Chapter Text
Saltpeter, Charcoal and Sulfur. The three ingredients in one would need in order to make black powder.
Saltpeter had been acquired from a very awkward conversation with Harwin Strong. My attempts to distract him from why I needed all the bat poo I could remove from Harrenhal had, for an entire week, had him under the impression we were lovers and started five brand new rumours at court that I’m sure made Alicent all tingly.
Sulfur had been the next on my list and had left me with a bit of a dilemma. The easiest way to get your hands on Sulfur in Westeros was to buy it from the Dornish. The Hellholt was lousy with the stuff and the Ullers were always happy for the extra income from it’s sale. Unfortunately, that is the easiest method for anyone who isn’t a Targaryen. Another way is getting it out of Pyrite which meant dealing with the Lannisters. Lannisters or the Dornish, I’m hard pressed to say who are the more traitorous. In the end I gave in and asked Ser Jofffrey to get it for me. He didn’t ask why I needed it and I didn’t ask how he got it.
Charcoal is the easiest. Charcoal burners litter Westeros and it was simple matter of raiding Driftmark for a small supply. Grind all three up, properly measure the ingredients, mix carefully but well and you have yourself the modest little powder that’s going to ensure a certain little sulky brat never lays so much of a finger on the throne that’s rightfully yours.
Not that I’m taking it personally of course.
An old pain lanced through my fingers as prepared to transfer the powder to it’s new home. I stopped the flex the cramping from them, it wouldn’t do to slip at this juncture. Very carefully, I scooped my black powder into the metal casing and tightened the cap. Whilst Dragonstone certainly lives up to it’s name, I’d rather not blow up the castle I’ve only been in possession of for six months. Alicent would love that.
Not that Dragonstone couldn’t do with a bit of exploding. Dragonstone the castle that is. The island itself wasn’t a problem. It’s farmland was rich and productive, the weather was pleasant and the views at times could be breathtaking. When not in my lab creating the recipe for Alicent’s downfall, I’ve taken to exploring it fully.
The problem is whoever built Dragonstone the castle apparently didn’t share my views on the island. Dragonstone itself had been built in the shadow of the Dragonmont, the towering active volcano that dominated the island. This had several knock-on effects. First it meant that the scenic views, rolling farmlands and gorgeous weather were on the other side of the damnable thing and to make things worse the shadow from the mountain cast the castle proper, and the small town surrounding it, into a permanent gloom. They’d then topped their monument to poorly thought out architecture in stone dragons. Huge stone dragons, small stone dragons, wall mounted stone dragons, statues of dragons… All made from the same fused black rock I had come to learn was indicative of Valyrian buildings.
As if that wasn’t enough, later architects had carved dragons into the walls, the floors, railings and banisters. No wonder Stannis had gone mad living here and if he was actually Azor Ahai and did have the power to wake dragons from stone then he was going to be a one man second coming of the bloody freehold.
Two guards in Targaryen livery fell into step behind me as a left the lab with my creation tucked under my arm. One of the many stewards of Dragonstone would ensure the rooms were cleaned and locked. Not that any totally-not-Alicent’s-spies would be able to figure out what I was doing before it was too late. Still, this is Westeros and it never hurts to be pro-active about you enemies.
I realised I was scowling when a maid yelped and leapt out of my way. I would have to check that. I rearranged my face into what I hoped was polite smile and made my way to the small courtyard I’d had cleared for testing. My two guards took up positions out of the way. Happily, my instructions had been heeded and a brazier was merrily burning away. It was heading towards late afternoon and I probably shouldn’t be testing things so close to the evening meal. Especially since Lord Corlys was lurking around. That man was a menace.
I poured a modest amount of powder onto the flagstone. Before withdrawing and retrieved a wooden splint. I had to be extra careful here. All my work would be for nothing if I set myself alight. Gently I lowered the splint into the powder before stepping even further back.
Black powder will ignite if you look at It wrong. In the open, like mine, it should burn. Confined however, it produces an explosion which is what makes it useful for flinging bits of metal about at high speed.
At least that was what it was supposed to do.
I could only watch with a sinking sort of horror as the wooden splint sputtered and died amongst the completely unignited and very much not on fire powder. From the corner, I heard my guards move to intercept someone. I stared at the unburnt spot and tried to set my emotions in order.
Frustration: Check
Something weirdly close to grief: Check
A sinking feeling that I have to face the Dance of Dragons without my easy mode solution of firearms: Also check.
Someone up there is laughing at me, I just know it.
“Rhaenyra!”
I jumped as a hand collided with my shoulder, pulling from my one woman self-pity party. It was Laenor. Another set of unfortunate feelings rose up inside me and I resisted the urge to clock him for taking my pity party and switching it to a ‘oh no original Rhaenyra is definitely still here somewhere’ existential horror.
“What?” I bit out. I don’t even know my own age anymore but I’m damn sure I’m too young to be dealing with the question of whether I’m keeping someone prisoner inside their own body or the knowledge that a continent spanning super war is on it’s way because Alicent is raging b- bad person.
“My Lord Father has requested your presence for a pre-dinner meeting.”
He doesn’t even look the slightest bit apologetic for the delivery of bad news. I cast another glance at the black powder with the vain hope that maybe it will set alight and the first time was somehow a fluke. It remains inert and I sigh heavily before I can stop myself.
“Did your experiment not go to plan?” asked Laenor, peering around me.
I gestured to the black powder again with another sigh and he gives me a sympathetic look.
“Sorry it didn’t work out. Perhaps this is a sign to let go of all the alchemy stuff.”
He was trying to sound conciliatory. He may be a gay man in the heart of grimderp Westeros but beyond matters of inheritance and love, he was remarkably closed minded. I fixed him with what I hoped was an intimidating glare. He raised his hands in mock surrender before pushing some of his long silver hair from his face. The Rhaenyra in me was thrilled. He was a beautiful man, tall with delicate features and long silver hair. His eyes were the typical Valyrian violet and he held himself in a particularly regal manner. I had, thankfully, failed to somehow butterfly away Rhaenyra’s beauty. Trust me, she had well deserved her title of ‘Realm’s Delight’. I lifetime of lessons in deportment had meant I could match Laenor’s regal grace with my own. On the surface, we were a striking couple.
The current power couple of Westeros.
“I’m just saying, it’s beginning to be spoken about at court,” he continued. I frowned. He didn’t have to say who was talking about it. It was Alicent, it was always Alicent. My Father would only intervene if anything became blatant and even then he was unlikely to do anything that would actually protect me. I had seen it all play out in the past and in all likeliness, I would see it play out again. I flexed my fingers and they throbbed again in reminder.
“Perhaps it is time for you to find someone-”
I cut him off with a wave. I knew how that had gone for the original Rhaenyra. Three obvious bastards had tanked her support harder than anything Alicent could have ever done. Something I know would have tickled orginal Alicent pink if this Alicent was anything to go by.
“I have already told you-” Laenor cut me of this time, his face twisted in unhappiness.
“I can not. I have already explained. I can not.” I understood and sympathised to a degree. He was a gay man and no amount of closing his eyes and thing of Driftmark was going to change that. That didn’t change the fact that bearing anyone else’s children was a risk I could not take.
“I’m not about to have children now anyway, Laenor. It’s too early. Childbirth killed both my mother and her mother too. We have a few years to find a solution.”
He didn’t look convinced. That was probably Lord Corlys’ doing. No doubt he was hammering the need for a quick heir into his son’s head. In canon, Rhaenyra had already been pregnant with Jacaerys by this point. I suppose the lack of heir was spooking my so called ‘greatest supporter’.
“I fear that will not placate the Factions at court,” replied Laenor.
On that last miserable note, I guided him back out of the courtyard, leaving orders for the stewards to clear the mess and to be careful with the powder.