".

What use was not lowering to their level when their level was murder? This time, Rhaenyra was going to properly defend herself.

Chapter Text

(Lady Rosamund Darry)

Rosamund Darry appreciated the view from what was to be her new quarters. Despite the Darrys’ long-standing loyalty to House Targaryen, this was the first time Rosamund has come to King’s Landing. As kindly as she tried to see the city, Rosamund cannot help but wrinkle her nose at the smells as she travelled, pungent even inside the wheelhouse.

Still, the city was beautiful. And much fuller of life than Rosamund has ever seen. The Red Keep was also more opulent than Rosamund was used to. Castle Darry was not only a lot smaller, but the nearest city was almost half day away on horseback.

Rosamund was going to miss the abundancy of greenery surrounding her, however. She sighed and dismissed the servants who were finishing bringing her belongings to her new chambers. Her new, very luxurious chambers. Rosamund looked around, appreciating the spacious quarters given to her in the family wing of the Red Keep as well.

Which was a political message, a show. A strategic move.

Lord Derrick Darry was no fool and no oathbreaker. Her father had discussed the current political situation at length with Rosamund and her mother. She knew well the kind of danger she was to face agreeing to be Princess Rhaenyra’s lady in waiting just as she knew what her father’s stance on the matter would be, he would support the Princess as that was how he was raised. Rosamund considered herself fortunate that her father took her opinion and wishes into consideration.

Her musings were put to a halt at the knock on her door.

“Please come in.” Rosamund commanded.

“My Lady.” The servant that the Princess Rhaenyra had introduced as Annora came in then. “The Princess would like to inform that she wishes for you and the other new ladies to make yourselves comfortable in the next few days before she issues your new duties. I am at your service.” She bowed.

Rosamund felt her eyebrows rising. She was not quite sure whether Annora was specifically assigned to her or if the Princess only ever had her as a servant. A trustworthy one, at least. Whatever the case may be, she has seen the other woman more often than even the knight, Ser Lorent, who was asked by the Princess to escort them whenever possible.

“I am grateful for the chance to rest.” Rosamund answered instead, which was not a lie. She was not used to travel, the farthest she went was to Harrenhal and the Saltpans. Rosamund’s height allowed her to hide the fact that she was barefooted, as she took the first chance she had to divest herself from her uncomfortable formal boots.

Annora bowed again and Rosamund dismissed her.

On the other hand, Rosamund could understand why Princess Rhaenyra’s household was so small. Whispers made their way even to the North, let alone to the Trident.

All of Westeros had frowned in confusion and bafflement at the fact that Princess Rhaenyra’s household contained no knights and a single noble lady with a few servants and even fewer maids. Considering who was the only noble lady accompanying the Princess, it did not take long for the Houses of Westeros to understand the situation… or at least arrive at their own conclusions.

A second son from a House not even paramount was made Hand… why wouldn’t his daughter become the sole lady in waiting for the King’s only daughter?

A few days later, during which time Rosamund was quite surprised at the fact that Princess Rhaenyra would visit her every few hours between her duties in order to see to her comfort, she was seated next to Lady Estell as they all shared a meal with the Princess’ household. It was a good thing that the Princess’ chambers were so spacious for there were ten noble ladies, the Princess herself and the servants going about plating their food.

“I hope you found some rest in the last few days. Travel is always tiring.” The Princess started quietly but she seemed genuine enough.

“We did, My Princess.” Lady Lyra nodded, her hazel eyes were sharp. “We deeply appreciate the fact that our quarters are in the family wing of Maegor’s Holdfast.”

Rosamund was not the only one to notice then. And she probably was not the only one who heard about the fact that Lady Alicent’s ladies… she paused a moment at the odd phrasing… were accommodated in the White Sword Tower during the first few months of their arrival. And it was not until Princess Rhaenyra’s own ladies were to arrive and occupy the chambers given to them moons prior that they were moved to Maegor’s Holdfast.

Steadying her nerves, Rosamund smiled at the Princess. “Indeed. We are here to serve you.”

It seemed to be all that the Princess needed. Although she still looked hesitant, the Princess started to share some of her plans for her charity project.

“I was hoping Lady Lyra would accompany me and Ladies Nora and Amelia into the city. I understand that you are more familiar with King’s Landing?” The Princess asked then.

“I am.” Lady Lyra Hayford confirmed. “I would be honored then.”

“Thank you.” The Princess smiled. “I was thinking about building it in Visenya’s Hill. The sept takes quite a bit of land, but the surrounding areas are all but empty. I also understand that the building itself will be too small and too short staffed to properly attend the future demand. Especially for the homeless and the ill, but the food and medicine can be provided and are certainly the priority.” She turned to Lady Ada Stark who nodded in approval.

“I understood that this is to be a competition against the King’s wife.” Lady Estell Caswell commented. Her light brown eyes were narrowed which alongside her words were a bit peculiar as her round face gave her an innocent look.

“Your father is well informed.” Lady Amelia commented lightly.

Yet, Lady Estell merely smiled, demurely and politely. “Of course. My father is, above all, loyal.”

That was perhaps not embellished, but Lady Estell certainly was not a believer in subtlety. It was, however, important that they earn the Princess’ trust. If nothing else because they are to work together and live together.

“I need you to understand something, my daughter.” Her mother had talked to her in private, not even servants to hear the murmur as the Lady of Castle Darry touched her mouth to her daughter’s ear. “If you agree, there are two options. You spy on the Princess, or you lay your life for hers. Either one will see you in danger. You are to be the Princess’ strength and weakness both. Lady Alicent or her supporters will seek to undermine the Princess and strengthen themselves through you and the Princess Rhaenyra will seek to undermine Lady Alicent and strengthen herself through you.”

Rosamund straightened her back and kept her mother’s words close. “What is to be done?”

As Princess Rhaenyra expertly divided their tasks, Rosamund took a deep breath. Life was the price. And no matter if it was the Darry seat or the Iron Throne, Rosamund has been at her own father’s side for her entire life. If the gossip held any truth, King Viserys did the same but hardly ever truly ruled, at least did not do so with a firm wrist and with a demonstration of either force or wits. In that, Rosamund felt the weight but also the support from her parents.

She turned to look at the Princess. It was the middle of the day, and she knew that Lady Amanda woke the Princess almost at dawn. She has been awake for hours and when the ladies were announced, she was furiously writing on scroll after scroll. Her work already forming a pile on her desk. Her lilac eyes were sharp as steel, but that fact did not hide the bruises of sleepless nights under them.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

Lady Lyra did not try to break the silence as they made their way to Visenya’s Hill. Much like her first ladies did with Amanda, the ones keeping Rhaenyra company seemed to follow their eldest’ lead. Amelia and Ada might have known Rhaenyra longer but there was a certain authority in the way Lady Lyra behaved that inspired some respect.

Rhaenyra wondered if that was merely age as Lady Lyra was ten years older than herself or something else. Whatever it was, Rhaenyra was grateful for it. She was quite tired and couldn’t find it in herself to entertain pleasantries right at that moment.

The building itself was in good enough condition which means it would only require renovation instead of being constructed from the ground.

“It is quite big.” Ada pursed her lips in disapproval.

“A necessity considering King’s Lading population.” Lady Lyra replied politely.

Rhaenyra sighed. “Ser Harwin, Ser Luthor, you are quite used to frequent the city. What is your opinion?”

It was no coincidence that, alongside Ser Harrold, Ser Erryk and Ser Steffon, Ser Harwin and Ser Luthor were also part of her security for the day. Rhaenyra’s explanation was that they were part of the City Watch and thus knew King’s Landing better than any knight.

Ser Luthor was taciturn, but Rhaenyra knew him to be one of the most loyal men that followed her uncle. “It is ambitious… even small for the populace that will frequent it.”

Ada was roughly Rhaenyra’s height which, put next to Ser Luthor’ gargantuan size made for quite the sight, but that did not stop Ada from discussing with the man. “Yes,” she allowed, “yet such a project will require just as many coins. Coin that we would need to hire those that will care for the people.”

“I say as it is, My Lady.” Ser Luthor had always put more value in actions than words and there was no more need for words after that.

Ada made a disgruntled noise at the back of her throat.

“Maybe you should address the people themselves, My Princess.” Lady Lyra called quietly but when Rhaenyra turned, Lady Lyra was not looking at her.

Following her gaze, Rhaenyra was unsurprised to see quite the crowd had formed some distance from them.

The knights charged with their protection, truly, her protection, all tensed. But Rhaenyra was expecting such. A royal wheelhouse always attracted attention for the people knew who was likely to be inside. As a princess, as the only child of the King, at least so far, Rhaenyra was safe guarded like the most fragile of crystals. If this was her second or third time in the city she could not rightly recall, but it was certainly less than five times that she has visited the city she has lived in all her life.

Ser Erryk and Ser Luthor quickly took to her sides as she approached the smallfolk gathered. The citizens all fell silent and somewhere, deep inside Rhaenyra exulted as men, women and children gazed at her, eyes wide in awe as they gazed at her silvery hair and purple eyes. They were well accustomed to Prince Daemon who had the same looks if not the same features, but Rhaenyra knew that not since the times of her grandaunts they had seen a Targaryen woman walking among them.

“Good eve to you all. I am Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.” The words felt queer in her mouth, Rhaenyra could not remember the last time she had to introduce herself. That was always reserved to the herald, if not, the ones she talked to always knew who she was. Still, manners must. “It is my honor to talk to you in this day. As you know, the Good Queen Alysanne has always taken her priority the betterment of the people’s lives.” There she hesitated, but… “My mother, the Queen Aemma has done her best to continue such an endeavor and I plan to do the same. I am not queen yet, but it is still a duty I take with the seriousness it deserves for the people of King’s Landing deserve nothing else.”

Rhaenyra did not expect the tentative applause. It was almost thunderous due to the number of spectators but hesitant as well. She smiled as best as she could. Rhaenyra wanted to say more, say how she wanted to welcome input, how they thought their lives could improve.

However, the presence of the knights at her back reminded her that, despite Daemon’s best efforts to rid King’s Landing of its more unfortunate presences, Rhaenyra’s own position is too shaky. She is too surrounded by enemies from all sides to lower her guard. Swallowing with some difficulty, Rhaenyra tried to keep the images of the riots at bay.

“You are skilled.” Lady Lyra commented once Rhaenyra gave a last smile to the crowd.

“Excuse me?” Rhaenyra turned to her.

“You must know that the entire realm was shocked when the King made you heir. The Great Council of 101 had repercussions beyond King’s Landing. The Arryns for instance struggled with the precedent set, at least partially.” Lady Lyra went on to explain, her voice was low, quiet even with the lack of an audience that would betray Rhaenyra’s secrets, but Rhaenyra doubted that even Ser Erryk, who was staging closest to her could hear Lady Lyra very well.

Rhaenyra swallowed a sarcastic comment. “I am surprised that the fact that I am a woman was not the focus.”

Lady Lyra chose not to address the bitterness and Rhaenyra felt her respect rising a bit for her new lady. “If the lords of the realm were fairer, they would admit that there isn’t much difference between being king or being queen consort. The difference is that the king has the power to actually do his duties. Yet both lead the realm. Both need extensive lessons in governance, leading households… just because one learns how to sew and the other learns how to fight does not mean that, at the end of the day, the queen is not equally responsible for her people.” Lady Lyra paused in thought. “Not that any lord in their right mind would admit such. The same applies to them after all.”

“I never put it in words, but I am not unaware… why are you saying all this?”

“Because… Realm’s Delight or not, the realm doesn’t actually know much about you. Granted, we do not know much about the King either with his preference for staying in the capital. King Viserys is prone to lavish feasts and enormous prizes for jousts, Princess Rhaenyra is charming and spoiled and her smile could light up a room. That does not say much about our monarchs.” Lady Lyra continued. “Suddenly, who you are and if you are a capable leader matters in a way it never did with King Viserys. You will be scrutinized in a way that men never would be.” Suddenly she smiled, not a polite one, but a bright one. “It is good to know that I am to follow someone like you.”

~*~

“Stone is more durable.” Nora argued.

“And it is more expensive.” Ada said back. “Wood can withstand just as well and the walls are not crumbling to the ground, they need renovation, not to be put down and raised again.”

“King’s Landing does not have harsh weather conditions.” Amelia had to agree with Ada. “Wood is just as easy to maintain properly. And we can use the money to hire the workers, speed up the process and keep the place open for longer before we have to find an alternative source of coin.”

“Have you thought about a name, My Princess?” Lady Estell asked instead.

“… would it be… seen as a slight if I wanted to name it on honor of my mother?” Rhaenyra asked Amanda instead.

In truth, Rhaenyra was not even thinking about hurting Alicent’s stance or not. But when Lady Estell asked about names… all Rhaenyra could think of was all that her mother could have marked her own name in history books and never had the chance to do so. Of course, she was married to the king, Aemma Arryn was Queen consort of Westeros. But she did not have accomplishments of her own and Rhaenyra knew well that she could have had. She was kind enough to want to help if nothing else. Rhaenyra had not lied to the smallfolk about it.

Still, Rhaenyra knew that to do so… especially when Alicent is also working on something as a charity venture was to invite trouble. She had already exposed Alicent’s lack of knowledge when her new ladies arrived, she had publicly mentioned her mother earlier that day. But to now name her project after Aemma Arryn?

“If we are careful, then it should not be so.” Amanda’s blue eyes were gentle though. “You are young and still mourning your mother. Less than a solar turn passed since her death, no one would raise any eyebrows at the fact that, by taking the Queen’s duties, you are reminded of her. I suggest, however, that you only name the place once it is complete. Do not invite trouble sooner than you need. Your intention or not, it is true that many would see it as a slight against Lady Alicent.”

“Lady Alicent’s entire existence is a slight against Lady Alicent.” Nora derided which provoked giggles out of most of the ladies, Rhaenyra even found it in herself to give half a smile.

“What about your name day celebration, My Princess?” Lady Rosamund inquired. “We have not heard of much about the day.”

“I am letting my father be in charge of preparations.” Rhaenyra dismissed, quite indifferently.

Estell and Rosamund exchanged glances but when they saw that their fellow ladies were also unconcerned, they set it aside.

There was a knock to her door then. “My Princess. The Lady Maris.” Ser Erryk announced.

Maris entered quickly followed by Wilbur. “My Princess.” She greeted and Wilbur was quick to bow as well, they waited just long enough for Ser Erryk to close the heavy doors. “Ser Otto has increased Alicent’s coin for her projects and Wilbur found out about Alicent’s plans. The sept in Visenya’s Hill, she intends to take it down and build a much grander one in its place.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes. “Predictable.”

Those who have heard a single gossip of Alicent nodded in assent. None in the room was impressed at the idea.

“My Princess.” Wilbur bowed. “While Lady Alicent is focused on a big sept to replace the old one, the Lord Hand has been in talks with the captains of the City Watch. Ser Luthor Largent was requested to dine with him within the sennight.”

That made the ladies straighten up on their seats. Worry was prevalent especially in Amanda’s eyes.

“Thank you, Wilbur. Please rest for the day.” Rhaenyra dismissed so they could continue to talk.

The boy bowed clumsily before getting out. His silent feet and swift gait assuring Rhaenyra of his discreet nature.

“The Lord Hand has never taken much interest in the City Watch, at least not before Prince Daemon became its commander and gained much of his political and military power through the position.” Amanda frowned.

Rhaenyra, however, was not very surprised. Worried, she could not deny but this was not so unexpected.

“Father tells us that since Prince Daemon left three moons ago, crime has increased, especially in Flea Bottom and near the Gate of the Gods.” Amelia commented.

“I was under the impression that Lord Lyonel was not overly fond of Prince Daemon.” Lady Lyra commented lightly, not meaning to offend.

But Nora and Amelia were indifferent. “He is not.” Amelia agreed. “But even he cannot deny that his work as Master of Law is easier with a firmer hand guiding the City Watch, our primary law enforcement.”

“Flea Bottom houses our poorest citizens, and the Gate of the Gods are too far to be properly influenced by one of the pillars of power of King’s Landing.” Rhaenyra sighed.

Elinda bit her lip but pronounced herself for the first time then. Rhaenyra had noticed that the young girl only spoke to seek for explanation for something she does not know.

“One of the… pillars of power, My Princess?”

“The Red Keep in Aegon’s Hill, the Dragonpit in Rhaenys’ Hill and the sept in Visenya’s Hill. No many are desperate enough and courageous enough to try anything close to the castle where our garrison resides, near the dragons or near the sept. The first two are obvious enough and fear of divine retribution stays their hand in the third one.” Rhaenyra grimaced briefly before clearing her expression. “Flea Bottom, despite being in between the Red Keep and the Dragonpit, suffers due to poverty however.”

“It does not help that it is also where most of the brothels are.” Ada raised an eyebrow and did not see how Elinda blushed deeply red.

But Lyra shook her head. “Everywhere that can have brothels will have brothels. Tis the nature of men.”

Ada scoffed. “Brothels are not uncommon in the North, Lady Lyra. I do, however, admit that the necessities of the flesh such as food and shelter take precedent over ale and fucking.”

When Elinda almost squeaked, Rhaenyra decided that enough was enough. “I think we have sufficiently discussed the matter of such establishments.” She said pointedly and when her eyes met Ada’s, Rhaenyra quickly averted them towards Elinda.

Ada followed her gaze and winced very discreetly. She had the good grace to murmur an apology and look genuinely contrite.

Rosamund delicately cleared her throat. “As for the matter of the City Watch…?”

“Politically, Otto cannot do much more. He is Hand of the King and the reasoning behind not giving Lady Alicent a crown is sound and almost universally supported. From the word being spread is that aside from some veiled comments, he has stopped trying to convince the King to give a royal title to Alicent.” Amanda started, a look of approval towards Rhaenyra handling her ladies.

“Coin is Lord Lyman’s prerogative and no matter how much favor is bestowed by the King, Lord Lyman would never falter as Master of Coin.” Nora was very sure of such.

“Otto has his own coffers. The man never spent much, and he has been Hand for close to two decades now. I doubt that the sum he gave Alicent is a small one, regardless, a new sept does not give the people anything they did not already have.” Rhaenyra rubbed her temples lightly. “But involvement of the Gold Cloaks, although foreseeable, can mean trouble.”

“Ser Otto has been smart.” Lyra admitted with reluctancy. “Although rejections and lack of choice certainly played a part, once he saw there was no longer much to gain from acquiring ladies in waiting, he focused his energy on increasing the swords and shields surrounding his daughter.”

“Unless he is thinking of overtaking King’s Landing by force, most knights think that partaking in gossip to be beneath them.” Amelia pointed out, knowing from experience with her brother, Harwin.

“Partaking in gossip no, but knights or not, they are still to follow royalty day in and day out. They are a valuable source of information if their loyalty is not secured.” Rosamund argued.

Rhaenyra reproached herself for her oversight in telling her ladies about the knights. “This is actually why I am careful with the choice of my sworn shield. For now, I do not have an official one, but I know that, from the Kingsguards, Ser Erryk Cargyll, Ser Steffon Darklyn, Ser Lorent Marbrand and Ser Harrold Westerling will keep our confidence.”

“Our brother as well.” Amelia was quick to point out.

Rhaenyra wanted to say the same about Ser Luthor, but she learned the hard way not to trust right away, not to trust without reason and she had just met Lyra, Rosamund and Estell. And Elinda was simply too young and untested.

“But that makes matters… perhaps not simple, but understandable.” Lady Estell concluded. “Ser Otto would want a more definite hold on King’s Landing now that the Red Keep is seemly as filled with his supporters as he can make it.”

Rhaenyra bit her own tongue not to say that the Gold Cloaks’ ranks were filled with men loyal to Daemon. Decades would pass but they would always remember how much Daemon Targaryen has done for their sake. That loyalty, for a great part, even extended to her. Still, it was true that the captains followed the Greens by the time of the war, for nothing else than because they wish to follow the winning side and with Rhaenyra in Dragonstone and Aegon being publicly crowned, their actions were almost expected.

Such information will never pass through her lips. Not until the Gold Cloaks themselves revolt in favor of Daemon. Let Otto and whatever other leech he invites to court find out on their own that as much as they took oaths like words, so did their own supposed supporters.

Rhaenyra did not fool herself for the other reason for her secrecy. Her five first ladies, with the exception of Lady Amanda and, perhaps now, Lady Maris, did not yet have their loyalty tested. Ada was a Stark, and for them oathbreakers are as bad as kinslayers but Rhaenyra knew well the fragility of oaths. Ladies Nora and Amelia, she knew from those Dreams, stayed her ladies even after Larys took Harrenhal for himself. Still, the Gold Cloaks were so intrinsically Daemon’s that Rhaenyra found herself reluctant to share that piece of his, it was his secret, his advantage, his weapon.

Rhaenyra could well use the Gold Cloaks through Harwin, after all his sisters were her ladies. But to expose Daemon so consciously was not in her. Rhaenyra could expose herself with the eggs she took and the Targaryens she was allying with, as far as they knew, Rhaenys and Daemon were following her lead. But there was a reason she did not say anything about Mysaria either. Traitor of a bitch or not, she was still one of Daemon’s tools.

“Everything else is well on its way. The preparations for Rhaenyra’s name day and we have already contacted the builders for our project for the city. Let’s start focusing on the knights for your household.” Amanda grabbed a pile of paper sheets for their notes.

“I have made a list with potential knights.” Rhaenyra reached inside her pocket and unfolded the paper, handing it to a surprised Amanda.

Rhaenyra did not mention the sleepless nights that preceded it. How Rhaenyra feverishly researched and noted the names down once she realized the number of new knights that composed Alicent’s household. Or at least her direct safety.

“There are a few bastards here.” Amanda noticed.

Rhaenyra was thankful that no lady of hers reacted at the scandalous possibility.

“Their… rumored skills compensate for such. At least, that is my hope.” Rhaenyra replied.

Rhaenyra was careful to put names that she knew to be old enough to be knights. Some of the knights she would wish for, she knew, were not men grown, not yet at least.

“Rumors are not fact. It is too late for the invitations to be sent out for them to arrive at the celebration for your name day, My Princess, but we can still take advantage of it. Announce in the same day an invitation to all knights low and highborn to compete instead for a place in your household.” Rosamund suggested, in her eyes clear the excitement she had for such an event and for having the idea.

“The War for the White Cloak.” Rhaenyra said to herself. “Still considered one of Queen Alyssa Velaryon’s most brilliant ideas to fill the ranks of the Kingsguards.”

“To be in the household of a princess might not be as great honor as being a kingsguard, but not many men would turn down the possibility. And neither would they turn down the possibility of showing their skills, if not for your household, then other high-ranking nobles would be interested instead.” Lyra agreed.

“I like it.” Rhaenyra commented with a small smile.

“There is also the added benefit of showing all how many knights competed for the honor of serving you when the Lady Alicent had to send raven after raven to fill her household.” Nora smiled cattily.

Amanda sighed. “Do you girls recall when I warned you about being too overt about exposing Lady Alicent’s shortcomings?”

Rhaenyra was not the only one to wince. “The charity project will not be ready for moons still, we can postpone the naming until then. The idea about inviting knights for what is ostensibly a War for the White Cloak is a good one, however, it will ensure I have some of the best the realm has to offer at least. If Alicent feels offended there is not much I can do. Anything else can be postponed.”

“The mummer’s show.” Amelia pointed out.

“Subtle enough that if anyone comments, they will look like they’re chasing ghosts.” Rhaenyra was certain, she chose the story for a reason after all. It won't stay that way, of course.

“All put together, however, would alert the Lord Hand.” Amanda emphasized. “The danger is not Lady Alicent, not yet, but Ser Otto and however long the man takes to realize that his daughter does not know how to wage the war of court.”

Another knock came from the door before Rhaenyra had the chance to think of an answer.

“The boy, Levi, here to meet with Lady Ada.” Ser Erryk announced.

Ada quickly got up to see what the boy wanted. Levi did not approach the rest of the ladies, merely bowed to the Princess from where he was standing and delivered the message to Ada before departing.

“What is it?” Rhaenyra asked, not knowing what to make of Ada’s expression.

“Princess… Saera… wishes to speak with you.”

Chapter Text

(Lady Ada Stark)

“Please tell me you did not come on Vermithor.” Ada could not care less that she was speaking to royalty.

Princess Saera was the bane of her patience. Ada could not remember even her own brother being such a bother. Spoiled was the trait of any nobility, Ada had to admit that even she had her moments, but Princess Saera really established a whole new meaning to the word. Impatient, prone to ridiculous fancies and lording her power over Ada just because Princess Rhaenyra assigned her to the other princess. Some of her requests like asking Ada for water from the highest peak of Dragonstone so the Princess could bathe still rang in Ada’s ears.

Could she really be blamed for requesting a few knights to get the water from the nearest stream instead?

Dragonstone had a system of pipes that brought the water to them as well!

In other circumstances, if Princess Saera was Princess Rhaenyra’s age or similarly enough and unaware of how insufferable she was to those around her, Ada would overlook the attitude. Yet that was not the case. Saera seemed to want to test her limits for her own amusement and Ada was about to stab a princess…

And now, so surprised Ada was at Wilbur’s message that she just blurted out Saera’s presence, and the fact that Princess Rhaenyra was in contact with her grandaunt, to the other women. Women that they had yet to get to know properly and therefore, had no way of knowing if they were trustworthy. Ada cursed at her mistake.

Still, Princess Saera looked as inconspicuous as Ada had ever seen her. Her long silvery hair was tied and hidden beneath a shawl that looked fashionable enough without looking either like an old woman or a septa for Ada’s untrained eye. Her dress was elegant but nothing that called attention. Though, their place of meeting, an abandoned cave in the Dragonpit did not fill Ada with confidence.

Princess Saera eyed her as if questioning Ada’s intelligence. “Of course not. I came with the latest ship that sailed from Dragonstone. Where is my niece?” She asked before Ada could retort.

“Princess Rhaenyra is being kept busy with—”

“Oh, I heard.” Princess Saera interrupted her. “The Lord Hand,” she seemed to mock the title, “is working nonstop to suppress the gossip from leaving King’s Landing, but Daemon has quite a few ears spread about and he is making sure that words reaches others as well.”

That froze Ada on the spot. “Are you telling me that Prince Daemon is getting news from King’s Landing all the way from the Stepstones in the middle of war?” she did not even know what to emphasize.

Saera’s eyes were sharp, there was not an inconsiderable amount of anger there. “Tell the Princess that Daemon took care of the White Worm, and that King’s Landing’s… worm problem is now with him.”

Ada gawked at the message that made absolutely no sense to her. “Excuse me?”

Saera rolled her eyes. “Just tell Rhaenyra that. She will understand. Although… being told that Daemon is with the White Worm right now may distract her. Not that Daemon thought of that either.” She rolled her eyes again.

“What is white worm?” To Ada’s complete confusion, Princess Saera snorted.

“I understand that for those that do not know the entire story, that is the obvious question to ask but it is entertaining how you and the Princess asked the same thing.”

But Ada merely closed her eyes. “… My Princess…” she started with clear desire to call Saera something else entirely.

“Just tell the Princess I will be around more often. Every moon or so I will go back to Dragonstone with information. And not to worry, I know how to be very discreet. Tell her that Daemon put some men in charge of bringing him the White Worm and that they were very… welcoming. I have taken most of the visible business while they interrogate the information of how to operate the hidden one.”

“Was that supposed to be a complete sentence?” Ada tried not to sneer.

“Of course not.” Saera once again looked at Ada as if she was simple. “Also, tell the Princess that I have never overseen a hidden business before, so do not expect much from me on that front. Still, Daemon wants the White Worm’s little kingdom dismantled from the inside out, an advantage is not an advantage if everyone has access to it. I tried to convince him that the whole thing could still be used, if only to spread false information, but he was adamant that ‘future experience’ taught him to cut the traitors root and steam.”

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

“My uncle can be an idiot.” But Rhaenyra did not sound reproachful even to her own ears.

Ada was squirming in curiosity, but she knew better than to ask when Saera went to such a length to hide her meaning. Not even her Aunt Amanda received an explanation, however.

“Does… whatever that was interfere with our plans?” Nora asked, equally baffled.

Rhaenyra thought about it. “No. In truth, it would only have been a real problem years from now… either Daemon wishes to turn that to his advantage… and getting his own revenge…”

Or he did it for me. Rhaenyra did not dare to say it out loud. She did not know…

“Death is too good for the likes of her.”

“… Daemon put some men in charge of bringing him the White Worm and that they were very… welcoming.”

Rhaenyra shuddered. Daemon could be cruelly creative when the occasion called for it and for all of Mysaria’s skills, she had no way to leave a war camp by herself. Rhaenyra never knew Daemon to prefer long torture when a quick swing of the sword was an option, but then… she also never saw such a murderous look in his amethyst eyes as the one he had when he confronted her in Dragonstone, after having his own Dreams.

While Daemon abhorred the idea of rapists, his imagination was very fertile when he felt wronged.

And the list of names that helped their downfall in those Dreams did not lack numbers. Although some were more directly responsible than others. Mysaria did help in the war effort… she also helped herself more. Rhaenyra did not know whether Mysaria wished Daemon for himself, revenge on him, perhaps on Rhaenyra too… whatever her reasons may be, she wished to create discord between them.

“I assume that the absence of our new companions is deliberate.” Maris looked around Rhaenyra’s room.

Rhaenyra sighed. “I do not know them well. For now, the more sensitive information is better served with us.”

Ada winced and Rhaenyra did not say anything to that. Accident or not it was a mistake that could not be repeated.

“What of them knowing about Princess Saera?” Maris asked.

“Nothing to be done about that.” Although Rhaenyra was clearly not very happy.

Ada blushed while Amanda nodded at her and then frowned when she saw the concern that Rhaenyra did not withhold. “What is it?”

“Otto uses the White Worm on occasion.” Rhaenyra said more to herself than the women around her who would not understand it anyway. “If he tries contact and fails… or if Saera knows not what to expect, I fear it will be just one more thing that will push him over the edge. Perhaps it will be wiser to hurry our plans.”

~*~

Rhaenyra had to give due credit to her uncle. Eavesdropping small council meetings in the guise of being late to them was quite the tool.

“I have said numerous times that I do not wish for such frequency in small council meetings on the moon before my daughter comes of age.” Viserys hissed. “And where is Rhaenyra either way?” he looked around the chamber as if the Princess would show up from the stones themselves.

Rhaenyra could not help the thought that for the first time in moons, the meeting was a needed one. She also allowed herself a moment of amusement that the King did not seem to notice that the Lord Hand was also absent. Probably making sure that his daughter did not misstep more than she already had.

“Forgive us, Your Grace. However, the coin set aside to celebrate the Princess’ name day seems to be insufficient.” Lord Lyman started.

“What in the seven hells? It is barely more than her other name day celebrations!” Her father did not even try to hide his shock.

“Well… to be truthful, it is the coin set aside for the food. Lady Alicent was put in charge of inviting the guests, and considering the occasion, it is expected that all the Houses of Westeros are to be invited and there is a considerable number of them that have already confirmed their presence. With the new taxes approved on the Vale, most merchants seem to think that importing to King’s Landing to be… bad business. They lose more coin than they gain. The flux of merchants and produce has significantly decreased, it has stopped altogether in the last sennight. To travel to the Vale instead would be costly indeed.” Lord Lyman went on to explain.

If the King paid attention, there would be no doubt why neither the Princess nor the Lord Hand were… too hastily informed of the meeting. Rhaenyra scowled at the too calm valet that went to retrieve her that looked rightly surprised at the fact that she was already ready and halfway to the small council chambers. Rhaenyra made sure to memorize his face and name. Although much of it was put out of her mind at the information that it was Alicent who was responsible for the guest list.

Usually, Rhaenyra would sneer at the audacity, but those Dreams taught her that the better path was to use all and every situation to her advantage. Even ones that seem to slight her could be used in turn. Rhaenyra already knew how this could be used.

“Yesterday we received this.” Lord Lyonel handed the letter penned by Jeyne Arryn personally.

Viserys quickly read through it with increasing annoyance and shock.

“What…” The King trailed off.

“It is my wish that Princess Rhaenyra celebrates with joy. She is the Realm’s Delight and our greatest treasure.

Lady Jeyne Arryn, Lady of Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East.”

It had to be the shortest letter ever written for royalty. Rhaenyra could hardly hold back her laughter. She had to remind herself to pen a letter to Jeyne. The last one was almost a fortnight before, and Rhaenyra was admittedly missing her cousin.

“It came with several carts of Vale products. Gifts, one of the merchants said, to the Princess’ name day celebration.” Lord Lyman swallowed a too big gulp of wine. 

Rhaenyra was almost impressed that he did not choke.

But, for some reason, the King seemed to relax. “Well,” he chuckled, “then all was resolved. Lady Jeyne seems fond of Rhaenyra, my daughter coming of age would sooth the most contentions of relationships.”

Between whom? Rhaenyra gawked. 

Lord Lyman looked discomfited for a few moments before shaking his head. “Well, yes, but once the Princess’ name day passes, we will go back to find trouble buying the necessary items from the Vale.”

“Otto was right, however. Lady Jeyne needs to be put in her place.” The King looked unusually angered. “Her words… and right at the heels of my marriage to Alicent were completely disrespectful, on her head be it if they cannot sell to King’s Landing.”

“Your Grace, if I may, even if the Vale stops trade with King’s Landing, they are still one of the major supplier of food necessities. Yes, as time passes, maybe it will start hurting their purses to pay taxes to The Crown and being unable to sell in one of the seven kingdoms, but in a much shorter time we shall feel it in our daily lives.” Ser Harrold tried to argue.

But Viserys merely rolled his eyes. “All that we can get from the Vale, we can get from the Reach.”

Rhaenyra knew where that piece of logic came from.

Ser Tyland blinked at that and then frowned. “That is not… incorrect… but ultimately, they have different focus of commerce. While the Reach supplies mostly fruits, the Vale is responsible for grains and vegetables. Not to mention that more often than not, people do prefer the Vale’s, for their richer taste and greater size.”

“Is there a timeframe? For the sanctions to end, that is?” Lord Lyman asked instead, visibly nervous at what would come in the next seasons.

“I shall leave that to a later date. If that will be all…” when they saw that Viserys was about to get up, Mellos hurried to say the other details.

“I believe the Lord Hand had already commented, but Princess Rhaenyra has let her dragon roam free through the skies of King’s Landing.”

Her father hummed. He seemed a bit displeased, but not all that unhappy. “Syrax is still young. A small dragon.”

The members of the small council exchanged looks but did not disagree. Some of them were old enough and had been members of the council when it was Jaehaerys wearing the crown, they remember when Vermithor and Silverwing made their nests in the Dragonpit, as well Balerion before his death, and Vhagar was still alive. In comparison, Syrax was truly a bit on the small side. If any creature more than twice the size of the royal wheelhouse could be considered small. Rhaenyra smiled to herself and decided that she heard enough.

Rhaenyra quickly got out of the secret passages into the same empty room she used to get inside and smiled as she greeted Ser Erryk who was guarding the closed doors. They calmly made their way to the small council chambers where Ser Erryk announced her. Impeccable timing. Rhaenyra amused herself.

“The Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Princess of the Blood of House Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne.”

“Good eve, My Lords. I apologize for the tardiness, but I was tending to Syrax when a valet informed me of the meeting.”

“No matter, no matter.” The King waved her inside where she sat to his right.

Almost a moon before, when Rhaenyra and her ladies came back, she displaced Otto from the seat. Something that still amused Rhaenyra to think about when reminded of the expression on his face.

“We were just talking about your dragon, My Princess.” Mellos said a bit unwillingly.

It did not seem that the members of the council presently attending the meeting disagreed, exactly, with letting her dragon roam free. Rhaenyra was responsible and personally fed her many sheep and cattle almost every day, still, she could see her father being convinced to at least have a talk with her about the possible dangers. As if Rhaenyra had not received the same instructions from Daemon years prior.

In all the years that the councilmembers accumulated at court, they learned that dragons rarely attacked if they were not provoked first. Still, people could be stupid at times. Dares between young men and being at the wrong place at the wrong time could prove fatal and did prove themselves fatal nearest the Dragonpit. Syrax was well behaved, however, and Rhaenyra made sure that she was to avoid people.

Before Rhaenyra could find the right words to defend Syrax’s freedom, the doors to the small council chambers almost banged open.

“Ah! Otto! I was wondering where you were.” It was almost amusing to see that the King was the only one happy to see the man.

As the moons passed and bitterness gave way to more reasonable thoughts, even someone as taciturn as Lord Lyonel could not help but narrow his eyes towards the Lord Hand. Wondering, if nothing else, what if Lady Alicent was never found in the King’s chambers? What if the council pressed His Grace enough to remarry and the King chose Lady Alicent of his own free will?

Lord Lyonel well knew that his own position was scrutinized in the last few moons. He was the Master of Law, and now his two daughters were part of the Princess’ household. Although, and he was smug enough to say so as often as any questioned him, it was by the Princess’ own request that it was so. He did not have to throw his daughters onto the Princess’ bed in order to grasp at more power. Of course, those were not his words, but all understood the sentiment behind them.

It was with no small amount of amusement that Rhaenyra heard about it from Nora and Amelia. 

Otto calmly walked to his seat and slotted his sphere in place. And Rhaenyra had the childish urge to say that the meeting was over.

“I am deeply sorry, Your Grace, I only received the warning about a meeting a few moments ago. What seems to be the subject of discussion?”

“Princess Rhaenyra’s dragon.” Tyland answered grudgingly.

“Ah, yes. Something I have been meaning to bring to His Grace’s attention once more.”

Of course, you were. Rhaenyra had more self-control than this, she refused to roll her eyes.

“I can talk to my daughter, but Syrax is docile enough.”

“Accidents can still happen, Your Grace, is it not better to contain the dragon in the pit as it is the usual?” Otto tried to insist.

It was petty, it was such a small detail, and it did not truly make a difference either way for Lyonel, but it seemed that Otto did not make any friends in the small council. “Before the construction of the Dragonpit, the dragons were free to come and go. If there are any accidents, history taught us that they were due to the recklessness and idiocy of others.”

“I quite agree!” The King shrugged in indifference. 

Lyonel feigned confusion at the glare Otto sent his way. Rhaenyra almost smirked. In all honesty, she understood Otto’s insistence that Syrax be chained. It was a constant reminder that the crown Princess had a nearly adult dragon, with the size of one to boast as well, one that hatched in her cradle and one that she rode at the age of seven, the youngest Targaryen in recorded history to do so. There was not a more concrete sign of Targaryen legitimacy. 

Otto could insist that an egg is to be placed in his grandchild’s cradle all he wanted. But, if the time that maesters divulged was correct and no moon was subtracted from the count in order to cover an earlier affair, then it would be another five to six moons before the child arrives and roughly one more decade before they can ride a dragon, whether the dragon hatched in their cradle or not. All the while, the Princess’ dragon soared above them, reminding them all of the power at her fingertips.

“I insist, Your Grace. We cannot allow such a danger to threaten the good people of King’s Landing!”

But the King merely rolled his eyes. “Well, it has been almost a moon since Rhaenyra came back and there have been no incidents.”

“Are we to wait for one to happen? Incidents with dragons can result in death, My King.” Otto argued again.

When Ser Harrold saw that His Grace seemed moved by the reasoning, Rhaenyra watched him quickly join the dispute. “Your Grace, maybe a conversation with the Princess is warranted, but Lord Lyonel is correct. Dragons such as Vermithor, Silverwing and Balerion never attacked without reason. Dreamfyre for instance had a high tolerance for humans trying to amuse themselves and was only ever known to attack if someone came too close to her eggs.”

“That is the other issue.” Otto started much to Rhaenyra’s surprise.

She thought that Otto would press harder for Syrax to be chained. Well, Rhaenyra had no intention to force Syrax into the Dragonpit regardless of the outcome of this discussion. Still, she was a bit confused by the lack of fight. Especially since it was a danger to the people and Otto would be able to win this argument if he pressed that point. But the rest of the councilmembers seemed to know what Otto was talking about.

“Oh, yes!” Viserys turned to her. “Dreamfyre is gone from the Dragonpit.”

Whoreson. Fuck. 

Rhaenyra locked every single emotion she could potentially have. With gritted teeth, she allowed herself two little words.

“Excuse me?”

“The chains are gone as well, My Princess.” Ser Harrold went on to explain. “The dragonkeepers think that she took them with her when she left. There are some accounts that say she headed east.”

Rhaenyra made a noise at the back of her throat. “This is… when did this happen?”

“About a moon ago… two almost.” Lord Lyman answered.

And Rhaenyra did not have to simulate her anger. “Why was I not informed of this before? Am I not your heir?'' She made sure that her voice was not raised but did not dare to hide her rage. None would ever again accuse her of being a spoiled little girl throwing a tantrum. 

The way Viserys blinked in shock at her had Rhaenyra almost flipping the entire table. Never mind the fact Rhaenyra knew very well where Dreamfyre was and what happened to her, by the gods, she was, indirectly, part of the reason Dreamfyre was supposedly missing. And regardless of the fact that Rhaenyra had not thought of the repercussions of Dreamfyre’s disappearance in almost two moons, Dreamfyre was still a grown a dragon, almost rivaling Silverwing in size and with just as much family history as Meleys as the mount of a princess that was almost queen. Why was Rhaenyra not informed? And why was she even surprised that Viserys was not treating her as his heir?

“Is there a plan in place to track her whereabouts?” Rhaenyra could not stand to look at Viserys anymore.

“Nothing so drastic although, it is strange behavior for her. Perhaps a small retinue of knights and dragonkeepers can ask about the Crownlands for Dreamfyre.” Viserys frowned.

“We were wondering, Princess, whether you have seen the beast.” It was said so closely to the King that Otto almost interrupted him.

Rhaenyra had genuinely forgotten that Otto was present. She was more used to the man’s grating voice contradicting her uncle whenever he spoke up or his soothing one that was equally as annoying trying… well… convincing her father of doing or not doing something. It was unusual for the man to be silent really.

“Where would I see her?”

Under normal circumstances, Rhaenyra would emphasize the "her". And have less than kind thoughts that Otto seems to not give the proper respect for the "beast"’ whose eggs he was badgering the King to place on a still empty cradle. Not to mention ask just who was included in that "we" Otto referred to, since it was quite clear that the other members of the council looked like they wanted to be anywhere but still in a meeting.

Still, she calmed herself and just decided to play the game that Daemon refused to play. Playing just enough of a dumb little girl for it to be to her own favor.

“The dragon did head east, mayhap she landed on Dragonstone.” Otto insinuated.

Rhaenyra scoffed. “I may not have been alerted of a dragon that is missing but If she did land on Dragonstone then the dragonkeepers of the island would have notified me.”

“Would they?” Otto dared to challenge.

Rhaenyra affected a confused look on her face. “Why wouldn’t they?”

If it was not clear before that Otto expected Rhaenyra to… to behave like Daemon then now she had the proof. In her place, Daemon would already have either done or said something scandalous and extremely rude, probably shouted it in truth, or drawn his sword. The first one would see Rhaenyra being in the wrong simply because a woman dared to raise her voice, and she could not do the second one.

You are not used to battling wills with a woman, Otto. When Rhaenyra thought about it, Otto never met the likes of Saera or Alyssa, Viserra herself had the fame of possessing the Targaryen temper and she died before Otto came to court. He never met Alysanne either and Rhaenys was gone to Driftmark by the time he came to King’s Landing. Rhaenyra suppressed a smirk with an ease that surprised her.

“Well, Otto? Why wouldn’t they alert Rhaenyra? I remember the dragonkeepers warning my father when the Cannibal would move from his cave, even if it was to a further one from Dragonmont.” Viserys almost smiled at the memory.

“I apologize Your Grace,” Rhaenyra supposed it was to expect too much that an apology be issued to her instead, “I merely meant that as the Princess has yet to reach her majority, mayhap the dragonkeepers do not yet look at her as the ultimate authority on the island.”

“Hmmm… that may be true. The heir usually only takes leadership of Dragonstone upon their sixteenth name day.” Much to Rhaenyra’s alarm, her father seemed to be considering Otto’s words… Why was she alarmed at something that happened every day?

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, making the action visible to all the members of the council.

“Your Grace, I spent three moons on Dragonstone, almost four, an entire moon since Dreamfyre flew east. Even if I have yet to be named Princess of Dragonstone and they do not yet see me as the Lady of the island, either the dragonkeepers are incompetent or they would have sent word to King’s Landing in that case.”

“Quite right you are, my daughter.” Viserys beamed as if she just did some silly trick.

“It could not hurt to be thorough. Your Grace, I insist that you allow me to send a raven to Dragonstone’s Maester and have him alert the dragonkeepers. Mayhap they let something pass.”

Rhaenyra had to bite her tongue not to make some comment about how often Otto had to insist something to the King.

“That is true as well. A letter it is. We can hardly alert the whole kingdom that an entire dragon is missing. Yes, for now that is good.” Viserys got up and that seemed all that it was needed to signal the end of the meeting.

There was a triumphant glint in Otto’s eyes, but it quickly became confused when he met Rhaenyra’s own proud ones.

In trying to discredit Rhaenyra’s own position, Otto took the first step in one of Rhaenyra’s own plans.

~*~

Rhaenyra approached Ada when it was just the two of them.

“Ada, did Saera give you a way to communicate with her?”

“She only said that Levi would be able to find her.”

Which made sense. It wouldn’t do for a noble lady like Ada to be found unaccompanied wandering about King’s Landing or Flea Bottom if Saera was taking over Mysaria’s old haunts. 

“Good. In another sennight, Saera should be going back to Dragonstone. With my name day right at the same date, our ravens are being kept busy almost constantly, so this should give her enough time to arrive at the island.”

Rhaenyra told Ada what she needed, and Ada started to comply, still visibly confused at the request she received. Which was good. The less people that know about her plans, the better. At least for now.

“Anything else, My Princess?” Ada asked before she left.

“Task Rosamund to oversee a raven to be sent to Driftmark.” Rhaenyra quickly penned the needed message before sealing it and handing it to Ada. “See if we can trust her with this. The letter is in High Valyrian, but many maesters have some skill if not fluency in it.”

“If Rosamund not only properly supervises Grand Maester Mellos or one of his acolytes to send and not read this and if she won’t read it herself.” Ada nodded, immediately understanding the hidden meaning behind Rhaenyra’s orders.

“And please keep alert for ravens from the Vale. I am waiting for one from my cousin, Jeyne.”

After Ada left, Rhaenyra went to look for Maris and Lady Estell. Saera would know about a possible correspondence between Otto and whatever ears he could turn in Dragonstone.

“How discreet can you two be?” It was perhaps not the most graceful way Rhaenyra could have started this request with.

Estell, although less exposed to Rhaenyra’s more mercurial nature than Maris, reacted faster. “As much as you need us to be, My Princess.”

But Rhaenyra just grimaced and, with some amusement, noticed Maris doing the same. They did not need this right then.

“I… am grateful for the promptness, Lady Estell. But this next task will see the need to get inside Lady Alicent’s chambers and stay there long enough to find the guest list for my name day celebration, exchange it and then leave… all without being noticed.” Rhaenyra finished and raised her eyebrows.

Rhaenyra would use the secret passages, but she does not know which one leads to the chambers Alicent is occupying, as they were not the queen’s apartments, and she was unsure of sharing them with anyone that was not family. Not even Amanda knew about them.

Maris and Estell gawked at her.

~*~

“My Princess, My Princess.” Amelia shook her shoulder lightly.

Groaning a bit, Rhaenyra sat up at once. Knowing herself to just roll over and sleep again if she remained laying down.

“What is… Amelia? Where is Amanda?” It was usually her aunt that woke her up in the mornings.

“She was summoned by the seamstress to the last fitting of her dress for your name day. But that is not important. I just talked to Harwin! He said that the mummers of the city were contacted a few days ago to perform here in the Red Keep, the same ones performing the story you asked him to spread about!” Amelia whispered, a huge smile on her face.

That properly woke Rhaenyra.

“Are you sure?” Rhaenyra whispered back.

“Yes. Harwin just saw the same performers here in the castle. They are in the outer tower of the Red Keep, away from Maegor’s Holdfast.” Amelia hurried to assure as that was one of Rhaenyra’s more pressing worries about this part of this plan.

Rhaenyra got up so fast that her head swam for a few moments. “Quick, help me dress.”

“Which dress?” Amelia ran to her wardrobe. 

“Any will do for now.” Rhaenyra got her brush and quickly made a simple braid before splashing her face with some cold water.

Amelia got a dark blue gown and matching shoes before running to get some silver jewelry.

“Here, My Princess.” Amelia quickly weaved a blue ribbon through the braid Rhaenyra made.

“Did Ada say anything?” Rhaenyra quickly put on her earrings and rings.

“Just that your messages were delivered safely.” Rhaenyra ignored the curious look sent her way.

Just a bit more. Just a bit more. Rhaenyra chanted inside her head.

“Did Estell have the chance to check who accepted the invitation for my name day?”

“Yes. Your name day will have a greater attendance than Lady Alicent’s wedding.” Amelia smirked in amusement.

“And what about Rosamund with the invitations to our competition among knights?” Rhaenyra turned to Amelia.

“All the ravens of the Red Keep are being kept occupied.” Amelia confirmed that there would be no way for Otto to send any last minute letters.

Just wait. Just wait. Rhaenyra has never been known as particularly pious. She would not even be able to voice to what deity she was repeating the phrase to.

Certainly, none of the Seven. Rhaenyra concluded as she calmly walked with Amelia by her side. For one, Rhaenyra was sure that they would condemn her actions that, at the end of the day, can all be summarized by wishing ill on someone else.

When Amelia pointed out where the performers were, Rhaenyra breathed a sigh of relief. They were not staying in Maegor’s Holdfast and so there was no reason for the Hand or any of his little followers to look too closely at them. They were from King’s Landing, the keep was flooding with Gold Cloaks and sworn knights alike for security, no reason for any to scrutinize them when they were under so many eyes.

“It is not prudent to be seen too close to them either, My Princess.” Amelia said quietly. “Especially if we take into consideration their… show, we could be implicated.”

“Agreed.” They went back to Maegor’s Holdfast. “About the distraction for the Lord Hand so he can be out of the way for the day?”

“The boy, Wilbur, would let himself be whipped if it meant a good job done in your name, My Princess”. Amelia shook her head in amazement.

However, Rhaenyra was alarmed. “Excuse me?”

Then Amelia seemed to realize the words she used. “No! Uh…” lowering her voice, Amelia reassured her. “Wilbur mixed quite a bit of peppermint in the morning tea served. Ser Otto became quite anxious that it could be moon tea as we predicted and has been hovering over Lady Alicent since. Wilbur was not seen and merely went back to his duties.”

Rhaenyra felt her shoulders relaxing as they made their way to Viserys’ solar. With the performers in the Red Keep, her time was rapidly decreasing.

“Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Princess of the Blood of House Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne.” Ser Harrold announced her.

Amelia stayed behind just long enough to see Rhaenyra inside before leaving to her other tasks.

“Rhaenyra!?” Viserys quickly opened the doors before Ser Harrold had the chance to do so himself.

There was a huge smile on his face and for a moment Rhaenyra was confused until she realized that it has been… a long time since she sought his company.

Rhaenyra was being neglectful in, as Saera would put it, mellowing her father. And the thought startled her. She allowed herself to mourn for a few more seconds the times that she used to run after her father, begging him to lift her up and let her make him company. She used to enjoy just being near him. Many courtiers thought she would get bored or tired of spending her time in small council meetings or attending the supplicants, but Rhaenyra just wanted to enjoy what time her father could spare her with him.

Rhaenyra thought she was done being hurt. Yet at every turn, she thought of something else that she had not considered before and felt the dagger twisting.

Forcing a smile on her face, Rhaenyra allowed herself to be pulled inside.

“I was just about to have a small meal before hearing today’s petition. Please, join me. It seems we hardly conversed since you came back to King’s Landing.”

She has been neglectful in putting Saera’s plan into action.

“Yes… all the… preparations for my name day took a lot of my time. I have forgotten how much planning took for something like that.” Rhaenyra lied through her teeth.

In all honesty once Rhaenyra had made sure that no men of Otto would approach the performers for the mummer’s show, she paid no more mind to her name day. At least not in terms of its readiness. Which was something that, while did not make her regret it, was considered an oversight as Alicent now held the duty to make and send the invitations. While far from being considered a queen’s duties, it was still proof of the risk Rhaenyra allowed to happen when she let Alicent assist in the charity projects for the city. An opening was, ultimately, everything that people like Otto needed to wrangle more power for himself.

Rhaenyra wondered who organized the rest of such… a womanly task. Certainly not Otto, who was too worried about other things, nor Alicent who had no power or authority for it. Rhaenyra could not help but mock the word even in the privacy of her own thoughts. Probably Lord Lyman, who would prefer to pinch the crown’s purses. 

Rhaenyra would be less insulted if the humility of her festivity was due to Lord Lyman’s attempt to spare coin whenever he could than because of her father’s ignorance or one of the Greens’ malice. 

“I look forward to whatever design you have the seamstress create.” Viserys indulged and seemed to not notice how condescending he sounded.

Rhaenyra’s forced smiles were becoming easy to form. Although not as easy as they once were, she could not recall so much effort behind the act at least.

“A lot of them were inspired by Mother’s designs.” Rhaenyra tentatively mentioned Aemma.

Not quite the truth. Something that even Viserys took note of.

“I always thought your mother favored much more romantic styles than your more daring ones.” Viserys chuckled.

“That is why it is called inspiration, Father.” Rhaenyra teased lightly.

“Right you are. I must admit some surprise.” Viserys cheerfully continued eating his chicken. “You have yet to ask me for a gift. It used to be that you asked for a gift for each sun turn you saw to the date.” He laughed at the memory.

“Mother put a stop to it when the gifts increased in extravagance and I turned four and ten.” It seemed longer than mere two years before.

“She did. Aemma did not have trouble giving and denying you in equal turns.” Her father sounded fond.

The familiar feeling of bitterness and injustice started to brew somewhere between her breasts and Rhaenyra forced a small laugh for Viserys’ sake.

Rhaenyra reached inside her pocket for the sheets of paper. She was so tense that she had to consciously control herself not to fist and ruin them. If Viserys wanted to treat her as a child, then maybe she could make herself get what she wanted that way as well.

“Since you touched the subject…” Rhaenyra started, childishly leadingly.

At least it worked. Viserys laughed at the “ploy”. “Let us hear it then.”

“Some of the more recent ravens…” Rhaenyra did not finish, instead putting the letters on the table, now being cleared of the plates to make space for the next course.

Viserys took the top one and his eyes quickly read the lines and thankfully, he looked almost annoyed.

“No insult to Ser Clement, and the Celtigars are, of course, Valyrian but he already has previous issue. While usually that would be no trouble, I would rather my heir have a more ideal match.”

Rhaenyra felt almost giddy inside. When the Celtigars started to hint at a marriage alliance, she also thought the same, but Rhaenyra was simply honest and told them that the matter was not quite on her hands, no matter how honorable Ser Clement would be as a husband. And then she suffered the same correction she was about to inflict on her father.

“This was not about a marriage between myself and Ser Clement Celtigar… but with Lord Bartimos Celtigar.” Rhaenyra made sure to compose herself in delivering the words in the most unimpressed tone she could. 

Viserys was constant in this much. If he thought that Daemon, who was twelve years older than Rhaenyra, was too old for her, then Lord Bartimos, who was more than ten years older than Viserys made her father go purple in a matter of seconds.

“This must be the silliest and crassest of jests.” Viserys seemed to have trouble saying it through his tightly clenched jaw.

“And he was not the only one.” Rhaenyra motioned to the rest of the letters.

Viserys quickly leafed through them, his incredulity and rage increasing with each new name.

“Willem Blackwood? I thought the heir was named Samwell.”

“Willem is from a branch line, Samwell is Lord Blackwood's only son although he has a sister and so, his father is not willing to be parted with him.”

Her father became even more displeased at the information which was yet again hypocritical of him. He tried to place the name. “Willem… I do not recall many of the knights from the Blackwoods, I confess.”

“He is not yet knighted. Mayhap you remember the squire that fostered with House Stark, not many do after all. Willem is his son.”

Viserys shook his head. “That is… that boy must have seen what… his twelfth name day this past year?”

“His eleventh.” Rhaenyra corrected and watched as Viserys took another letter.

“Lord Dondarrion… unless I missed the raven that announced the death of Lord Beric and this is his son, then he is truly putting himself forward as a contender for your hand as a man of one and sixty!”

“Indeed, he is.”

“This is simply absurd! What in the seven hells are these men thinking!?”

And now, Rhaenyra shall extend some gratitude to Otto, for she was about to implement the same strategy he so frequently used on the King.

Rhaenyra affected a small smile. “Well, this is a relief.”

“How could this be a relief?” Viserys was reading the same proposal for the third time as if the name of Lord Beric Dondarrion would suddenly change to that of a man at least half his age.

“When you sent those proposals to my chambers so I could become more amenable to marriage, I feared you were attempting to trick me.”

Viserys paled. “My daughter! By all the gods! Do use some smarts that I know you to possess! I clearly did not mean those…” he motioned to the now thoroughly mangled papers and did not comlete his phrase.

Rhaenyra tried to appear more insulted and stubborn than determined. “This is my wish for my name day gift. Allow me my choice of husband. Announce it in court, give me your oath so all can see how serious the situation is. Lords and their heirs might make their case privately to a king that will have to think very carefully in how to pen his reply, but if they are to present themselves to me… well, how many men would degrade themselves in front of a woman?” Many. In truth, the same ones whose letters Rhaenyra carefully chose to strengthen her argument. “Thank the gods no one has seen my humiliation if those lords were allowed to publicly put themselves forward.”

She was gratified to see that her father had gone from pale to purple to pale again and now to red. Even Viserys Targaryen would be unable to deny the embarrassment that it would be to have a man almost a contemporary of Jaehaerys presenting himself as a possible future husband to Rhaenyra… in front of others.

“So, you are contemplating marriage.” Viserys narrowed his eyes.

Rhaenyra grimaced and she barely had to feign it. If only because, Daemon or not, the appeal of marriage, more specifically the childbed that follows has yet to reveal itself for her.

“I understand… that it is my duty.” She said carefully. “I am asking you… as a father to his daughter and as a king to his heir… give me leave to choose for myself. And do it as an oath so others will see it too. To prevent the aforementioned possibility if nothing else.” Rhaenyra added as if in an afterthought.

A brilliant smile spread in Viserys’ face and this time Rhaenyra did not bother to suppress the bitterness. The hurt… and the disappointment that she seemed to only be capable of bringing pride to her father if she behaved within the constraints that a woman had instead of just being the person she was.

~*~

Rhaenyra was escorted back to her chambers by Ser Steffon. She was to change into more proper attire and then attend the petitions of the day. Even had the King not asked that of her, Rhaenyra knew she would have to attend, if only to oversee that Viserys fulfilled his promise, if only to see how the court reacted. What next step to take considering those same reactions.

“Thank you, Ser Steffon.” Rhaenyra watched as the knight bowed and closed her chamber’s doors.

Rhaenyra got what she wanted. The King of Westeros was about to publicly give an oath that Princess Rhaenyra could choose her future husband.

“You will have a sure succession… you will have what I had with your mother.”

But Viserys’ parting words made her success feel empty. The mocking of a wound that was left to fester.

~*~

Her first five ladies were almost celebrating about her chambers that night. It would not be uncommon for ladies to sleep in the same rooms as the royal they served after all. And after the King made his proclamation, not even Amanda Arryn, kind, polite and controlled could help but smile as viciously as Jeyne Arryn would when seeing the look in the Lord Hand’s face at the announcement that it was not to the King that envoys and ravens should be sent to if someone wanted the hand of his only daughter.

“Should you not be happier?” Amelia was red from all the wine she had already consumed.

A quick look at the crate that Annora had delivered at her doors revealed quite a few empty bottles of arbor gold and hippocras. At that point, even Amanda had a few glasses and the only one completely sober, probably due to Amanda’s own hand, was Maris.

Although Maris did try her best to grab a chalice. Her tired countenance but victorious smile was all that was needed to tell Rhaenyra that she and Lady Estell were successful in their own assigned task.

Rhaenyra carefully took the silver chalice from Amelia’s unsteady hands. Something that was proven wise as Amelia did not even seem to notice and threw herself on the seat beside Rhaenyra in an inelegant heap.

Ada, rolling her eyes and with steps more awkward than Rhaenyra had ever seen from one of her surest ladies, pushed Amelia a bit so she could sit closer to Rhaenyra.

Still, unlike the Strong sisters, Ada seemed to hold herself better against the drinks.

“Are you alright?” Ada asked instead. It was clear that she agreed with Amelia.

Rhaenyra softly trailed a finger over her own forehead, feeling the creases. It was something that her mother would do to her.

“I wish you less burdened.” Aemma Arryn would say.

It would never be her mother’s intention, but Rhaenyra had always immediately smoothed her expression, feeling the guilt freeze her. By the time Rhaenyra was grown enough to recognize the tiredness and sadness in her mother’s eyes and where it came from, it seemed to be the Queen’s constant state of being.

What were Rhaenyra’s problems in comparison? A spoiled little princess that did not get the exact shade of purple she wanted for her dress while her mother labored and suffered and never once let her losing fight reflect on her features.

(“The childbed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.”)

Rhaenyra took a sip from Amelia’s cup. “I will be.” She answered Ada.

~*~

Maris’s eyebrows were raised high. “Your smile is almost as painfully fake as Ada’s, My Princess… with all due respect.” She added.

Rhaenyra gave up trying to lift the corners of her lips for now. “The respect due is very little at the moment, do not worry yourself then.”

Nora grimaced as she tried to find something to try to lift her spirits. “You certainly will not have to share the attention with any woman as Lady Alicent did in her own wedding. It is such a beautiful dress, My Princess.”

Rhaenyra accepted the compliments for her dress with a polite smile. But not even when coming from what she recognized to be a genuine place, Rhaenyra managed much enthusiasm. And she missed liking it, having fun with it, she even used to like preparing for it, dressing up and having her hair twisted into elegant styles.

Tourneys, hunts, feasts, mummer’s shows, fairs, plays… Rhaenyra was simply going through the motions and just waiting for the day to be over. At least this time it wouldn’t be seven damnable days of celebration. She consoled herself. Viserys had not had enough time to prepare for such.

Rhaenyra felt the leather of the bodice under her fingers. A bold choice, something never seen before, truly because not many would think of incorporating riding leathers in a formal dress. The neckline was also very modest too but extremely elegant. The dress was as much of a statement as letting Syrax fly free. She was a dragonlord, a woman grown now. The Valyrian steel necklace, of course, conveyed much of the same. Who, aside from a Valyrian, would it fit more?

She had a seat in the council, her father’s trust and favor. As meaningless as those claims truly were, no one else knew that. No one, that is, aside from the small council members that cared to notice.

Rhaenyra even had King Viserys’ personal and public oath that she was to choose her own consort. And, if Rhaenyra found a way to do so, mayhap he could repeat that same oath with an even grander audience to hear it again.

And Ada just delivered Jeyne’s letter to her.

She was getting good at this. Rhaenyra thought to herself as she stared at Ada from the corner of her eye. Rhaenyra was not quite sure when it started, but her ravens were being monitored, sometimes not sent out or delivered to her at all instead of merely being read by those that were not meant to read it. Whereas before she was too busy feeling hurt that Daemon did not write to her or respond to her letters, those Dreams showed her that he did… and did not receive her own in turn.

Ada was by far the sharpest of her ladies. While Rhaenyra would not pick her to discern court gossip and gather information, something that Maris was much more skilled at, Rhaenyra knew that assigning Maris to go about the Red Keep and Ada to get and send her ravens was one of her more brilliant moves. Ada not only made sure to oversee the ravens flying away but also get Rhaenyra’s letters the moment they arrived by tailing the maesters and the acolytes and Maris was taking full advantage of the fact that she did not attract attention, lady in waiting of the Princess or not.

Rhaenyra expected Rosamund to share Ada’s job, however. Ada could not continue to do alone and indefinitely, the Red Keep had too many Maesters of Ravens to tail. At the same time that Rhaenyra was unsure whether to keep Estell with Maris to go about the keep accessing others’ opinions, she was less subtle than Maris, substantially so.

Rhaenyra broke the blue Arryn seal as she lightly shook her head. It was a problem for another day.

“Expect it at your name day’s celebration at the latest. I expect you in the next moon.”

If Rhaenyra timed everything right, her first declaration of war would not only be too subtle for the likes of Otto and Alicent to respond in kind, but an all-consuming one. She tried to ignore the anxiousness at the summon – for it could be considered nothing else – from Jeyne.

Consequences… always came. Rhaenyra sighed before nodding to her ladies, all of them hurrying so their own maids would prepare them as well while Rhaenyra burned the letter in her hearth. She felt a moment of irritation that Rhea’s death was now her problem to deal with as Daemon was neck deep in the war on the Stepstones.

With a huff, Rhaenyra opened her doors to be escorted to the banquet hall. Swiftly joined by her ladies who were all splendidly dressed.

“You have an amazing talent, My Princess.” Lady Estell may be liberal and very obvious with her praises, but at least, so far, she seemed to be honest as well. Lady Estell caressed the soft fabric of her new gown, a gift from Rhaenyra. 

The design, the precious gems, and the fabric of the formal dresses of all the ladies in waiting now in her household came from Rhaenyra herself. She eyed the ambers carefully stitched to the skirts of Lady Estell’s gown, they complimented the soft yellow fabric and emphasized the deeper hues in the brown hair.

“I… thank you for the compliment, Lady Estell.” Rhaenyra answered carefully.

While Rhaenyra was well used to being praised for her dresses, rarer were the occasions that people acknowledged that she has been designing her own clothes since the age of six. And when they do, it was rarely in a genuinely complimentary nature. Women’s work. Most would think… some would say.

Lady Lyra hummed. “Before long, this favor you bestowed on us will be rapidly spread among the nobles.”

Rhaenyra understood where she was leading it to. How the crown princess took great care of her household. She smiled a little self-deprecatingly. 

“I had not thought of that.”

“Which just makes it better.” Lady Lyra threw a lock of loose hair over her shoulder. Her eyes also admired the dark yellow dress with a few emeralds in the neckline that Rhaenyra had gifted her for the occasion. “There will always be those that will assign malice or veiled reasons for your actions. But there will also be many that will see it for what it was… just a gesture, a kindness.” She smiled at Rhaenyra.

Rhaenyra did not have the chance to answer before they arrived at the banquet and, one by one, they were announced until there was only Rhaenyra, escorted by Ser Lorent in the hallway.

“Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen of House Targaryen, Princess of the Blood of House Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne. Princess of Dragonstone.”

Rhaenyra did not have much time to be surprised at the new title before the doors opened once more to admit her and she was almost deafened by the applause led by her ladies. Ser Harrold, who had announced her proudly and with his head held high, showed no fear of the repercussions of naming her the Princess of Dragonstone before the King himself could do so.

She was seldom called such, even in those Dreams. Every heir before her was automatically given the title. Heralds and songs just started to refer to them that way the very moment they celebrate their sixteenth name day. Granted, there were only three other royals before her who got the title because they reached the age of majority and only three more royals that were named thus out of those circumstances. 

Which is a bit ironic as the first Prince of Dragonstone to be called so was Maegor himself. The gods knew that court under Otto Hightower made its best to turn Maegor into a ghost story for children, to be told again and again in order to maintain what Otto perceived as a proper code of conduct instead of treating it with the respect it deserves for all the lives lost under that man’s “reign”.

Her wandering thoughts shielded Rhaenyra enough for her to have her head raised high. No thought to any naysayers of court. And she sent her gratitude to Ser Harrold, he would not know how much that simple if defying gesture bolstered her spirit.

To give her father credit, the banquet hall was impeccably decorated. Red roses mixed with black dragon coleus were artfully hung on the walls and tables. And it seemed that either Viserys was planning the date with more advance than he cared to share his plans with Rhaenyra, or the nobles deemed it more to their taste to attend her name day than the wedding of the King, for Amelia was correct, there seemed to be more guests today than in Alicent’s wedding.

A small stir of amusement made Rhaenyra find the strength to smile convincingly enough that the nobles around her did not cease to applaud even when Rhaenyra found her seat beside the King. On Viserys’ other side, Alicent seemed pale and sour. Her brown eyes were narrowed even with the tight smile upon her lips.

Rhaenyra’s smile widened as she almost did not manage to bite back the question of whether Alicent’s eyesight needed tending by the maesters. And suddenly Rhaenyra did not have to fake a smile at all, for the ones that noticed her new term of address were all but the King. Otto Hightower and the followers he has managed to make in the last few moons all look as if they were waiting for the King to reprimand Ser Harrold. Their enraged eyes going to and from the King and Ser Harrold in anticipation.

Oh, dear Otto. How fun it is to use your own tools against you. Rhaenyra’s smile was easily held. For Viserys Targaryen probably did not even notice how Ser Harrold announced her. Whether because he thought Rhaenyra being called the Princess of Dragonstone was merely her due or because he never thought that the “honor” should be his was of no matter to Rhaenyra. His reasonings have long since been a source of frustration for her and she was done trying to understand him.

“Ah, my daughter! How it pains and gladdens me to see this day. My honorable guests!” Viserys addressed the nobles filling the banquet hall. “It is my greatest joy to commence this feast! For today we celebrate my daughter’s sixteenth name day! Today, the future Queen of Westeros becomes a woman grown!”

More applause resounded through the room.

As they sat, Rhaenyra could not help but clench her hands into fists. Out of sight, on her lap, covered by the tablecloth, still making dents into the skin of her palms.

Just a bit more. Just a bit more. Rhaenyra tried to calm herself.

On their own seats spread about the room, her ladies seemed just as nervous for those that knew them. Amelia, as the one that gave the idea in the first place, looked particularly jittery much to her brother’s exasperation. Although not a great actor, Ser Harwin’s calm disposition was true even in the knowledge of what was about to happen. It seemed fortuitous that he only knew part of it.

Amanda, as her aunt and the half-sister of the previous queen – no matter how much that may insult the current “wife of the king” – was seated at Rhaenyra’s side instead. The high table ought to be occupied by family after all. The small win was not enough to overshadow the fact that Otto Hightower was also seated there but it soothed Rhaenyra’s temper. 

It was very telling, however, that Amanda was the only Arryn to be even invited. A slight that the Vale will not soon forget for sure.

There were so many courses for the feast that Rhaenyra could not eat it all even if she truly tried. The smell of them was enough to make her only nibble at some of the meats and grab the nearest fruit bowl instead as discreetly as she could.

Rhaenyra did not even try to count how many times her plates were changed. Cutlery taken and replaced. Chalice of water was now wine that she did not touch either.

Amanda quietly cleared her throat to her right and pushed a plate of tarts to her. Rhaenyra grimaced but started to take it apart with her fork, sometimes eating a piece of the dough or the fruit sprinkled with sugar.

Her aunt was far from happy with what was to happen in the next few days, starting from that very same night. Her advice, while not ignored, was heeded for too short a time. The timing that Rhaenyra chose would shorten theirs in turn, put their long-term plans in jeopardy. Make their enemies react faster, rally faster.

Rhaenyra had frowned then. If everything that happened so far had not prompted the Greens… well… Otto to react, then that is a fault of theirs. Alicent being found in the King’s chambers in the middle of the night, the hushed wedding whose guests looked like to be attending a funeral instead, being denied the crown, being publicly humiliated by the former queen’s own niece, a Lady Paramount herself, how very publicly Alicent’s lack of knowledge was exposed… To events that seemingly did not seem to be related like Dreamfyre’s escape… to matters that should have been announced a long time ago like the disappearance of two members of royal blood, no matter the fact that septas and archmaesters give up their family names upon joining their respective practices.

There were secrets that Rhaenyra had ensured Rhaenys and Jeyne, perhaps her currently closest and most powerful allies out of King’s Landing, kept to themselves, at least for now. Rhaenys had not told Lord Corlys about Laena claiming Vhagar until after Viserys married Alicent, just like Rhaenys was still keeping that not so newly formed bond contained to Driftmark where, unlike the Red Keep with the Targaryens, was filled with those loyal to their liege lord and their House. Of course, eventually, no matter what effort Rhaenys puts in the endeavor, news of the biggest dragon in the world being claimed will reach King’s Landing but it was also why Rhaenyra had ensured to have a reason for the Velaryons’ absence.

Jeyne Arryn had received word of Rhea Royce’s death almost on the same day it happened, meaning almost two moons before. Rumors of people seeing a dragon in the vicinity sparked like wildfire and Jeyne did not have as tight control of the Vale as Rhaenys had of Driftmark. However, her long and public and fierce defense of Lady Rhea, regardless of personal opinions, for Rhea was also a liege Lady of her House, served Jeyne well. None would question Jeyne if she decided not to involve The Crown while the Vale investigated the matter of Rhea’s death. 

Especially since “all knew” that Prince Daemon Targaryen has been participating in the war on the Stepstones for much longer than two mere moons. It was also true, however, that Rhea Royce’s House was a fiercely united bunch, willing to face the dragons themselves for one of their own. Eventually, one of them would head a confrontation.

The entire situation could erupt just as fiercely as they had ensured that Dragonmont did. And Rhaenyra wanted to be the one controlling the path the lava made instead of desperately trying to run from it or try to contain it.

Amanda’s worries and caution in not provoking the Hightowers was a sound and well-grounded one. If the Greens were happy to run around as arrows rained down on them without ever looking for shelter, then it would mean more time to prepare for their next steps. Yet, at the same time, at this point, they were all holding their breath while waiting for their next step instead, something that Rhaenyra had no way of predicting how they would go about it or when. At least in that aspect, Rhaenyra’s actions would force Otto to act… or to drown.

“Your Grace! My Princess! My Lords! My Ladies! Good Sers and all who attended this most brilliant day!”

Rhaenyra carefully put the chalice of undrunk wine back on the table. This was it. One of the first steps.

The man presenting the show was elegant enough. Flamboyantly dressed in purple, yellow and red, his clothes showed that this was no street performer, but someone who had a thriving business in what he did. Rhaenyra sent a silent thanks to Ser Harwin and whoever else was involved in spreading the story she needed.

Viserys cleaned his mouth and leaned back to make himself comfortable to watch the spectacle. Alicent and Otto were eying the presenter with disinterest. Clearly, they expected nothing much to come from that night.

Obviously, a play was not the most adequate setting to make allies. Opportunity for conversation was limited to pretty much nonexistent. Gifts were given, food was eaten, the play was watched and then on their way the guests would go.

“The name day of our own crown princess… Princess Rhaenyra! Our future queen!”

Applause for the performer and for Rhaenyra herself was once again heard and the presenter seemed to bask in it in such a dramatic way that Rhaenyra huffed a small laugh.

“For this day, we start with a story! A story of a beautiful and gentle young girl… who dared to dream of happiness…” he trailed off in a whisper that still reached his most distant audience.

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow, impressed despite herself.

In the open space of the banquet hall, flowers were quickly spread on the ground. A tall man walked hand in hand with a small child, her brown hair cutely pulled in a childish braid.

“Once upon a time… in a faraway land, there lived a kind man, and his young daughter. The girl was as beautiful in spirit as she was in her looks and the kind man despaired, for he thought that every girl needed a mother and hers have been taken from them for many years. Too long for the girl to even understand what it means to have a mother.”

A woman started to narrate then. Her voice was calm, if not pretty. Haunting, if not deep. The words were clear and well enunciated for all.

The man lifted the child who giggled in delight. Even Rhaenyra had to smile a bit at the innocent sound. She could see some of the guests smiling a bit as well.

“And so, after considering his choices, the kind man decided to marry again. She was also a widow. Elegant and already had two daughters of her own. For certain a dedicated and loving mother.”

A tall woman with her grayish hair pulled in a severe bun entered then, stretching her hand to the man who eagerly took it, her dark blue skirt swaying with her. Once he turned from her, he did not see that his new wife’s smile disappeared, and her countenance turned cold. Two more girls, more or less the same age as the first one, trailed after their mother. They sneered at the sweet girl in braids and did not do much to hide it from anyone.

“Not long passed, and the rich man fell ill and died, leaving behind his young daughter.”

The players quickly moved a huge and decorated fake bed. The tall man laid down and his daughter’s arms were around his still body. The stepmother and her daughters were watching the scene with some indifference, but there was a sinister glint in the stepmother’s eyes. The audience watched, enraptured, as a smirk slowly formed in her face.

Rhaenyra was also impressed at the level of skill presented. Even the young girls were masterfully portraying their respective characters. She discreetly looked to her side. Viserys seemed to be enjoying himself, his eyes jovial as he was entertained by his own choice of celebration.

“It was then, however, that the stepmother saw no need to hide who she was any longer. A petty and cruel woman who saw the death of that good man as her opportunity to live freely with the coin left behind.”

The audience gasped fittingly as the little girl, so richly dressed before, left the makeshift stage to come back wearing a maid’s dress. Not quite rags but such a far cry from the light blue and beautifully embroidered dress from before that they might as well be called so.

“The years passed, and the little girl was made a servant in the only home she has ever known. Made to clean, cook, sew, dust and tend to her two stepsisters. Mocked and humiliated by those now living in her home.”

If Rhaenyra strained, she could hear some of the more sensitive women in the audience’s shuddering breaths. Even some of the men looked interested as they watched the fairy tale Rhaenyra made sure was presented. She wondered if some of them recognized the story. She also wondered how long until imagination filled people’s heads. How long until gossip and rumors started to gain new details as this children’s tale started to gain fame.

The protagonist left and then returned, the little girl was now replaced by a young woman, still dressed very poorly indeed, her face was dirtied with cinders and yet that did nothing to take away her beauty. Someone started to play instruments, harps, violins and drums. It was not quite a merry song, but it gave some rhythm.

“Despite the horrible treatment she suffered, the young woman never let despair take her heart. She continued to smile for the reasons she found to be happy about. Which only ever called to attention how hateful her stepsisters truly were.”

The audience watched as the young woman was ordered around. From cleaning the entire house from roof to floor to fixing clothes that were clearly never worn. Clean the stables, make the meals, clean the rooms, stitch the buttons, dust the shelves, wash the dishes, mind the hearth. Even the servants that were changing plates and replenishing goblets were wide eyed. That young woman was doing the work of at least five of them.

“One day, the King decided to throw a ball to celebrate the Prince coming home after his years studying abroad. Grandchildren, the halls of his castle once again filled with childish laughter was all that he wished for and so he commanded that every eligible maiden of his kingdom was to be brought forth.”

Soon enough, the improvised stage was filled with cheery music as a well-dressed herald started to spread invitations to all.

The young woman was cleaning the floor when the invitation arrived at her house at last. And it was clear that she so wished to go.

“Of course, as the years went by, the kind young woman saw no beautiful dresses so she could attend something of such magnitude. Disappointment filled her, much faster than any taunt directed at her.”

The stepsisters readied themselves as their mother bought them bolts of fabrics, dozens of shoes and many other treasures. The young woman, however, instead of glancing at them in envy, just sadly continued to clean and smiled prettily as she wished them a fun night.

Sighing, she rummaged through the chest containing the meager belongings she salvaged through the years, and it was there that she found her late mother’s dress. It was visibly old and dusty, but the young woman smiled so hugely and excitedly that the crowd could not help but feel that it suited a ball just fine.

Quickly cleaning it, the young woman left and showed up again, trying to accompany her stepsisters and stepmother.

“Enraged and jealous at the beautiful sight, only made more beautiful by the shine in her eyes and the pretty smile on her clean face, the stepmother merely watched as her daughters almost attacked the young woman.”

“None too soon, the dress was ruined. The sleeves ripped off, the skirts’ linings undone, the old-fashioned embroidery in tatters.”

“The young woman never thought such sadness existed. It was one night, she thought. One night she could have a wonderful time and feel beautiful and see beautiful sights before going back to her chores. To see the inside of a palace, to dance all night long and eat different things. All ruined.”

But as the young woman cried, another woman, older and kind-looking entered the scene.

“A mother, but not a mother she was. She offered the young woman a beautiful silver wheelhouse, stunning white horses and, finally, an elegant dress for her.”

Rhaenyra sent a quick thank to Nora and Amelia, who snuck the new silver dress into the players’ tent. It was true that the piece was not a style she favored, and it was true that it contained more silver than red, but it did indeed have red.

“As the young woman’s hair was twisted into an elegant style, the godmother warned that if she did not come back before the hour of the wolf, the darkest moment in the night, then all her gifts would disappear, leaving the young woman in her destroyed rags.”

Rhaenyra was just a bit worried about that detail. It did sound like magic for the original tale did include magic. Eventually, it was changed to teach young girls to obey their mothers and come back home early, still, this could mean some friction with the Faith.

“And so, the young woman went. Danced to her heart’s content, tried the exotic foods the King had ordered. Here was a beautiful young woman, the most resplendent of all and she was just looking to have fun. To laugh and to enjoy this cheery feast. And it was perhaps this simplicity that attracted the Prince.”

He was handsome enough. Rhaenyra though. It would not be out of place for him to have a flock of maidens all eager for his attention. Still, he seemed to have gentle eyes and he approached the young woman candidly and graciously asked to dance with her.

Visibly startled, it was obvious that the young woman was not used to be found beautiful.

“They danced, talked and walked together. But when the bells rang, the young woman was in panic as she hurried to leave and return. The Prince tried to stop her, but he was shocked into confusion at her anxiousness.”

“The young woman hurried though, in her haste, a beautifully engraved slipper was lost. The Prince retrieved it and saw the craftsmanship, the material looked like nothing else he ever saw, each crevice and each curve specifically made to fit one feet and one feet only.

“The Prince was enamored, in love, he declared to the entire kingdom that he would marry one woman and one woman only, the one who fit into the slipper.”

One by one, many maidens made lines and tried to fit into the tiny slipper. But none seemed to be the owner.

“The stepfamily tried to stop the young woman from trying the slipper, they never thought she was the legitimate owner, they merely wished to stop her from having the experience.”

The absolute pettiness and absurdity made the audience whisper among themselves.

“But the royal messenger knew his duty, to let every single maiden try the slipper.”

The young woman, dressed as a maid so clearly contrasted to her lavishly dressed stepsisters and yet the royal envoy treated her like the most precious of noble ladies. Showing her to a seat so she could try the slipper that, of course, fitted her perfectly.

The rhythm of the song changed, wedding bells rang about and the young woman and the Prince got married to the thunderous applause of the other players and the audience both. Rhaenyra saw that some of the guests thought the story a bit boring, which was to be expected of a child’s tale. But it was doubtful that they would soon forget about it, if for no other reason that a play in the Princess’ coming of age celebration was something to recall.

Rhaenyra waited until the applause waned and got up before Otto could do the same as he clearly motioned to do, his dark eyes were narrowed at the display.

“Thank you for this show of talent and skill. And thank you, My King, for this most entertaining and thoughtful gift, your choice was truly touching.” Rhaenyra smiled easily as the guests absorbed this new information.

They would not have known that it was King Viserys to choose this tale otherwise. As the stories of her name day festivities gained ground, so would the speculations, it would do Rhaenyra no favors to be tied to them. Let them think that she had no hand in any of it.

Viserys laughed merrily and got up as well, much to Rhaenyra’s dread.

“My daughter and heir! This was nothing at all! As most of you did not bear witness to my proclamation, I have decided to give Princess Rhaenyra the right to choose her own husband and future king consort. It will be by her will and her will alone what man shall stand by her side. My oath as king is thus made. Happy name day, my beautiful Rhaenyra.”

As the nobles’ voices raised at the news even as they applauded and the Hand and Alicent were shocked into silence, Rhaenyra’s smile turned into stone in her efforts to keep it on her face. 

While Viserys just made it public… more public and even more official his decision to put the choice of king consort on her hands, Rhaenyra also knew that his speech put the whole situation in an uncomfortable position for her. After all, he had basically just admitted that such a decision was given to her as a name day gift. As if it was childish fancy from a demanding girl, so much for Rhaenyra’s goal of no longer being seen as a spoiled princess.

Those conclusions also occurred to her dissenters.

How did they never once notice Viserys’ habit of trying to make everyone happy which only resulted in everyone being unhappy… or insulted? Perhaps not noticing was not the correct term, they just overlooked it.

Rhaenyra quickly added as gracefully as she could, trying to salvage the situation. “And I thank my father and king for the trust given… for the oath given.”

They waited for the applause to die down before sitting down again so Rhaenyra could start to receive the gifts.

She needed to emphasize this aspect at least. Now, if the King forces the issue, he will be known as an oathbreaker. Rhaenyra sighed to herself and refused another goblet of wine and asked for water instead. By comparison, the rest of the night was uneventful aside from when the Velaryons’ gift arrived. With much fanfare, the solid old-gold dragon statue in the shape of her dear Golden Lady was presented to her with the Velaryons’ heartfelt apologies for being unable to attend her celebrations… for they were not invited.

“… and it is with sadness that we miss this most proud and meaningful day. We do not take the lack of invitation lightly, but we abhor the idea of letting this day pass without honoring the Princess.

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, Princess of the Blood of House Targaryen, Lady of House Velaryon.”

The herald finished a little shakily. Knowing the repercussions of the words he had just said to the assembly.

Rhaenyra knew that she had to play the part, as loathed as she was to let the gift from the Masseys slip from her hand the way it did. The clang of the shield beautifully crafted with House Targaryen’s heraldry against the floor jousted the attendees out of their stupor. Rhaenyra only prayed that her determination to her act did not damage the gift.

Most of the guests clambered to their feet, shouting over each other at the absolute insanity they were just witness to.

It seemed that House Targaryen never tired of slighting the Velaryons. Ignoring their Lord over the matter of the Stepstones, passing his daughter for a lady with nothing to offer The Crown and now… an invitation was not issued to the crown princess’ name day celebration… and not any name day, but the mark of her coming of age.

It was luck that Lord Corlys was embroiled in war, for sure his temper would ignite like dragonfire. The comment, once voiced, panicked the nobles. For the Velaryons had dragons of their own and the largest fleet in the realm, and there are only so many insults that can be levied before any House took matters into their own hands. Such was true of any House, but the Velaryons were the currently richest House of Westeros and the second most powerful militarily and politically on par with any paramount for their Valyrian blood and dragons.

Caraxes and Seasmoke were similarly occupied in the Stepstones, but if a fight was to break between Meleys and Syrax, most would give the odds to Meleys, much older and much bigger. Good fortune it was that Princess Rhaenys was fond of Princess Rhaenyra. The dread increased as they realized that luck was truly the only thing holding the peace all thought fragile but not threadbare as they proved to be between the two dragonriding Houses.

“Silence! SILENCE! THE KING COMMANDS YOU TO SILENCE!” Viserys’ yelled until his voice echoed in the huge banquet hall.

The nobles complied but visibly unwillingly and visibly frightened of the situation at hand. The King’s anger clearly not at their thought at the moment.

His skin was deeply red and his eyes almost bulged out of their sockets.

“Your Grace, surely there is a misunderstanding.” Otto tried to calm the King down to no avail.

Alicent soon found herself the focus of her husband’s anger. “Alicent, please tell me that your father speaks truthfully. That the Velaryons were invited.”

Rhaenyra slowly turned as she fully faced her father and Alicent. This was better than she ever dared to hope for. In front of all the guests that were intently hearing all that their King was saying, Viserys just told all on whose feet to lay the blame.

Alicent Hightower was put in charge of inviting guests… and she failed to send one to House Velaryon.

House Velaryon, more specifically, Princess Rhaenys and Lady Laena and all the cousins that were not fighting in the war did not choose to disgrace the Princess by not attending her name day feast. They were not invited. Yet still demonstrated their support by sending a very expensive and very meaningful gift. For the statue was sculpted to look like Syrax down to the very last detail of the dragon’s elegant long horns and clearly made of solid gold.

The Lannisters’ gaudy and huge gold necklace looked like a tasteless trinket in comparison.

“My… My King… I assure you… the Velaryons were… were surely considered! I am sure of it!”

“My King.” Rhaenyra’s voice was cold, but none could deny her the horror in her too pale skin, easy to be had by lack of food as she had not eaten the entire day. “We ought to remember that Lady Alicent was never taught to be queen… to be the wife of a king at all. Ser Willis,” she called the most loyal Kingsguards that Alicent had to her claim, all knew of the man’s long defense of the Lord Hand, “please do retrieve the guest list. Where did you put it, Lady Alicent?”

Alicent’s brown eyes were wide as she glanced back at her. Confusion, anger, hope and much more shone through them.

“My… my vanity, for sure!”

Ser Willis did not waste time before leaving to retrieve the required paper, Ser Erryk right beside him as Rhaenyra had instructed.

Just a bit more. Just wait. Just a bit more.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath before turning from the doors as the two knights disappeared down the corridor. 

“Your Grace, for sure we can conduct this business away from prying eyes.” Otto whispered directly to Viserys’ ears.

Not even in the absolute silence that befell the crowd he could be overheard but it was too late. Even if Viserys dismissed the guests and tried to move either to the small council chambers or anywhere else, all had seen the proof of Alicent Hightower’s incompetence. If not by her negligence of House Velaryon, then by her shaky self-defense, what queen… What lady meekly trembled and exposed herself and her House so publicly?

Once, Rhaenyra would have felt pity for the humiliation Alicent was going through in that moment. She would have jumped forward to defend her friend from the entire Known World if need be. Especially because… it was by Rhaenyra’s actions that no Velaryon was attending. And it was by her order… that they were not on the list that Ser Willis’ trembling hand delivered to King Viserys.

Long as it was to encompass all the Houses of Westeros, as the occasion dictated to be invited, the Velaryons should have been at the very top of it. One could maybe argue for the Arryns, but the priority should surely be the Velaryons.

It was to no avail. Ser Willis, certainly, would have already tried to locate the name and failed to do so. Ser Erryk went back to his post after ensuring that nothing would happen to the exchanged list.

Maris and Estell not only had to locate the list but identify how Alicent organized it – alphabetically or maybe by importance – and then successfully change it, the modified list was easy enough for Rhaenyra had known her hand writing for many years now. It was also easy to send a letter to Driftmark as Ada’s careful eyes were never averted from the acolyte who sent it, the seal was never broken, and the raven made its safe way to Rhaenys who made sure not to mention the invitation to any Velaryon, making it seem as if they were truly overlooked and once again insulted.

Rhaenyra needed to remind herself to gift something to them. Theirs was perhaps the riskiest of the tasks assigned in the last moon and also a test to Lady Estell’s loyalties.

Feeling a bit lightheaded, Rhaenyra sat back down but refused the plate of duck with a serving of potatoes that Amanda tried to push towards her.

~*~

“Their raven is late.” Amelia uttered tiredly.

They all bore the signs of a sleepless night. The King kept the entire castle awake as they ascertained that no, no invites were sent to Driftmark and no, the Velaryons were not in Alicent’s list.

Viserys’ shouts were heard through the halls well into dawn. If any slept more than a couple of hours, Rhaenyra would be surprised… and thoroughly envious.

Annora served a very strong and very dark tea to all Rhaenyra’s ladies and Rhaenyra herself.

“Be sure to take a cup for yourself, Annora.” Rhaenyra did not comment that her most loyal servant also looked on the verge of passing out.

As it was, they were all waiting for news from the Vale. Jeyne had assured Rhaenyra that no news of Rhea’s death would reach King’s Landing before or during her name day celebration, but no later than that. Even Jeyne had her limitations, Lady Paramount or not. And after so much stress went into praying for the letter not to come before her name day, now they were almost eager for it.

Rhaenyra sighed and slumped back on her seat, resting her head on Amanda’s shoulder.

“A few more matters to take care of, and then we go on tour.” Rhaenyra uttered.

This got the attention of her newest ladies. “A tour, My Princess?” Lady Estell asked. Despite the puffiness underneath her eyes, they still shined at the prospect of traveling.

“Yes. Almost through the entire realm if we can. You all will be accompanying me if it pleases you.”

Estell’s eyes widened and she started to animatedly, if tiredly, chatter with Rosamund. Lyra was answering what she could of Elinda’s many questions about the possible places they were to visit.

Rosamund had visited a few nearby keeps and while Lady Lyra had more experience with Westeros as a whole, she had never gone farther than Storm’s End, Longtable and Harrenhal. This tour meant that they would visit more lands than they could ever dream of.

Ada and Maris finally came back with the announcement they were all waiting for.

“His Grace just received a raven from the Vale, from Runestone. Grand Maester Mellos was on his way to the Tower of the Hand.”

None were surprised anymore that it was not to the King that letters were delivered first.

With a collective sigh, they all raised from their seating positions, some in more dignified positions than others. Nora was almost halfway to the ground so sprawled she was across the chair beside Rhaenyra’s vanity.

On their way to the small council chambers, Ada and Rosamund went to track the acolytes training under Grand Maester Mellos, just in case any more ravens arrived or were sent. Estell bowed before going about the keep, talking to her father and the other nobles that made Viserys’ court. Maris quickly left as well so she could check if Levi and Wilbur would have any other news, maybe take a look into the maids to see if any were particularly displeased with Alicent or the Hand, Elinda hesitated but followed after her at an encouraging nod from Rhaenyra. Finally, only Amanda, Nora and Amelia were with Rhaenyra as they reached the doors, escorted by Ser Steffon.

At this point, Viserys and Otto ought to stop being surprised that Rhaenyra not only knew when a small council meeting was taking place but arrived punctually to participate in it. She calmly made her way to her designated seat.

“Princess! We were not expecting you.”

Rhaenyra wondered how long she had until Otto realized that the more he talked, the more ammunition she had against him. She looked back just in time for Ser Steffon to close the doors, her remaining ladies clearly intending to wait for the meeting to be over and accompany her back.

“Why ever not, Ser Otto? I may not have an official position in the small council, but I am still heir.” She smiled politely.

Even Ser Tyland eyed Otto weirdly at his question. A bit red in the face, the Hand cleared his throat. “I merely meant that it is so early, I would have expected your ladies, especially your Lady Aunt to let you rest for a bit more.”

Rhaenyra giggled charmingly. The sound was just the slightest bit off. She used to be more skilled at this, but it was convincing enough. “Nonsense, Ser Otto. Lady Amanda knows very well the duties I have now, she expects me to attend to them and I also expect her to remind me of them, regardless that I am most skilled in remembering them on my own.”

Just a bit of showing off that Rhaenyra knew her duties well and how to command her ladies.

Unlike Alicent who apparently had no idea what to even do with a household of her own.

Grand Maester Mellos was not the only one that moved about on their seat, uncomfortable with the veiled hit from Rhaenyra. For sure unintentional from the young princess. Rhaenyra smiled politely.

“Very responsible.” Viserys commented distractedly.

His tired countenance was a clear sign that he had not gotten any more sleep than the rest of the keep. Of course, the nobles had gossip and fear to spread, whereas the small council – and especially Ser Otto – had damage to try and contain.

Even Rhaenyra was not spared from such. Every single room was searched, even hers. Ser Rickard and Ser Arryk were careful to scourge every single last one of the documents that landed on anyone’s hands in the past moon to decisively say that no other copies of any guest list existed. A futile attempt to try and find some other soul to blame, as if the first thing that Rhaenyra did with the copy that Maris and Estell stole from Alicent’s apartments was not to burn it and make sure not even ashes were left.

Alas, Alicent, still ignorant about the smartest moves she needed to make, insisted that the list on the King’s hand was the only one she worked on. Much to Otto’s disgusted and horrified expression.

Lord Lyman rubbed his temples. “If anything, Princess Rhaenys sounded more… disapproving… disappointed than angered.”

Ser Tyland turned incredulous eyes towards the Master of Coin. “Of course, Princess Rhaenys can hardly put her honest thoughts on paper.”

“Shall we wait until Lord Corlys comes back and learns that the Velaryons were… forgotten? For the Crown Princess’ name day?!” Lord Lyonel’s panic was understandable in the circumstances.

“Nothing to it.” Tyland grunted. While not Otto’s ally yet, it was clear that the man was too practical to let himself be pulled into another redundant round of discussion.

He much preferred debating possible solutions than lamenting over actions already taken.

Rhaenyra pursed her lips. Ser Tyland Lannister and Ser Criston Cole were two pieces that she mourned to see among the Greens. Tyland was a very sharp advisor with keen instincts and while Criston cannot claim many smarts, his skills on the battlefield – no matter how cowardly he personally was – spoke for themselves. While Rhaenyra took steps to ensure that Criston saw some of Alicent’s less than admirable qualities, Rhaenyra’s only strategy for Ser Tyland was to hope that his close minded and skepticism – to be kind – that women can rule was weakened by Otto’s constant challenge to his patience.

“Indeed, it is.” Otto grabbed the chance it was presented, heedless of the fact that Tyland clearly was not finished. “There are other matters that require this council’s attention.”

Tyland, however, did not share the rest of the council’s habit of deferring to Otto, being newly arrived at court, he did not know that Otto pretty much spoke for the King. He did not seem to have believed the rumors about Otto having the King’s entire hearing capability. In all fairness, they were a bit outlanding… until one sees it for themselves.

“I meant, however, that our energy would be better spent in finding ways to perhaps seek the Velaryons’ favor once more. News of the Stepstones are starting to arrive to the rest of the realm and even Lannisport is being affected by the blockage of commerce the Triarchy has inflicted on Westeros.”

But Viserys, true to his nature and Otto’s careful molding, rolled his eyes. “I tire of that place. Beyond such matters that Otto has already assured us all that shall be settled soon enough, mayhap a grand feast to their coming home will suffice. The Velaryons as the very guests of honor that shall be celebrated. Family at a times make mistakes. The gods know that Rhaenys is well used to taking Daemon in hand.”

Rhaenyra was not quite certain where in the Known World the logic came from. To forget about the second most powerful noble House of Westeros with ties to The Crown and dragons of their own went much beyond mere “family making mistakes”. 

She also wondered where this thinking was whenever Daemon did whatever he did to provoke her father’s anger into exiling him. Granted, Rhaenyra clenched her jaw as she tried to be fair, Daemon did a bit more to test his limits than overlook guests, although one could argue that his actions also ensured that the Velaryons remained if not friends then allies. From extending peace offers to Rhaenys in painfully honest conversations in the aftermath of the Great Council of 101, something that Daemon was never comfortable or skilled at, to fighting with Corlys and for Corlys in the Stepstones.

Still, Rhaenyra had to concede that the Velaryons were not the beginning and ending of their problems.

They just could be their biggest one.

It seemed that Rhaenyra was not the only one shocked into silence by the King’s words.

Otto, quite predictably, was quick to agree. “Astute observation, Your Grace.”

Not only he would be eager to change the subject but this time he has a legitimate distraction as well.

Rhaenyra was not quite eager to fight this new battle, but she was also tired of the old one that seemed to have only reached a stalemate. Trying to relax her shoulders, she calmly stared at Otto as he started his own mummer’s show.

“Your Grace, I have received the most disturbing news.” Otto started.

“Oh, so ravens do fly to and from the Red Keep, I was worried that was no longer the case.” Ser Tyland was not quite so willing to let the offense of being interrupted pass him by.

Rhaenyra hid a smile behind her hand which she raised in the guise of brushing a lock of hair from her face. Otto gritted his teeth but took the smart decision of ignoring Tyland’s comment.

Otto had yet to ensure Tyland could see the advantages - aside from supporting a man on the throne - of allying with him. Rhaenyra wondered how Otto did it before. After all, the man did not make a secret of his opinion on the Stepstones, and those damn islands saw quite a few of Western ships.

Rhaenyra did not think that she could get the Lannisters to support her if war was to come. At the end of it she did not really have much that would interest them and Alicent would have children with a cock between their legs and that would be all that matters for Jason Lannister. But if Ser Tyland’s accounts of the current situation in the Red Keep were not enough for Lord Jason, then for certain it would make him hesitate. Perhaps assume a neutral stance, and that was all that Rhaenyra truly needed from them.

“It is from the Vale.” Otto extended his hand with the opened scroll.

Of course, Viserys did not see anything wrong with the fact that someone else read his letters before he could do so himself.

As Viserys unrolled the letter, Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at the time Otto had given him to read it for himself. She was not unfamiliar with using drama to her advantage, but at this point this was drama for drama’s sake. Rhaenyra could hardly stop herself from asking whether Otto merely wished to amuse himself with all this nonsense.

When Viserys seemed to go from confused to angered to annoyed and then resigned, Otto seemed just a bit disconcerted by the lack of reaction.

“It seems that Lady Rhea Royce had an accident during a hunting trip and passed almost three moons ago.” Otto informed the rest of the small council.

While the rest of the small council members immediately started to discuss the possible repercussions, Otto seemed to stare expectantly at Viserys. Rhaenyra had to grit her teeth once again because, as much as she hated to admit, it was not obvious that Otto was waiting for a specific reaction from the King and, in case it was not the one he wanted, Otto was ready to use whatever it was to his liking. The lessons one must learn living.

“Three moons ago? It is extremely remiss of the Royces to dally with such information!” Lord Lyonel seemed insulted on The Crown’s very behalf.

But Lord Lyman seemed to find little and less to care about. “Prince Daemon can hardly be called a dutiful husband, Lord Lyonel. His public insults and equally public affairs have long since dishonored Lady Rhea. House Royce can hardly be blamed for forgetting about a husband that is only ever a husband because he was too drunk to properly fight off the knights surrounding him, three of which were holding blades almost to his throat so that he would stay still long enough for his grandmother to pronounce the vows.”

Rhaenyra quickly disguised her laugh into a cough. Ser Harrold sent her a quick look as a warning before diverting attention to himself instead.

“Lady Rhea also greatly benefited from the marriage. More than any lady would think of wishing for. She led her House as she saw fit, undisputed, with Prince Daemon’s constant absences. She was very loud when voicing her wishes to not have children and we all know Prince Daemon’s own opinion about laying with her and, in his own words, dirtying his blood. Being married to a dragonlord also saw that her claim was only ever strengthened.”

Lyonel rolled his eyes. “Prince Daemon’s words and actions also weakened her position as Lady of her own House.”

“Maybe.” Ser Harrold agreed. “But none were overly keen to test if the Rogue Prince would find it in himself to care to physically protect his wife with the Blood Wyrm at his back.” He purposefully used the sobriquets the infamous duo acquired for themselves.

Viserys seemed to be focusing on something else entirely as he frowned in confusion at Ser Harrold. “Lady Rhea did not wish to have issue?”

Rhaenyra turned a bit cold. Just for how long did her father believe that Daemon would “settle and do his duty with Rhea Royce”?

Ser Harrold blinked in astonishment. Rhaenyra could see Lyonel and Lyman exchanging equally confused looks from the corner of her eyes. “Forgive me, Your Grace, however… no. At least, as far as I am aware, Lady Rhea did not wish any children from Prince Daemon in specific.”

Before Otto could even open his mouth, Rhaenyra had already turned to look at him, knowing very well that he could not allow for his own arguments to be used against him. 

“Whatever the trouble surrounding their marriage may be, I fear the reasons for the Royces’ delay in sending this news.”

At Otto’s words, not even Lord Lyman could help but feel a bit concerned.

“An absent husband can be forgotten, but a hated one… two moons… almost three,” he took a look at the letter, “is truly a bit much.” Lyman turned to the King who seemed to still be in thought as he stared at Ser Harrold.

Thankfully, Ser Harrold did not return Viserys’ stare, instead he was looking at Otto with interest. “It seems you have some thoughts on the matter, Lord Hand.”

“I am just worried, Your Grace.” Otto addressed the King instead, not noticing, or not caring at the way Ser Harrold narrowed his eyes. “Some of my informants mentioned rumors of a dragon being sighted in the Vale a while ago.”

Rhaenyra almost cursed Saera and Daemon. One dragon was already hard enough to conceal, but two… of Vermithor and Caraxes’ sizes? They had assured her that they used the cover of nights and storms, still, that hardly meant much. Vermithor was almost Vhagar’s size.

“What are you insinuating, Ser Otto?” Rhaenyra decided to interject then.

“No insinuation, My Princess. Merely my concern. The Royces may wish to… take advantage of the situation.”

A bold-faced lie. Yet only as far as Otto was involved, which made it convincing. After all, it may well be true that the Royces would use the situation as leverage. As poor evidence as that they had. Rhaenyra huffed.

Her opinion was shared by Ser Harrold who raised an eyebrow. “Based on rumors that a dragon was sighted in the Vale?”

“Prince Daemon’s thoughts of the Vale and his wife are known through the realms. It is no great effort.” Otto apparently wanted to imply but not outright say the words. The accusation.

“No great effort to what?” Rhaenyra took care to not sound challenging, although the curious tilt to her head was probably a bit much.

When Otto noticed that all eyes were on him, Rhaenyra could see that he realized there was no way to make others arrive at the conclusion that he wished them to. If he was alone with Viserys, then he might have found a way to steer the conversation, but he was not and he could not.

“I apologize, Your Grace, but considering the entire… situation, I cannot help but worry that House Royce will soon enough accuse Prince Daemon of something heinous.”

Rhaenyra bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood. 

“You forget yourself, Lord Hand.” Ser Harrold’s gauntleted hand formed a fist on the table. “You are not only accusing a noble House of slander but also implying a Prince of the Blood to have murdered a noble lady.”

“As I said to the Princess, Ser Harrold, I insinuate nothing, I imply nothing. My worry is merely on the reason for the Royces’ delay in informing us of the… terrible loss.” Otto answered calmly.

Slimy leech. Rhaenyra fumed. She wanted to yell out from the tallest tower of the Red Keep. Otto may have been caught off guard and has since been unable to properly land on his feet, but it was undeniable his skill in thriving among snakes, as he was the most venomous one of all.

“Conjecture at best.” Lyonel massaged his temples. “Have they even said anything about their delay?” he eyed the letter in the King’s hand.

“Nothing.” The King said, the expression on his face a bit lost.

“Your Grace?” Rhaenyra asked.

“I am… I find myself tired. We shall revisit this… matter at a later date.”

“Your Grace, if I may… I can always send a raven to Runestone, inquiring after Lady Rhea…” Otto offered. “Use my own contacts to find out what is happening.”

“Sure, if you think it best.” Viserys said distractedly as he got up and left, leaving the small council to their own devices.

From incredulity to shock to annoyance to dread to exasperation, it seemed that the only person marginally happy was Otto Hightower. As per usual. Rhaenyra gritted her teeth before excusing herself.

How was it possible that a man could insult almost all the occupants of a room and still come out of it victorious?

Rhaenyra could barely meet Amanda’s eyes and Nora and Amelia exchange a worried glance at their Princess’ reticence.

Otto basically being put in charge of House Royce's situation was worrisome and something that Rhaenyra needed to write to Jeyne about. But right then, Rhaenyra was too tired to do much more than tell her present ladies what happened in the meeting.

Rhaenyra barely had enough energy to lay down on her bed before her eyelids became too heavy to be properly open.

~*~

(Lady Amanda Arryn)

Amanda carefully undid the braids from Rhaenrya’s hair. Truly they were all too tired to be doing much and they should all head to bed to recover from such a poor night of sleep. Although, by all accounts, the night before was a huge success for them.

The mummer’s show went without a hitch and, if Amanda’s many years in court taught her anything, was that rare were the occasions that secrets were kept secret and within the walls of a keep. With such a huge crowd as witness? Impossible.

Amanda brushed Rhaenyra’s hair, and, with Amelia’s help, they changed her into a night shift. The gods knew that after half a day in a corset, let alone a day and an entire night, a woman was about to strangle someone with their bare hands.

Sighing, Amanda assigned the Strong sisters to their usual duties. A few of Rhaenyra’s clothes needed some tending to and it would be good to have Rhaenyra’s entire household to be seen making themselves useful.

Softly caressing Rhaenyra’s hair, Amanda allowed herself to rest a bit on the chair beside her bed. By the time the King had allowed anyone to leave the banquet hall, it was almost day already and they had all been too nervous, waiting for news from the Vale to really fall asleep. For a few seconds, the unreasonable feeling of envy of the new ladies in waiting passed through Amanda’s body. As they were unaware of many of their measures and objectives, there was not as much weighting on their minds.

Amanda knew that the rest she was getting was sorely needed, just like she knew it would be an uneasy sleep. Not really restoring much of her vitality.

Waking up before Rhaenyra has long since become a habit of Amanda. After all, before heading Rhaenyra’s household, she had led Aemma’s.

Swiftly getting up, although wincing a bit for having slept on a chair, Amanda started to summon the maids to clear the room a bit. Change the chamber pot and washbowl, to have new towels brought in as well as new bedsheets and covers and making sure that the pitcher of wine and water were full once more, the candles also seemed to be in need of replacing.

Annora, the newly appointed head of the maids was quick to instruct the rest of them to not open the curtains yet. To leave that task to the ladies in waiting. However below the action was to noble ladies, they had not minded, especially since that meant that Rhaenyra would have a few more moments to sleep undisturbed.

They were all worried about the bruises under Rhaenyra’s eyes. Stress was one thing, but they were becoming a constant, a new and permanent part of her features even as her lilac eyes remained always sharp and dangerous.

Amanda worried… and she mourned as well. She was too tired and too jaded to renew her anger at Viserys Targaryen. Too used to watching and being unable to do anything as that man tore his family to pieces, apparently never lacking for new ways to do so… sometimes quite literally. Amanda winced. Jeyne’s words haunted Amanda’s nightmares for many days.

“… I shall thank His Grace for his mercy for if we stay, who knows who among the daughters and sons from my House will be slaughtered LIKE A PIG!?”

Amanda tightly clenched her stomach not to lose whatever food remained in it.

“… the King was so obsessed with having a son that when Queen Aemma was failing to deliver his last chance from her, he was willing to cut Queen Aemma open like a damn fish whose guts we do not care for on our plates?”

Jeyne always had a way with words. Amanda thought with some horrified humor. Her nieces would be the death of her, she was sure.

Still, Amanda never once thought that the King would go to such a length. It was no secret that Viserys Targaryen’s deepest and most desperate wish was to have a son. And, unfortunately, the only one that would be able to give him a legitimate one was Aemma Arryn… was.

Amanda tried to summon anger. She tried to summon maybe even indignation. It was so easy to do so after Aemma had properly flowered and thus there was no excuse to wait for the bedding anymore. To be married at eleven. And then bedded at thirteen summers of age… it sounded ridiculous then and it sounded horrifying now. But all Amanda managed to feel was cold.

“Lady Amanda?” Lady Rosamund whispered very quietly from the doorway.

The tall and lean and beautiful daughter of the Darrys was discreet despite her statuesque figure and looks that could not help but draw attention. Amanda commended her for the skill. Moreover, there was the uncharitable thought, Alicent Hightower with her more common features could not help but catch the eyes of many more because of her nervous disposition instead. More than once, Amanda had pitied the young lady that was almost mangling her own fingers with a grimace on her otherwise comely face.

Funny how even that pity seemed like a distant memory.

Amanda motioned for Rosamund to wait a bit. After ensuring that Rhaenyra would wake up to a fully prepared chamber, she went to see what was happening. Carefully closing the door behind her, Amanda had to look up to meet Rosamund’s dark honey eyes.

“What is it, Lady Rosamund?”

“The Lord Hand just sent a raven to Runestone. Well… at least his son did through an acolyte of Grand Maester Mellos.” Rosamund informed, so quietly that despite the mere inches that separated her lips from Amanda’s ears, Amanda still had to strain a bit to hear her.

The man certainly was living up to his reputation of not wasting time. Amanda pursed her lips in aggravation. 

There would be too much unwanted scrutiny if someone from Rhaenyra’s household was to send another raven towards the Vale.

Amanda was not overly worried because she knew Jeyne very well. She had no doubt that either Jeyne or someone she trusted was currently in Runestone, overseeing the success of their plans. Otto’s ravens will either fall on the hand of one of their own, or there will be others to steer the course for them.

“Very well. Thank you, Lady Rosamund, and please be as unassuming as possible. Yours and Ada’s duties are perhaps the riskiest at the moment.” Amanda warned.

Tailing the maesters, the acolytes and especially the Grand Maester was unusual at best and suspicious at worst. Particularly if someone from Otto’s ilk suspected that they were wary of… missed correspondence, even if, Amanda huffed to herself, that would soon enough be for naught with their habit of insisting on overseeing the raven fly away.

Rosamund merely nodded, calmly but firmly and Amanda watched as she left once more. She would have to ask Ada whether Rosamund delivered this information of her own volition or if Ada was the one to task her with it. So far, there has been no trouble in that front.

Lady Lyra was the next one to have been done for the day. She had already talked to the Gold Cloaks about overseeing the proper security for their charity project, so nothing went missing… or destroyed. Something else that Amanda would have to oversee. If only for the moment, they could not trust anyone.

“My Lady.” Lady Lyra nodded.

“Thank you, Lady Lyra.” Amanda accepted the written report that the newly arrived builders had done. They would have to see about buying the materials needed and how many more workers to hire. “If you have the time, please see to Lady Elinda. I am afraid that the commotion has left her very fatigued.”

Lady Lyra offered a smile before leaving to find the child. Amanda would also have to check if there was nothing amiss.

Amanda sighed tiredly once again. Sooner rather than later, those precautions, ensuring that the people they chose to be part of Rhaenyra’s household were loyal to Rhaenyra only… will be a moot point. No one will have a choice in the matter before long. Still, it was good to see who hesitated now.

Maris passed by and subtly shook her head. No news was good news at this point. Nora, Amelia and Estell were probably still trying to gleam more from their fathers and Elinda was given the rest of the day to sleep as well. Seven was truly too young for all the excitement of the day before, Lady Lyra was to ensure that she would be well looked after. It would not surprise any if in the busy days they had ahead of them, Lady Elinda went neglected, unlike the rest of Rhaenyra’s household, Lady Elinda still needed more care at only seven.

As Amanda waited for Ser Erryk to be relieved of his guard duties by Ser Harrold, she tried to fight the anxiety about their next steps. There was still a lot to be done and the mummer’s show was but the first of many to come to fruition, the consequences of which would still not be seen and felt for some time yet however.

Amelia and Estell rounded the corner into the hallway at that moment, their expressions telling Amanda all that she needed to know. It has not happened yet. Daily, Amelia and Nora would talk to Lord Lyonel, just like Estell would do with Lord Allum,  and daily, they reported the same news. But that could change at any time. 

Unknowingly, Amanda echoed Rhaenyra’s own thoughts.

Just a bit more.

Looking at the position of the sun and having decided that Rhaenyra had rested all that she could afford to rest, Amanda made her way back to her niece’s chambers. She really did not want to disturb the exhausted princess in the first true time of ease that Amanda had seen from Rhaenyra since she was made heir.

With regret, Amanda shook Rhaenyra’s shoulder lightly.

“Rhaenyra… it is time to wake up, little one.”

Groaning softly, Rhaenyra immediately got up as was her habit. Even if her eyes were still firmly shut.

Behind her, Amanda could hear Amelia and Estell in Nora’s place rummaging through Rhaenyra’s belongings to get her a robe.

“Aunt?” Rhaenyra’s visible struggle to open her eyes had Amanda propping her up with more pillows behind her back.

It was maybe good that Rhaenyra had yet to chase sleep from her sight, as it was rare the times that she called Amanda as her aunt. But they were all cherished. Amanda understood that part of it was her age, she was old enough to be Aemma’s aunt, let alone Rhaenyra’s. The other part, the part that Amanda could not help but resent, was the distance that King Jaehaerys saw fit to put between them all. The Arryns relatives from the Targaryen ones. An aunt or uncle had more authority than a noble should have had over a royal, and while the logic was a sound one, Amanda could not help but be saddened by it.

When Baelon “the Brave” Targaryen became heir of the Iron Throne at five and thirty, Viserys Targaryen became the future king when before he was fourth in line and not even in the right bloodline. A year later, Prince Viserys married Lady Aemma who brought her half-sister with her to court. Truly, there was unease and a feeling of hierarchical awkwardness. Especially once Rhaenyra was born. Prince Daemon was always “Uncle”, but Lady Amanda being called “Aunt” elevated a House in a way never seen before.

Velaryons and Baratheons were married into the Targaryen House and went on to become some of the most powerful Houses in Westeros, but there was a sense of disconnect for their own households that didn't contain members of their birth Houses. 

Amanda understood it when King Jaehaerys would correct Rhaenyra when she addressed Amanda as “Aunt”. It did not mean that she was not hurt by it.

She helped Rhaenyra to her chair before grabbing a towel as her niece washed her face.

“It seems that Lord Allun and Lord Lyonel have yet to receive letters from Oldtown.” Amanda said once she saw that Rhaenyra was properly awake.

Rhaenyra’s eyes went wide, and Amanda could almost hear the way her heartbeat started to race. It was not unlike her expression the night before, right as the show was about to begin and she had to pretend that she was not involved in anything that was happening around them.

“I need to talk to Viserys then, before the small council meeting that is bound to happen.” Rhaenyra sighed.

Amanda nodded and went to call for Amelia and Nora to dress Rhaenyra.

It was no coincidence that Rhaenyra chose Arryn blue for this conversation. Not quite a style that Aemma favored, but still not something one would often see being worn by Rhaenyra. 

Amelia and Nora were carefully selecting some dresses, riding leathers and other clothes that Rhaenyra could wear for the tour that has yet to be given permission to happen. So Amanda left them to it and went to accompany Rhaenyra to the King’s chambers. Hoping against hope that Viserys would be so enthused by the idea that his daughter was “conceding” to try and find a husband that he would not ask too much about their questionable timing.

Amanda rolled her eyes to herself. If anyone had cared enough to disregard all the distractions, some of which they truly did not have any involvement in, the entire realm could see that Rhaenyra and her allies, which included Amanda herself, were doing something. It was perhaps an unfair assessment. They had all made sure that they were very good distractions after all, but not many survived believing in coincidences.

Still, some of the circumstances were quite out of their control, and this was one of them.

“Princess Rhaenyra.” Ser Harrold announced, and King Viserys seemed to waste no time in opening his doors.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

“I am not sure if the time is right, dear.” Viserys frowned.

It was not a “no” yet. Rhaenyra cleared her throat. “I understand that… the tension at court is heavy, Father. But equally pressing is the need for me not only to find a fitting consort, but to know the land I will rule over one day.”

More the latter than the former but Rhaenyra knew what Viserys wanted to hear.

“I am glad that you are taking your responsibilities so seriously but right now… with Alicent,” he said the name through gritted teeth, “we need to present a united front.”

In other circumstances, her father’s clear annoyance and rage at Alicent would have made Rhaenyra lit up. She would capitulate and do her best to explore the feeling before Alicent managed to sooth the King’s humor enough to be back in his good graces.

Rhaenyra sometimes wondered how Alicent achieved that. Being compliant as Viserys bedded her was different than initiating contact but maybe the Dreams merely did not show her when that changed, when Alicent’s wifely duties became a weapon instead. Which was something to be grateful for. Rhaenyra was far from happy about witnessing anything of the act between Alicent and her father after all.

“I understand, Father. But still, my presence here hardly changes it. And I do need to start being more proactive. My project for King’s Landing is well on its way but it could always attract other realms interested in it, a tour to get to know Westeros seemed like the obvious next step.”

Viserys sighed and seemed to think about it. Rhaenyra tried again.

“Besides I think it is also time that I add some knights to my household. I believe I will be well accompanied by the ladies in waiting I selected but there is still a need for knights for protection, ushers, a treasurer. For now, my ladies seem to have those duties well in hand, but this is also an opportunity to give the honor to other Houses as well.”

Viserys laughed then and Rhaenyra tried really hard not to feel offended. “Oh, Rhaenyra, there is no need for that. The Red Keep is filled with all manner of Houses.”

A little too loyal to those of the Reach. Rhaenyra bit her tongue not to say it. Especially not to call her own father an idiot. That was a step too far in her opinion.

“And I see that. Still, there are Houses who have never been inside its walls. I would like to know them and for them to know me.”

Viserys was silent for so long that Rhaenyra worried that this was all for naught. 

She tried to think of other ways to further her plans. It was true that Rhaenyra could always summon the knights to King’s Landing. Still, it was not every House that had the coin and time to spare for such a journey and thus, talent that she knew existed out there would go to waste.

The other problem is how to form alliances using ravens? Maester Gerardys and Uncle Vaegon were loyal but there was only so much that could be conveyed through letters. Two thirds of the realm. Fifty-three Houses declared for her without too much prompting or just because she asked. That was after almost two decades as heir, a well-established heir that had a brother and was still heir. Rhaenyra did not have that advantage yet. She needed everything she could get.

“You are really passionate about it, are you not?”

Heart about to race up her throat, Rhaenyra took a deep breath. “I have to be.”

And then, much to her confusion, Viserys seemed amused. To the point that he started to laugh.

“I apologize, my daughter. But… it seems like only yesterday where you were throwing a mighty tantrum because your mother and I denied you a lemon cake before dinner.”

Humiliation was quick to rise within her, but Rhaenyra refused to let it hurt her. What was new in this situation? Her father demanded that she grow up and take responsibility, most of which he never bothered to teach her how to do so aside from getting married and having children, and attending the small council meetings, be it as a cupbearer or having a seat of her own. And then the next day he would treat her like a child, laughing at her efforts as if she was playing pretend. At least this time it did not happen publicly.

Keeping Saera’s advice in mind, Rhaenyra forced a smile. “Well, I am sure that they will have plenty of lemon cakes.”

“Amanda was always very strict about your eating habits, she will stop you.” Viserys joked back.

Like much that Viserys said, Rhaenyra was insulted for others and annoyed at him. It was childish but at the same time, Rhaenyra did not think she was wrong in thinking that Viserys behaved a little too familiar with Amanda when he could not seem to stop slighting her family… killing her family. Still, Rhaenyra grabbed the opening given with both hands.

“Does that mean you are favorable to the idea?”

Viserys grunted as he sipped his wine. Rhaenyra waited for the verdict. She needed his agreement before anyone from Oldtown decided that maybe being loyal to The Crown was a good idea and tell the King about his missing relatives, truly she needed to be out of King’s Landing by then or else she would never be able to leave.

Rhaenyra let that particular part depend too much on chance. She frowned briefly before smoothing her expression lest Viserys caught it.

Everything else, they had either provoked or stalled, effectively gaining control of the situation or using it to their advantage. But Rhaella’s disappearance from the Starry Sept much like Vaegon’s from the Citadel was a fire that could reach King’s Landing at any time. Almost six moons and there was still no raven sent.

Rhaenyra wondered how Otto would excuse that. After all, he set up quite the circus about the Royce’s slow pace in informing The Crown about Rhea Royce’s death. He would very probably say something along the lines that septas and archmaesters left their family name behind. As if the amazing coincidence of two Targaryens, former or not, going missing was not enough to warrant a Targaryen king being made aware of it. Rhaenyra tried not to roll her eyes.

“If only because I see that this is something you feel strongly about.” Viserys’ voice snapped Rhaenyra out of her thoughts, and she did her best to hide the fact that she got distracted. “From my promise that you can choose your spouse to actively looking for one, I must admit that I am very surprised… pleasantly so, my daughter.”

You would be. Rhaenyra forced a smile out. Although marrying well was certainly one of the pillars of any royal or noble line, it was disheartening that it seemed to be all that her own father seemed to want to teach her. Marry, have children, and head charity projects, the last of which was not even something he taught her, Viserys just did not actively discourage her.

Am I to be queen regnant or queen consort, father? Do you even know the difference between them? Or truly this is all you think me capable of? Or maybe… Rhaenyra thought darkly… and sadly… maybe that is all you are capable of.

~*~

Rhaenyra eyed the dresses warily before ordering the servants to pack all that she brought from Dragonstone. It was not like she brought those dresses and jewelry because she planned to leave them in King’s Landing after all.

Next, she grabbed the children’s tale book, the one that gave her the idea for the mummer’s show. The leather cover showed a fading picture of a young woman. The blond of the hair was still intact despite the color of the dress having peeled away. The shade of the locks was almost Targaryen. Perhaps it was what attracted Rhaenyra’s mother to it.

Truly, it was not a gift given on a particularly special date or occasion. Queen Aemma just saw it and bought it on a whim when her husband brought merchants into the Red Keep to entertain her during one of her pregnancies. Until Rhaenyra spotted it when Amelia gave the idea to spread rumors about, she had honestly forgotten about it. There were other, more sentimental, gifts from her mother after all.

Carefully, Rhaenyra put it away in one of her personal traveling trunks.

“These will come in the royal wheelhouse.” Rhaenyra announced to Lyra, Amanda and Nora who were helping her with her more personal belongings.

Amanda was ensuring that the rest of her ladies were bringing everything they would need and will soon do the same to the last three and Rhaenyra as well. Especially little Elinda who Rhaenyra refused to leave alone and unattended. While the Red Keep was not that dangerous - especially with the Greens having yet to grow their influence beyond Otto’s whispers in the King’s ears and treacherous kingsguards merely favoring one royal over the other instead of crowning anyone they should not, and there were no rapist drunken princes about yet - Elinda was still only seven.

Rhaenyra thought she could be excused for feeling more overprotective of her youngest lady, a child. Kind and shy and quiet, Rhaenyra feared that she would go forgotten. While Maris was one and ten, she always felt more independent, stronger. Lady Estell might have Maris’ height despite being eight years older, but her loud voice and strong personality made up for it.

Rhaenyra shook her head. It was a pity that she had to take such things in consideration because her ladies in waiting were not completely safe in the keep Rhaenyra had grown up in.

“My Princess. Lady Alicent requests entry.” Ser Harrold announced.

Amelia and Nora exchanged glances and Lyra raised an eyebrow before clearing her expression. They did not hurry as they went about the room, tidying it up a bit.

Rhaenyra smiled a little and smiled a bit more when remembering those dreams. Queen Alicent has grown accustomed to not needing permission before being allowed into any chamber she wished to go. Merely expecting for the doors to be opened and her presence announced before the owner or occupants could say anything about it. Often even with Viserys.

Many a time, Rhaenyra had Dreamed, Alicent had forced her presence on Rhaenyra. Overruled her own orders, imposed her wishes on her. It culminated in that horrifying walk mere moments after childbirth, trailing blood up and then down the stairs, on the floor of the hallways for Rhaenyra refused to be parted with her newborn. But that was hardly the first instance of Alicent freely using the power that she now had in the Red Keep.

For someone that was “just doing as her father ordered” Alicent was very fast in enjoying the privileges that Otto’s schemes had given her. And so, Rhaenyra felt a petty sort of fun in making Alicent wait for them to be properly presentable. 

Rhaenyra surrounded herself with her people. Creating walls in the shape of ladies, knights and servants. Ser Harrold was but the first barrier, announcing Alicent and waiting for Rhaenyra’s permission before opening the door was the second.

Calm in the surety that whatever is it that Lady Alicent wished for, it could wait a few minutes for Lady Lyra to organize Rhaenyra’s letters in a neat pile, for Lady Nora to carefully put her jewelry they have yet to sort in velvet boxes and for Lady Amelia to meticulously try to find and fix any flaw in Rhaenyra’s intricate braids. The three ladies were quick to stand up straight, beside and a little behind Rhaenyra as they finished. A show of support.

“She may come in, Ser Harrold.” Rhaenyra called out.

Alicent was being escorted about by Ser Rickard and her brother, Ser Gwayne. Rhaenyra was most tempted to mock the whole thing. Did she expect to be attacked to be guarded by two knights inside the Red Keep? Or was she merely using the armored men as shields from the criticism that never stopped being levied on her since moons before she ever became “the Wife of the King”? That is what ladies in waiting are for, however, not knights.

Alicent faltered as she spotted Lady Lyra, Lady Amelia and Lady Nora in Rhaenyra’s chambers but Rhaenyra saw no reason to offer an explanation when Alicent did not even ask for one. Rhaenyra remembered days that a simple confused look had her immediately either trying to avert attention or discreetly explain the context to Alicent. Rhaenyra was once again hit with the realization of how many allowances Alicent was given in her time serving Rhaenyra.

“Good eve, Lady Alicent.” Rhaenyra used an honorific that she never did before.

It served three purposes, increasingly petty, equally as important for Rhaenyra’s own moves. For one, there was a certain distance once married to the King that Rhaenyra doubted Alicent ever considered. Not only from other nobles, but among royalty as well, specifically, and particularly when the spouse was not already royal. Alyssa Velaryon was of the most prestigious lineage and a Valyrian one to boot, she was still treated like a Velaryon. For second it was a veiled and subtle hit that Alicent was not queen and no queen. And finally, Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower were not friends.

Alicent Hightower not only had no lord for a father, but she no longer could boast of the Princess’ protection, she was no longer of her household and received no more guidance. She was on her own.

Ser Rickard seemed to understand the implications behind Rhaenyra’s form of address. And while Ser Gwayne could hardly be called any sharp sword, he still narrowed his eyes at the lack of familiarity that Rhaenyra had never bothered with before. Which honestly baffled Rhaenyra. Did he expect for her to welcome Alicent with open arms?

“Rhaenyra…” Alicent faltered at the raised eyebrows from Lady Lyra. “I was… hoping that we could talk… in private.”

Purposefully misunderstanding her words, Rhaenyra nodded and walked towards her solar. Sitting on one of the comfortable padded chairs displayed around a small tea table.

“Please sit.” Rhaenyra did not need to turn around to know that her own ladies followed her there and were now standing right behind her.

“I did mention… in private, yes?” Alicent cleared her throat, starting to pick at her nails.

Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows, faking curiosity. “Well… I hardly doubt that there would be any difference. For sure, your knights will hear about it… as would my ladies.”

There was a strange glint in Alicent’s eyes that Rhaenyra took a second longer to understand. Whatever it was that Rhaenyra said had convinced Alicent to approach her and take the indicated seat. It was only when Gwayne and Rickard shadowed her movement that Rhaenyra realized what must have occurred to Alicent.

Alicent felt safe with two trained and knighted men bracketing her. While Rhaenyra’s most present shield, Ser Harrold, was outside the door and she was in the company of three noble ladies only.

While the Dreams did not show her quite when Otto started to breed fear of Rhaenyra in Alicent’s mind and heart, Rhaenyra knew that it was only a matter of time before her own situation became too much for jittery little Alicent. Whether Rhaenyra played a part in it or Alicent simply reacted to her surroundings.

There was a certain beauty to it, truly. Rhaenyra made herself more comfortable on the cushions. Aside from wearing black and outshining Alicent in her own wedding to the King, there was nothing else that Alicent could truly accuse her of, not without sounding paranoid.

“I want an apology.” Alicent started, as resolutely as Rhaenyra had ever seen her without a crown on her head.

Rhaenyra was moments away from waving Alicent’s apology when the word truly seeped into her mind. An apology… not to apologize. She almost laughed, more in incredulity than in amusement. Her vanity’s mirror was big enough to see just a bit of Lady Amelia who exchanged a confused look with who Rhaenyra would assume to be her sister.

A little more entertained than she previously was, Rhaenyra tilted her head. “May I ask… what have I done to warrant one?”

That seemed to make Alicent lose her metaphorical balance and look as incredulous as Rhaenyra felt. Not that Rhaenyra did not have some theories about what Alicent was about to argue to receive an apology, but she wanted to hear it. More than that, she wanted Alicent to voice them… The amusement increased as well if only because of the thought that if Alicent knew the veritable list of what Rhaenyra had done that directly impacted her in the last half a sun turn, an apology was not quite what Rhaenyra would demand in her place.

“For… for your words before Viserys sent you away! For sending Ser Criston to me for… for… for not being there! I needed you… and then your own father asked for you to return when we found out that I am with child, and you did not return.” Alicent almost cried out at the end.

Rhaenyra, unlike Alicent it seemed, was perfectly aware of who was witnessing the display. Alicent may be thinking of her physical safety, but she did not seem to give much thought about the one little plague that she was already a target of. Whispers.

Well, Ser Gwayne may twist what happened to his liking. Ser Rickard would be more pressed to tell the truth… at least a less biased version of it, but Rhaenyra knew well the skill with which her ladies spread information.

“My words before the King sent me away…” Rhaenyra repeated slowly, not really caring how her audience would take her tone. “They may have been harsh… but out of curiosity… were they a lie? Or unfair? Which fortunately brings us to my… absence… by your side. When I replied that I needed your support and my father’s, the both of you were too busy disrespecting the Queen of Westeros’ memory and mourning period to entertain some silly little girl who lost her mother, you seemed happy to stay your tongue and offer me nothing but silence.”

Oh, but how joyous it was that Rhaenyra truly did not have to do anything at all to worsen Alicent’s reputation. She may have to use every trick to make the rumors circulate, but she has yet to say a single lie.

Alicent’s eyes starting to shine with unshed tears seemed almost a pathetic deception in comparison to what the occupants of the chamber now knew. Rhaenyra was truly and completely tired of Alicent trying to convince all that she was a mere victim. Of her father, of Viserys, of Rhaenyra, of life itself.

“Rhaenyra… I was… I was just doing as my father–”

“What my sister meant, is that our father did what he could to secure her the best match in the wake of the unfortunate incident.” Gwayne hurried to correct Alicent, almost interrupting her in truth.

Rhaenyra had wondered if Alicent would have said the words. Doing as her father ordered. It was quite obvious to ask next what exactly that “order” had entailed. In another life, no one would have had. 

And what could Alicent possibly have answered? "My father ordered me to wear my mother’s dress to comfort the King in the middle of the night unchaperoned?"

Rhaenyra swallowed with some difficulty. Who among them was not blind? Whether it was due to hubris or something else altogether, sometimes Rhaenyra felt as if they had given the Greens the crown on a silver plate.

Staring at Gwayne with a completely unimpressed face may have not been the smartest decision to take but Rhaenyra was happy with the way he was almost squirming under her gaze. It was a weak explanation and even weaker in the face of the fact that not only was Alicent married to the King without a royal title but living in court where her every step would be scrutinized. If Otto truly held the power to decide Alicent’s fate even in opposition to the King’s wishes and if Otto truly held Alicent as anything other than a piece to be moved in a greater game, she would have been sent to Oldtown at the first opportunity. Maybe she would not have been any happier there than in court and her reputation would surely not get any better, but at least gossip from a disgraced noble lady who was a daughter of a second son was much less interesting coming from the High Tower than from the Red Keep.

“I see.” Was all that Rhaenyra offered.

It was almost funny to watch as Gwayne glared daggers at Alicent who stared confusedly back at him. Rhaenyra absently wondered if Alicent would forget what she came to her chambers for.

“What about Ser Criston, then?” Alicent turned around to face her.

Rhaenyra blinked and then purposefully glanced down, towards Alicent’s growing midsection much to Alicent’s reddening face.

“I have to admit that all I could think of was my mother… slashed open by the orders of my father… with whom you are now married to. Although I do not think I was outright wrong in worrying… I can always apologize if that is your wish.”

Her ladies in waiting getting lost in the Red Keep. Otto and the rest of his supporters scrambling in the face of their crumbling plans. Alicent not even recognizing an insult when levied behind the curtains of court styled words… Rhaenyra’s own image of a naïve, unprepared and spoiled little girl. All convenient smokescreens that Rhaenyra had no qualms using to their breaking point. Said breaking point has yet to arrive, but it is nearing.

Rhaenyra watched dispassionately as Alicent struggled with what to say, her face rapidly reddening. Ser Rickard, more aware of the court's silent war, did not dare utter a word. It was very likely that he did not think that there was any second intention behind Rhaenyra’s actions and words for he grew up constantly witnessing Viserys failing to teach her anything of true value in the world of politics. Ser Gwayne, however, less used to her presence and having learned at the knees of Otto Hightower, looked uncomfortable, but much warier than his sister and fellow knight.

It was almost interesting to see how someone less biased took the situation. The contrary beliefs warring inside of Gwayne was almost funny to witness. On one hand, it went against the girl that Otto believed Rhaenyra to be and, therefore, raised his son to believe as well. On the other hand, Gwayne was better prepared for court, he knew its hidden tools too well to not recognize some of them in Rhaenyra’s steps.

“The manner… the… time… was ill fitting, Rhaenyra.” Alicent tried to convey her meaning without further aggravating her own poor standing in the argument… and reputation.

Rhaenyra tilted her head. “I was acting with facts that I had. And I will not apologize for worrying for your safety and that of your child’s.” She affected a somewhat insulted tone to her voice before getting up.

Rhaenyra was a princess… Alicent was a mere lady. Rhaenyra was the heir to the throne and Alicent was married to the King. Murky, uncharted waters or not, this time Rhaenyra outranked Alicent.

“Ser Harrold.” Rhaenyra called. “Please send for the servants to carry my chests to the carriage.”

Alicent seemed to notice Rhaenyra’s belongings neatly packed away for the first time. “Did… did your father send you away again?”

Rhaenyra’s surprised confusion was not feigned that time around. “… why would he have sent me anywhere?”

Why indeed? Rhaenyra saw the question twisting and turning in Alicent’s mind. For some, Rhaenyra’s trip to Dragonstone at the tails of the marriage between the King and Lady Alicent was seen as a punishment for her actions during said wedding, for others, the Crown Princess was moons away from being a woman grown and thus was familiarizing herself with her future seat.

It was hardly like it would have occurred to either Viserys or Alicent to explain to anyone what happened behind closed doors that day. Mayhap to Otto, but the man had other worries and he still underestimated her.

Regardless, in Alicent’s mind Rhaenyra was “sent away” for her behavior during that last shared meal. What reason would her father have now for such? But oh, Rhaenyra fought an amused smirk, it was quite the show to watch as Alicent has felt constantly insulted in the last moon since Rhaenyra came back to the Red Keep, however could not rightly put into words why or even why Rhaenyra should be “punished”.

Seemingly pressed for time, Rhaenyra saw through the window in a show of checking the sun’s position.

“I hope I have assuaged whatever doubts you had, Lady Alicent. But right now, I am in a bit of a hurry.” Rhaenyra did not bow before leaving, and neither did her ladies.

The way to the King’s chambers was not without interruptions. None could stop talking about Lady Alicent’s mistake in not inviting the Velaryons and all seemed to think that Rhaenyra would have something to say about it. Well… if they insisted, Rhaenyra made sure to don a mask of nervousness.

“I am unsure of the consequences. Lady Laena was rejected… the Stepstones ignored due to Lord Hand’s council… and now… I am sure that Lady Alicent did not mean to do so maliciously or even intentionally, however.” Rhaenyra finished resolutely to the few ladies and nobles brave enough to ask her about it.

The slights against the Velaryons were hardly forgotten in less than six moon turns. But Rhaenyra would burn to ashes before she let anyone forget about the King’s mistakes… and the part that the Hightowers had in every step of it.

Ser Harrold knocked on the door and announced Rhaenyra.

The conversation was quite short lived. Rhaenyra did not have to do much to convince her father that a lot of her belongings were on Dragonstone, and she needed to retrieve them before going on tour. Although Viserys very probably did not expect Rhaenyra to be ready to depart on the same day.

~*~

Perhaps it was not fair. Rhaenyra eyed her new four ladies. Lady Lyra seemed much more aware of the storm brewing, as was Lady Rosamund. Lady Estell seemed nervous but not as nervous as Rhaenyra was expecting her to be which could mean many things. Lady Elinda was too young… but that excuse will start to wane and soon, they would have to explain the danger she was in as she served Rhaenyra.

In contrast, Amelia and Nora seemed to almost be running away from the Red Keep, so fast they bade their brothers and father parting words before sitting themselves inside the wheelhouse. Ada looked calm if a bit pale as she followed after them. Amanda, long since seated inside, looked tense for those that knew her, but she was too experienced in pretending for anyone else to notice. Maris was the last to arrive and also the first to make herself comfortable. Although Rhaenyra was sure that it had more to do with the fact that Maris had trouble finding sleep in the last few days than because she was unaware of their situation.

In a few more days, when Rhaenyra would be safely back to Dragonstone, Rhaenys would start to allow the whispers to spread, all that would be left was the news of Rhaella and Vaegon’s disappearance from Oldtown and there would be absolutely no turning back.

Well… perhaps that turning point was nearer for Rhaenyra’s ladies than she expected. Ada swore under her breath. 

Saera was petting Syrax who endured it a bit grumpily although with no open hostility.

Lady Lyra’s hazel eyes immediately narrowed at the Valyrian traits the woman possessed. “My Princess, may we be introduced?”

Saera smirked as if Lyra was addressing her. “But obviously. I am Saera… Targaryen. You must be my little niece’s new ladies in waiting.”

Much to Rhaenyra’s surprise, Amanda looked very annoyed and did very little to try to hide it.

“Ladies, please let’s get inside the ship lest we delay the departure.”

Lyra and Rosamund turned to look at Amanda, suddenly hesitant. Estell frowned but followed Amelia and Nora inside.

“I shall explain it all once in Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra assured. Knowing that such a promise from her, the princess, instead of an explanation given to them by either her senior ladies or her aunt would be more politically sound. And it carried more personal weight as well.

Rosamund was easier to convince than Lyra. Which was to be expected. Widowed and ten summers older than Rhaenyra, Lyra Heyford was no beginner that Rhaenyra could twist the truth to.

It was one thing for Rhaenyra to be in contact with Saera Targaryen… it was something different for them to casually interact with her.

“Lady Lyra… our actions will affect you. There is no chance they cannot. However, the situation is not much changed from what your own father had informed you of. The difference is that there is no going back this time.” Amanda went to face Lyra, more blunt than Rhaenyra had ever expected from her.

“You speak as if I could… go back… before.” Lyra raised an eyebrow.

Amanda tersely smiled at her.

Rhaenyra glanced back towards the Street of Steel. The longer they lingered, the longer Viserys had to notice that Rhaenyra took her chances and left with his permission… technically with his permission.

“Lady Lyra… you have my word that I will always do my best to look out for you and the rest of my household. You do so for me, and I will do so for you.” Rhaenyra swore.

There were a few more uncomfortable moments where Saera did not help at all with the interest she was showing at Lyra’s response. And then Lyra nodded, slowly, unhappily but she would understand that her fate, at this point, was too intertwined with Rhaenyra’s own for her to retreat now. Still, unlike the rest of Rhaenyra’s newer ladies, Lyra was making an informed decision, no matter the fact Lyra did not truly had the choice to make a decision.

They watched as Lyra made her way inside the ship.

“You will have to make good on your promise, Rhaenyra.” Amanda warned.

“I know.”

And then simultaneously, they both turned to Saera. Who started to smile in amusement before they even opened their mouths.

Mirroring her rider’s discontentment, Syrax huffed and shook off her hand, almost making Saera fall into the harbor in the process.

Rhaenyra would never admit it to anyone but in that moment, instead of lumbering forward using her wings as is the usual for dragons, Syrax opted to hop to her side like an overgrown bird. Shaking the floor and making a thunderous noise and getting more attention to them than Saera did. Syrax settled at Rhaenyra’s side with a small noise, for her, coming from her throat.

Saera and Amanda watched a bit nonplussed at the whole… process. While Rhaenyra refused to acknowledge the way her cheeks were heating up. Granted, the harbor had a limited space for Syrax to walk as she usually would, so the… hops… were the alternative her dear Lady found.

“What are you doing here, Saera?” Rhaenyra asked.

Saera sobered a bit at the question. “A few days ago, Alfred Broome started to make a full search in Dragonstone. Those were the words he chose… full search and no explanation about what he was searching for. Vaegon took Aegarax to Driftmark, Rhaella and Dreamfyre are being hosted by Daemon’s friend in Pentos, Prince Reggio. I left Vermithor when I came here.”

Rhaenyra bit her lip briefly before sighing. “That was faster than I expected.”

The ravens at the Red Keep were supposed to be all occupied, but it did not surprise Rhaenyra that Otto had access to his own means of communication. Probably some maester and some trained ravens used solely by him.

“Otto cannot do much more in the Red Keep at this point.” Amanda disagreed lightly. “He will focus on trying to discredit you.”

“Like he did with Daemon.” Rhaenyra mentioned but Amanda sent her a meaningful stare.

“Yes, and it was treason to do so. However, Rhaenyra, Prince Daemon basically gave himself up. I do not know why, nor will I pretend to understand his reasoning, whether that was because he trusted the King to overlook or trust him more, whatever the case may be, Prince Daemon did not help himself.”

You do not have that luxury. Rhaenyra understood that very well. Being sent away from court was a mild inconvenience for Daemon, if that… but for her…

“He will not find anything, Princess.” Saera assured her. “My presence here serves a dual purpose, however.” She motioned to the wooden box behind her that Rhaenyra honestly had not paid much mind to.

Now a little curious, Rhaenyra peered inside, the thing was almost taller than she was, she had to stand on tip toes in order to see strange metal plates of varying sizes insides. Some were made to fit inside by putting them on their side or at an angle.

Saera used a plank to heave one plate out and show it to Amanda and Rhaenyra. But no matter how Rhaenyra looked at it, she did not understand what she was looking at.

“What is that?” Rhaenyra finally questioned.

Which seemed to be all that Saera was waiting for. Saera grinned, widely and a bit eerily before walking towards Syrax who eyed her as if she was a particularly annoying insect. Saera put the strange plate right on Syrax’s head which only ever made the she-dragon even more indignant, but Rhaenyra finally understood it.

“This is a…” Rhaenyra quickly turned to look at the rest of the plates, finally fitting the shapes.

“Armor… for the dragons.” Saera completed, finally putting down the plate she was holding as if sensing that she had tested Syrax’s patience enough for one day.

Rhaenyra eyed the plates again. Touching the nearest one. The metal was cool and much smoother than any common steel, the color was dark and flawless.

“Valyrian steel.” Rhaenyra whispered, not believing in what she was looking at.

Saera nodded, now a bit solemn. “It was Daemon’s idea. Of course, he did not know whether this was possible when he took the chains around Dreamfyre and whatever we could find in the dungeons and caves in Dragonmont. Valyrian steel never loses its sharpness, never dulls, and never breaks… and can never be reforged. It can even withstand dragonfire. The secrets of its crafts were lost to the Doom.”

“How in the hells…” Rhaenyra trailed off.

“It can withstand dragonfire.” Saera repeated. “But can it withstand the fire of three dragons? Daemon wanted to… test a theory, as he called it. He asked me for the finest and most knowledgeable armorsmith in Volantis. Preferably someone from beyond the Black Wall. Not quite what I managed to find but he was successful. We were pressed for time, I admit. Otto’s raven reached Dragonstone before we could do much more than melt the chains with Vermithor, Aegarax and Dreamfyre. We knew that we had less than a sennight, if that, before Broome gathered the support necessary to search the keep. It helped that the man clearly did not know what he was looking for. The smith started to work the second he stepped on the island. Of course, he recognized what he was working with. Although we made sure that he would not see how we melted Valyrian steel… well… there will not be all that many theories when we made him travel all the way from Volantis to Dragonstone.”

“Daemon did all this? From the Stepstones?” Rhaenyra could feel her eyes wide but… but this was…

This made her feel very inadequate. While Rhaenyra was waging this silent and local war of whispers and veiled comments and creating doubts and fanning embers and making shadows… Daemon was doing… this.

“Call him what you will, but Daemon Targaryen gets results.” Was what Saera said.

Rhaenyra once again looked at this impossible thing. Armor for dragons… made of Valyrian steel, reforged from chains using the fire of three dragons. The plates were barely an inch thick… but that did not matter, this was actually good. They were so light that the dragons would barely feel it, so light that Saera could lift a piece for a smaller dragon like Syrax by herself. And it would stop any projectile whatsoever. Scorpions were no longer a threat if they built plates for the dragons’ vital parts and, knowing Daemon, this was exactly what he did.

The throat, chest, wings, eyes, head and belly.

Rhaenyra now understood what those long pieces were. They were for the wings. They could not protect the membrane, but the muscles around could be covered.

Rhaenyra looked behind her and Ser Harrold and Ser Erryk were making sure that there were no curious eyes too close… but…

“Help me with Syrax, quickly.” Rhaenyra asked, grabbing the next plate herself. 

Amanda was still shocked but followed her directions swiftly.

Rhaenyra eyed the leather and metal combination of the straps before intuitively starting to tie them around Syrax who was watching them all a little cautiously, a little curiously. Saera held the head piece and tied the belts before holding the chest plate up, Amanda carefully and fearfully approached and put the plate on her hands down to hold the straps from the chest piece up so Rhaenyra could climb onto the saddle and tie them. The belly one required both Saera and Amanda to hold it up while Rhaenyra tied the straps around Syrax’s back. The wings were next, and they took the longest, they had to carefully mold each piece on each area of muscle but not the membrane.

When they were done… the sight was…

“This looks straight from legend.” Amanda uttered. Almost as if afraid that a louder voice would break the mystical sight in front of them.

Syrax seemed a bit confused at so much metal surrounding her, but an annoyed movement did not displace anything and she seemed to settle soon enough if still a bit uncomfortable.

“Now is as good a time as any to see how Syrax does with the armor in flight.” Saera encouraged Rhaenyra who was already seated on the saddle.

“Syrax… sōvēs!”

~*~

Syrax was clearly a bit unhappy at her new wardrobe, but she seemed more uncomfortable than pained or even hindered so Rhaenyra tried to sooth her from their connection. 

My Little Lady, please bear with me.

And then, there was this image of chains, the same chains from the Dragonpit. Syrax dragged them behind her with the very limited space she had to walk about in her lair. Rhaenyra almost chuckled but managed to chide her.

Come now, they are hardly the same thing! We are flying right now, are we not? We are free, look at all this sky!

Perhaps Rhaenyra’s point would be better if the sky was a bit clearer instead of cloudy and ready to rain on them at any moment. The argument was still sound though.

Syrax grumbled again and Rhaenyra could feel her chest heating up, as if ready to breathe fire but she also knew that Syrax was just displeased. Her Golden Lady was not fond of changes… only those that she appreciated like the new freedom she enjoyed in King’s Landing. Rhaenyra shook her head fondly.

You are becoming as spoiled as I am… and I regret that I did not start so before.

Rhaenyra could not help but let her mind be invaded by those Dreams.

(Riots from the smallfolk, the doors of the Dragonpit falling… Syrax falling. Her last moments.)

Syrax roared. Not in fear, not in anger… but in defiance. Syrax would die fighting and bathing Rhaenyra’s enemies in fire and not a moment before. Not to some dissenters, but against dragons themselves if they dared.

Rhaenyra felt her shoulders relaxing. Something unweaving in her chest and settling. 

It was silly, Syrax could not really talk to her and seldom could make her company unless they were in the air where there was plenty of space for the she-dragon. But Syrax was also Rhaenyra’s very first friend. The one from the cradle… literally.

When they passed Driftmark, Rhaenyra was not really surprised to see a smaller, pearlescent white dragon joining her in the air. She raised an arm to Vaegon who raised his own in return.

Rhaenyra knew what she was about to face when coming back to Dragonstone. She may be out of the nest of snakes, but she had yet to shake them off.

Alfred Broome. Hardly the only one disgruntled at being commanded by a woman. Hardly the only one that turned his cloak. A nobody, a no one… yet one of the direct responsible for her very own death.

Impressive.

But not surprising. Rhaenyra… Daemon… they both learned through nightmares and Dreams that the demise of dragons, human or not, can come from anywhere. Smallfolk… and some no name knight so elderly that truly it was a wonder he could still raise his sword properly by the time Rhaenyra herself died, let alone truly enjoy whatever recompense the Greens deigned to give to him for delivering Rhaenyra Targaryen to her death.

Well… Otto did Rhaenyra the favor of contacting the most obvious knight in Dragonstone to be his ears and eyes… It is only fair that Rhaenyra gave him exactly what he deserved. She smiled.

~*~

Saera and the rest of her current household will take another two days and a half to reach the island. Well, Rhaenyra knew who she could trust to guard her back against the likes of Alfred Broome.

Robert Quince, as per usual, greeted her enthusiastically and warmly. Although not the sharpest sword in the armory, the man was true, loyal and kind. A truly rare thing.

“My Princess!” Ser Robert shouted in his excitement before bowing. “Welcome back to Dragonstone!”

His genuine happiness in seeing her made it easy for Rhaenyra to smile back.

“Good eve, Ser Robert, it is good to be back. My ladies shall arrive in two to three days hence.”

Ser Robert nodded. “I will make sure that their accommodations are ready…” he hesitated then. “Ser Alfred has been… quite curious to go through the chambers. I have personally made sure that he would not touch any belongings.”

“You are the pride of your House, Ser Robert.” Rhaenyra expressed her gratitude.

Vaegon dismounted Aegarax but made no move to follow them after his dragon flew off. “I shall find you in the Sea Dragon Tower.” 

Rhaenyra knew he would be using the secret passageways about the keep. She could not rightly criticize any of those who knew about them for not telling her before. Unlike in King’s Landing, there was quite the remarkable lack of need to hide in Dragonstone or escape it unseen… for the most part and until now that was.

Rhaenyra sighed as she heard the slight movements in the walls. Vaegon was worried. Alfred Broome was not part of their plan… despite being part of Rhaenyra’s plan. The problem was that the only other one aware of what Rhaenyra intended was Daemon and Daemon was also too busy to say anything to anyone. 

Rhaenyra almost scoffed. Daemon proved that he was never too busy to act in King’s Landing and they were all fools for thinking otherwise. The only thing he lacked was motivation before that.

At least avoiding Ser Alfred until Rhaenyra felt it necessary was quite easy. She was kept busy with overlooking the few changes in the ledgers in the last moon and a half, hearing the petitions from grateful smallfolk who seemed to quite prefer when it was a Targaryen hearing their needs and trying to remember if she needed to rid the keep of anyone else besides Ser Alfred and the few knights whose faces she recalled but not quite their names. Not to mention that her classes in politics and economics resumed with Maester Gerardys who was perfectly aware where Uncle Vaegon had stopped.

Prevaricating for two measly days did not even feel like prevaricating. And soon, her ladies arrived on Dragonstone.

“Ser Alfred, I admit I was expecting to see you two days ago.” Rhaenyra lied smoothly as she was escorted by Ser Robert to the entrance of the keep.

Alfred Broome was already a bit aged, so Rhaenyra had no issues remembering the old knight from her Dreams. Bitter and greedy and disapproving. Not much would change. Rhaenyra thought as the dark, narrowed eyes landed on her and then on Ser Robert.

For a few moments, Rhaenyra wondered if the man would be bold enough to say or do anything if she was alone. Rhaenyra rather thought that Ser Alfred certainly believed himself brave enough to do so.

“My apologies, My Princess.” He bowed. Just low enough that Rhaenyra could hardly reprimand or raise any eyebrows at him. “I was unaware of your arrival, but I am happy to see that Ser Robert has received you well.”

“I am sure.” Rhaenyra smiled politely. “My household has increased in the last moon and my ladies shall be arriving today at the latest. Please see to it that the staff is notified.”

Ser Alfred bowed again and left.

“Ser Robert…” Rhaenyra trailed off once the other knight was out of sight.

“Maester Gerardys has instructed some knights to transport the chests to the chambers that are to be the new coffers… loudly.” Ser Robert reported candidly.

“Good. Thank you, Ser Robert. Now let’s greet my ladies.” Rhaenyra smiled again, this time with feeling behind it.

~*~

(Princess Saera Targaryen)

Elinda’s eyes were wide as she took in the impressive keep. Saera almost laughed at the cute little girl.

“Story says that it was built with Valyrian magic. The sculptures… the shape of the towers… the fact that they can withstand a dragon’s weight leads me to believe it to be true.” Amelia commented lightly.

When the noble ladies turned to her, Saera raised a bemused eyebrow but felt some measure of amusement increasing. 

“I would not know.” Was all that she answered, and Saera was being truthful as well.

Saera stared at the huge, dark walls and almost chuckled to herself. It was not that she was not impressed at the grandiose keep that her ancestors built, if anything, the effects on her were perhaps even deeper than in the ladies, for it was her blood that did this. It was just… Saera seemed to be one of the few that was constantly aware of what her House meant… the House of the Dragon. Maybe it was because she was denied one for so long, but… she shook her head and made her way to the secret passages once inside.

It was almost exciting to use those. They followed parallel to the hallways and chambers and the only place that did not seem to have them was Aegon’s chambers… the Lord of the House… the Lord of the family. Saera corrected in her mind. For Targaryens only ever adopted the way of calling a family as a House when coming to Westeros. By the gods, she rolled her eyes, they only ever adopted the use of a sigil because of Westeros too.

Sighing, she leaned against the wall behind her and waited. Soon enough Saera heard footsteps and Vaegon appeared.

“Did Rhaenyra tell you how she is planning to deal with Broome?” Saera asked as a greeting.

Vaegon scoffed at her lack of manners. “Good eve, Saera. No, she did say that she thinks it will be soon. Just in case, Aegarax and Vermithor should be guarding the northern side of the keep.”

Saera frowned. “There are only caves there.”

Yet Vaegon just shrugged. “I suppose we will see when it succeeds or fails. This is a plan that does not involve provoking a volcano to erupt.” It was said a bit exasperatedly much to Saera’s amusement. “So, I am willing to wait and see. So far, Rhaenyra has made some very smart choices.”

Coaxing Vermithor to guard the same cave where Syrax has already made herself comfortable was not an easy task, but it was not impossible either. Vaegon had made far less progress convincing Aegarax of the same. Syrax eyed the newcomers very, very angrily. Growling and sometimes roaring briefly to express her displeasure at the intrusion of her claimed lair.

Dragons were too territorial to share a cave, no matter how massive it was. 

Soon, Silverwing landed not too far from where they were, likely attracted by Vermithor’s own roars. Like her mate, Silverwing was none too happy to see and scent Syrax and Aegarax.

It would be comical if it wasn’t ridiculously dangerous to see how Silverwing and Vermithor were keeping themselves almost at the entrance, just far enough into the cave to not be immediately visible by those out of it. Aegarax was at the opposite wall and Syrax further still in the cave. All as far from the other as they physically could.

“Rhaenyra better know what she is doing.” Saera started to get nervous as neither dragon relaxed. 

Although no longer roaring in defiance, they were all eyeing each other with far too much rancor for Saera to believe that they would tolerate each other’s presence for too long.

Feeling as if leaving a slaughter that was about to happen, Saera and Vaegon started to make their way back to the keep.

“What are your plans until Broome and the rest of the traitors are rooted out?” Saera asked curiously, as she was planning to join Rhaella in Pentos for now.

“I shall return to Driftmark. Rhaenys is planning to send ravens to all of Westeros… inviting all to celebrate that her daughter is now a dragonlord to Vhagar.” Vaegon smirked, equally amused and incredulous at the deviousness.

Saera burst into laughter.

~*~

(Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen. Heir to the Iron Throne)

“Welcome to Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra greeted her ladies and breathed a sigh of relief when she didn’t spot Saera.

One never knew with the mad woman. Rhaenyra hoped that her absence meant that Vermithor was now nesting in the northern caves.

Her ladies all bowed. Rhaenyra turned to see the knights she had carefully chosen, Ser Robert at the very front. “Please make sure that they are safe and feel welcomed here.” Turning back to her ladies, Rhaenyra continued. “Some of you are more familiar than others with Dragonstone. Still, before introducing you to the staff, I shall introduce you to the main areas and then to your chambers.”

Estell was gazing around, for once not laying compliment after compliment onto others. While Rhaenyra had the strange feeling that she was, more often than not, actually truthful in her words, sometimes it was a bit tiresome. She seemed most interested in the tapestries and statues. Rare treasures since they were all and truly Valyrian, from before the Doom. Rosamund seemed equally curious about her surroundings, gazing wide eyed at all the dragon shaped… everything. From the hearth to the chambers to the headboard of the beds.

Rhaenyra was thankful that Amanda had decided to take Elinda’s hand in hers. The youngest of six siblings and only seven sun turns, she was much too young to retain all that much focus and so she tended to get lost if by herself. Lyra seemed equally curious but, if Rhaenyra’s memory did not fail, she had visited Dragonstone on another occasion.

“I have forgotten the impression this place makes on people.” Lady Lyra commented which confirmed Rhaenyra’s theory.

“Have you been here before?” Rosamund asked to her side.

“Once, before King Viserys was crowned. At the request of Prince Baelon, all the Houses in the Crownlands were invited to make court for two moon turns so he could be better acquainted with his closest subjects.”

Amelia and Nora exchanged a speaking glance and Rhaenyra had to stop a sigh. It has never been a secret that her father was not quite the most… ambitious or even dutiful of kings. And the excuses were quickly wearing so thin that even her ladies felt bold enough to express their disdain.

In this case because Viserys’ own father did something that his son never even thought about doing… and Viserys was no young child when Prince Baelon became heir.

“No time to waste, ladies. Please arrange your belongings! We shall make a quick if complete tour and introduce you all to the staff. After that Lady Lyra, Lady Amelia and Lady Rosamund shall help me pen the letters to all of Westeros announcing that the princess is about to go on tour. Lady Estell, Lady Ada and Lady Nora please ensure that ships and wheelhouses are prepared accordingly for all of us. Lady Maris and Lady Elinda ensure that word goes about Dragonstone.” Amanda clapped her hands and all hurried to follow her directions.

Rhaenyra was left filled with gratitude and a sense of pride. Far from being solely her accomplishment, but she had an active voice in choosing every single member of her household. They were all competent and with a clear understanding of hierarchy and their responsibilities.

~*~

Not a fortnight later, ravens were returned expressing their well wishes for Princess Rhaenyra’s tour and assurances that the very best of knights shall be presented for the occasion. To be part of a Princess’ household was an extremely coveted position and all knew that there were to be limited numbers that the Princess would accept at once.

Knights that stood to inherit nothing. Second, third, fourth, fifth sons and so forth would be almost stumbling over themselves for the opportunity. Bastards with noble blood as well. Many ladies also saw the opportunity to present themselves for a position in Princess Rhaenyra’s household, even if she had recently taken quite a few ladies in waiting.

In truth, Westeros could barely contain themselves with all these new happenings from the royal family.

Not three days after all the noble Houses received Princess Rhaenyra’s ravens about her tour and search for new knights for her household, Princess Rhaenys sent ravens to all the same noble Houses informing them about a celebration to be taken place in two moon turns in Driftmark and the older princess did not make it a secret why.

A new child was to be born in less than five moons from Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys. Worried about her more advanced age, Princess Rhaenys did not wish to add to her stress and thus the delay in announcing the happy news. And Westeros understood it very well with her husband fighting a war and most of the Velaryon knights participating, Princess Rhaenys was not only presiding over Driftmark in the absence of her husband, but also pregnant now.

Not many knew that there was another reason to celebrate, a reason that Princess Rhaenys planned on revealing only on the date itself. Rhaenyra laughed as Rhaenys’ plan easily unfolded itself in front of her.

“It shall not interfere with our own schedule.” Rhaenyra assured her worried ladies, who were exchanging looks around the Painted Table. “I am planning on making it to the North and then head south. By the time the dates come about, we will be able to attend her feast. Each Lord or Lady Paramount has agreed to host us for a fortnight at the most. We shall spend a few nights to a sennight in other, smaller keeps.”

The Painted Table was often the place where House Targaryen met for conquests… for war… which was not unfit for the situation. Rhaenyra smiled briefly as she recalled the impressed looks from her ladies. Not even Amanda was immune since her aunt never entered it before. Lit as it was, the candles and fire underneath conferred an almost magical aspect to it.

“Every lord paramount?” Maris hesitated.

Rhaenyra turned sympathetic eyes towards Maris. “Yes. Although I have to admit that the letter from Storm’s End was quite… polite and formal.”

“Father does not know letters and numbers very well. It was probably the maester who wrote it.” Maris said without feeling.

It was no secret either, frankly. Rhaenyra well remembered that Borros Baratheon made no effort to conceal the fact that he had no interest nor knowledge for the books occasionally gifted among nobles. He much preferred the exotic and rare gems instead.

“Well, we shall only stay for five days in Storm’s End.” Rhaenyra tried to assure her.

Maris shrugged. “I suppose that on scale, my parents ought to be as pleased with me as they are with Cassandra. She is forced to serve someone of lower rank than herself, but she was always good at meeting their expectations… but I am a member of the crown princess’ household.”

Amanda squeezed Maris’ hand briefly before nodding. “We shall start on boat. Straight to the North. It should take us six days using the outskirts of the harbor cities.”

“I thought we would be stopping through the Crownlands and then to the Vale before.” Lady Rosamund asked.

Which was a sound question. Rhaenyra felt Lyra’s eyes on her and averted her own from the Painted Table.

“Lady Lyra… Lady Rosamund, Lady Estell, and Lady Elinda. I am sure that your Lords and parents have informed you thus and I am sure that you are far from unobservant, especially after more than a moon living in the Red Keep… and perhaps, as your Princess, I do not necessarily owe you an explanation… but I would like to give one.”

Rhaenyra saw from the corner of her eyes that her first ladies were squaring their shoulders. Their expressions becoming solemn.

“How about I start, as someone looking in?” Lady Lyra suggested, hazel eyes sharp, her darker skin contrasting with her eyes and only ever making her look more intimidating even for someone used to her.

“As you wish.” Rhaenyra agreed calmly.

“Long before my father received your raven, Westeros was closely following the happenings in the Red Keep. Westeros is always closely following the happenings in the Red Keep.” She corrected herself briefly. “King Viserys is not very well known. Unlike King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne who toured through the realm often enough, most of Westeros only know King Viserys and Queen Aemma through rumors and reputation. Most of which was flawless.”

“Was?” Rhaenyra echoed but with no surprise in her voice, something that she made sure all would notice.

Lady Lyra smiled politely. “I am, perhaps, not the best to relay the impression of Westeros about the royal family. Hayford is but minutes outside of King’s Landing. What I can say is… being minutes away from King’s Landing… and not much is said about King Viserys aside from his passion for feasts and hunts and jousts. He enjoys giving favors and merriment. Even less is said of Princess Rhaenyra, aside from the moniker of the Realm’s Delight and her stunning beauty… and suddenly everyone had something to say about Princess Rhaenyra once she became the crown princess.”

Rosamund cleared her throat. “The Riverlands are… for the most part, neutral in their opinion about… uh…” she trailed off.

“A woman as queen regnant?” Rhaenyra finished.

“That would be accurate.” Rosamund smiled a bit stiffly. “Still, you will not find a more neutral opinion on such matters than the Riverlands, if only because they are very divided.”

Amelia and Nora nodded in agreement before looking at Rhaenyra a bit apologetically. Nora was the one who said it. “Due to our father’s position in court, our mother tried to shield us as much as she could. She maintains quite the tight control over Harrenhal.”

Rosamund hummed. “Yes. Lord Grover Tully remains as unimpressed with women as Lord Borros, however his opinions are not shared with the rest of the Riverlands… not even his own son.”

They shared a quick laugh at that. “And so?” Rhaenyra prompted.

“That was when the news came of you becoming heir, My Princess.” Rosamund explained. “And then a little more than a moon later, came the announcement of King Viserys’ marriage.”

“Maybe it was Otto Hightower.” Lyra thought out loud. “But the word about the identity of the bride was slower to reach us. When we found out that it was Alicent Hightower, however…”

“If we knew little of King Viserys and less of Princess Rhaenyra, a bit more was said of the Hightowers serving in King’s Landing.” Rosamund went on to say. “Otto Hightower is a second son that, until becoming Hand to King Jaehaerys, was practically a nobody. The realm was confused, to say the very least, at his appointment to such an office at the heels of Prince Baelon’s death and the confusion only deepened when King Viserys kept him as Hand. We expected for King Jaehaerys to make, the then Prince Viserys, as Hand and for King Viserys to give the pin to Prince Daemon.”

“And Alicent Hightower… the only maid of Princess Rhaenyra who, in turn, was the only child of the new king. People talked quite a bit about that in criticism not only towards King Viserys but also Queen Aemma.” Lyra’s words were harsh, but her tone was light, knowing very well the still open wound that Queen Aemma’s death caused Rhaenyra. “We could not recall the last time a princess had less than at least three companions of the highest rank that the realm could offer, something that, politically speaking, Lady Alicent, as a daughter of a second son, no matter if that son was Hand, was not.”

“With all due respect towards the Faith, there is also the fact that Lady Alicent is well known for her piety… one cannot start to talk about her without talking about her frequent visits to the sept.” Rosamund kept her voice as courteous as she could. “That fame… I think it will only ever increase with her idea about building a new sept in King’s Landing. Most of the Houses in the Riverlands and the North are of First Men origin, although not as numerous the Vale also boasts of some prominent Houses that are of the First Men as do the Westerlands. We follow the Old Gods, and it is no secret that the most… radical of followers of the Faith decry our customs and beliefs.”

“That is something… else… that confused us, My Princess. The Targaryens conceded to follow the Seven since Aegon the Conqueror, but all knew that it was to soothe tensions with the people and calm the nerves of the Starry Sept. Targaryen Kings and all of its potential heirs have only married either Targaryens or Velaryons or Baratheons.” Amelia frowned. Lyra and Rosamund had clearly bolstered her confidence in voicing a thought that she had for some time but did not know how to mention it. “Queen Aemma was the first Andal, and we can barely call her so with her mother being Princess Daella Targaryen.”

“I think you are confusing religion with ethnicity.” Amanda sighed. Although so far, she did not dispute anything said. “One can be of First Men origin and follow the Seven, just like an Andal can follow the Old Gods. They are extremely rare, it is true, and while so far you have not referred to any, I do urge you all to be careful with such. Quite a few Houses are very proud of their heritage.”

Most of them blushed. It was true that they used the terms a bit interchangeably.

“We will be careful.” Rhaenyra promised for all of them. 

Rosamund cleared her throat. “Yes, I apologize.”

Lyra then continued. “Whatever the case may be, the King announced his marriage. A little more than two moons after he had all the lords swear fealty to you. Most thought that this was his attempt at replacing you, My Princess.”

“His very desperate attempt given the hastiness.” Rosamund highlighted. “Having met the King in person, I understand that was not his intention… however…”

“I understand, Lady Rosamund, the likely scenario crossed my mind.” Much more than once, Rhaenyra sighed.

Lyra pursed her lips but made no comment. “His rushed marriage… and now with Lady Alicent with child… that, however, is the part of the Hightowers.”

Estell finally joined the conversation and for once, there was no smile on her young face. “The first thing the realm noticed, My Princess, was the fact that at five and ten… you did not… react in anger.”

“I threw no tantrum is what you mean.” Rhaenyra smiled blandly.

Rhaenyra would not have done so even if she had no Dreams. She suppressed it all for the sake of peace… and in the end…

“The way you expressed yourself… it was noticed, My Princess.” Estell nodded. “Subtle yet pointed, a very smart way to show your feelings while being free of any reprimand.”

“That your dresses outshined Lady Alicent’s also reached the ears of those not in attendance.” Lady Rosamund pointed out. “Having only briefly met the King, I do not believe it was his intention, but Westeros saw it as his lack of regard for his new wife compared to his daughter.”

“Which went in direct contradiction to the argument that King Viserys wished for a… so-called proper heir as soon as possible.” Lyra completed.

“Some have wondered if Prince Daemon had anything to do with King Viserys’ decision to have a… morganatic wedding with Lady Alicent… not elevating her to queen or even passing titles to his new children. Which only ever strengthened the idea that King Viserys had other reasons for marrying Lady Alicent. Bards’ adoration for love stories were silenced, however, by the scandal surrounding it.” Rosamund continued. “And some came to the conclusion that King Viserys meant to shore up your succession with the move but… uh…” she trailed off a little uncomfortably.

“We came to the realization that King Viserys does not know what he is doing.” Lady Estell said so bluntly that it startled a laugh out of Rhaenyra. “Now, all were shocked at how bold the Lord Hand was in sending his daughter to the King especially with the how and when. It was no secret to any who bothered to think about it. All the Lords that made King Viserys’ court who had daughters of marriageable ages very likely thought about it, or some version of that same plan. However, hardly any would actually do it. King Viserys’… nature or not, nothing guaranteed a crown and for the risk of completely ruining their daughters… the most indifferent of fathers would not take the chance. If nothing else because of the possibility that someone would voice the theory that the initiative was the father’s… not the daughter’s. While hardly a crime, society would ensure they would be disgraced before the day ended… as it practically happened with Lady Alicent.”

“Of course, and obviously, Otto Hightower has more knowledge on the King’s possible reactions and his name was not even mentioned in the whole affair.” Rosamund rolled her eyes. 

Estell tilted her head. “That was more likely due to the fact that it was Otto and the King considers him his closest friend than because of King Viserys’ nature. But yes. There were also some… although not many… that pointed at you for the King’s decision… in a morganatic marriage.” Rhaenyra did not react in any way which forced Estell to simply keep going. “Regardless, if there was anyone that credited the idea to King Viserys, I have not heard of them. Someone presented it to the King, and in a way that convinced him. Which… funnily enough… made some nobles more convinced that it was Prince Daemon and some less convinced.”

“It came to my attention that not many in the realm truly understand the dynamics between my uncle and my father.” Was all that Rhaenyra offered, especially since they would all eventually understand and probably witness it.

Estell smiled in answer, and it was not the first time that Rhaenyra was annoyed at how she was unable to read her. Yet, for the first time, it occurred to Rhaenyra that it was possibly the reason Estell did it and that she did it on purpose.

“Then came… Lady Jeyne.” Rosamund glanced apologetically to Amanda before turning her dark honey eyes to Rhaenyra. “I am not sure whether that was the intention, but the turmoil that followed the… the revelation of how, exactly, Queen Aemma died, quietened the speculations behind the author of King Viserys’ decision about having a morganatic marriage.”

It was as funny as it was sad as it was pathetic how all those that coexisted with Viserys for any significant amount of time looked elsewhere when a reasonably smart move came from the King. Rhaenyra sighed.

“This is where it becomes… less of a line and more of dots… that make sense individually but seem to have no connection between them.” Lyra took the word again. “You started to approach the Houses about possible ladies in waiting… not maids… ladies in waiting.”

“That should be no great mystery.” Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow.

Lyra smirked, and she was not the only one. “Well… impressively malicious, My Princess. I particularly admired the contracts you sent to our Lords.”

Rhaenyra inclined her head in thanks.

“There were some rumors that you forced the King to send you to Dragonstone.” Lady Elinda very hesitantly joined the conversation.

“Very good.” Rhaenyra confirmed something for the first time, wanting to encourage Elinda.

It seemed to work, at least a bit. Elinda sat up straight. “Tales… came that the dragons on Dragonstone started to behave oddly. I… have not heard anyone saying… mentioning you, My Princess… but… I overheard my Lady Mother and my oldest sister talking… that it was a… coincidence that such tales started to spread just as Princess Rhaenyra started to live on the island for longer.”

Rhaenyra smiled and nodded but did not offer an explanation, much to the burning curiosity that she could see from her newer ladies. “Is that all?”

“Not nearly.” Lyra cleared her throat, visibly trying to stifle her own curiosity. “There were also rumors… brushed as tales as well… about dragons being sighted in Essos… I do not pretend to understand all the… hidden war that happened in our own stay in King’s Landing… but it became very clear that you are not doing much without a reason, My Princess…”

“Oldtown seems strangely silent… when they should have been… reacting… whether positively or negatively… there should be a reaction about all that is happening. But… particularly the Hightowers… are very oddly reticent and their silence is very loud on its own.” Rosamund added.

“We can come to our own conclusions as well, My Princess.” Estell sat more comfortably. “It is very bizarre how not even whispers of Lady Rhea Royce’s death came to King’s Landing… three moons are a lot of time for that to happen… without an Overlord’s interference… or an Overlady…” Estell finished meaningfully.

“Not to mention that I cannot imagine that Princess Rhaenys would be this calm.” Rosamund shook her head. “One thing was for the Princess to react gracefully in the face of the realm’s decision in 101… but rejecting her daughter… ignoring her husband… dismissing the House she married into and then not inviting her to the name day that would celebrate the heir coming of age? There is no noble alive that would not counter the slight… well… slights with everything they have short of kinslaying… instead, Princess Rhaenys merely sent out invitations to announce and celebrate a new pregnancy.”

Rhaenyra stayed silent for a few moments. Trying to decide where to begin to fill the gaps in knowledge of her new ladies… of her entire household in true, it was a bit daunting. Not that Rhaenyra thought anyone in the chamber would turn on her. If for no other reason that they would have no choice but be loyal to her by the time she finishes explaining all that truly happened. But if there was one thing that Rhaenyra learned to hate in all those moons past was to waste time.