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Chapter Text

King Viserys, the First of his Name, has not spoken to any of his family for nearly three years. 

Not since he divorced Aemma and signed the annulment contract that granted her and their only living child, Princess Rhaenyra, dominion over the island of Dragonstone and everything of Valyrian heritage; rejected Laena Velaryon as a possible second wife and chose Alicent Hightower after she was found unchaperoned in his rooms; and was disavowed by his younger siblings, Daemon and Alyssa, for being a coward and a traitor to his blood. 

The King had sent countless letters begging, threatening and bargaining and they had all been ignored - instead sending back a Maester's curt scroll informing him of the reception of said letters. Still, he continued to send invites whenever he could, hoping that his stubborn and petty kin would put aside their grievances and join him in merriment over the growth of their house. The feast he threw when Alicent was announced to be with child, two moons after their wedding; requests to join the Queen in her confinement as the labor neared; the week of celebrations when Aegon was born hale and healthy; the ball to celebrate Aegon's first name-day and now the hunt for his second name-day. 

They were all ignored too. 

Alicent had struggled too, especially over Rhaenyra's callous dismissal. It wasn't Alicent's fault that she was found exiting his rooms and the rumors spread like wildfire across King's Landing, essentially forcing them to wed to protect her honor and reputation - she had just been reading to him, fully clothed and maintaining a respectful distance! But alas, the gossip mill of the Red Keep stopped for no one, and Viserys was not about to let an innocent maiden suffer the consequences for it, certainly not the daughter of his dearest friend. 

Not that it mattered to Rhaenyra as she hardened her heart against them and refused to attend their wedding or any of the following events. She didn't even send a letter of congratulations when news of the pregnancy were sent out, nor did she come when Alicent was nearing her confinement, even though his young wife requested her presence so she could be comforted by her dearest old friend during the labor. He'd never thought Rhaenyra could be so cruel as to abandon her friend during such a time, and yet every letter Alicent sent, much like his own, came back unopened.

News from Dragonstone came mostly from the reports of other regions and gossip. Viserys learned of the ash harvest in Dragonstone and their profits by selling to the North and the Vale only when Lord Tyrell came to court to complain that since those regions were able to produce their own food now, they were buying less quantities from the Reach. He learned of the dragonglass trade when one of the stonemasons that worked with him on his Valyrian model commented that merchants from across the Narrow Sea were paying large sums for the metal to make jewelry and that it might make a nice addition to the model. He learned that the Targaryens of Dragonstone had opened a house of learning and a house of healing on the island to tend to those too poor and too common to deserve a Maester's attention and welcomed scholars and healers from all over the Known World when the Maesters from the Citadel complained that it was an affront to their institution. 

Viserys listened and nodded as a good king should but eventually had to remind the complainers that there was nothing he could do. The contract he signed ensured that the Crown had no direct authority over Dragonstone and its designs. Seven Hells, he didn't even have the authority to command his daughter to stop being childish and visit him! 

Aemma and Rhaenyra he could understand being angry with him, but Daemon had stopped coming too. Where once Viserys would call him back after every exile and his brother would come flying to reunite with him, now Daemon seemed completely unwilling to come near King's Landing. Not even the promise of a hunt in the Godswood - just the servants and the two sons of Baelon the Brave - was enough to convince him to return to his side. There were sighting of Caraxes in the Free Cities every so often, but his restless brother seemed to have settled on Dragonstone quite nicely with Aemma and Rhaenyra- though Viserys couldn't imagine why Aemma was putting up with him. He was sure that Daemon was turning his rooms into a brothel and was wreaking havoc on their ancestral keep, and that couldn't be a good influence to have around his daughter. 

Gods, his daughter. 

Aegon was a spirited lad who cried and laughed just as loudly; he was the son and heir he had prayed for and tried so hard to obtain with his beloved Aemma for over ten years; the court rejoiced at his birth and the secured succession... and yet Viserys had developed an emptiness in his chest that he hadn't had when Rhaenyra was born. Rhaenyra was born surrounded by Targaryens who welcomed her with warm smiles and a golden egg in her cradle that Daemon and Alyssa had conspired behind King Jaehaerys' back to obtain; she brightened the world with her arrival and charmed every person in the Red Keep, from nobles to the servants to knights. He couldn't help but feel that Aegon's birth felt more bittersweet than pure happiness like when Rhaenyra came into the world. Viserys was the only Targaryen to welcome him and the egg in his cradle had gone cold in less than a moon - he had written to Rhaenyra and Daemon and even Alyssa to come to King's Landing to pick an egg for the newest Targaryen babe and they had all ignored that request too, forcing Viserys to wonder into the Dragonpit for the first time since Balerion's death.

It was only when he stepped foot in the empty dragon pit that he truly realized how alone he was. 

All the grown dragons were in Dragonstone or Driftmark, leaving behind only a hatchery with a few eggs from Silverwing's last clutch. Half the dragonkeepers had left for Dragonstone, claiming that they had no reason to remain in King's Landing if there were no dragons to tend to and no riders to guide - only three remained to watch over the eggs. They had halted the previous orders of sheep and cattle that had been used to feed the dragons and spent most of their day working in shifts to clean out the caves now that they could do so without worrying about awakening a slumbering dragon. Viserys stood in the grand cave that had once hosted Balerion and saw nothing. No bones from meals, the chains hanging uselessly on the wall, not even a worn-out shape from where Balerion used to rest.

It was like the dragons had never existed.

Worse - they had all abandoned him. 

...

Court had been in session for over an hour and already Viserys was close to nodding off on the Iron Throne. 

He shifted to adjust his position and bit back a hiss when another wayward blade painfully dug into his side. It had almost become a habit, as if the swords were personally out to get him. Already he had lost three fingers to the infection that the Maesters could not seem to contain - there was no leech or foul-smelling concoction that could drain the pus and ease the pain - and by the way it was climbing just past his wrist, he feared it would not be long before his lower arm had to go too. 

The herald announced a new petitioner, Lord Balon Swann from the Stormlands, who was around Viserys' age and dressed formally but the dark bags under his eyes made him look older and more haggard. "Your Grace." He bowed and clasped his hands in front of him. "We have sent word of the worsening pirate situation, and no reply has reached us - both myself and Lord Baratheon sent ravens asking for aid to deal with this issue and we were ignored, so I saw no other choice but to come and ask for your assistance in person." 
"The Crown did indeed receive your messages, Lord Swann." Otto said from his place beside the throne. Viserys looked at him confused, for he hadn't been told about such a thing. "We reviewed your situation and didn't find any reason to extend aid." 
"They have pillaged entire over five villages and killed a hundred of our men, raped our women and took our maidens and young boys to sell into slavery in Essos." Lord Swann protested. "How long until they grow bolder and attack keeps instead? How long before they start killing noblemen and taking noble ladies captive?" He turned to the King, who watched with the shock of someone who hadn't expected to be addressed at all. "Your Grace, I beseech you as Protector of the Realm to aid the good people of the Stormlands, your loyal subjects." 

Viserys stared blankly at Lord Swann, his hands tightening on the armrests of the throne as he tried to think of what to say. Surely it can't be that bad if Otto saw no cause for concern. He trusted his friend's - and goodfather's - judgement. Pirates hadn't been a problem since his uncle Aemon dealt with the myrish fleet that besieged Tarth all those years ago, where he was killed by a well-aimed crossbow bolt - the Pale Prince's death led Baelon the Brave to mount Vhagar and burn them all in retaliation, killing hundreds of them and even flying to Myr to demand the officer's heads. Viserys shivered at the idea of such violence darkening the shores of his realm again, but he also despised the idea of angering the Free Cities and provoking them to escalate even more. 

The silence stretched for a long minute as Viserys considered all the terrible outcomes.

"We shall discuss this matter in the Small Council and send our verdict to Lord Baratheon and yourself, Lord Swann." Otto thankfully answered, putting an end to the painful silence. "You may go." 

Lord Swann's face dropped, staring at the Hand and the King with a mix of disbelief and anger. "Let it be written that I have done my duty and informed the ruler of the problems his subjects face." He invoked to the court scribes and hurriedly bowed before storming out of the throne room.

Alicent stared blankly at the canopy of her bed as the Grand Maester patted her swollen stomach for his examination. 

She was in the last moon of her second pregnancy - and thought this one had been easier because she knew what to expect, it didn't make it any less unpleasant. Her breasts were sore, her ankles were swollen, foods she enjoyed suddenly sent her vomiting, she found herself crying over the smallest things and as her stomach grew it became harder to move around the Red Keep. Even walking to the castle Sept - not the Grand Sept in the city, her father had forbid her from going out once she was first found pregnant with Aegon, he didn't want any disgruntled smallfolk mob to attack her and risk losing the pregnancy - took twice as long as before and she required the help of her sworn shield to kneel at the altar and then get back up again. 

Grand Maester Mellos finished his examination and congratulated her for the pregnancy, reassuring her once again that she would have no trouble giving birth to another healthy babe. When he first told her that, almost two years ago, she had wondered if he had said the same thing to the former Queen too. As she had gotten nearer to the birth of her first child, she often found herself having nightmares of something going wrong during the labors and being cut open on the King's orders like Aemma Arryn almost had been. The Maester and his acolytes were to attend her labor along with her two ladies-in-waiting to provide moral support and pray to the Mother for her and the child's well-being - but the person she had wanted to be there the most was ignoring her. 

Alicent had sent endless letters to Rhaenyra apologizing, explaining what happened, pleading to any sense of love she might still have for her dearest friend to not abandon her now as she faced the childbed. Back when she was a maiden, she imagined herself marrying a handsome, gallant knight who would love her sweetly and her dearest friend holding her hand while she labored to bring the product of her wifely devotion to the world... but then she was caught in the King's bedchamber and hastily married to him in an embarrassingly underattended ceremony, forced to lie on her back while he rutted into her and whispered his former wife's name, then had to go through pregnancy and childbirth alone because Rhaenyra was being petty and refusing to answer to her. At least Aegon had the decency to come quickly - even though the pain was unlike anything she felt before and she was dreading having to go through it again so soon. 

Alicent had only been doing her duty, what was expected of her - something Rhaenyra would never understand, apparently. Rhaenyra remained unmarried and there were no news of a betrothal even though she had come of age the past autumn and thus had become the Lady Paramount of Dragonstone in her own right. Instead, there were news of Rhaenyra and Laena Velaryon flying on their dragons to Braavos and Pentos accompanied by the Princess Alyssa, who introduced them to the merchant princes and magisters of the cities, personal friends of hers. The two young ladies were said to be the perfect image of Valyrian beauty - charming yet dangerous, steel under silk - and used their charms to bolster the trade between the islands of Dragonstone and Driftmark and the Free Cities.

"I want to fly with you on dragonback, see the great wonders across the Narrow Sea and eat only cake." Rhaenyra had said to Alicent once, in what seemed like a different life altogether. But those were supposed to be the silly dreams of maidens that eventually gave way to the harsh reality of marriage and childbirth - and yet there was Rhaenyra, living out her dream without sparing a thought for her old friend. No, Rhaenyra had to be a glutton and delight in everything she wanted, accumulating riches, friends, land and connections and leaving nothing for the rest. Alicent had listened to her father complain endlessly about Dragonstone's growing power and wealth, their trading with other regions of Westeros and the heathen Free Cities, and the dragons that they had no access too - too much power for a spoiled, selfish girl to have, he had growled as he threw into the fire another message from an informant that could not find a way to sneak into the island. 

Aegon's egg had gone cold almost as soon as it was placed in his crib, turning to stone before his first name-day had come. Neither the King nor his Heir had dragons under their command - a worrying difference compared to the three tamed and many wild dragons that nested in Dragonstone, the three on Driftmark, and the Cannibal in Volantis. Alicent had tried to appeal to Rhaenyra again once the petrified egg was returned to the Dragonpit, writing that her son should have the opportunity to fly on dragonback just like she had promised to do with her once upon a time, that it was her son's right as a Targaryen, that Aegon didn't deserve to suffer from her coldness just because she was mad at the King and her. That letter also went unanswered and so Aegon still had no dragon. 

The babe kicked her ribs, bringing Alicent out of her musings and making her hiss. 

She'd make the mistake of complaining about the kicking when she was pregnant with Aegon, and Viserys' eyes got misty as he said that it was normal and that "Aemma would always feel such joy despite the pain, because it meant that the babe was alive". She never complained about the pregnancy out loud again. This is your duty, a necessary sacrifice, and you must bear it. Wasn't that what the beloved Queen Aemma had said to Rhaenyra before those last labors? That bearing children was their duty, and they must face it with a stiff lip? Aemma Arryn had failed in her duties as Queen: she bore no living male child, took everything she could when the King wisely cast her aside, and was now letting her daughter escape those same duties too.

She knew Viserys probably hadn't thought about the underlying meaning under his comment and yet the thoughtlessness grated at Alicent that much more. She was his current wife, the one that had borne him a healthy, male heir, and yet it seemed the Falcon Queen had taken up so much room in the King's heart that there was nothing left for Alicent. Still, she was not treated poorly - she was not beaten or yelled at or thrown around like some other unfortunate ladies that could never hide the bruises properly - and so Alicent brushed off Viserys' impulsive comments and went about her day.

With only three ladies-in-waiting and two knights - all of them related to her by some degree or from the Reach - it was a little easier to handle the Queen's duties, but at the end of the day Alicent was often too exhausted to call for Aegon's nursemaids to bring him to her. Maybe that is why it seemed that he had suddenly grown up so much overnight. They would be throwing a three-day hunt in the Kingswood to celebrate his second name-day, a grand celebration fit for the Heir to the Throne, and they had sent invitations to Dragonstone as well. 

Maybe this time she will come, Alicent thought as she tried to get comfortable enough to sleep, maybe she will come and she will have to answer to me.

On the island of Dragonstone, things changed a lot since Rhaenyra became its Lady.

It was difficult to adapt from suddenly having one lady-in-waiting to ten. 

Rhaenyra had been hesitant in accepting a lady from the Reach at first, a bitter taste in her mouth still making her gag whenever she thought of Alicent's betrayal, but Melissa Beesbury was Lord Lyman's granddaughter, and he was one of the few council members she genuinely trusted, so she accepted. It turned out the young lady was good with figures and a had a keen mind for budgeting that must have been a family trait. Rhaenyra also loved the honey that arrived with Lady Melissa, the best export of Honeyholt, so that was an added bonus. 

Other ladies had joined her entourage as well. Johanna Westerling, her sworn shield Ser Harrold's niece, who was just as honorable as her uncle; Sabitha Vypren from the Riverlands, who looked up to Visenya and Alyssa and took up sword fighting; Maris Baratheon, Laena's second cousin by her mother Rhaenys, with a quiet disposition that became a thunderstorm when she was angry; and Catelyn and Rosaline Strong, the daughters of the Master of Laws. They joined the other ladies from the Crownlands - Celaena Celtigar, Vera Sunglass, Gillian Bar Emmon, and the young Elinda Massey - and Wylla Manderly from the North. 

Rhaenyra wanted to be surrounded by people she could trust - not surrounded by snakes like in King's Landing. She wanted a household like Ñamar Alyssa's - eclectic in their origins and talents and willing to travel all the way from Volantis to King's Landing to help their mistress - and the love the common people had for Uncle Daemon - the kind of loyalty where two thirds of Goldcloaks followed him to Dragonstone without hesitation and the smallfolk of King's Landing cheered whenever he was out and about. It was her first lesson in governance, imparted by her mother, Lady Regent Aemma Arryn, shortly after their arrival on Dragonstone three years ago when she confessed her troubles over tea and lemon cakes. 

"It is not a bad thing to want, sweet girl, but you cannot expect such loyalty to grow out of nothing." 
"How do you mean?" 
"Half of Alyssa's household were given to her as slaves and she liberated them and showed them kindness and priviledges; Daemon took hedge knights without purpose and gave them training and a cloak to serve under. You are a Princess and soon to be the Lady of Dragonstone, so every person in Westeros owes you deference and respect. The kind of loyalty that Daemon and Alyssa command must be earned, not demanded." 
Rhaenyra frowned as she started to think about her mother said. In the Red Keep, nobles had all but thrown themselves at her feet to gain her favor and Rhaenyra had dismissed them and instead spent most of her time with Alicent, who she thought to be honest and her actual friend. That had turned out to be a lie. "Like Jaehaerys and Alysanne? With the roads and the public fountains?" 
Aemma smiled at her daughter and nodded. "Exactly like that, though we may have to think of different boons to offer those you wish to be loyal to you. Giving coin away heedlessly to buy loyalty will not be sustainable in the long run, so we must think about what each person or group wants." 

And they did. 

They took in the daughters of less wealthy houses that could not afford a large dowry for them and promised to find them a worthy match and supply the dowry themselves; they also sent out ravens to known "misfit" ladies, like Sabitha Vypren, and offered space to practice those skills that had been deemed "unladylike" and tutoring in those skills as well as managing a keep; Lyman Beesbury had asked that they take his granddaughter because the Hand was being very insistent about finding more ladies for his Queen daughter's pitiful household and Lord Strong could see the writing on the wall and feared his daughters would be next to be demanded.  

Prosperity, freedom, sanctuary. 

Those were also the words that some of Daemon's envoys repeated around King's Landing in order to populate the growing port city that was becoming the center of Dragonstone's exports. A city needs more than a harbor master and fishermen - it needs barmaids, bakers, seamstresses, and yes, brothels too. Daemon's former mistress had refused to run another brothel and follow him to Dragonstone, so he turned to a previous favorite and promised steady coin and good conditions for whatever girls wanted to get out of King's Landing. Alyssa, who was familiar with trade by virtue of living in close proximity with Saera Targaryen, insisted on improving the safety and hygiene of any brothel to be established as well as ensuring that the women working there received their fair share of the coin and were protected from any clients that wanted to take more than they had been allowed to. 

Aemma had written to the matrons of the orphanages she still sent coin to and asked that they gather the older children - those old enough to sit still and learn a trade - and send them to Dragonstone, where they would be taken care of and taught a craft free of charge. The matrons, always overworked and underfunded with the number of orphans on the streets of King's Landing, sent them with pleasure and a warning to be on their best behavior. Master craftsfolk had started to arrive and settle on Dragonstone as the island began to grow, and they were willing to have an additional set of helping hands and teach someone the trade. 

Rhaenyra spent most of those three years learning and, to her delight, travelling. She learned business, budgeting, foreign diplomacy, trade laws, farm laws, and negotiating from Maester Gerardys and other tutors that had come from Volantis at the request of Alyssa's husband, some of the best in Essos. For her fifth-and-ten nameday, Alyssa had come from Volantis and told her and Laena to pack their best outfits and follow on dragonback, where she took them to Braavos. 

That first flight over the Titan of Braavos, watching the city of canals from above had been nothing short of spectacular, and the welcoming parties they were invited to didn't disappoint either. She had grown used to seeing men and women from different places in Dragonstone, but not the level of extravagance and finery that the Sealord of Braavos received them with. Rhaenyra talked with keyholders from the Iron Bank about possible investments, gushed over the deep purple color achieved by a snail natural to Braavos and if it would be possible to import them, saw famed Braavosi courtesans and waterdancers on the narrow streets, and charmed the merchants with talk of all the goods that they were producing in Dragonstone, showing off the dragonglass sewn into her dresses and used to make her jewelry. 

Laena loved the chance to see the world too - though her thankfully dismissed betrothal with the Sealord's son did make things slightly awkward. It became less awkward when the son of the Sealord vomited on a courtesan's silk shoes and was challenged to a duel by no less than four waterdancers, one of them a woman.

"Ah, Braavos. Never change." Alyssa had sighed with nostalgia as she witnessed the debacle. She repeated something similar when they left Braavos and made a stop in Pentos along the way, where they were wined and dined by the Prince of Pentos and fawned over by the merchant nobility and received so many yards of regal silks that Syrax actually complained when it was time to carry everything back to Dragonstone. It wasn't that Syrax couldn't carry the weight, she just found it tedious and demanded an extra cow when they returned to their island. 

Now, at the age of six-and-ten and having very recently become the ruling Lady of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra was happy. 

Aemma Arryn was healthy and took over the healing and learning houses that they had established now that she wasn't regent, and she and Rhaenyra made it a point to fly together at least once a week. Daemon had been named Lord Commander of the Dragonwatch - a play on his previous title - and oversaw the safety of the growing city and the other villages as they received more and more trade, imparting justice with a firm but not unfair hand. Her ladies-in-waiting were all different and capable and thriving in Dragonstone castle, allowed to grow without the bonds of septas to dictate what a proper lady should or shouldn't do and an education that most noble men would never have. The pile of letters of marriage proposals sat in an untouched pile and she was under no pressure to even read them, assured by her mother that she didn't have to marry anyone she didn't want to and could do whatever she wanted.

Maybe that's why she was surprised when their family breakfast was interrupted by a raven just arrived from Storm's End, bearing the sigil of House Baratheon and not addressed to Maris. It was addressed to Rhaenyra, the Lady Paramount of Dragonstone and the Narrow Sea.

Her eyes burgeoned at the words penned by Lord Boremund, his initial hesitation but final resolution. 

"What is it, sweetness?" Aemma asked, worried about Rhaenyra's wide eyes. "Did something happen to Lady Elena?" Elena Carron, Maris' mother, was pregnant again in her attempt to give her husband a son and Aemma worried for the woman who was in the same position she had once been in. 
"No. Triarchy ships have been tormenting villages in the Stormlands and their request for aid to King Viserys was denied." Rhaenyra explained and Daemon scoffed and rolled his eyes at Viserys' pathetic pacifism. "They've been trying to hold them off on their own but yesterday they attacked again and..." she swallowed hard as she tried to say such an awful thing out loud, "... they took Lord Swann's niece of five-and-ten, Lady Johanna. Most likely to be sold to a pillow house in Lys." Aemma gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "The King has not answered to written nor in person requests for aid and Lord Boremund is asking for our help." 
Daemon's face went stone cold and serious. "If they are already bold enough to kidnap a noblewoman, then they will only get worse. It's already bad enough that Viserys didn't at least send ships to defend their coasts, it sends a message that Westeros is unguarded and ripe for the taking."
"Rhaenys will have probably gotten a message like this. Boremund is her uncle, not to mention her own father died fighting off the Triarchy." Aemma added.

Rhaenyra nodded decisively. "Call the banners."

Chapter Text

The Small Council - the Red Keep, King's Landing

The day after that awkward session of petitions, the King and his Small Council met, and it wasn't long before the topic of the Triarchy was brought up. 

Tyland Lannister, Master of Ships since Corlys Velaryon resigned and took his fleet, riches, and marriageable daughter back to Driftmark after the King chose to marry another, spoke first. "If the Triarchy has indeed reformed, and with the backing of the Three Whores, then it would be wise to at least send support to those coastal settlements that are at risk." 
"I will not start a war with the Free Cities." King Viserys stated firmly. He was not going to be remembered as the king that disrupted the peace his grandfather had worked all his life to keep. "What if they attack a merchant vessel by mistake and the Three Daughters decide to retaliate?" 
"Your grace, we would not be attacking; we would be defending our coasts from pirates that are harming our subjects." Ser Steffon Darklyn, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard after the relocation of Ser Harrold, argued. 
Viserys sighed. "Perhaps a diplomatic solution can be explored?" 
"Pirates are not exactly known for their negotiation skills... or their hospitality." Lord Strong reminded them. "Whoever we send, we might as well be sending them to their deaths." 
"I think it would be wise to seek assistance from the Princess Alyssa, your grace." Lord Beesbury proposed, remembering the tales that have circulated for decades about the wild princess burning down pirate fleets. "She has been known to frequently deal with pirates in Essos - she may have some useful insight as to how we can proceed." 
Otto Hightower scoffed. "And have the Crown beg on their knees for the help of a violent woman with no diplomatic training?" 

Viserys nodded, agreeing with Otto. He loved his sister, but she has never been one to mind her words or respect authority - he still remembers how she used to speak with lords who sought to court her during her visits and the way she didn't hesitate to draw her blades at the slightest insult. The fact that no city had ever demanded reparations from House Targaryen for a death caused by Alyssa was a miracle, honestly. No, sending Alyssa would only result in a catastrophe, or worse: a massacre. 

"No - I love my sister, but sending her would only result in burning any possible diplomatic relationship with the Three Daughters." King Viserys resolved with finality. "Send a raven to Lord Baratheon and Lord Swann that they are free to defend their coasts from raids, but the Crown will not be sending any troops, as this would be considered an act of war by the Free Cities." 
The Hand of the King and the Grand Maester nodded sagely. "Wise decision, your grace." Otto said in approval.
That was enough for the King to completely forget about the Triarchy and perk up. "Now, onto more pleasant matters. How go the final preparations for my son's hunt?" 

While the Hand informed the Council of the plans for the three-day hunt in the Kingswood, Lord Strong and Lord Beesbury exchanged a concerned look. 

Lyonel Strong was loyal to the King and loathed even having to think such things, but it was getting hard to ignore the stagnancy of the Realm under the rule of King Viserys ... and Otto Hightower. His son Harwin reported that Gwayne Hightower, put by his father in the ranks of the City Watch for no other reason than being the Hand's son - and the Queen's brother, the cunt (Harwin's words, not Lyonel's) would claim whenever he received less than he thought he deserved - was a terrible fighter and an even worse watchman, forever looking down at the smallfollk who came to them to report a crime. Houses Blackwood and Bracken in the Riverlands were still fighting and no letter from the King could get them to settle their long-lasting feud, but the King refused to send men to stop the bloodshed so "he would not be seen as a tyrant". He was actually frightened that Lord Beesbury had died when he saw the amount of gold the Queen had requested to donate to the Sept and he stopped blinking for several seconds. 

Internally, he was very glad his daughters were in Dragonstone and not in the Red Keep. He missed them terribly, but seeing the three ladies-in-waiting to the Queen running ragged attempting to carry out all the duties of a full entourage made him sigh in relief. Their letters spoke of long days too, but they weren't spent planning one of the King's many feasts and trying to get more ladies-in-waiting to come to their aid. They shared lessons with Princess Rhaenyra on commerce law and diplomacy and economy, even learning High Valyrian that was used in the Free Cities; Catelyn had taken an interest in the Learning House that Que- Lady Aemma had established and wrote about the many foreign inventors that shared their works on Dragonstone and getting to learn from them, and Rosaline had become fast friends with Sabitha Vypren and had asked to try fighting with a sword too (that nearly stopped Lyonel's heart), having already taken a liking to archery and practicing with other ladies that were trained by a master.

His girls were happy and thriving, so he was happy for them even though he was sad that he didn't get to see them every day. Maybe he should ask them to come visit him- 

Suddenly the thought of the Queen demanding that they become ladies-in-waiting to her and the Hand pulling some underhanded maneuver to make them stay in the Red Keep daughter occurred to him and clouded his mind, making him shiver despite the warm spring weather. 

Maybe he should go visit them on Dragonstone - maybe Lord Beesbury would like to come as well and visit his granddaughter.

...

The news of Lady Johanna Swann being taken by the Triarchy and sold to a pillowhouse in Lys had shaken the court, but not enough to spur the King into action. 

The heavily pregnant Queen called for prayer for the young lady that was suffering in the hands of foreign savages and to end of the bloodshed at the Stormlands, but that did little to ease the fear and anxiety that had spread through the court. The smallfolk died every day and to lose a few to pirates was a sad but not exactly tragic reality of coastal settlements - but for a noble lady to be taken and forced to become a whore? It scared them. 

And yet, the Hand insisted that they could not even send a ship to Lys to attempt to ransom the young lady back to her house.

"And become the laughingstock of the Known World? To have to pay pirates and whoremongers whatever price they ask would be a complete humiliation." Otto Hightower stated with a scoff. "The loss of Lady Swann is a tragedy, no one is disputing that - but we cannot throw away the reputation of the realm on a single lady." 
"Our reputation is already in the gutter." Ser Darklyn intervened, clearly trying to contain his temper. "By our inaction, these pirates were essentially given free leave to ravage our shores and plunder our towns. They will only grow bolder from here. How long until they feel confident enough to attack bigger towns or, Seven forbid, King's Landing?" 
King Viserys sighed, rubbing his face tiredly. He had received another unopened letter from Dragonstone and his mood was already sour - he did not want to hear all this talk. "Mayhaps we can send men and supplies to the Stormlands, to assist those that have been affected by these attacks." He suggested, looking for the approval of the members of the Council. 
The Grand Maester nodded. "That is very generous, your grace - truly, the mark of a caring leader." 
"Still, your grace, it would not be remiss to send some ships to guard the Stormlands and prevent further attacks." Tyland suggested. "If these pirates do grow bolder, it may discourage traders from coming to Westeros and our incomes would be affected." 
Lord Beesbury agreed with the Lannister. "It's true, my king. Being idle will only end in losses for the entire realm." 

Viserys looks around his council, his gaze shifting between each member as he considered their advice and for a second, Lord Lyonel dared to hope that the King would choose to do something and order them to send ships to defend the Stormlands. 

That ended quickly when the Hand of the King opened his mouth again. "Your grace, I'm afraid I must inform of a troubling rumor from Dragonstone. It would appear that Lord Baratheon has sent a letter requesting aid to Princess Rhaenys and I fear that the use of dragons will quickly escalate the level of violence." 

Lyonel Strong sighed and finished his cup of wine, readying himself for another long meeting.

Chamber of the Painted Table - Dragonstone

Lady Paramount of Dragonstone and the Narrow Sea, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, stood at the end of the table her ancestors had used to plan their conquest of Westeros and looked around at the gathered lords and ladies. 

The houses of the Narrow Sea were quick to answer her summons to discuss the news they had received from the Stormlands, a grim weight settling over all of them. Princess Rhaenys and her son Laenor attended as the representatives of Driftmark, having arrived on their dragons and received a similar call for aid from the Baratheons, who were close kin to Rhaenys by her mother, Jocelyn Baratheon. The ladies-in-waiting to Princess Rhaenyra and those that still accompanied her mother, the former Queen now Lady Aemma, were present in the room as well, at the insistence of the Targaryen women and despite the protests of some of the men. 

"War does not care for the gender of those it kills, ser." Rhaenyra had silenced the man. "All women, noble and common alike, know that when the enemy comes, a quick death is the best outcome and that not even our dead bodies are safe from becoming spoils of war. The Triarchy have already taken a Lady to be sold at auction in Lys. Every action or inaction decided in this room will affect them one way or the other - they deserve to know what actions are being taken and voice their opinions just as much as you do. Any other man who has a problem with that can argue with my lady Syrax." 

There were no further arguments after that. 

"My uncle has written to me requesting aid. The King cannot begrudge House Baratheon for seeking assistance from their blood, nor can he reproach me for wanting to help my family." Princess Rhaenys said as she pointed to the coast of the Stormlands on the lit-up map. "I will be patrolling the coast from Weeping Town to Eastwood and Laenor will aid the defense of Tarth." 
Rhaenyra nodded, then turned to her uncle. "What do we know about the Triarchy and their leaders?" 
"The Three Whores are backing them, and they are being led by a prince called Crabhas Dhagar, the Crabfeeder." Daemon informs the gathered nobility. "I have spread out a bigger number of Dragonguards among our coastal villages, and I'll send whatever men we can spare to aid the Stormlands as well. I have also sent a raven to Alyssa for any additional knowledge she may have from her friends in Tyrosh. We should be hearing from her soon enough." 
Aemma threw a raven scroll on the table for the others to read. "The Martells have heard of the attack on the Stormlands too and are setting up defenses on their coasts as well. They report that there's been an increased number of pirate encampments being set up in the Stepstones Islands." She sets a bright red figure on the painted table that represent those islands. 
"That's likely their homeport." Laenor Velaryon commented, putting to use all the lessons from his father in preparation to become Lord of the Tides. "Pirates usually gather in a specific port to make recruitment and passing information among captains easier, and more often than not some sort of council or court is established. They decide where to target, what to take and who to kill, they also often set bounties on specific ships if they are after a lucrative target." 
Daemon scoffed. "That's true - several years ago, a pirate council in Essos put a bounty on the Cannibal." 
"How come we've never heard of this pirate council?" Lord Massey asked concerned.
"Because Alyssa burned their entire fleet to a crisp while they were still on their ships. There wasn't a pirate council after that." 

One could argue about the Targaryens' propensity for violence, but none could deny that they were effective when they set their minds to it. (Most of them, anyway.)

"Why don't we just torch the Stepstones? If there is nothing there but pirates and we seek to rid ourselves of pirates, wouldn't it make sense to simply burn them and their ships now?" Laena suggested. Murmurs of agreement rumbled around the room, both from the ladies and the lords. 
"We could, but then the Triarchy would just gather more ships and another ambitious captain, and the cycle would start again until they either run out of coin... or a lucky crossbow ends another dragonrider's life." Daemon said, sneaking a glance at Rhaenys, who tensed up - her father, Aemon Targaryen, had perished fighting pirates over twenty years ago, and his death changed everything for their family. Their unity, their family peace - the line of succession.

Aemma Arryn had lost most of her immediate family to an attack from the Mountain Clans five years after Aemon's death, leaving behind distant cousins and a three-year-old niece that now reigned as Defender of the Vale. They had never asked the Crown for aid when dealing with the Mountain Clans, they simply dealt with it and endured, as it was their problem. Would King Jaehaerys have sent aid in the form of dragonriders if her kin had asked for assistance? The only adult dragonriders at that point besides the monarchs were Prince Baelon, the Crown Prince after his brother's death; a bitter Rhaenys with two young children to look after; and Daemon, just married to Rhea Royce and thus hating everything connected to the Vale. Would he have been willing to risk another death in the family? Or would he have done like Viserys and stayed out of it, believing it wasn't his problem to deal with and left them to their devices? 

Maybe I should send a letter to Jeyne, once this is over, Aemma resolved, just to let her know she can always count on our help. 

Rhaenyra continued to listen at the concerns of the lords and ladies, then to the advice from Daemon, feeling a little overwhelmed with how many things depended on her and how little she knew about these matters. War and army management and coastal defenses had not been considered important for a princess' education - the focus had been more on learning to manage a household and charities and plan balls. Now she found herself trying to keep herself afloat while never having learnt how to swim. She didn't want her bannermen to see her as a spoiled princess who knew nothing of their realities, nor did she want to seem like an inexperienced leader who didn't understand the harsh cost of war while she waited for the men to defend her. They may have owed her obedience by virtue of being their liege lady, but she wanted them to follow her because they wanted to do so too - like the Goldcloaks did with Daemon.

All her life, she'd looked up to the Conqueror Queen Visenya - the first rider of Vhagar, the first wielder of Dark Sister, the Valyrian Warrior - and now Rhaenyra couldn't help but feel like a lizard pretending to be a dragon. 

"Laena," she turned to her cousin, "I want you to go back to Driftmark and patrol the mouth of the bay on Vhagar. You and Lord Corlys should keep an eye out for suspicious ships and if you could intercept Alyssa when she arrives and inform her of recent developments, that would be appreciated." 
Rhaenys looked surprised at how quickly Rhaenyra had sent Laena to the front line, but Laena smiled in a predatory way and nodded. "Am I allowed to burn any suspicious ships?"
"If they fire arrows at you, rain dragonfire on them. We depend on our imports and exports, and while I don't want word spreading in Essos that we are blood-thirsty warmongers who burn whoever they please, I will not allow any merchant prince to think they can intrude on dragon waters and get out unscathed." Rhaenyra stated, earning her some nods from the lords. "Princess Rhaenys, cousin Laenor, you may have all the fighting men the Lord Commander can spare, but I would ask that you escort their ship to the Stormlands yourself - I would not want to send them directly into the carnage, especially when none have experienced battle at sea."   
Laenor bowed like a knight would. "Of course, my liege. I will follow the ships on Seasmoke and see that they reach the Stormlands safely." 
"I will gather the men and have them ready to leave by daybreak." Daemon nodded and, surprisingly, sought Aemma next. "Cousin, do you know if any of the healers in the Healing House have experience in field medicine? It would be useful to be able to treat wounds with more than just prayers and mud." 
"I shall go after this meeting and ask," Aemma agreed, all eyes gathering on her, "- and I will make sure your men are sent off with plenty of medicine and ashwool either way. We all know that the cold can kill you faster than arrows sometimes." 

Ashwool was a new and exciting development in the island. Their sheep grazed on hills and pastures filled with volcanic ash, and adding ash to the carding of the wool had not only turned the wool a lovely shade of grey but also made the material warmer to the touch and able to retain heat more easily. The inland settlements on the island had turned almost exclusively to the raising of sheep and the spinning and weaving of the wool into yarn and fabric, experimenting with new patterns and dyes available from the rising trade with the East.

Rhaenyra then turned to her ladies-in-waiting, who had been watching the discussions and strategies with interest, and addressed those that didn't hail from her vassal houses. "I am very thankful for the trust you and your families have put in me when you agreed to become my ladies-in-waiting, and I realize the prospect of war can be daunting, especially one that is not strictly your own. If any of you wish to return to your family's keeps, I will not begrudge you for it, and I will see you all safe back to your homes, with an agreement to take you back once the fighting is over if you still wish to serve me. Either way, I promise that no harm will come to you so long as I have the power to stop it." 
Johanna Westerling, who had been standing near her uncle, stood up straighter. "It is as you said before, Princess, pirates spare no one. We in the West are used to the attacks of the Ironborn and even noble ladies cannot be shielded from them. I believe it is much better to learn how to manage a keep under siege now than wait until I am a married woman with children trying to keep a House together while under attack." 
Wylla Manderly nodded in agreement. "I will write to my grandsire and inform him of the situation. We may not be able to spare much in the way of supplies, but our men are skilled sailors as well as fighters." 
"My own house cannot send supplies, but I am willing to help train any women who want to learn to defend themselves, your highness." Sabitha Vypren offered, her hand going to the sword hanging from her belt, the scabbard hidden by the pleats of her gown. The Riverlander had taken one look at a recent portrait of Alyssa and decided to imitate the fashion of wearing a sword with gowns too. "Even if they can't save their life, at least grant them the dignity of taking someone down with them." 

The other ladies piped up too - even if their own houses were too far away or could not get supplies to Dragonstone, but they were willing to do everything they could to help here. The Strong sisters were offering to send letters to their brother Harwin, now Commander of the City Watch with Daemon's relocation, telling him to gather any information that was going around King's Landing about the Stepstones and pirate attacks. Melissa Beesbury argued for making provisionary budgets in case the combat ran longer than expected and started to become a drain on their resources. The ladies from the Crownlands, standing by the head of their respective houses, also stepped forward with plans that could be implemented to support the cause with the skills they had been taught: making spare clothes for the men to stave off the cold of night, cutting bandages, knitting socks, even helping distribute food and aid among the villages. 

Aemma watched with pride as Rhaenyra's face went from surprised to hopeful, and how even the men who had protested against their involvement had shut up and let the girls speak. Rhaenyra had been so worried about having the loyalty of the men that she hadn't seen how she already had the loyalty of the ladies, earned by giving them room to grow and a place where they would be listened to. It reminded Aemma of those last women's courts during Alysanne's later years, the old Queen listening to the noble and smallfolk women alike, even if she wasn't able to fight so much now that she was old and hardened from so many losses - but the work she had done abolishing the rite of first night and trying to get women in to the Citadel was still remembered. 

Rhaenyra finally turns to Daemon. "Uncle, there is no one I trust more to defend our family and our bannermen than you, and I want you to do whatever you think best to rid the Narrow Sea of pirates. Until the last ship is burned down and the last pirate dead, I hereby name Prince Daemon Targaryen, Master of War and Protector of the Narrow Sea." The Lady of Dragonstone orders solemnly, her last sentence echoing in the hall so that every lord, lady and servant heard clearly. 

Daemon, not used to being so publicly praised and called upon nobly, is dumbfounded for a second - just a second - before he lifts his sword and presents it to Rhaenyra with a bow. "I, Prince Daemon Targaryen, son of Baelon and rider of Caraxes, do hereby swear to uphold the office given to me by Princess Rhaenyra, Lady Paramount of Dragonstone and the Narrow Sea. Her will shall be done." He rose and nodded at his niece, not with his usual predatory smirk or haughty grin but something other that was both proud and ready to take down a foe. He turned to the gathered nobility next. "I swear to you as well, my lords and ladies, that I will rain Fire and Blood on those who would try to pillage our coasts, kill our sons and take our daughters. The dragons will defend their own." 

The lords and ladies don't cheer exactly, but they make their approval evident with thundering claps and a few scattered calls for war and bloodshed. 

...

It all boiled over a week later, when two things happened simultaneously. 

Alyssa Targaryen arrived on Dragonstone atop her dragon, a hardened yet alive Johanna Swann clinging to her back. 

Two Velaryon ships returning from Volantis were ambushed on the Stepstones and ransacked by pirates, the burned skeletons of the ships left to drift back to Driftmark, where Lord Corlys was said to have sworn vengeance on the Triarchy.

At the Chamber of the Painted Table, the Lady Paramount of Dragonstone and the Narrow Sea set all talks of defense to the side for now and instead asked the lords to gather their best fighting men and prepare for war. Prince Daemon Targaryen, with a hand on Dark Sister and fire in his eyes, immediately began talking of the supplies that would be needed to rid the Stepstones of pirates - men, weapons, camp gear, food and medicine for soldiers - and the lay-out of the islands. 

"They dared to attack Velaryon ships - my bannerman's ships - and slaughtered sailors from my lands. I will not stand idle while they attack my people and threaten our livelihood." Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen declared to her vassals, almost snarling like a dragon about to breathe fire on her enemies. Her hair was braided in the style of Queen Visenya, a sword now hung from her belt, and she was dressed in a black ashwool riding habit. "Let the King celebrate his son and ignore the problems of the realm - I shall not let pirates plunder our ships and pillage our villages. I promised you that I would rain Fire and Blood on any who dared, and that is exactly what we are going to do." 

Swords were raised and war cries rung through the hall, joining the roars of the dragons outside. 

House Targaryen of Dragonstone was going to war.

Chapter Text

Aemma called for one of the female healers at the Healing House and sent everyone else away from the entire floor where Johanna's room was. 

"The last thing this poor girl needs is to have men and gawkers hovering around her." Aemma Arryn stated fiercely when Daemon tried to stay, insisting he wanted to know about the number of enemies they were dealing with and any other information she could have. "And I promise you if there were any scorpions on those ships, they were not her priority at the moment, and you will not give her grief about it." 

Johanna Swann had not let go of Alyssa, clutching her riding coat like a lifeline as the wild princess led them through the corridors of Dragonstone, her arms shielding her face and torso, as Aemma walked in front of them, blocking the view from anyone else as they entered a spare room and closed the door behind them. The healer would arrive soon, and in the meantime Aemma was going to do as mothers do and provide comfort. 

"You've been very brave, sweet girl." Aemma said softly to the young lady as Alyssa sat them down on the bed. The lady regent knelt on the ground, not wanting to make the girl uncomfortable by having someone else look down on her. "I am so sorry that they harmed you and I cannot imagine how awful it must have been, but you are here with us now and we are going to see you well again, may we do that?" Even though she wanted to comfort her, Aemma didn't make an effort to touch her, not wanting to overwhelm her.

Lady Johanna Swann was a Stormlands beauty, five-and-ten with a willowy frame, shiny black hair and light blue eyes, and Aemma had no doubts that once recovered she would turn the eyes of many, but right now the young lady's skin was pale from being locked inside a pillow house and she had dark bruises under her eyes from crying, not to mention the bright red marks on her wrists and around her neck, where she must have been cuffed. 

Johanna looked to Alyssa first and, at the princess' nod, slowly let go of the black riding coat, hunching in on herself like she was attempting to make herself smaller. "I- Thank you for your hospitality, your grace." She said with a hoarse voice, as if she hadn't spoken for a long time - or as if she had screamed for too long. Neither Aemma nor Alyssa corrected the misused title - three years after the annulment, it was still a common enough occurrence with visitors, especially those not too fond of the new Queen.
"There is no need to thank me, young lady - it is our pleasure to host someone so strong." Aemma extended her hands towards her but left it up to Johanna if she wanted to take them. Johanna stared at them as if they might grow claws and scratch her for a few seconds, but eventually took them, letting the former queen gently caress them. "I asked for a woman healer to come here so she may see that you are not injured anywhere. If you want to be alone with her, we will leave and wait outside while she examines you or either Alyssa or myself or both of us can stay with you. It is up to you - all we want is to make sure you are well." 

Johanna Swann stares blankly at Lady Aemma, almost like she doesn't believe her, then at Princess Alyssa, who smiles warmly and nods. "We will not do anything without your approval. We shall only do what you want." Alyssa reassures her. 

For a minute or two, Johanna rubs her arms and looks at her lap, the Targaryen women not prompting her to say anything, only continuing their tender touches to provide comfort to the young lady. 

Finally, there is a knock on the door and Johanna jumps from fright, only calming down when the knight on the other side announces that the healer is here.

"Could you stay, my lady?" She looked to Aemma - soft, maternal Aemma whose nether regions had been examined by most Maesters than she cared to count and knew what it was like to feel your skin crawl as another examined you. 
"Of course, sweet girl." Aemma agreed and sat down next to her before turning to Alyssa. "Cousin, could you let the healer through and tell Daemon and Rhaenyra that I will be staying with Lady Johanna, please? Inform them that the lady is our guest and that she will talk if she is ready and provide them with all the information you have about the state of Lys and their navy." 
Alyssa did a mock bow. "Of course, my Queen." Aemma glared at her out of the corner of her eye - unlike the visitors, Alyssa did know better - but couldn't help but soften when Alyssa leaned down to talk to Johanna with a soft smile. "I shall remain here on Dragonstone for the next few days, if you wish to talk or walk or do anything, feel free to ask for me." 

Alyssa opened the door for the healer and allowed her to come into the room before leaving, closing the door behind her. 

The shuffle of armor outside reassured them that no one would be coming in uninvited. 

...

Rhaenyra all but jumped into her aunt's arms when she entered the solar, the impact forcing Alyssa to take a few stumbling steps back for balance.

"Oof! Look how strong you've grown!" Alyssa grunted as she barely managed to lift her niece off the ground and immediately set her back on her feet. The wild princess stood back to fully take in her niece and grinned. "You look well. Power suits you - you look like a Lady of the Valyrian Freehold, beautiful and dangerous." Rhaenyra was used to being called beautiful - she was not The Realm's Delight for no reason - but being praised for her power was still new and it made her blush at her aunt's compliments.
"And what about me?" Daemon asked teasingly as he approached them, sauntering with a hand on Dark Sister's hilt. 
"You look like something a dragon chewed up." Alyssa shot back with mirth but hugged her brother anyway, Daemon knocking their temples together as they embraced. "It's good to see you well, too. And busy, from what I've seen - I don't remember seeing so many armed men on ships since we took control of Dragonstone." She said with curiosity clear in her tone.
"Haven't you heard, haedar? We're going to war." The Rogue Prince replied with a grin full of teeth. "And speaking of war - you are to be shot on sight if you are ever seen in Lys again, however did you manage to get Johanna Swann out of the pillowhouses?" 

Alyssa grinned back, like a dragon who'd just eaten a full meal. "I have some very useful and very helpful friends." 

Tyrosh - the night before

"Fuck off, Maegyr. You and your wife and that dragon can all fuck off." Varian spit in his friend's face as Marcus Maegyr dragged him out of a low-life tavern in Tyrosh, the mercenary staggering along until the Volantene pushed him into an alleyway, where he thankfully allowed Varian to slide against the wall and sit on the ground. In the few moons since he had last seen him, Varian had dyed his hair a toxic pink and it almost matched his friend's rosy cheeks from the copious amount of liquor he had consumed.

"That was rude, you did not even hear my offer." Marcus said as he squatted next to his friend. "What do you say about joining me on a short trip to Lys?" 
Varian snorted and started cackling loudly, hitting the ground with his palms as if he had just heard the most hilarious joke of his life. "Lys? YOU? Will I have to see you dance again?" 
"No, you prick." Marcus rolled his eyes and dangled a coin purse in front of Varian's eyes. "You are going to be the distraction this time." 
"NoOoO," Varian cried in an awful staccato as he tried to drag himself away. "I am not dancing either! You cannot afford my services!" 
"No one is going to dance! You just need to buy a few hours with a few virgins." 

Suddenly, Varian is scrambling to his feet and leaning on the wall for stability.

"Why didn't you start with that? Of course I will go, my friend!" He reached to embrace Marcus, but lost his balance, ending up hanging off Marcus' shoulders and groaning into his ear. "I never pictured your wife would be the kind to allow you to step foot in a brothel, especially after that grand wedding you had and those sappy vows you made." 
"Oh, I am not going to be in Lys either, I just came here to recruit you." Marcus said with a slap to his back that straightened up Varian and began walking them out of the alley and closer to the ports. "Someone else will go with you to make sure that you pick the right maidens... and you do not touch them." 
Varian groaned again. "I don't even get to deflower a maiden? Pfft, just let me go back to tavern." He attempts to disentangle himself from Marcus and walk away but he barely makes it a step in the other direction before Marcus is pulling him back. 
"You just have to give the mongers their coin, and while you talk with them, Tael is going to give the message to the right maiden and then you can use our coin to enjoy yourself back here."

The sellsword perked up at hearing more people were going to be involved in this new endeavor, especially one of the servants that belonged to Princess Alyssa's famous household and who Varian had the pleasure of meeting during their "rescue mission" three years ago. "What are we doing, exactly?" Varian asked as he allowed Marcus to direct him somewhere. "This sounds like one of the darilaros' schemes. Are we rescuing a fair maiden in distress like in a poem?" 
"Right you are, my friend. I'll tell you more as soon as we reach our lodging."

Through the haziness of the alcohol, Varian tried to recall if there had been any dragon sightings on Tyrosh and came up empty. You'd think seeing a giant flying lizard would be monumental enough to remember even when piss drunk, but at the moment, he could not remember how many glasses of pear brandy he'd had or how many summers he had seen. 

Later, once he was sober, he would tell them that there had been whispers about pirates recruiting sellswords for an attack on Westeros now that it was common knowledge that the King had no dragons and had the backbone of a rag doll. More than one acquaintance had been persuaded to join the ships backed with coin from Lys and Myr, entire companies suddenly picked up and boarded said ships with the promise of a cut of the plundered goods. There was even one rumor of a merchant prince willing to give his wife and daughter to any man that managed to kill a dragonrider.

He would sober up quite quickly, because before Varian could get his bearings, he was suddenly face-to-face with the bright green eyes of the Cannibal, hidden in the waves of a secluded harbor with its head poking out of the water, and Princess Alyssa Targaryen waiting for them with a sword in one hand and a lamp in the other. 

"This time, I am torching all of Lys." Alyssa promised before mounting her dragon and pulling her husband and Varian behind her on the saddle. 

The dragon glided along the waters, its pitch-black scales serving as camouflage as it wove between sleeping ships, leading them away from the city and further outsea. He was starting to wonder if the dragon was going to ferry them to wherever the married couple were staying when Varian suddenly felt and heard the dragon's wings spreading out. The sellsword realized that he was about to fly on dragonback and suddenly felt like he was going to lose the liquor, dinner, lunch, and probably yesterday's breakfast. 

He could barely open his mouth to scream before Marcus was shoving his hand over his mouth as the dragon rose up and out of the water with an order from the Princess. 

Varian passed out the second an actual cloud hit his face.

The camp in the Kingswood was bustling with activity as more and more noble guests started to arrive for the hunt in honor of Prince Aegon's second name day. 

Lords got ready to join the hunt - especially the Hand, who heard word that the White Hart, the King of the Forest himself, had been spotted; a great omen for his grandson, the future king - while the ladies gathered around the Queen in her tent, gossiping about such and such's marriage and the fate of poor Johanna Swann. Away from the King and Queen, there were also those who also commented on the glaring absence of any other Targaryens in the festivities yet again - a trend since the King announced his annulment of the marriage to Queen Aemma Arryn and his new bride, Alicent Hightower.

King Viserys Targaryen was sitting at the head of the feast table, watching his son and heir be regaled with cheers and praises from his maternal family, when a sharp cry they hadn't heard in years rang through the air, bringing everyone present to complete silence. 

A dragon was approaching. 

King Viserys stood up so abruptly that his chair fell back and hit the carpeted floor with a thump and he nearly crashed into Ser Erryk, who had been attempting to help him up. "Finally! See Otto - I told you they would come around! Come, everyone! Let us greet my family!" 

The Hand's protests fell on deaf ears as the nobility hurried to scatter out of the main tent, eager to see which Targaryen dragon they would finally see after three years of a dragonless King and prince. He looked back to find his daughter and saw that it was only Ser Criston Cole who had any consideration for the heavily pregnant Queen, who couldn't rise as quickly as the others, and gave her his arm so she could get up from her chair and waddle outside. Otto, reassured that the Queen was safe, quickly walked outside to be at the King's side, where he belonged. 

The King and his Council were in front of the welcoming party that gathered outside the main tent, looking at the approaching creature. It was a single dragon, with yellow scales that almost glowed in the sun, which could only mean it was one dragon: Syrax, the Golden Lady. The mount of Princess Rhaenyra. The same princess who had left with her mother to her new seat and had not spoken nor written to her father since he announced he would marry her lady-in-waiting. 

"Oh, it's my precious girl!" King Viserys nearly jumped from joy when he realized it was his beloved daughter who was approaching. "Where's Aegon? Bring him to me, he must meet his sister!"
Otto Hightower's eyes widened at the prospect of that spoiled girl meeting his grandson and hurting him out of jealousy or some unjustified revenge for her mother's weakness came to him and he nearly ran to the King's side. "Your grace, perhaps it would be best to first see what the Princess wants-" 
"Nonsense, Otto! What else could she want other than to see her family after so long?" The nursemaid that held Aegon had just arrived and caught the tension between the King and the Hand but couldn't say anything as the King took his son from her arms and propped him on his hip with a grunt. "Look, Aegon! Your sister has come to visit!"
The little prince wasn't really interested in a sister so much as the dragon that was coming closer and closer. "Dagon!" He yelled, waving around his little toy made in the image of Balerion. 
"Yes, it's a dragon. It is Syrax, and she belongs to your sister Rhaenyra." Viserys explained, leading Aegon to say something that sounded like "Renya" in an attempt to imitate him. "No, no. Rhae-ny-ra. No matter, you will get better as you get to know her. You know, she is the youngest dragonrider since the Doom of Valyria, having mounted the dragon she hatched in her crib barely a day after she was born." 

Despite the King's jovial mood, the nobles that heard Viserys reminisce about the young Princess Rhaenyra, whose dragon egg indeed hatched in her cradle, couldn't help but compare the son to his older sister. Prince Aegon's egg had gone stone cold, leaving the dragonkeepers to take it back to the very empty Dragonpit. The Hand had proposed another egg be placed in Aegon's crib, but the King ignored it and waved him off. "My egg didn't hatch in my crib either, and I claimed Balerion at five-and-ten! Maybe his mount is out there, waiting to be claimed."

It seemed Viserys had forgotten that all the riderless dragons were in Dragonstone, and that according to the incredulous contract he signed, only the ruling Lady of Dragonstone could grant his children permission to attempt to claim one - and Otto knew that the spoiled princess would sooner burn them all the second they tried to step foot on that island before ever letting her half-siblings near a dragon. 

Finally, the yellow dragon landed in a free space, making the dirt and grass rise up from the powerful winds generated by its wings - it hit the gathered nobles in the face and messed up the careful hairstyles of the ladies that got closer. But all that was forgotten when the beast roared, scaring the horses and making the humans step back in awe and fear, and its rider jumped down from the saddle, landing on the ground and coming to pet the dragon's snout. Most would not be able to notice, but those that had seen the dragon up close before could clearly see that it had grown exponentially since it left King's Landing with its mistress - and the dragon was not happy with what it was seeing... or smelling.

"I know this stinks, Syrax." Rhaenyra Targaryen soothed her dragon, barely hiding her discontent at being there either. "We shan't be here for long." 

...

Viserys' eyes grew misty as he beheld his daughter for the first time in three years. 

Rhaenyra had grown taller, nearly matching his own height, and the last remnants of baby fat were disappearing from her cheeks; her silver-gold hair was long and in intricate Valyrian braids that arched across her head like a crown and met in a single braid down her back; she wore a tailored riding coat made of black wool with a grey undertone and to his surprise there was a fine sword hanging from her hip - slightly shorter and thinner than a usual knight's blade, but the hilt was made from a black metal and made to look like dragon wings. But perhaps what hurt him the most was the fact that she looked so much like his beloved Aemma, save for the amethyst eyes - and right now, those eyes did not hold a single drop of affection towards him. 

Whatever she was here for, it was not to see him.

"Your grace." Rhaenyra curtsied perfectly, bowing her head. "I apologize for interrupting your festivities, but I bear urgent news from the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea." She explained, standing straight and solid with her hands clasped behind her back and ignoring the squirming toddler in the King's arms. "Three days ago, the Triarchy captured and ransacked two ships belonging to House Velaryon, killing its loyal crew and stealing the profits from our trade with Essos. As the Lady Paramount of Dragonstone and the Narrow Sea, it is my responsibility to look after my vassals and see that justice is delivered for the loss of life," no one dared to speak as Princess Rhaenyra eloquently described the situation, only stopping to take a folded document from the inside pocket of her coat and presenting it, "- and as such, my kin and I will be flying to the Stepstones to rid it of pirates." 
King Viserys, who had been in something of a trance as his daughter spoke of war, suddenly blinked awake when Rhaenyra said she would be flying to the islands herself. "What?" He passed Aegon to Alicent without look, almost making the Queen fall down from the sudden weight. It was only because Ser Criston stabilized her that she didn't drop the heir to the throne. "No! I forbid it! You will do no such thing!" He flailed, his volume rising and his face turning red.
"I am not asking for your permission, your grace." The Princess said coldly and calmly, looking at him like one might look at a stubborn child. "I am merely informing you and your council so that there are no wild conspiracies or misunderstandings about our course of action." She looked around at the faces of the nobles, who ranged from shock to interest to disgust and a few in awe. "Again, I apologize for interrupting your hunt, but time is of the essence, and I thought it best that you hear this from me and not from a raven scroll. Now, is there anything else you or your council would like to know?" 

Viserys tried to search for his warm, cheeky daughter in this cold, unyielding woman that stood in front of him and found nothing. Hair like Queen Visenya and a sword by her side - gods, Aemma must have finally caved in and allowed Alyssa to teach her swordfighting - and a face of quiet disappointment that reminded him too much of King Jaehaerys in his later years, worn and weary with the reality of no longer expecting good outcomes. His own daughter, his darling little girl, looked at him with the same eyes that Queen Alysanne had when she looked at Daemon: like a problem that needed to be dealt with. 

"Rhaenyra." It was Alicent that took a step closer, sensing that her husband might go into another embarrassing rage again. "Would you like to join the ladies and I while the Small Council discusses the issue you brought up?" She said kindly, shifting Aegon on her hip. 
"Thank you for the generous offer, your grace, but unless I am made a participant of such a discussion, then I shall take my leave. Us dragons are stretched thin enough as it is and I am needed back at Dragonstone." Rhaenyra didn't make an effort to be genuinely warm with Alicent either, smiling without teeth. She turned back to the King, whose chest was almost comically expanding and contracting as the Hand tried to soothe his anger. It would hilarious if it wasn't so pathetic. "Well, your grace? Will there be a meeting or shall I take my leave?" 

King Viserys sighed tiredly and shook off Otto's hand from his arm. "My Small Council and I will meet with you to discuss this... issue." He said, rubbing his temple as if he had headache. "I tire of all this talk of pirates." 
"The people of the Stormlands also tire of living under the threat of being killed or taken by pirates, your grace. I will not allow attacks on my people to go on long enough for them to grow tired of them." Rhaenyra said back dryly, toeing the line between sarcasm and open disrespect. "Which reminds me," she turns to all the gathered nobles for the first time, "I am sure it will be a relief to many that Johanna Swann and other maidens taken with her were safely recovered from Lys and are now recovering in Dragonstone. It was through the joint effort of Princess Alyssa Targaryen and her allies that Westerosi women were ripped from the claws of foreign fleshmongers and will be returned to their families as soon as the coasts are safe again." 

Several ladies breathed elated at the news of young girls being away from such horrid conditions, and even if most could not help but start to gossip and question the purity of the women that were rescued from Lys, the general feeling was one of relief. At least now they had the reassurance that if another noble lady - them, their daughters, sisters, cousins, or granddaughters even - someone would be able to do something. Someone who wasn't the King, who had spent the better part of the last twenty years in gallivanting around Essos, who had dared to disobey the King time and again and prevented him from taking the life of Aemma Arryn in the childbed. 

It was glaringly obvious to all that King Viserys Targaryen, despite being the King and by all means the patriarch of House Targaryen, did not have control of his family. Prince Daemon was famous for openly taunting his brother, Princess Rhaenys refused his summons after the sting of the Council of 101, Princess Alyssa had made it clear even before his coronation that he had no authority over her, and now Princess Rhaenyra, his own daughter, had clearly no intention of following his lead either. What's even worse: everyone else in the family but him and his young son had dragons. Dragons they were now taking to war and the King could realistically do nothing to stop.

Viserys struggled to make sense of all the information he had received and was still as a statue for a whole minute before regaining use of his legs, walking towards the King's tent and ordering the attendees of the event to drink and be merry and prepare for the hunt while they deal with a "small but urgent problem." He would talk his daughter out of this ridiculous idea of going after the Triarchy - this has Daemon written all over it, of course he was going to be a bad influence on my girl, I must find a way to remove him from Dragonstone - and they would all celebrate his awaited son as a family. Armed with newfound determination, he marched on to the main tent, barely hearing Rhaenyra approach her dragon. 

"Find something to eat but don't go far." Rhaenyra said as her forehead met her dragon's scales. "Remind them what dragons are capable of." 

Chapter Text

Rhaenyra smiled placidly at the members of the Small Council as she took the seat offered to her, which Ser Steffon Darklyn was kind enough to pull out for her. 

"Thank you, Ser Steffon. My mother sends her regards and warmest congratulations for your new position, and I have missed you dearly as well." Rhaenyra said warmly to the knight the middle-aged knight that had guarded Aemma Arryn from the second she became Queen until the last minute she spent in King's Landing. Ser Steffon had accompanied them to the Dragonpit the day they left and knelt in front of the now Lady Aemma to say goodbye and farewell, pressing a kiss to her knuckles like chivalry demanded.
Ser Steffon nodded and smiled back at the Princess. "Please extend my own well-wishes to your lady mother, your highness, and to Ser Harrold as well." 
"Consider it done." She said and then nodded at the other members, including Ser Tyland, who she hadn't met in person as he was made Master of Ships after they had left for Dragonstone. "It is a pleasure to see you all again and to make your acquaintance, Ser Tyland - I only wish it was under better circumstances." Rhaenyra said diplomatically before placing her hands on top of the table and waiting for her father to speak. 

Aemma Arryn had very heavily directed Rhaenyra in her deportment and etiquette the day before and this morning before she left for the hunt. "Any hint of childishness or disrespect and the King and the Hand will use it to discredit you and our efforts to protect our bannermen." The former Queen reminded her daughter as they practiced through different things the King or the Hand may ask her so she would be ready to answer them. "You are his daughter, yes, but you are also the Lady Paramount of Dragonstone and the Narrow Sea. Be firm, but polite." 

Viserys blinked at the poised lady that looked so much like his daughter yet... was not her. Were three years really all it took for his bright little girl to morph into a grown lady? Three years was all it took to for her love for him to die out completely? To refer to him just by his title and not even as father? To not even glance at Aegon, a sibling she had always wished for, and only look at Alicent, her once dearest friend, when she spoke first? 

"You are not going to war, Rhaenyra." Viserys sighed tiredly. 
"With all due respect, your grace, I do not need your permission to defend my territory." Rhaenyra expressed, her voice never wavering.
"The King is the sovereign of the realm, Princess, not to mention your lord father - so you do need his permission." The Hand tried to interject in an attempt to make her feel smaller. 
Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at Otto and then looked to Ser Tyland, of all people. "Ser Tyland, correct me if I'm wrong but when your brother dispatches his fleet to fight back against the Ironborn, does he ask for the King's permission first?" 
Ser Tyland was clearly not expecting to be made a part of the discussion, so he cleared his throat and looked around, shifting in his seat before eventually replying. "No, your highness." 
"I thought as much. Neither does Lord Stark when he and his bannermen protect themselves from Wildling attacks, nor does Lord Tyrell when he fights off the Dornish, nor does my cousin Jeyne Arryn, the Lady Paramount of the Vale, when she defends her people against the Mountain Clans." Rhaenyra stated firmly, each example setting a clear precedent. "I am not attacking the Stepstones without cause. We have reliable sources that confirm the Stepstones is where the Triarchy is setting their base of operations, and we seek to rip them out now before they can gain an even stronger foothold in Westeros, make it clear to the Triarchy and their benefactors that they will only lose if they try to encroach on the Narrow Sea and the shipping lanes of Westeros." 

Viserys is caught somewhere between disbelief, anger and pride at hearing his daughter so grown and talking about war so fluently. 

"And will you be leading the campaign, Princess?" Otto Hightower asked with a hint of mockery in his voice. 
"Of course I am. What kind of coward would I be if I sent my men to die while I hid in my castle? Not to mention, it is I who rides a dragon." Rhaenyra declared, refusing to be diminished by a second son. Ser Steffon didn't even bother to hide the proud look on his face. "Already Lys has been cowed, so Prince Daemon, Princess Alyssa and the Lady Laena are seeing to the pirates stationed in the Stepstones while Ser Laenor escorts Lord Corlys to deal with Myr and Princess Rhaenys handles Tyrosh." 
"Deal with... how, exactly?" Lord Strong asked tentatively. 
"By reminding them how lucky they are that Aegon and his sisters looked West instead of East." The Lady of Dragonstone looked right in her father's eyes, ruthlessness clear in her tone. "Worry not, your grace, we've already made sure to state that it is only House Targaryen of Dragonstone and its banners that have called for war. By your refusing to guard or defend the Stepstones, the Triarchy has considered it unclaimed territory and moved to claim it - we are going to get them off our shores." 

King Viserys' mouth opened and closed like a fish's for a few seconds as he struggled to think of what to say. "I- I want you to be safe, Rhaenyra." He pleaded, thistle eyes brimming with tears. "That's all I want." He attempted to reach for her hands but she moved them to flick back her braid and set them on the armrests.
Rhaenyra is not moved by any of his attempts at closeness. "Doing nothing will only make the entire Narrow Sea unsafe." She reaches into the other pocket of her riding coat and delivers another piece of parchment, this time handing it straight to Lord Strong. "I am also prepared for the worst, should it come to that. The succession of Dragonstone has been clearly established before my bannermen in case I perish in the fight. Copies of this document have been sent to the Citadel, all my bannermen, House Arryn, and Volantis, so no one will be able to contest it."

Rhaenyra smirked at Ser Otto, daring him to try to claim it for his grandson.

The Hand of the King ground his teeth together as he was silenced before he could even speak up. Who had been named Heir to Dragonstone? How many people would he have to kill for his grandson to be able to claim a dragon? One? Three? Entire families? Seven hells, how much worse could this get? 

"The succession of Dragonstone would be even further secured if the Princess took a husband." Maester Mellos suggested at Otto's silent prompting. 
"That is exactly why I've already secured Dragonstone's succession in writing, Grand Maester." She bares her teeth in disgust at the man who had attempted to cut her mother open for a babe. "Of all the, honestly, pitiful men that have put forward their suit, not one of them is strong enough to hold Dragonstone and the dragons. Not to mention, even if I married and conceived a child tomorrow, it would still take moons to bear that child and then give birth. I will not allow this conflict to last that long - which is why Prince Daemon will inherit Dragonstone if something happens to me and then Princess Alyssa if we both perish, with further heirs stipulated just in case." 
"Oh, shall we prepare ourselves for a wedding soon?" King Viserys asked as he perked up - as usual, he only focused on what he wanted to hear. 
Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes at her father. "No." 

She refused to elaborate on that. She would not be pulled into needless talk of suitors and marriage prospects when she had a war to fight in. 

Ser Steffon cleared his throat. "Well, I, for one, completely agree on the Princess' course of action and commend her for being willing to go to war for the well-being of her vassals. When squires become knights, one of the things we promise is to protect the innocent and weak - and despite being neither a knight nor a man, Princess Rhaenyra has stepped up to the task of being the sworn protector of her people. It is an endeavor worthy of admiration, not derision." The knight said, bowing his head to the princess. 
"Thank you for your kind words and your support, Ser Steffon." Rhaenyra replied, smiling warmly at her mother's old shield in a way that made Viserys' heart ache. She turned to the rest of the Small Council. "Are there any further concerns, then?" 

There was silence as the men realized that every argument they had tried to throw at the Princess had been countered. There was no legal recourse to stop her from defending her territory, appointing her succession, or refusing to take a husband. 

There was nothing they could do - not as the Small Council, anyway.

Viserys opens his mouth as if to say something but ends up deflating instead, waving away the people gathered at the table. "You may leave us." 

Rhaenyra didn't wait to see if that vague dismissal also included her or if her father would attempt to make her stay so he could continue his pathetic begging, she simply got up and bowed to the King before leaving the tent.

...

Rhaenyra could not walk two steps before the crimson cape and proud sneer of Jason Lannister was at her side, two cups of wine in hand. 

"Princess, how long it's been since we've been graced with your presence." Lord Jason said in an attempt to be charming. "Allow me to present you the finest wine Lannisport has to offer." 
Do not throw it in his face. Think of the trade in the Westernlands. Aemma Arryn's voice became her inner conscience as Rhaenyra forced herself to smile and take the offered cup, but not drinking any of it. "Thank you, Lord Jason. I trust your jewelry masons are satisfied with the obsidian they've received from Dragonstone?" She steered the conversation towards trade deals and business, hoping the lion would be more inclined to talk about coin than what most men seemed to want from her these days. 
"Yes yes - a truly beautiful material... but not nearly as beautiful as you, Princess." He said, openly looking at her up and down with his leering green eyes.
Godsdamnit - do all men just think with their cocks? The smile became even more forced as she nodded in appreciation. "Those are very kind words." 
"Oh, it is no trouble at all, your highness. Some pretty words are no hardship in front of a princess... no more hardship than having a Dragonpit erected on Casterly Rock." Jason Lannister observed her over the brim of his cup as he drank, as if he was already picturing their wedding.

Rhaenyra could not make the effort to hide her disgust and straightened her spine, the forced smile disappearing and a predator's teeth revealed to the lion. She wanted to throw his wine back in his face for the insult or take a page from Alyssa's book and have Syrax chase him until he shits his pants in fear, but her mother had reminded her with every suitor that had actually shown up at Dragonstone that she couldn't simply tell them to fuck off like her ñamar did. For one: Alyssa had been on her own in Volantis, while Rhaenyra has businesses who rely on her reputation or close family that could be negatively impacted - Saera was already an established madam and Alyssa's livelihood came from her and her dragon, so even if she pissed off a fair amount of nobles, there was nothing they could actually do to retaliate. Rhaenyra did not have that same freedom. Dragonstone was still part of the Seven Kingdoms and was just now establishing trade routes and exports - they could not risk jeopardizing possible alliances for something as simple as making a marriage offer.

However, that did not mean she couldn't stand up for herself.

"And how would that work, Lord Jason? Would we spend six moons in Casterly Rock and the other six on Dragonstone?" Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Lady of Dragonstone, said sharply as she purposefully sniffed the wine and made a sour face before looking up at Lord Jason, her expression still displeased. "I need an heir to my house too - which one does the first child inherit? Would my house suddenly become House Lannister of Dragonstone or would whatever child inherited my estate take up the name Targaryen at their majority? Is that something your pride could live with? A son throwing away his father's name for his mother's?" She pushed him further, making sure to aim at the famous Lannister pride that could be seen from the clouds and stabbing it. 
Jason Lannister blinked rapidly and staggered back a step. "Well, I had thought that certainly you would see the benefit of my protection and leave that bleak island-" 
"And yet that is exactly one of the many reasons I must decline your offer, Lord Jason." Rhaenyra said firmly. "I am a Princess of the Blood and the Lady Paramount of Dragonstone and the Narrow Sea in my own right. I have gold, trade, foreign and local connections, Valyrian blood and dragons. I don't need your protection - if anything, the only one who would gain from such a marriage would be... you." She stated, eyeing him up and down like he had done with her, only her eyes caught every flaw in his character, which made Jason Lannister squirm. "I'm afraid I will have to decline, Lord Jason. I wish you luck in your endeavors and in your search for a bride." She nodded at him and handed him the goblet back with a little more force than necessary - if she could not throw the wine back, then she could at least be this petty as she dismissed him.

Rhaenyra turned on her heel and began walking away, restless for Syrax to get back from her hunt so she could get back to Dragonstone.

The Stepstones

The sight of Caraxes and Vhagar flying over the Stepstones made more than one pirate shiver in their boots.

The camp was far from a main one, made up of the lowest ranking crews and the least important captains, the men recovering from the latest raid and anxiously waiting for their next orders. As the dragons soared over them, all eyes in that camp turned to the skies and watched the two dragons circle the islands, near enough to see the silver hair of their riders but not enough for their arrows to reach. 

With all their sights set on the two dragons in the air, they could not see the black dragon that zipped down from the sky and breathed green fire on their encampment. 

Tents caught fire and metal swords melted and the smell of seared flesh permeated the air around them as everything burned. Pirates ran into the sea in search of relief from the flames, only to be met with a small, light-colored dragon emerging from the waves and breathing fire on them too, leaving nothing but blackened skeletons behind. 

Seasmoke retreated under the sea to avoid the arrows of the few remaining stragglers and went airborne a few yards away, Laenor finally getting to breathe again as his dragon climbed up and up to rendezvous with the older Targaryens and his sister. 

He looked to the side and caught Laena laughing maniacally as she watched the flames from up above. "That's for House Velaryon, pirate scum!" She yelled, even though the insult lost to the loud winds but hollering with victory anyway. Laenor smiled at his sister and laughed along even though the cold from the altitude and his wet clothes were making him shiver already. 

The Cannibal flew ahead of them and roared to get their attention. Princess Alyssa pointed at Daemon and signaled for him to follow her, then pointed at Laenor and Laena and signaled to the east, directing them to Driftmark. It was hard to yell out clear orders up in the sky, so they had been coming up with different arm movements and gestures to communicate the next course of action and destinations. They were still working out the finer commands, but it was proving to be a good system to implement while they were up in the air and unable to hear each other over the winds and the dragons. 

The dragons roared in goodbye as their riders parted, each pair heading to their different nests. 

...

Princess Rhaenys Targaryen all but carried Laenor in her arms to the nearest warm bath when she received them at the beach below High Tide. 

"Both of you: baths and meals, in that order; even if you claim you are fine, the maester will see to you and corroborate that; and then you will go straight to bed so you can join your father and I on the debrief tomorrow morning. Am I understood?" The Queen Who Never Was ordered her children, her tone making it clear that there would be no arguing and no disobeying. 
"Yes, mother." The siblings chorused. 
"Good." The strict facade only lasted for another second before she wrapped her arms around their shoulders, pressing a kiss to each of their heads. "I am so proud of you, my sea dragons - both of you." She pulled back and cupped their cheeks. "Now go up to the castle before I drag you into the baths myself." 

...

Lady Aemma Arryn, former Regent of Dragonstone, was similarly waiting on the Chamber of the Painted Table for her cousins to return from their little mission. 

The doors opened and in walked a soot-covered Alyssa Targaryen and a pouting Daemon Targaryen - both of them alive and seemingly unharmed. 

"Next time, I get to burn some pirates and your beast can be the distraction." Daemon said, shoving Alyssa with his shoulder like they were teenagers roughhousing and not grown adults at war. 
Alyssa pressed a hand to her chest with mock sympathy. "Awww, is the poor little Rogue Prince mad that he couldn't kill people? Is he going to cry?" She gathered some ash from her face on her thumb and attempted to paint Daemon's face with it. "I can give you a little taste of the action if you want." 

Aemma cleared her throat before Daemon could tackle Alyssa to the floor and she had to call the guards to split them apart. Again. Gods, it's like dealing with small children, she thought as the two siblings looked to her unimpressed face and stood apart, straightening their riding habits. 

"All went well, I hope?" Aemma asked as she looked them over to see if there were any arrows sticking out of them or bleeding cuts on them. 
"One encampment gone up in flames, literally. By now, I'm sure the others have seen the smoke." Alyssa informed as she kissed Aemma's cheek and then went to the Painted Table and added a green piece on the representation of the island they had just attacked. 
"They now know that at least four dragons are onto them. Those that are smart enough will flee back to their cities and rethink their lives - those that are not so smart will look to the heads of the operation for what to do next." Daemon moved the red pieces that represented the pirate camps and brought them all together on the biggest island in the Stepstones, the one that Crabas Dhagar's ship was docked on and where the heads of the operation were settled in, using a complex system of caves to hide from the dragons. "Most of the Triarchy ships conveniently gathered in one place."

What a perfect place to trap them. 

Queen Alicent Hightower leaned back on her plush chair, surrounded by the ladies of the court and those that had visited to celebrate her son Aegon's second name-day and listening to the three different conversations happening around them. Aegon was with her family and his nurses knew better than to let him out of their sight, so Alicent got a break from the toddler and could enjoy more grown-up company.

"Thank the gods that Lady Johanna is safely back in Westeros - however, I can't help but pity her uncle. Gods know no lord will take her now that they all know she is ruined." Lady Redwyne sneered as she fed her lapdog half of a little cream cake. 
"The material her coat is made of must be that famous ashwool they make in Dragonstone. My mother bought some yards of it in the market for the upcoming winter, and I swear on the Seven that it was the softest thing I have ever touched." A Bracken lady whispered to her friend. 
"I cannot believe that the Princess is going to war." Her maternal cousin and other lady-in-waiting, Ophelia Florent, commented as she sipped her tea. "Why would a woman put herself in danger when she has men that can do it for her?" 
"Did you see how Princess Rhaenyra did not even glance at Prince Aegon?" Bethany Hightower said to the other ladies, trying to garner sympathy for the Queen. "It was such an astounding show of disrespect." 

Three years ago, Alicent's instinct would have been to jump to Rhaenyra's defense, but now... she couldn't help but agree with her kinswomen. Rhaenyra had been nothing but disrespectful to her, to the King, to Aegon, and to every respectable institution. She was still smarting from the rejection of the Septa that she had so kindly sent to Dragonstone as a peace offering, hoping that Rhaenyra would appreciate having another woman to prepare her for her future duties as a wife, but the spoiled princess had dismissed the holy woman immediately upon her arrival and had the gall to send a letter reminding her that she had no right to interfere with her education. No right? She was being thoughtful and Rhaenyra did not think of anything else than the privileges she had been granted? 

Rhaenyra wasn't even noble enough to tell her as such in person.

There were gifts for her wedding to the King and Aegon's first name-day, all of them appropriately lavish as their station required, but none of the Targaryens actually showed their faces at any of the celebrations. They all preferred to stay in that godsforsaken island with their beasts or run amok the Free Cities. They cared little for duty or order or sacrifice as they went around doing whatever they wanted while the rest of them - while Alicent - had to uphold the traditions and the laws of the realm. Rhaenyra was free to fly and learn and do whatever she pleased while Alicent gave birth to the Heir to the Throne and buckled under the weight of trying to be a good Queen.

And now that Rhaenyra was finally within reach, close enough so that Alicent could tell her what she really felt, the princess had insisted that she would only discuss that ridiculous war she was dragging her bannermen to, dismissing Alicent's invitation and not even laying her eyes on that sibling she had always wanted. As always, Rhaenyra got to escape consequences. 

Unless...

With renewed energy, Alicent got up with some difficulty and excused herself with the excuse that she needed to stretch her legs, dismissing her ladies' concern and holding tight to Ser Criston's forearm as she waddled out of the tent and began searching for the only other silver head in the camp.

She finds Rhaenyra talking with Lord Strong, his son Ser Harwin, and Lord Beesbury, her smile genuine as the men listen attentively to her. Alicent's father had requested the Strong girls and Lord Beesbury's granddaughter to join her household, but it turned out that all three ladies were already in Princess Rhaenyra's household. Otto Hightower almost broke a vase after hearing that. 

"Rhaenyra." Alicent said as she approached them, earning the attention of all the participants. The men bowed their heads, but Rhaenyra barely nodded in acknowledgement, that smile vanishing the second she saw Alicent. "I was hoping to speak with you before you left." 
"As you wish, your grace." The princess replied coldly and then turned to the lords, the smile returning as if it had never left. "It was my pleasure to see you all again in person, and I look forward to hosting you in Dragonstone someday after this business is dealt with." 
"Princess." The three men chorused with a bow to Rhaenyra and then another to the Queen before taking their leave.
Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow at Alicent's swollen belly, her mouth set in a straight line. "Should you be travelling so far from the Red Keep in your current condition, your grace?" 

The seemingly kind question surprised Alicent, who blinked several times and cradled her stomach, letting go of Ser Criston's arm. "The maesters said that being out in nature would do me good. It truly isn't so bad. Aegon came quickly and without fuss-" It was Rhaenyra's narrowed eyes that made Alicent realized she had misspoken. Here she was talking about how easy her pregnancy was when Que- Lady Aemma had been bedridden for most of her pregnancies and nearly died in the last labor. The young Queen cleared her throat. "I hope you are well?" 
"I am. My mother is finally healthy and thriving now that the King isn't trying to kill her, Syrax is growing exponentially, my uncle is not being exiled every three moons, and I am learning so many interesting subjects from educated tutors instead of listening to Septa Marlowe talk about the Maiden." 

Mother forgive me, how many insults was Rhaenyra planning on throwing her way in a single breath?  

"Rhaenyra, I-" Alicent struggled on what to say now that she finally had the object of her ire in front of her. What insult should she respond to first? Which apology should she demand? "Why did you not come when invited to my wedding or to the confinement? I've missed you." There were tears gathering in her eyes now, but the Queen did not find it in herself to brush them away. Let the spoiled princess see the consequences of her callousness.
Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Lady of Dragonstone, raised a single unimpressed eyebrow at the show of emotion. "I had just been handed a new seat that I needed to acquaint myself with and actually learn how to be a ruling lady - something our lessons on being a lady wife did not cover." The Princess said slowly and carefully, as if she was talking to a child. "And in case you've forgotten, your grace, the last confinement I had to witness was my mother's - the one where she almost perished. You were there, remember? When you were my lady-in-waiting?"

The jabs land exactly where they were meant to. The first answer, the new seat, was a perfectly justifiable excuse to explain Rhaenyra's absences from King's Landing - especially when Jeyne Arryn, the Lady of the Vale, often used similar reasons to explain why she couldn't drop everything and comply with the King's invitations. The other... was just as understandable. There was not a grown man or woman at court that had forgotten the frail Queen Aemma, always with child or losing one; that last labor that nearly ended in a Queen being cut open by maesters and had King Viserys arresting his sister for treason; and they had certainly not forgotten the way the Princess' only lady-in-waiting had been caught exiting the King's bedchamber, alone and wearing a woman's dress. 

Even now, three years and a healthy prince later, Alicent could still feel the judging glances of the court whenever a feast was less spectacular than it should have been or when she fumbled with the Queen's duties outside of childbearing. 

To anyone listening in on their conversation, there would be a clear high ground - and the Queen was not the one standing on it.

"It need not be this way." Alicent tried once more, wanting to reach for Rhaenyra's hands but the princess took a long step back, too far for Alicent to reach without toppling over. "We are family now - you have a brother now, just like you always wanted, and he is my son. We always spoke of our children being friends, remember? This is not so different." The Queen pleaded. 
"You fucked my father, Alicent." Rhaenyra hissed harshly, making Alicent gasp at both the profanity and the coldness. "You killed whatever friendship we had when you spat on the loyalty you owed me as your liege lady and as your friend and went to the King's chambers." 
"Rhaenyra- you must understand- my father-" 
"Was not above me as the princess. I could have protected you if you had told me. One word from you and I would have fed him to Syrax for his audacity. But no, you knew what you were doing was wrong, that you had a way out, and you still wore your mother's dresses and went to the King." The Princess continued her onslaught, every word digging deeper into the Queen. "So no, your grace, I will not come when you call like a trained hound and play at being the Realm's Delight with you and your children. It is not my duty and it is not a torture I will subject myself to just so you can pretend your actions didn't hurt others." 

There was more commotion from the nobility as Syrax finally emerged from the Kingswood, landing in the same clearing with a bloodied carcass hanging from her mouth.

Rhaenyra straightened her back and placed a hand on the hilt of the sword at her hip - gods, Alicent didn't even get to berate her about carrying a sword openly - before nodding at her former friend. "Go enjoy your family, Alicent. I must go back to protecting mine." 

She did not give the Queen a chance to respond before walking towards her dragon.

...

Syrax preened with pride as Rhaenyra approached, the animal carcass swinging from the force of the dragon shaking its head.

More than one lady brought her hand to her mouth and she was sure at least one lord vomited as Syrax opened her mouth to deposit her prize in front of Rhaenyra, looking like a cat that was satisfied with the mouse it caught. "Good girl, Syrax." Rhaenyra praised with a pat to the dragon's side, leaning closer to what remained of her dragon's lunch. 

It was a deer, judging by the antlers that Syrax spit out, and its shiny white coat was revealed as Syrax began to lick it clean. 

Rhaenyra almost felt sorry that Syrax ate it all - white fur was hard to get and she had a wonderful sketch for a red riding coat with white accents that she had been putting off because she couldn't find the right colored fur to accompany it. Ñamar Alyssa had offered to get her the fur of some creatures called little valyrians due to their white fur, but so far, her aunt hadn't managed to get her hands on any - she was not fond of the forests of Qohor for some reason and the creatures were apparently quite difficult to catch, so she let it go.

While Rhaenyra lamented the loss, she missed the absolute murderous look on Otto Hightower's face and his twitching eyelid as he beheld the bloody remains of the White Hart. 

The King made his way to the front of the gathered group, a panting Alicent taking her place beside him as they realized there was no way Rhaenyra would be staying. In their melancholy, they did not even notice that Aegon was still with his nurses, and that his sister had not said a word to him.

"Thank you for your hospitality, your grace - I certainly hope your son appreciates all you've sacrificed for him." Rhaenyra said with a formal bow to the King, addressing her father as Syrax played around with the stag's head. She then turned to the Queen and nodded as well. "And good luck on the birthing bed, your grace. I hope this one doesn't trouble you much either - gods forbid you find yourself with a knife aimed at your stomach like my mother did." She doesn't wait for either of the monarchs to answer, simply climbing up to her saddle and ordering her dragon to take off. "Soves, Syrax!"

The dragon roared again, making the nobles shriek in fright and run backwards in an attempt to get away even if there was no danger, their hair and clothes tossed by the gale of the dragon's wings as the dragon took off, taking her rider back home.

Chapter Text

Daemon and Alyssa Targaryen stood at Dragonstone harbor as a swanship carrying Alyssa's husband and family docked in place, the woman almost bouncing on her feet as she spotted her husband on the deck of the ship. If he could go back fifteen years and tell that young, restless Alyssa who was planning escaping marriage at any cost that she would be rushing to embrace her husband after being apart for only a fortnight, Daemon was sure that he would have received a knife to the throat as a mercy kill for having gone insane. 

For all his experience in brothels of every kind, Daemon looked away when Marcus Maegyr ran down the walkway and kissed Alyssa like a parched man drinking his first sip of water, hoisting her up by the waist. Alyssa returned the kiss with the same fervor, holding onto his neck with one hand and the other tangling in his hair. In their typical fashion, they forgot there were other people around them as the kiss turned messier, which is when Daemon decided that was enough. 

"You may continue that later in your very isolated chambers, haedar." Daemon called out with a sneer when he caught a glimpse of their tongues. "We have a war council waiting." 
Alyssa broke the kiss to glare at her brother. "Go fuck a dragon, Daemon. I am entitled to greet my husband properly."
"You can do that after we figure out how to destroy caves." 

Just to get back at him for years of flaunting his whoring tendencies - and because she wanted to - she kissed Marcus again and jumped up so her legs wrapped around his waist, forcing him to hold her up by the thighs and lean back to keep their balance. Daemon groaned with his whole head and turned around, stomping back to the castle and muttering something about stubborn little sisters. 

Similarly, Lyna made sure to loudly disembark from the ship and all but shout their arrival so the husband and wife would separate. "The rest of us do not need to see that either." 
"You are the one who brews my moon tea, Lyna - you are perfectly aware of what I do with my husband." Alyssa snarked back as Marcus gently set her back on her feet, his hands holding onto her hips. 
"Unfortunately, we are all aware of that, darilaros." Tael commented as he helped Varian unload a heavy trunk of weapons and some other things they had taken from Lys before... getting rid of Lys.

Captain Xanda and her crew were the last to disembark, along with a group of former slaves they had managed to recover before the inferno - some of them captured Westerosi, others traded from other places, several were born on Lys, where their former masters would make their most beautiful slaves conceive so they could obtain more beautiful offspring. 

Captain Xanda Choma, hailing from the Summer Isles and wrapped in a colorful feather cloak to greet royalty, helped the last of the refugees - a little girl no older than seven - get down from the ship and clapped Alyssa's shoulder. "I will accompany you to see the Lady of Dragonstone so that she may find a place for these unanchored souls." The Summer Isles were often a target for slavers due to their culture and practices regarding sex, making them desirable for it meant that they wouldn't have to waste time training new slaves in the acts of pleasuring others - but for that, most of them held a deep hatred towards slavers of any kind. Truthfully, it hadn't taken much to convince Captain Xanda and her crew to join their little rescue party.

"Of course." Alyssa agreed. "I'll have Aemma summon healers that know about healing intimate wounds, and we'll hopefully be able to find room for them all." She smiled reassuringly at the gathered refugees and repeated the same in High Valyrian so they would understand where they were going and where they were being led to.

The captain gave her crew shore leave and they hurried to enjoy the establishments that had popped up on the island as they established themselves as an important trading port between the east and west. Restaurants specializing in Dornish cuisine, Braavosi play companies, Volantene dressmakers, Myrish confectioners, Northern fur sellers, Qohoric smiths, Pentoshi wineries were just some of the businesses that had been enjoying clientele from around the Known World - and of course, your usual Westerosi brothels, bakers, and inns. 

Alyssa looked up at the sky as the refugees and her household loaded up the carts that would take them to the keep. No dragons were flying, and she felt her own bond with the Cannibal resonate with uneasy rest - the preparation before a fight. 

Rhaenyra was very happy to be back in Dragonstone after the most torturous hour of her life. 

She had known there would be resistance from the King and that there would be some attempt to play on her emotions so she would back down, but Rhaenyra had expected at least some sense from the ruler of Westeros. Doing nothing would be a disaster for everyone involved - the houses and towns that relied on trade with Essos, the villages that were pillaged by pirates, the women and girls taken as sex slaves, the men massacred in their homes. There was no emotional or logical argument that could justify inaction on anyone's part. What in the Seven Hells was the King thinking when he dismissed the growing calls for aid from the Stormlands? Did he forget what happened to his own uncle? Was he so far gone in his glee of finally having a son that he ignored the realm he was supposed to rule? 

Only after landing in Dragonstone did it occur to Rhaenyra that she had not seen her new half-brother yet. The Princess was hardly upset about it. She had more important things to do than look upon the son of her father and her former best friend. 

Aemma Arryn was waiting for her in the Dragonmont, right by the doors that led to the inside of the keep. Her lady mother doesn't say anything as Rhaenyra steps into her open arms, the two of them basking in the relief of being together again. Rhaenyra holds on tight to her mother and listens carefully to her breathing now that she is too tall to lay her head on her chest. 

Things had been hard after the newness and excitement of relocating to Dragonstone faded away. More than once, Rhaenyra had dreamt of a bed of blood and her mother's blue eyes unseeing, her swollen stomach cut open to retrieve a bloody babe; sometimes her father and Alicent were there too, holding the knife in their joined hands. When she inevitably woke up screaming, Rhaenyra would run to her mother's chambers in just her shift and not calm down until Aemma rose from the bed, her stomach flat and unbloodied and her blue eyes tired but aware. The Lady Paramount had admitted to her mother that she was afraid that she would leave her side - like she had done to go to the Heir's Tourney that fateful day - and just like then, she would return to find her unconscious and the maids changing the bloody sheets.

"That is not going to happen, little dragon." Aemma Arryn had reassured her daughter again and again, letting the seven-and-ten maiden climb into bed with her like when she was a child and holding her tightly. "I will never be with child again; there will be no more childbeds for me; Gerardys only follows my orders and every person here is loyal to us." She said into Rhaenyra's silver-gold hair, pressing a kiss to it. "I'm safe here, my darling."

Back in the present, Aemma pressed a kiss to her daughter's forehead and pulled away. "How were things with the King?" 
"About as dense as we expected." Rhaenyra sighed and rolled her eyes. "He begged for me not go to war because he wants me to be safe. I reminded him that it is my duty and my right as Lady Paramount of Dragonstone to call the banners to defend my vassals just like we practiced. I did not curse the Grand Maester for suggesting I take a husband to secure the succession of Dragonstone. I also did not throw his disgusting wine into Jason Lannister's face when he tried to propose me by saying I should abandon my bleak grey island." She reported with heavy sarcasm and disdain in every word. 
Her mother huffed without amusement. "What about the Small Council?" 
"Ser Steffon - who sends his regards, by the way - defended my position and both Strong and Beesbury did not speak out against my points. The King, the Hand, and Mellos were the only ones against it - as we expected." 
Aemma's gaze softened slightly. "And the Queen?" 
Rhaenyra's eyes visibly darkened in anger. "Heavily pregnant. I was surprised she could walk, actually." She said with a surly pout - one that her mother reprimanded with a look. "She had the gall to ask why I didn't attend her wedding or her confinement - as if anyone with half a brain couldn't figure that out." 

Aemma sighed, not surprised that Rhaenyra was still bitter about her best friend's betrayal. Aemma had been upset about it as well - but unlike Rhaenyra, she understood the burdens that Alicent Hightower was now shouldering... and not very gracefully, if the rumors were anything to go by. Even Aemma herself had not been Queen until she was twenty namedays, meaning she spent several years where her only duties revolved around her household and trying to give Viserys an heir. Alicent did not have that luxury and she did not have much time to learn - or someone to learn from. She would not be inviting the young Queen to Dragonstone any time soon, but Aemma was not going to waste her anger on a girl who was already suffering the downsides of pregnancy and putting up with Viserys.

As a mother, she will allow Rhaenyra these few minutes to be petty and get those words out of her chest while they are in the solitude of the Dragonmont before they have to return to watching their tongues. Even if the people on Dragonstone are loyal to them, it will not do to have word spread out that the Princess is a brat that is insulting her stepmother behind her back. Rhaenyra and Aemma are both being held to a higher standard than any of the other noblewomen in the Realm, even the Queen now that she has already given birth to a son. They must be irreproachable, impeccable, impervious to criticism. Especially now that they are at war: Rhaenyra cannot be seen as a capricious warmonger and Aemma cannot be seen as controlling her grown daughter.

Aemma grabbed Rhaenyra's arms and rubbed them gently, making her look up. "You are allowed to feel that way, sweet girl, but I will not allow you to wallow in any poison - not for your father, not for the court, and certainly not for any Hightower." The former Queen said sternly, looking into her daughter's eyes.
"I know, muña." Rhaenyra replied with sigh. She then straightened up and pulled her shoulders back, exuding all the authority of a Lady. "Has everyone arrived for the war council?" 
"Indeed. Alyssa's ship docked earlier today with her household and some refugees from Lys and the Velaryons are back, we are ready to start at your convenience." 
"Good, I'll have them called to the Table so we may begin with the planning. I want to end this as soon as possible." 
"Of course, sweet girl. You may do that after you've had a meal and a bath." Aemma said, knocking aside her daughter's plans. 
"I don't need a bath and I'm not hungry." Rhaenyra tried to protest but was silenced quite quickly by a stern look from her mother and her own growling stomach - she hadn't eaten anything in quite a few hours. "Fine - we shall reconvene at the great hall in two candlemarks." 

She may be Lady of Dragonstone now, but she was still her mother's daughter.

"The King, as we all expected, declined to involve the Crown in the fight against the Triarchy." Rhaenyra informs those present. "However, Dragonstone and its vassals are working within the law to protect our lands and goods - the King cannot actually reprimand us without gathering an army and that is not something that he will put himself through." 

Rhaenyra was too young when King Jaehaerys died to remember a king other than her father, but as she started her lessons on governance and settled into her power here in Dragonstone she couldn't help but feel... underwhelmed at King Viserys' skills as a monarch. Her father had been King for over ten years now and he had established no new trades, didn't tend to any foreign alliances, and barely cared about the state of kingdom so long as it remained peaceful - in all her years as a cupbearer for the Small Council, Rhaenyra could not remember the King asking after any issues that involved the realm: not the fighting in the Dornish marshes, not the Bracken-Blackwood conflict, not the Mountain Clans in the Vale, and certainly not pirates on their waters. 

Aemma Arryn, ever hesitant to say a bad thing about someone, chalked it up to Viserys Targaryen being "ill-prepared to be King by the time of his ascension and his aversion to violence". 

Daemon and Alyssa, always willing to talk shit about their brother, said that Viserys was at his core "a lazy arse who could not be bothered to do anything that mildly inconvenienced him". 

If Rhaenyra was any less generous, she would say that Viserys Targaryen was a dangerous fool - but she was raised well by her mother, so instead she would say that Viserys Targaryen is better suited for entertaining guests than running the realm.

The attention of the gathered lords was once again called to the painted table, where the area representing the Stepstones was dotted with little pieces that indicated where the Triarchy camps and bases were set up. Daemon and Alyssa, being the most experienced dragonriders and the only ones that had actually fought pirates before, took upon the burden of mapping out the islands and observing their movements. They found that the largest island and the place where the main basecamp was established was riddled with caves that the pirates were using to hide the treasure and to retreat into when they heard the cries of their dragons. 

"The captains are more seasoned than the greenboys we ambushed yesterday." Prince Daemon says as he points to the smaller dots on the smaller islands. "Now that their support from the Three Whores will be petering out for obvious reasons - thank you for that, Princesses," he says with a grateful nod to his sister and cousin, the former bowing like a performer to the claps from the lords and the latter nodding stoically, "- we are expecting them to gather all their loot on Bloodstone to split it up and hightail further east to avoid repercussion. We must strike while the pirates are still on the Stepstones." 
"Lys is... not going to be a problem anymore, and Tyrosh and Myr are not eager to follow their sister's fate." Princess Alyssa added with a haughty smirk. 
Princess Rhaenys, who had been sent to deal with Myr, nodded too. "The High Magister all but died when he saw Meleys flying above his city, especially when my Red Queen demonstrated just how fast she is." Too fast for arrows, too fast for mortal archers, perfectly capable of setting their entire city ablaze in minutes, was the unsaid part. "Seeing the reach of a dragon's shadow was an excellent cure for greed." 
"It's the caves that will give us the more trouble. They have plenty of spaces to hide from dragonfire and most of our dragons cannot produce high enough heat to melt stone." Laenor argued. "Not to mention, that is where they are hiding most of their loot." 

"If it comes down to it, I would rather lose all treasure than lose any of yours or our men's lives in battle." Rhaenyra interjected passionately. "We can regain profit later and find other treasures worth just as much if not more than the ones they are hiding in the caves - but I will not burn any more bodies on a pyre." 

The Lady Paramount's devotion to her family, save for the unfortunate man that was her father and any half-siblings she would get from the new Queen, could never be called into question by anyone who spent more than five minutes on Dragonstone - her mother and uncle being its main recipients. Everyone knew that the Princess fiercely defended her lady mother from any idiot that would think to insult Aemma Arryn within her earshot. One visiting merchant from the Reach had made the drunk mistake of asking "if the volcanic ash would make Lady Aemma's barren womb fertile too" and found himself promptly shoved into the Dragon Cells: cells carved near the molten core of the Dragonmont, where the rock was boiling hot and the sweltering heat had most men sweating out of their balls and dead within hours from dehydration. Rhaenyra shoved him there herself.

"Death is unavoidable in war, my liege - but it is a risk we must be willing to take." Daemon reassured her without being condescending. He understood it would reflect poorly upon Rhaenyra to be openly questioned in her own Keep, so he was the most deferential. "We know that even experienced dragonriders can fall to a lucky shot and that we are going against pirates with nothing to lose and a lot to gain, but I can make this vow on our shared blood: every single one of us will do everything in our power to return to Dragonstone alive." 
"I shall hold you to that promise, Prince Daemon." Rhaenyra said severely to her uncle, locking eyes with the rest of her kin after that. "I will go with you to the Stepstones. Lady Aemma will remain as Regent in my place and protect the island with Dreamfyre." No argument was raised to that statement. 

What followed were hours of talks of battle plans, army placements, naval defenses and aerial strategies. 

It was exhausting and at times confusing and more than a few threats and petty insults were thrown between allies, but in the end, an agreement was reached and a proper battle strategy drafted. Orders were given and the lords of the Narrow Sea were given leave to go to their keeps, say goodbye to their families, and collect their armies. 

They would depart for the Stepstones within the sennight.

Prince Daemon was announced at the door to the Lady of Dragonstone's parlor. 

"Let him in!" Rhaenyra called to Ser Harrold as young Elinda Massey brushed her silver-gold hair and braided it carefully. The girl's nimble fingers were very good at making braids and didn't talk much, which was good considering how Rhaenyra yearned for a little bit of silence after so many hours of arguing... which was not something that usually accompanied Daemon. 

Daemon Targaryen entered the parlor, followed by maids carrying two different sets of tea and a small plate of lemon cakes. "I asked Maester Gerardys and Alyssa's healer for a tea that would help soothe a headache - they disagreed on which was best, so I brought both." He explained as the maids set the trays on the small table and exited the room. 

Rhaenyra smiled at Daemon's attentiveness. "Thank you, Uncle." Elinda finished the braid with a red silk ribbon and Rhaenyra smiled at her too. "Thank you, Elinda. You may retire for the night." The young lady curtsied to the Targaryens and left them alone. Typically, a no-longer married man and unmarried woman would not be allowed in the same room unchaperoned, but they were family - for all that meant to Targaryens - and Ser Harrold was no snitch. "I remember you once let me have an extra slice of lemon cake at dinner and Mother was cross with you because I had too much energy to go to sleep." She recalled fondly as her uncle poured a cup of one of the teas and handed it to her.
"I'm certain that Aemma will not object to extra lemon cakes this time." He said as he watched her take a sip of the light, slightly bitter tea. "That one Gerardys says is red leaf tea, it comes from the Rivelrands and it good for headaches and upset stomachs." 
"How did you know I had a headache?" Rhaenyra asked as she ate the candied lemons on top of the cakes first.
"Because I have a headache, and I've suffered through more war councils than you. I could also see it in your face back at the painted table - your eyebrows do a little scrunch when you're tired." 
"You know me too well." Rhaenyra looked bashfully at him, ducking her head. "Thank you for looking after me."
Daemon reached across the table and took hold of her free hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and looking into her eyes. "It is not only my duty but my pleasure to look after you, Rhaenyra. You gave me a purpose and entrusted me with the care of our family - the only thing I ever wanted above anything." He said with more reverence and sincerity than Rhaenyra had ever experienced. "I swear on our blood and our dragons and the Fourteen Flames that I will always do everything in my power to see you well and happy."

The familiar flame of love she had for him sparked up and shifted as he held her hand in between his. It grew in her chest - a spark from a flintstone being used to light a bonfire. Rhaenyra had never known a life where she did not love Daemon. He was her fiercest protector, her most stalwart servant, the one who was willing to bend every rule and disobey every command to get her to smile and would travel to the furthest corner of the world to get the rarest gifts just to see her smile. 

A series of knocks on the door startled them and they drew apart, sitting up straight and fidgeting in their seats as Rhaenyra allowed them in.

"Princess, a ship from Oldtown has arrived." A page wearing a dockworker uniform informed them with a deep bow. 
Daemon rolled his eyes. "If it's another Septa, you can tell her to fuck off. The Princess doesn't need anything from her Mother or Maiden." 
"I- It is an Archmaester and a Septa, your grace." The boy stammered under the eyes of the Rogue Prince. "They claim to be Targaryens." 

Daemon and Rhaenyra shared a look and stood up, ordering a passing servant to gather all the Targaryens.

...

Rhaella Targaryen, only surviving daughter of Queen Rhaena and Aegon the Uncrowned, looked up at the imposing black stone towers and the dragons flying freely in the air. Gold, blue, red, green, blue - black. A shock of fear seized her as she thought of Balerion but she quickly reminded herself that Balerion, along with his cruel rider, was dead - that black dragon was the Cannibal, whose rider had not killed or harmed any of her kin (though not for lack of wanting, if certain rumors from Oldtown were to be believed). 

Besides her, Vaegon Targaryen, only surviving son of King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne, shouted commands at the deckhands that were unloading his heavy trunks. "Careful with that! Some of those scrolls predate the Conquest!" 

The two older Targaryens were escorted to the keep proper by two Dragonguards and taken straight to the Dragonmont, where the remaining members of the family were waiting for them. 

Neither Vaegon nor Rhaella could remember the last time so many of their kin were gathered under one roof and not at each other's throat - especially not when so many of their kin had dragons. The Targaryens and young Velaryons standing in a line with their dragons' heads sneaking up behind them for an imposing sight. 

"Archmaester, Septa." The girl that must be Princess Rhaenyra greeted them formally with a respectful nod. That she used their titles and not their names was noticed by all. "Welcome to Dragonstone." 
"Thank you for meeting us, Princess." Rhaella said kindly with a small smile.
"With a full dragon-guard too." Vaegon commented as he beheld all the dragons looking at them with more annoyance than trepidation. "Though I'm sure that is not for honor as much as it is for something else."
"You've been in the Citadel for decades, we shan't apologize for being careful." Daemon replied from his place right behind Rhaenyra, his hand on the pommel of Dark Sister and ready to defend his niece. 

Other lords would take offense to their honor and loyalty to their family being so openly question by that family itself, but Vaegon merely huffed in approval, his links clinking proudly too. "Good, you are not stupid. Go on, then - ask your questions."
"Why come now?" Rhaenyra asked with a raised eyebrow. "It's been three years since we settled in Dragonstone." 
"Do you know how long it takes to copy over a hundred tomes of valuable information, Princess? A very long time." Vaegon replied with a bite. "Not to mention how long it took me to find a captain willing to ferry myself here - the Citadel is not conducive to making friends so to speak. There are almost no ships headed to or from Dragonstone and you are notorious in your... dislike of Oldtown and its ruling house."
"I got us passage, actually." Rhaella offered as way of explaining. "I do have friends. The captain of the ship was born in one of the motherhouses I worked in and raised in an orphanage I oversaw. He felt it was necessary to repay the kindness and often gave us supplies for the children."

Rhaella was well into her eighties, and Rhaenyra marveled at the way her purple eyes were still sharp, and she could stand on her own two feet steadily - though a part of her now felt a little guilty for suggesting the Dragonmont as a meeting ground. Even if Rhaella had come as a spy - what was an old woman capable of doing to them short of poisoning their tea, something she would have to do in front of them? This could have been conducted in a parlor and it would have the same effect. 

"You are both welcome to the hospitality of our ancestral keep, I will have the servants prepare some rooms for you in the guest wing while we see to more... permanent accommodations in the family wing." Rhaenrya ceded with all the grace expected of a highborn lady. "You must be tired from your travels, so we can all retire for tonight and break our fasts together in the morning, if that is agreeable to you?" 
Neither Rhaella nor Vaegon openly protested to their first placement in the guest wing, so they both nodded. "That would be most agreeable, Princess. Thank you." Rhaella said, looking at Aemma. "You have raised your daughter well, my Queen." 
Aemma blinked at the very intentional use of her former title but smiled back. "Thank you for your kind words, Princess." She replied, fully bypassing the fact that Septas that came from nobility were expected to drop their titles once they joined the Faith. By now, Rhaella had been a Septa for way longer than she had been a Princess.

"I will only ask that my books get sent straight to the library. Is Gerardys still lurking around here? I have managed to copy a tome he will particularly enjoy." Vaegon asked as they started walking out of the Dragonmont and into the keep proper. 
"You know Maester Gerardys?" Rhaenyra asked with curiosity. Gerardys had never mentioned knowing her great-uncle. 
"Know? I lent that bastard my annotated copy of The Mysteries of Valyria and he was dispatched here before he could give it back." The old maester huffed and his links chimed in agreement. 

Rhaenyra and Aemma instructed the castellan where to place their new arrivals and the Velaryons and Rhaenys retired shortly after, leaving only the Targaryens standing together. 

"We should keep an eye on them - just in case." Daemon commented.
"I will tell the maids to keep an eye on them and the acolyte in the raven tower to monitor any suspicious ravens." Rhaenyra replied immediately, as if she was already thinking about it. 
Alyssa placed her hands on her hips. "If they really escaped from Oldtown as they are implying, how long do you think it will be before the King is notified that two of his family members are missing?" 
"I wouldn't be surprised if they notify the Hand and completely ignore the King." Aemma mused, then placed a hand on Rhaenyra's shoulder when she noticed her daughter's eyes getting heavy. "Let's all go to bed. They are not going anywhere, and we've all had a busy day." 

Alyssa had a glint in her eyes that denoted she was very much not going to sleep, and Daemon cursed her and her husband both.

Chapter Text

The Red Keep - King's Landing 

Otto Hightower's eye had been twitching constantly since that damned dragon chewed up the White Hart meant for his grandson. 

Not only did that blasted girl embarrass the King and Queen by drawing everyone's attention to their inaction, but she also had the audacity to not greet his grandson, her future King, and have her dragon hunt the White Hart before they could. She probably did it on purpose. And now to top it all off, King Viserys was sulking like a scolded child and actually considering sending aid to the Stepstones so the "precious little girl" who ignored him for three years could be safe.  

"Your Grace, you've already decreed that the Crown would not get involved in the Stepstones." Otto reminded him during the subsequent Small Council meeting once they were all back at the keep, two days after the interrupted day. "It would not do for the King to be seen as fickle." 
Viserys, in an uncharacteristic act of anger, banged his fist on the table. "That was before my only child decided to fly over some pirate-infested islands!"

Lord Strong choked on his tongue, Ser Steffon looked at the King like he had grown a second head, and Otto Hightower could only roll his eyes to the Seven Heavens as he bit his tongue to avoid insulting the King. Had the King gone mad? Had he forgotten his son and heir had just reached two namedays? That they had just returned from a hunt to celebrate his son's nameday?

"You have other children, my King." Maester Mellos helpfully reminds him. "Your son, the Crown Prince Aegon, and another one soon to be born." 
Viserys Targaryen blinks for a few seconds. "Yes, right, Aegon," he mumbles under his breath, but then he shakes his head. "That is irrelevant to my point. I will not abandon my daughter." He states firmly and turns to Tyland Lannister. "Arrange a fully armed fleet and supplies to be sent to the Stepstones and send word to Dragonstone that the Crown will be taking part in their defense of the Stepstones." 
"Sire, with Lys wiped off the map and Myr and Tyrosh under threat, such an action will only paint a darker image of Westeros to the Free Cities." The Hand of the King insisted. "It will make merchants from other Free Cities ill at ease to trade with us - especially if they think that dragonriders can go about burning down entire cities without consequences. They will be too afraid to sail to our ports."

That certainly has not been a problem to Dragonstone, where trade has grown exponentially - and they have several dragons roaming its skies, Lyman Beesbury thought sarcastically as he sipped his wine in an attempt to hide his grimace. One would think that after four decades of serving the Targaryen family, he would be used to dealing with situations like this, but the last few years of King Viserys' reign have been completely mind-bogling. The annulment and the wedding to a bride that had no dowry both drained their coffers along with the constant feasts and tourneys, the embarrassing missteps of the King in front of the entire Kingdom, the absolute freedom with which the Hand ruled in the King's name. Lyman was sure that if King Jaehaerys was alive to witness this Small Council meeting alone, he would have fed Otto Hightower to his dragon and then had Viserys locked in his chambers without supper like a misbehaving child. Maybe it is time to start looking for my replacement. 

King Viserys rubbed his forehead with the three fingers he still had in that hand. "I will speak to Alyssa later. " Of course, he was only saying that so they would drop the subject. Alyssa hasn't answered any of his messages and it is not a secret that she does not respect him enough to actually answer his summons. It would be easier to go to Dragonstone and speak with his troublesome family members in person, but Viserys couldn't bring himself to do it just yet.  
"Prince Daemon and Princess Rhaenys did not actually harm anyone, and like the Princess Rhaenyra stated before, she is well within her rights as Lady Paramount to respond to threats on her territory and bannermen." Lord Strong says. "Not to mention, Prince Daemon and Princess Alyssa have been roaming around Essos atop their dragons for the past fifteen years and not once was our trade interrupted."
"If anything, the advantages they had previously brought to the Crown at large have been revoked and given to Dragonstone." Lyman Beesbury added.

Viserys suddenly looked up, catching the eyes of disbelieving eyes of Tyland Lannister and Lord Beesbury as well as the equally surprised looks of the rest of the council members. Advantages? All his siblings had ever brought to the Crown were headaches and scandals. Daemon's drunk excuse for a wedding ceremony, Alyssa's escape from her own wedding, undermining him and his trusted councilors at every turn, going around the Known World getting into fights and wreaking havoc around the Free Cities while perpetually ignoring their duty to House Targaryen, to him.  

"What advantages?" Viserys asked, growing angrier.
"Your grace," Lyman started calmly. "We have tried to broach the issue before. Imports from Volantis, Pentos and Braavos often came with discounted taxes due to the friendships of their leaders with Prince Daemon or Princess Alyssa. In the past three years, those taxes have risen and left us with a lot less imports because our merchants cannot afford the prices." 
"What?" He frowned.
"It's true, my King." Tyland Lannister echoed. "And the ones that do come here don't even bother with King's Landing, as Dragonstone offers them a better docking fee. The merchants' guild has made petitions to the Court before."

King Viserys racks his brain, trying to remember any merchant guilds coming to Court with complaints of trade, and comes up empty. Confusion is quickly replaced with anger as he curses his siblings again. How typical of Daemon and Alyssa to do whatever they wanted without thinking of the consequences their actions would have on others. Did they know he would have to deal with these problems when they told their little friends to go elsewhere? Did they delight in creating more problems for him to be responsible for while they got to fly around in their mounts? 

At least Daemon and Alyssa have been loyal to Rhaenyra and accompanied her to the Stepstones, Viserys thought and he sighed once again. His daughter, his little girl, his darling child was away at war and worst of all they hadn't even gotten to talk during the Hunt. He wanted to know what she was doing, how she found the ruling of Dragonstone, if there were any suitors she was interested in - he wanted to hear her joyful laughter and see her charming smile again, ever the Realm's Delight and now growing even more lovelier. Gods, Aemma must be buried in ravens requesting her hand. 

Thinking about Aemma only made another painful stitch in his heart flare, so he simply finished his wine cup and put it down with a resounding bang. 

"I declare this session of the Small Council dismissed."

The Stepstones Islands

The dragons land on one of the small islands they had cleared of pirates, their burnt bodies having been picked apart by birds that fled when they saw the four shadows in the sky. 

Daemon and Alyssa dismount first, checking for any lucky bastards that may still be breathing and for any traps they may have hidden in the rough ground. Once they are sure it is secure, a pillar of flames from the Cannibal lets the ships following them and the younger dragonriders know that it is safe to land. Only Laena and Rhaenyra have come with them, Laenor securing the Southern coastline and Rhaenys remaining in the Eastern coastline to warn of any incoming reinforcements. 

The fighting men await on the ships while the commanders and general disembark and meet on the island, a makeshift camp serving as a command center. Lord Corlys and his brother Ser Vaemond came with various second and third sons from all around the Narrow Sea and their vassal houses, young men eager to make a name for themselves in a fight against foreign invaders. 

Daemon, as acting Master of War, commanded the attention of every man as he displayed a map of the Stepstones on a small table. "With the Captains scrambling to get their loot and leave, we have this small window of opportunity to trap them and make sure they don't live to try again." He points at the map. "Lord Corlys and the Velaryon fleet will form a blockade around the islands and cut them off while Caraxes cuts them off from their ships. Princess Rhaenyra will fly low over Bloodstone to lure the largest possible number of pirates out of their caves and then Princess Alyssa and Lady Laena will burn the remaining settlements and collapse the caves, so they have nowhere to run." 
"What if there are still pirates hiding in the caves when they bring down the caves?" A captain asks.
"Then they will realize very quickly that they cannot eat gold." Rhaenyra sentenced. "They will die from the heat and starvation, surrounded by the riches they plundered that were not theirs to take." Her voice is steady and carries no emotion, much like a judge delivering a sentence. It makes the lords nod and humph in approval at their even-tempered leader. Daemon looks at her with pride and something else burning in his eyes.

"And why should the women be at the front of the aerial attack?" Vaemond Velaryon spat. Daemon and Rhaenyra glared at the man with open disdain and Marcus Maegyr not so subtly set his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to attack at her command. 
"Because as it stands, Ser Vaemond," Alyssa put emphasis on the Ser, having heard from Laena (and Laenor... and Rhaenys) that he was ever an ambitious second son, miffed about not being Lord Velaryon. "Princess Rhaenyra is your Lady Paramount and a very enticing target for the pirates, and the only dragons old enough to have fire capable of melting stone are Vhagar and the Cannibal - both of whom are ridden by women." She smiled with all her teeth at the last word, the Cannibal imitating her grin. "So, unless you want to offer yourself up as a starter course for the dragons, keep your mouth shut." 

Daemon would let Caraxes hover just over Bloodstone and create chaos, but the Rogue Prince would remain on land to guide their troops. "We are not dealing with a bare bones camp. Bloodstone is their base of operations, and we know that they have their best archers on their crow's nests with orders to kill all the riders they can. So far none of our intel has confirmed the presence of scorpions, but I will not risk any of my kin to perishing like Queen Rhaenys or Prince Aemon." He explained with the firm voice of a general. "I shall lead our soldiers to battle to take out the rest of their forces... and their Crabfeeder." 

Rhaenyra takes control once more. "A small group of medics will be waiting in rowboats to come to shore once we give them the signal that the battle is over. They will care for the more severely wounded on Bloodstone and a large tent will need to be set up to act as an infirmary. That is the main priority for after the battle. If the medics are spread too thin, you may have to assist them in treating your wounded battlemates - man or woman, Westerosi or foreign, if any of them ask for something, you will do it. Am I understood?"

The knights and fighters uttered several "yes, my lady" and "aye, Princess", and Daemon nodded at their response. If there had been a single protest, he would have cut off that man's tongue, dick, and head - in that particular order - but thankfully, the fighting men of their vassal houses had at least half a brain. "You've heard the plan and you've heard your orders. Get back to your ships and get ready for battle. Tomorrow, these pirates shall know Fire and Blood!" He cried and raised Dark Sister in the air, the others cheering in reply with their own weapons. 

"For the Stormlands!"

"For Driftmark!" 

"For Dragonstone!"

Dragonstone 

Aemma sees her only child off to war and immediately throws herself into the minutiae of running a keep. 

It's not just a coping mechanism, a way to keep her mind occupied and distract herself from the worrying about Rhaenyra and Alyssa and Laena and Daemon, but a necessity. The ladies in their care as ladies-in-waiting, the Dragonstone household, the smallfolk who stare out at the waters with trepidation for fear that a ship with unfamiliar sails would dock and take their daughters and kill their sons - they are all counting on her. As their acting Lady, it is her duty to showcase strength, to reassure them and lead them during these troubled times. 

Luckily, they needed no incentive to pitch in with their efforts.

Sabitha Vypren, one of Rhaenyra's ladies-in-waiting and a stubborn swordswoman, carries a blade openly and spends the days teaching the women in the villages where to stab and how to deflect blows; they will not win melees any time soon, but it will be enough to die with dignity and protect themselves and their families. Some of the ladies like Melissa Beesbury help in the managing of the keep and keep meticulous records of every grain and coin in Dragonstone, organizing their supplies to make sure no one will go hungry or cold. The ones with nimble fingers like Elinda Massey had sewn bandages and tunics for the departing soldiers before they left and were now being treated for pinpricks and learning basic wound care from the healers at the Healing House. The ladies ran around Dragonstone like little worker bees and it makes Aemma beam with equal parts pride and sadness. 

Johanna Swann has been slowly coming out of her shell. She had refused to walk around the keep during the day for fear of running into anyone but eventually managed to roam the halls during meals and then sit at the very edge of the tables in the great hall, dressed simply in an attempt to disappear. Aemma had spoken with the other young ladies to put at rest certain rumors and make sure they understood the sort of behavior she was expecting from them in regard to their guest: compassion, not pity; acknowledgement, but no staring. "A guest must never be made to feel ashamed of needing assistance - not by you as ladies nor from any other member of your household." Aemma instructed them.

She did, however, make it clear that just because guests were to be treated cordially, didn't mean that they were above suspicion - like the newly arrived Targaryens, for example. 

Archmaester Vaegon had all but attached himself to Maester Gerardys' hip and the two of them were not seen separate as they went through every tome the old Targaryen had smuggled out of the Citadel and when Maester Gerardys was busy with his duties, Vaegon spent most of his days in the library, familiarizing himself with the ancient Valyrian scrolls. Septa Rhaella, on the other hand, spent most of her time in the orphanage at Dragonstone, helping the matron care for the children that resided there, reading them fairy tales from Old Valyria. Both of them were watched closely by her loyal handmaids and Gerardys' acolytes and so far they had done nothing to arouse suspicion, which made Aemma feel more comfortable with having them in Dragonstone and had them join her at the head table for meals. 

"I never expected the daughter of simple Daella to be so adept at the game of politics. Seven hells, from what I heard at the Citadel, I wasn't even sure that you could speak." Vaegon said as he chewed on the roasted meat they were having for supper. "When the copy of the terms of the annulment arrived at Oldtown to be stored, several maesters that specialized in law spent three days arguing over it." It was a backhanded compliment, but Aemma had heard enough about the Targaryen Maester's temper to not be offended by it. He was like that with everyone. 
"Thank you, Archmaester." Aemma replied politely. "I admit I was not particularly knowledgeable in such matters, but I was determined to protect my daughter's interest and was advised by very wise people who wanted the same thing." 
He snorted. "See? Daella wouldn't have even known to make a contract... or to look outside for assistance in labor." Vaegon shook his head. "Such a pity that something as common as childbirth has taken so many of our kinswomen." 
Aemma tried not to think of the butcher's knife in Mellos' hand or the blood-soaked bedsheets or the phantom pain that sometimes flared in her lower belly, so she just nods somberly. "It is." 
Septa Rhaella's eyes shine with pity. "My fellow septas at the Motherhouse were horrified when we heard of what happened to you, your grace. They could not imagine a lady of noble blood - let alone the Queen - to have been subjected to that. We have often consoled laboring mothers in the childbed and never in my sixty years have I heard of such a brutal technique being used to deliver a breech babe - I have only seen it done when the mother was already dead." She said the last two words with a malice Aemma did not think was possible for septas to have. 

"Already dead." The words rang in her mind. Aemma had been shouting and yelling and crying and very much not dead... and they still opted for the blade? It had taken Viserys all of two seconds to choose their unborn child over her. His beloved prince, his long-awaited heir, the weak babe that died hours after he left her womb. Did he know that cutting was only done on dead women? Is that how he saw her as she tried to fight him off? A corpse they might as well take from like the vultures after a battle? 

Thinking of battles took Aemma's mind to the Stepstones, to her daughter and cousins fighting to defend them because it was clear the Crown would not. 

Yet another instance of someone else having to stand up to Viserys' ignorance and incompetence, only this time it was her barely grown daughter who had to step into the fray to protect others. 

Aemma Arryn chewed on the mix of hatred, pride, fear, and rage that crawled up her throat and washed them down with a healthy dose of wine.

The Tower of the Hand - The Red Keep, King's Landing 

Otto's headache only got worse as he read the raven that had just arrived from Oldtown. 

Archmaester Vaegon and Septa Rhaella - formerly a Targaryen prince and princess, because they had dropped their titles and names when they swore themselves to a life of service - had vanished from the Citadel and the Starry Sept. 

A man and woman that had taken vows to serve in Oldtown had the audacity to abandon the place that had housed and fed them for decades and disappear without a word to anyone, without requesting leave, without the permission of their superiors. Apparently, not even a lifetime of living in the hallowed halls of Oldtown and working among the pious and righteous was enough to knock some sense and humility into those Targaryens. 

Even Viserys would be able to guess where they have gone to. 

It's been three whole years since that spoiled princess and her barren mother had swindled the King into giving them everything they wanted and settled in Dragonstone. Why in the Seven Hells were they going there now? 

Otto was not an idiot, of course. He had warned his brother to keep a close eye on the Targaryens at Oldtown once the annulment was announced, fearing that the bitter Targaryens would write to their long-forgotten kin and summon them to that island too, but Hobert had assured him that neither the Archmaester nor the Septa had made any attempts to send out a message nor had they received any ravens from Dragonstone. 

For a brief second when Aegon was born, Otto thought of summoning them to the Red Keep as a show of strength. A way to strengthen Viserys' dying image of peace and family unity that only got bleaker as no dragons were seen arriving to welcome the new prince and the egg in Aegon's cradle refused to hatch. Having the eldest Targaryens around, especially those so closely connected to the House of the new Queen, would improve their standing with nobility at large. The North, the Vale and Dorne were toeing the line of straight disrespect and the other regions were not as happy as they should have been, in Otto's opinion. The only reason he dropped such an idea was the fear that he would be doing his enemy's work for them by bringing them closer to the Narrow Sea. No. Better to leave them under guard in Oldtown, where they could be contained.

What a mistake that had turned out to be.

The Stepstones

Daemon caught up to Rhaenyra just before she mounted her own dragon, wanting to wish her luck personally.

The armorer at Dragonstone had made special armor for Rhaenyra's small frame and took notes from Daemon's armor to make the set. The steel had been painted black and was layered together in a way that resembled dragon scales. She was outfitted with a chestplate, shoulder pauldrons, gauntlets, thigh guards, a headpiece and a neckpiece, with chainmail underneath to further protect her against any arrows. Instead of the neckpiece bearing the three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen, it had the single golden dragon of the Targaryens of Dragonstone. 

Aemma had nearly cried when Rhaenyra showed her the sketch idea she had for their new house banner - a way to further differentiate themselves from the lizards in the Red Keep. The background was black, but it had a thick blue band around the edge and a roaring golden dragon in the center. "Black for Alyssa and the Cannibal, blue for Dreamfyre and House Arryn, and Syrax for me." Rhaenyra had said to him and Aemma as she called them to review her idea. "I thought of different ways to add Caraxes so you would be honored too, kepus, but I couldn't settle on one that fit the space." 
Daemon's eyes suddenly became misty as well, moved by the fact that his niece has actually thought of a way to honor him, as if he had done anything outside of the love and respect she was entitled to. "Worry not, niece. I will be more than willing to fight under this banner." 

"Princess." Daemon bowed as he came to stand behind Rhaenyra, who was checking on Syrax's saddle and turned around with a smile when she saw him. 
"Kepus." Gods, she has grown in the past three years. Grown more beautiful as she grew confident and powerful in her role as Lady of Dragonstone. Now, in her armor and with her silver hair in Valyrian battle braids, she looked like a proper warrior queen, the mirror image of Queen Visenya, but she still smiled at him with that same childlike glee whenever she saw him. "Please do not risk your life too much in battle, will you?" She asks in High Valyrian. 
"I cannot make such a promise, little dragon." He reminds her gently, but smiles anyway so that she doesn't frown. "I shall try my best, however." 
"Good." Rhaenyra nods then suddenly perks up. "Here, I have something for you - my favor, if you will." She reaches around her neck and pulls out a necklace from under the neckpiece, revealing it to be the Valyrian steel one he had gifted her before that Heir's Tourney. "I trust you to keep it safe and that you will return it to me after the battle. You need to be alive for that," she says as she stands up on her tiptoes to clasp the necklace around his neck, their armored chests meeting briefly.

The flames of the Fourteen felt like an ice-cold bath compared to the fire that lit up in Daemon's chest right then. 

Of course he would survive. He would fight the Stranger itself if need be to make his way back to Rhaenyra. 

"In that case, Princess, I shall have to win you a crown." Daemon answers with a waver to his usually confident tone. "It is only right for the victor to crown the lady who offered him her favor." 
"To see you alive and well will be more than enough." Rhaenyra insisted. "Please, don't do anything to stupid." 
Daemon spotted tears welling up in her eyes and embraced his niece, pressing a kiss to her temple and holding her as tight as their armors permitted. "I will do everything in my power to come back to you, Rhaenyra." He whispered into her hair before kissing it too. "Always." They pulled apart and he rested their foreheads together. "You better not be reckless, either. You have no need to prove yourself worthy when the men already respect you. I can deal with any pirates that are not roasted, but I cannot-," a sudden hiccup ambushes him, but he continues, "Rhaenyra, I would not survive losing you." 

Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Lady Paramount of Dragonstone, wraps her arms around Daemon's neck again and breathes in the smell of Caraxes and his preferred soap; Daemon tightly embraces her waist, pulling up into an even deeper hug. 

They don't know how long they stay like that, but neither wants to let go. 

It is only when a horn bellows from one of their ships that the two Targaryens separate. 

"Good luck, uncle." Rhaenyra says before climbing up to her saddle and wrapping the chains and straps securely so she doesn't fall. "See you in Bloodstone." 
"I will have a gift for you ready by then." Daemon promises with his usual cocky smirk. Syrax presses her snout into his chest in goodbye and Daemon gives her a scratch under the chin. "Take care of our Delight, will you?" The golden dragon chirps something affirmative and he steps back, satisfied with the answer. 

Rhaenyra waves at Laena and Alyssa on their mounts and the three women ascend to the sky as one.

Chapter Text

The Stepstones

Alyssa is observing Daemon and Rhaenyra saying goodbye and Laena embracing her father when Marcus Maegyr sweeps up to her, wraps his arms around her waist and presses himself against her side. 

Marcus kisses her deeply, cradling her jaw and hip to hold her close. Alyssa runs her fingers through the hairs at his nape and kisses him back, falling into the familiar motions of getting tangled in each other. He's wearing leather and plate armor common in Volantis, a sword on his hip and his hair pulled back from his face. "I will see you when you land." Marcus promises against her lips as they split apart. "Please, be careful with their arrows." 
"I will." Alyssa reassures him and kisses him again, sealing the promise. "Be careful with their swords." 
"Always, my dragoness." 

Alyssa nods at Roqo, armed with a curved sword and whip, and Varian, who looks much more willing to fight pirates than play pretend, and climbs up the Cannibal's saddle. The dragon croons towards Marcus and he hugs the warm snout in farewell too, asking it to protect their darling.

"See you on the other side!" Alyssa Targaryen called out to the men on the ground as Rhaenyra gave the signal to take flight. "Soves!"

Rhaenyra fights the urge to shriek when the first arrow flies past her.

Both Alyssa and Daemon had warned her about the very real fact that she would get shot at. The pirates below would be aiming to kill her. She would have armor that would protect her from blows, but even that would only help so much. There was a very real possibility that a hit would land and she would be hurt - Rhaenyra knew that - but it hadn't really hit her until she heard the sharp whistle of the arrow and the whiz as it flew inches away from her face. 

Syrax roared in defiance against the archers, increasing her speed against the shower of arrows were released in an attempt to bring them down.

Rhaenyra Targaryen, the youngest dragonrider since the Doom of Valyria and the ruling Lady of Dragonstone, swallowed her fright and forced it down. These were her people fighting, and they would be looking at her to lead them - they would not easily follow the spoiled little princess of King's Landing, but a Valyrian warrior, fire and blood in the flesh. And she refused to cower in the face of the danger she had dreamed of encountering when she was sheltered in the halls of the Red Keep.

Rhaenyra gritted her teeth and pushed Syrax harder, leading her to move in loops and sharp turns as she commanded the attention of those on land. She pressed her front against Syrax's saddle like Alyssa had taught her to become a harder target and flinched every time she heard another arrow, or worse, actually saw them sail close to her. Rhaenyra spit out a curse as a lucky shot to her leg was deterred by her shin guard, but she still felt the sting of the hit on her muscle - which only made her more determined to draw the pirates away from their caves. 

With each shot that failed to hit, more pirates trickled out of the caves bearing bows and crossbows, each one more willing to be the one that brought down a dragonrider and a dragon. It was hard to pinpoint a particular person from her altitude, but Rhaenyra hoped one of them was the Crabfeeder so they could finish this quickly. Daemon would be very happy if he got to kill the admiral-prince himself. 

"Syrax, three shrieks!" Rhaenyra commanded and Syrax sent out three short shrieks that rang through the air, giving Laena and Alyssa their signal to proceed. 

The Cannibal and Vhagar, the two largest dragons alive, dived down from above the clouds and fired straight into the caves.

...

Daemon Targaryen smiled as the sound of orders suddenly turned to panicked screams when the dragons shut the pirates out of their little rat caves and left them out in the open. 

Music to my ears, he chuckled and slipped on his helmet before facing the men. "Leave no man alive! Let the Three Whores see what happens when you steal from Dragons!" 

Soldiers raised their swords high as Daemon led the charge towards the scattered pirates, battle cries mixing with the sharp whistle of Caraxes joining the other dragons in the sky.

...

"Dracarys!" Lady Laena cried as Vhagar swooped down close to the ground and breathed fire into the mouth of the largest cave, burning the few unlucky bastards that had been standing at the opening and knocking down those nearby with the she-dragon's giant wingspan.

The stone burned bright orange from the heat, and several red-faced pirates ran out of the caves as the heat inside became unbearable: the air became thin, the walls were scorching hot, and even their own sweat was boiling, making them feel like they were being cooked in an oven. They ran out to get fresh air, their heatstroked brains too addled to think to wait until the dragon had passed, and were immediately set upon by the soldiers from Dragonstone.

One pirate tried to hold onto the point of her wing as she flew higher and Vhagar flicked him off like one would do with an annoying bug, making Laena cackle as the man's body splattered when it made contact with the ground, looking like a ripe blood orange dropped from a balcony. Vhagar roared with glee and flew towards the coast, where Syrax was breathing fire down on the ships and their pesky archers on the crows' nests. 

Alyssa and the Cannibal fell in after them, approaching from the other side and taking care of the rest of the openings, green fire turning the stone black and weakening the walls of the tunnels. It only took one swift tail whip from the Cannibal for three of those openings to collapse on themselves, leaving behind nothing but black rubble and the smell of burnt flesh. Alyssa scanned the battlefield to find their own warriors, led by her brother in his ridiculous dragon helmet, taking on the disoriented pirates and decided against breathing fire down on them directly, not wanting to risk their own people. 

Syrax's flames burned hot like any others, but it wasn't enough to dissolve large amounts of wood like the Cannibal or even Caraxes, so Rhaenyra focused on what she could easily burn: fabric and men.

The dragon never slowed down as it gobbled up the archers posted high up in the crows' nests or tied to the masts, eating up their heads and flinging their bodies onto the sea or the deck, some even falling on top of their comrades. The sails had been tied up as they had been preparing to sail and burned right through the white fabric, the ropes catching fire as well and spreading down to the upper decks. 

An approving shrill came from Caraxes right before he did the same, using his long neck to breathe fire onto the entire length of another ship, the flames consuming the archers and the sailors on deck, leaving ashes and scorch marks behind. Syrax replied with an amused series of clicks and flew dangerously close to the red dragon, their necks brushing together for the slightest second as she continued onwards to the next ships. Caraxes accepted the invitation - at least, that's what Rhaenyra thought it was - and decided to impress the Golden Lady. 

...

In a show of bravado that could only come from the bonded dragon of Daemon Targaryen, Caraxes flew until it was right on top of a vessel and tucked in his wings, letting gravity pull him down and twisting his neck to avoid being impaled by the mast.

The ship collapsed under the dragon as if it was nothing: ceilings met flooring, glass was pulverized, men were crushed under the weight and those that thought they had gotten lucky by jumping into the sea found themselves pulled in by the resulting tide... and straight into the dragon's mouth. 

Cockily, Caraxes takes flight again and continues going after the remaining ships with Syrax and his rider's beloved mate. 

...

While this was happening in the sky, Daemon Targaryen cut through men like they were nothing. 

Chaos reigned with ash, smoke, blood and screams as the battle raged on. The remaining pirates were clearly losing morale as they saw their ships destroyed in the distance and recognized they were only delaying their deaths by attempting to run - which made them all the more fun to fight. There is nothing quite like fighting a man who has nothing left to lose. 

Daemon grinned like a dragon as he stabbed a man through the stomach, withdrew Dark Sister and used the momentum to behead another in a single move. The Valyrian steel blade sang as it pierced enemy after enemy and he felt like he was in a tourney again, being cheered on by the adoring masses of his city. All that's missing is a crown to give my Queen of Love and Beauty, Daemon mused, feeling the cold chain of Rhaenyra's necklace around his own throat. It has to be one worthy of her. 

That's when he saw a man wearing a skull-like mask, wearing clothes that were singed and black with soot but with a blade of much higher quality - exactly how the Crabfeeder had been described. 

Perfect. 

Dark Sister gleams black in the sun and Daemon engages in battle. 

...

Rhaenyra doesn't see exactly when the arrow hits Daemon's shoulder. 

She knows. 

She knows by the way Caraxes' shrill sounds different as he destroys another ship, no longer the peacock trying to impress a female as he cries sharply and burns an entire ship before turning around and heading back to the inland at full speed. It makes the hairs at the back of her neck stand up and a heavy, anxious weight press down on her chest. 

Something is wrong. Something has happened to Daemon. 

Syrax roars in response to Caraxes' pain and Rhaenyra's restlessness and follows the Blood Wyrm without Rhaenyra having to order it. 

Rhaenyra spots her uncle's silver hair with ease, which means he had taken off his helmet at some point and she worries even more because why would Daemon remove the armor meant to protect him unless it was harming him? She starts unbuckling the straps that hold her to the saddle as Syrax descends, fully planning on jumping off the dragon's back to fight for her uncle, and her heart stops when she sees the arrow sticking out of Daemon's shoulder, his face smudged black with soot and blood and his chest heaving as he stands over the lifeless body of a man wearing a bone mask. 

The Crabfeeder. Daemon has killed the Crabas Dhagar and it does not matter. 

All that matters to Rhaenyra right now is that Daemon is alive and she will make sure that whoever shot that arrow is not. 

"DRACARYS!"

With a cry for vengeance, Syrax swoops low over the ground littered with corpses and burns every bow and archer on sight. 

...

Daemon Targaryen stares in awe at his niece as she rains Fire and Blood on her enemies. 

He barely registers the arrow sticking out of his shoulder as he watches Syrax's flames burn every man, living and otherwise, with a bow in their hand and taking down the men beside them while she was at it. She was a goddess of vengeance, divine retribution, a Valyrian deity superior to the mortal men that she torched. Now, giving her the ugly skull mask of the Crabfeeder felt like an insignificant trinket compared to what she truly deserved. 

He would simply have to give her more and more things then. 

Their men, just as bloody and tired and wounded but most of them still standing, finish off the last pirates holding onto their bounties and, slowly, cries of victory ring through the air, mixing with the smoke of burning ships and the roars of the dragons. 

The Triarchy had been defeated. 

They had won.

Dragonstone 

The smell of smoke and faint curtains of ash drift through the air with the winds from the south, a present reminder of the battles being fought in the Stepstones.

Aemma Arryn couldn't sleep so she had decided to fetch some tea from the kitchens, hoping the walk and the tea would be enough to tire her out. 

Ser Luthor, one of the men left to protect them, followed silently after her as she headed to the kitchens, only to stop when she came across an open door leading to one of the parapets. Before Aemma could step out herself, Ser Luthor held out his arm and headed outside, his armor clanking in surprise at what he found... only instead of drawing his blade, he gestured for the Lady Regent to come outside and see.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor and with her back against the wall was Lady Johanna Swann, dark hair blending in with the stone walls and her pale skin and white nightgown making her look like a ghost. The bruises she had when she arrived had mostly faded, but she understood that the girl probably still felt them raw and tender to her touch. 

Aemma's heart broke all over again as she leaned down and gently shook the girl awake, Johanna yelping as she regained consciousness and realized she had been caught in a vulnerable position by the Quee- Lady Regent of Dragonstone and a knight. "Your gra- my lady! I am so sorry- I did not- I was not-" 
Aemma shushed her, showing her hands to reassure her as she sat on her heels next to the girl. "It's alright, sweetling, you've done nothing wrong." She smiled softly and turned to the knight. "Ser Luthor, would you be so kind as to lend me your cloak for a few moments?" 
"Of course, my lady," and without any extra prompting, Luthor draped the dark red cloak of the Dragonguards around Johanna's shoulders. "I shall wait by the door," he offered without being asked and walked out, giving them privacy. 

Johanna gripped the cloak and wrapped it tighter around her shoulders in an attempt to curve off the chill and the embarrassment. "I apologize, my lady-" 
"There is nothing to apologize for, Lady Johanna - but I wish to ask, are you well? Shall I fetch a healer or a maester?" 
"No no, I fear my discomfort is not one of the body. It's- it's silly." She looked down and fiddled her hands on her lap. "I woke up and I thought I was still in Lys." 
Aemma pursed her lips and nodded. "Our minds can play cruel tricks on us sometimes." She gently rubbed Johanna's shoulder to comfort her, even though her own eyes looked at the stone in front of them. "Every so often I see the glint of a knife at mealtimes and my mind thinks it is back in the Red Keep, when I-" when I was nearly cut open by the man I thought loved me, "- when the Maester was going to cut Baelon out of me." 

Lady Johanna looks at her with wide eyes, shock and pity clear in her face. She had heard about what the previous Queen had lived through, but to hear it from the woman herself was not something she ever thought she would hear. "I am sorry that you had to live through that, my lady." 
"It was not your doing, sweetling, but thank you." Aemma nodded gratefully and grabbed Johanna's hands gently. "The healer that helped me told me that the mind heals slower than the body. Soldiers that have lived through gruesome battles also experience night terrors that bring them back to the carnage, as do those that have experienced other horrible things." She squeezed her hands and looked into her eyes so she would listen. "You have lived through a long and terrible battle, Johanna, but you have survived. Lys, a proud city that had stood since the days of Old Valyria is gone and you remain." 
Johanna tried to sound out those last words. "I... I remain." 
"Precisely." Aemma brushed a lock of the girl's hair behind her ear like she often did with Rhaenyra. "Would you honor me with your company for the rest of the night? I fear I will remain awake well into the morning with worry and I don't wish to wake the ones who are still dreaming."  

Johanna stared at the former Queen for a few seconds, trying to determine whether the invitation was genuine or if the Lady Regent was luring her into a trap or if she actually wanted to be alone and was hoping Johanna would refuse, but eventually nodded. "It would be my pleasure, your grace." Seeming a bit more energized, the young lady stood up first and helped Aemma off the ground, offering her arm like a knight. 

It was then that Aemma looked out the wine-dark sea and saw the tiny little light swaying in the waves, on a little rowboat approaching Dragonstone's shore. Too early for fishermen, too far away from any ships to be sailors returning from shore leave, too convenient that they arrived just when most of the fighting men in Dragonstone were gone. 

Spies, assassins, or thieves, Aemma realized quickly. Either way, they will not fulfill their task.

"Ser Luthor," Aemma Arryn called over her shoulder without a hint of panic, and the knight obediently opened the door and awaited orders. She noticed Johanna tensing at the sight of the light and patted her hand to calm her. "We have unannounced guests on the eastern coast, please ride out with a few men to welcome them properly."

The Red Keep - King's Landing

Queen Alicent stared off into the distance as the wetnurse took Aegon away, the young prince still kicking and screaming as his tantrum continued.

When Alicent was young and foolish - unlike now, being a Queen, a wife, a mother - she imagined her children would be the embodiment of all things good virtuous like her and her siblings. She would raise them under the light of the Seven; teach them to be pious, charitable and obedient; they would be happy and agreeable children; and they would look up at her as if she was the Mother in the flesh. That dream died quickly when Aegon was born screaming... and did not stop. 

More than once, during those long nights where he refused to sleep and his cries woke the entire holdfast, Alicent had been tempted to put a pillow over his little face and hold it there until he simply quieted down. She was fertile and had no problem in the childbed - she could bear another, better son. This first one was clearly just a fluke - the first rough draft of what would surely become a perfect masterpiece. Her bitten nails had rested ever so slightly on the red velvet pillow before reason and shame took hold of her in an iron grip and she threw it across the room, clutching her hands to her chest for fear of doing something irrational. 

She loved Aegon. She wanted him to shut up. She pressed kisses to his soft white hair. She hated that he was not perfect. Why had she gone through so much pain - being bedded by Viserys, the heavy weight of a swollen stomach, the sore breasts, the aching feet - if this is what came out of it? She tried to read from the Seven-Pointed Star to him, but he had no interest in the Father's justice or the Warrior's strength, preferring to play with his toy dragon and make loud roars. Her patience was finally depleted when he pretended to set the book on fire and she took the toy away to make him listen. 

"This is important, Aegon! You have to pay attention!" Queen Alicent yelled and grasped the young prince's shoulder tightly, making him cry out. A passing nursemaid flinched and stood awkwardly at the door of the nursery, not quite knowing what to do. Alicent snapped at her too. "What are you waiting for?! Take him away! I don't want to see him until he is ready to be a prince!" She ordered briskly, scowling as the maid picked up the crying toddler and walked out of the room, a guard following after her to make sure no harm came to the prince. 

It was only once it was finally quiet and she could actually think that she realized what she had done... and that she had been seen.

They are all comparing me to the Good Queen Aemma, who never raised her voice and was always gentle, Alicent sulked in a very non-Queenly manner, crossing her arms over her rounded belly. This babe was due any day now and she hoped he was better behaved than his older brother. It's not like the Good Queen Aemma had any living children to actually manage. All she had was Rhaenyra - and look how she turned out. She is off playing at being Visenya when she should be getting married and doing her duty. 

There have been no official reports sent to the King or the Small Council about the situation in the Stepstones, but the rumors that make their way to Court are frightening. A lord said that the dragons descended upon every single ship they saw and burned them without checking if it was actually a pirate vessel, a septon claimed that they were sacrificing prisoners of war to the heathen Valyrian gods to gain more power, a seamstress said that the Free Cities were so frightened of the Targaryens of Dragonstone that they were going to stop coming to the continent altogether, a knight toasted to whatever idiots would get married to Princess Rhaenyra or Lady Laena when they were obviously proving themselves to be violent and no man should suffer a wife with blood on her hands (and probably none on her wedding bed). 

But of course, there were also those that sang ballads and praises about the "brave warriors defending their coasts" and the "dragons protecting their people" and the "ferocious Targaryen women embodying the spirit of Queen Visenya". It made Alicent sick with disgust and jealousy. The Targaryens have always enjoyed privileges and prizes without ever thinking about the effects on the rest of the people. Rhaenyra had all the richest fabrics and rarest jewels and expensive gifts from her parents and uncle and she got to ignore her father and ignore her womanly obligations - all while Alicent still heard the smallfolk shout insults at her when she made public donations to the Faith and the King still whined like a dog missing its master and her son's egg didn't hatch.

Privately, in the very bottom of her mind, Alicent thinks that it might be easier if Rhaenyra died. 

Maybe then Viserys would stop looking out the window with a stupid forlorn look over the daughter who refused his letters and affection and actually pay attention to his son and heir. Dragons take other riders when the current one passes, so perhaps Syrax would prefer to return to her first home in King's Landing and let another little Targaryen fly. And f Rhaenyra dies in this ridiculous war, then she can use her as an example for any future daughters and the young ladies she would preside over - see what happens when you stray from duty and tradition? That is why you must follow the path laid out for you and seek contentment in it. 

The babe in her belly kicks again, bringing her out of her musings and making her hiss. 

...

Otto notices the stench first. 

It's late at night, and he's just getting back to his rooms in the Tower of the Hand after another long day keeping the kingdom together. Meetings with the King, overseeing the court, reading and writing missives to lords around the Realm, checking on his grandson. He hopes Aegon will remember all that has been done to get him on the throne when he is older, that he will become a worthy successor to the world he will inherit from him. He may get the white hair and name from Viserys, but it is from Otto that he will receive his intelligence and-

The smell of decomposition and scorched flesh hits him like a slap to the face. 

It's strong and permeates the walls and the floor and doesn't leave room for anything pure. 

It's coming from his chambers. 

Otto covers his nose as he sprints the rest of the way to his chambers, immediately finding a small chest waiting for him on his desk. It is made of simple wood, nothing ordinary about it save for the smell and the fact that it simply appeared in his chambers. But Otto Hightower has not made it this far - does not have a Queen for a daughter and a grandson for a future King - by taking things at face value. 

Still breathing through his mouth, Otto opens the chest and curses at the flurry of corpse flies that flutter out of it. He waves his hand in front of his face to get rid of the pesky little insects and it makes him lose focus, just enough for him to breathe normally and make his eyes water from the stench of the box's contents. 

Six pairs of scorched hands. Crispy blackened flesh peeling away to reveal burnt red muscle and tissue and even bone in some, fingers curled up still in death as if the men had died clenching their fists in anger or pain. And on top of them, a note. 

He reads it with a snarl on his face and growls as he recognizes the words he had once said to the former queen after yet another miscarriage, polite words laced with judgement and snobbery emboldened by her failure to do her womanly duty and in turn bringing him ever so closer to what he desired. Words that were now thrown at him by that barren wench that now had a dragon while his grandson did not. 

You should dedicate yourself to prayer and repentance, ser Otto, then perhaps one day the Seven-Who-Are-One may deem you worthy. 
Kind regards, 
Lady Aemma Arryn. Lady Regent of Dragonstone and rider of Dreamfyre.

Chapter Text

Bloodstone Island, The Stepstones 

Alyssa jumps down from the Cannibal's saddle and straight into her husband's waiting arms. 

Marcus is filthy, bloody, and sporting a bruise on his cheek, but he is alive and that is all that she cares about as she crashes her lips on his, forcing him back with the force of her embrace. The adrenaline from the battle is still burning hot through both of them and it's only because of the cries and shouts from the soldiers around them that they have enough presence of mind to keep their clothes on. 

"You. Looked. So. Fucking. Fearsome." Marcus pointed each word with a kiss to her face - nose, cheek, jaw, lips. His hands grasped at her shoulders, waist and hips and a brave one even hooked under a thigh in an attempt to being her even closer. "My dragoness." 
Alyssa wrapped one arm around his shoulders and her hand cupped his neck, holding him close and breathing in the scent of smoke and sweat as they continued to kiss. "It's easy to look fearsome riding a dragon." She quipped but that little laugh got swallowed up by his lips as he kissed her again. 

"The rest of us are fine, by the way! No need to worry, friends!" Varian's sarcastic tone called as he and Roqo approached, which was enough to pull the two of them out of their little bubble. The Tyroshi was practically skipping with energy as he caught up to them, even with a busted lip and half his face covered in dirt and dust.
Marcus groaned at the interruption. "Of course, it would take more than just Myrish pirates to make you shut up." He snipped and turned to glare at his friend, only softening when he felt Alyssa's arms snake around his waist. 
Alyssa nodded at the two fighters. "You are well, truly?" 
Roqo has a few open cuts on his arms and chest, the Dothraki man abhorring the idea of armor and retaining his people's garbs even after years away from his former khalassar, but does not seem too bothered by them. "Kittens have sharper claws that those swords." He said dismissively. 

Alyssa turned to look for her family and was immediately greeted with the sight of her brother with an arrow sticking out of his shoulder, but someone else beat her to the berating and worrying.

"Kepus!" Rhaenyra cries as she all but leaps from Syrax's back, landing in an ungraceful bend and running to him the second her feet hit the ground. She jumped into her uncle's open arms and clung to his chest with all her strength. "You are not allowed to die! Do you hear me?!" She demanded with all the desperation of young Rhaenyra watching her favorite person be exiled again. 
"I'm alright, zaldristos." Daemon held on to Rhaenyra just as tightly, leaning their foreheads together. "It will take more than some arrow to kill me." 
"Don't joke about that. Don't ever joke about that." She pulled away and paled significantly when she saw the arrow sticking out of Daemon's shoulder up close along with Daemon's slightly pained expression. 

Oh, right - she had crashed straight into him like another projectile.

"I need a healer! NOW!" Rhaenyra Targaryen demanded the nearest standing soldier, which made the young man jump from fright and rush to the little beach where the Velaryons were disembarking with their healers. 

Two middle-aged men from Dragonstone's Healing House arrived first and immediately set to work, gently pulling Rhaenyra's hands away from Daemon's body as they worked to stabilize the arrow and lead Daemon to sit down so they could work on him more easily. Alyssa remembered when Lyna had to pull an arrow from her shoulder too and she did not remember it fondly, but Daemon was a grown man, and she had been around eight-and-ten when she got shot by pirates. We really ought to get better armor. Something that can repel arrows - especially around shoulders, tricky little fuckers, Alyssa thought as she approached her brother and niece.

Rhaenyra was holding onto Daemon's hand as the healers used scissors to cut the fabric of his tunic and quills to open the wound so they wouldn't damage the muscle as they retrieved the arrow. Alyssa placed her hands on Rhaenyra's shoulders, not wanting to startle a young one freshly done with her first battle and on top of that worried sick about a loved one. "Zaldristos, the healers will need some room to heal Daemon." She said in an attempt to take her away, but Rhaenyra shrugged off her hands and sat more comfortably next to Daemon.
"I am not leaving him alone." Rhaenyra stated firmly, leaving no room for protest. 
Alyssa knew firsthand that the bloodhigh from a battle would have you attacking friends on instinct before you realized what you were doing, and she really did not want to ask Roqo to throw her niece over his shoulder to remove her from Daemon's presence. Instead, she looked to the healers. "Healers, will the Princess' presence interfere with your treatment?" 
"Not for now, my lady, but we may need someone with muscles to move him in a few moments." The taller of the men barely looked up from their work, all of them familiar with the lack of decorum and protocol that existed around battles. 
Alyssa didn't comment on the lack of appropriate title - this was neither the time nor the place for that - and nodded. "Thank you." She then looked at Daemon. "If you die now, lekia, I will drag your ugly mug back from Balerion's realm kicking and screaming." 
Daemon, despite the pain, chuckled. "I think you will have to beat Rhaenyra to that, haedar." 

Rhaenyra was too focused on the healers treating Daemon to hear the joke and reply to it, and Daemon was still holding on to her hand, trying not to clench it too hard for fear of breaking her fingers. 

Alyssa hears her title being called and finds Laena running towards them, curly hair caked grey with ash and some pieces falling from out of her bun. "We've began setting up the tents for the healers and the commanding officers." She caught sight of the healers pulling the arrow out of Daemon and cursed. "Seven fucking hells, will he-" 
"He will be fine - he's too stubborn to die like this." Alyssa reassured her and then shot a look at Rhaenyra too, a message meant for both of them. She then turned back to Laena. "Good job with the caves and the infantry. Does your father have enough men to look and retrieve the wounded?" 
"Aye, I think so." 
"Good, get a start on that. Varian," she turned to the Tyroshi, "-assist them, make sure there are no enemies playing dead and collect any weapon that is left lying around." 
"That will cost you extra-" 
"You get to keep whatever loot you find - whatever is you can carry on your person." 
That was enough to get him to perk up again. "I'll get right on that, darilaros." Varian at least had enough decency to accompany Laena back to her father's men, but Alyssa didn't need to keep watch on him to know that he would run for the corpses the second he could. Nothing like the chance for further bloodshed and riches to revitalize a mercenary.

Her attention is captured again with a loud grunt that comes from Daemon's clenched teeth, the arrow that had previously been buried in his shoulder now free in the hand of a healer while the other presses a clean linen to the wound to stop the bleed. It's obvious that he is trying to downplay his pain so that Rhaenyra doesn't see him suffering, because he knows it will make her hurt too. Alyssa locks eyes with him momentarily and understands that the last thing Daemon wants is to see Rhaenyra suffer. 

Alyssa sighs and decides they will not be going anywhere. "Roqo, help move my brother, please?" The Dothraki nodded and leaned next to the healers so he could gather Daemon into his arms and get him to the tents. In another situation, the sight of Daemon being carried around like a maiden - though a very foul-mouthed one, judging by the stream of curses that were coming from his mouth, directed at the Triarchy, the Dothraki, and Alyssa - would be hilarious, but she is too tired to laugh.

Rhaenyra stands up too, though she is a little unsteady on her feet and Marcus has to reach for her arm to keep her standing. "The first battle is always the hardest, darilaros." He says encouragingly at his niece. "No one will think less of you if you sit down."  
The princess shook her head. "There is a lot to be done." 
"Then we will help you." Alyssa says reassuringly, gathering her niece into her arms and kissing her hair. "I'm very proud of you, Rhaenyra. I'm sure there will be plenty of songs about Visenya Come Again." 

Rhaenyra, who had wanted to ride for honor and glory once, simply nodded and headed to the camp.

It's a very tiring day. 

They collect the wounded, the weapons, the loot, and the dead; they inform their houses of their victory, Dragonstone and Driftmark first and foremost; they set up the command camp from where they will plan what to do next as well as tents for the wounded and for commanding officers and soldiers. Night fell and soldiers and off-duty healers gathered around fires with bowls of fish stew, pointedly ignoring the poisonous crabs that inhabited the Stepstones. 

Daemon was moved to his tent after Lyna declared him well enough that he didn't need to bunk with the more severely injured in the infirmary tents, and Rhaenyra refused to let do anything that could cause even the slightest bit of pain. Daemon had remained shirtless after his armor was removed, and Rhaenyra struggled with not ogling at the hard planes of his stomach and chest as she spoon-fed him. That and she couldn't help but feel her uncle's violet eyes staring so intensely at her with a warm emotion she couldn't recognize and made her stomach flutter. 

The night passes and so do a few soldiers with injuries that were too grave to heal. With daybreak comes a pyre built on the tallest cliff, the bodies of their soldiers piled on the barren soil with timber and driftwood gathered from the enemy ships. Not many houses burn their dead - the Andals bury them whole, the followers of the Merling King throw them to the sea, and the First Men bury their bones - and for non-members of House Targaryen to receive a Valyrian funeral is almost unheard of, but Rhaenyra wanted to send them off with the honors they deserved. The Velaryons had gathered the men from their island and those they knew followed their Merling King so that they could be delivered to the waves, they were just waiting for Rhaenyra to go first. 

Rhaenyra was dressed in black riding leathers like yesterday and with her silver hair left unbound, dark circles under her eyes against pale skin making her look like a wraith as she addressed those who remained. Syrax remained obediently by her side as she stood in front of the pire and spoke to the crowd. "Yesterday, we crushed our enemies - and so today we mourn our dead. These men were sons, brothers, fathers, and friends who left their homes and heeded the call to arms when our coasts were threatened by invaders. They fought bravely until the bitter end, and for that we shall not forget them nor dishonor their sacrifice. We thank them for their courage and fire, we cry for the ones they leave behind, and we find strength in the memories we shared with them. It is my duty and honor to give them a Valyrian send off - the dragonfire will burn away the hurt done to them and they will be received by their ancestors in Balerion's realm." 

Rhaenyra Targaryen has burned bodies before. Prince Jaehaerys, dead before he could see three paltry moons; Princess Daella and Prince Maekar, stillborn; Prince Baelon, dead during their mother's last labor. Her father and mother had no dragons to command to burn them and so it fell on Rhaenyra and Syrax to light their pyres. She had cried during each one, her father often standing behind her and sometimes her mother, if she was well enough. 

This time she is not crying, but she feels the heavy weight of responsibility on her shoulders, nonetheless. 

"DRACARYS!" 

Syrax roars and throws a line of fire onto the pyre. The other dragons cry back with their own calls.

Daemon, standing on his own two feet and ignoring the leftover pain from his wound, stares in awe at the cutting figure of his niece, the burning pyre at her back giving her an ethereal glow that makes her look like a goddess of Old Valyria. Now this is a Queen, he thinks suddenly and an idea comes into his head. 

Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince who had chafed with every mortal authority and spat back at two Targaryen kings and their disrespect, willingly went down one knee and laid down Dark Sister in front of Rhaenyra. 

"All hail Rhaenyra Targaryen!" Daemon called over the roar of the fire. "Queen of the Narrow Seas!" 

Soldiers, healers, and dragonriders look at him confused but then Alyssa goes down on one knee too, prompting her friends and husband to do the same. "Queen of the Narrow Seas!"
"Queen of the Narrow Seas!" Laena went next and fixed her proud father with a glare until he too went on his knees, the rest of their men following suit. 

One by one, her bannermen knelt on the hard ground of the island they cleared of pirates, hailing their Queen.

All that they needed was a crown. 

"Psst, darilaros." Varian whispered in bastard Valyrian from his spot next to Lyna, calling Alyssa's attention. He reached into the bag of stolen loot he had been carrying for fear getting it stolen and pulled out a golden tiara inlaid with jade stones. "How much are you willing to pay for this?" 
"A week at Saera's brothel if you hand it over right now." Alyssa whispered back. 
"Just a week?" 
"A week and with your cock still attached to your body." She pressed with a glare, which was all Varian needed to hand the tiara over to her. 

Alyssa tapped Daemon's back presented him with the tiara, which got her a shocked and impressed look from Daemon. He quickly recovered and held out the crown in front of their niece for her approval. "Rhaenyra Targaryen of the Blood of Old Valyria, will you let me do the honor?" 
Rhaenyra gaped at the crown, appreciating its beauty before nodding to her uncle. "You may, Prince Daemon." 

Daemon Targaryen, with more reverence than any Septon or priest, placed the crown on the silver hair of Rhaenyra Targaryen. "All hail Rhaenyra Targaryen! Princess of the blood of House Targaryen! Lady Paramount of Dragonstone! and Queen of the Narrow Seas!"

Their people cheer as they rise to their feet, lifting their swords or clapping their hands to add to the clamor. 

Rhaenyra beholds the people that have claimed her as their Queen and slowly, as she realizes that this is in fact real and not a dream, graces them with a smile, bowing her head in acknowledgement and respect. She allowed herself a moment to savor their loyalty and catches Daemon's eyes shining with pride. 

"Thank you all for this honor you have bestowed upon me." Rhaenyra says once the clamor quiets down. "As I am already the Lady Paramount of Dragonstone and cannot be in two places at once, I would grant stewardship of the Stepstones to someone capable of holding them... and I can think of no better man suited to watch over these islands than Prince Daemon Targaryen." Rhaenyra said, her voice steady and powerful like any royal's. She turned to her uncle and extended her hand, which he gladly took as if caught in a trance. "Prince Daemon Targaryen, son of Baelon and Alyssa, I would name you Lord of Bloodstone and Protector of the Stepstones. You will be given leave and power to garrison men and keeps on the islands as you see fit to protect them, and you would be charged with the welfare and protection of our coasts. Do you accept this burden?" 
Daemon gaped, dumbfounded for a second before he knelt before Rhaenyra and looked up at her with stars in his eyes. "I do accept."
"Then speak your oath." 

"I, Daemon Targaryen, swear fealty to Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Lady Paramount of Dragonstone and Queen of the Narrow Seas. To her I pledge my sword, my faith, my men and my lands. I shall uphold her laws, keep her secrets, and carry out her commands. This I swear by the Old Gods and the New, as well as the Fourteen Flames of our ancestors and the blood we share." 
Rhaenyra nodded. "And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. This I swear by the Old Gods and the New, as well as the Fourteen Flames of our ancestors and the blood we share." 

It does not escape him that she stressed the always in her oath. Three years after his leave of absence from King's Landing due to his brother's stupidity, he could not help but look back at his previous behavior - accepting exile over something ridiculous and returning when Viserys called him back like a dog with its master. Over and over for years since that blasted Great Council. 

...

"Ships spotted!" 
"More of the Triarchy? Do they feel like dying by dragonfire so badly?" Daemon jokes as he is handed a spyglass and takes a look at the sails. Next, he curses loudly and almost throws said spyglass to the ground. "That ridiculous whoreson! Of course he dares to appear now!"
Rhaenyra doesn't flinch at his outburst, instead grabbing the spyglass from him without resistance and looking through it. Black sails with a three-headed red dragon. It seemed the King had gone back on his decision and sent support to the Stepstones after all. Annoyance made her scowl as she spotted soldiers wearing armor and some knights wearing their families' colors on deck too. "King Viserys has sent a garrison to the Stepstones." She informs the gathered captains and dragonriders. 
Laena frowns. "Does he mean to reaffirm Westeros' claim to the islands? After he left them at the mercy of pirates and raiders?" She asks, astounded at the man's audacity.
"No, that would imply he made a political move." Alyssa rolled her eyes. "I think the guilt finally made him cave." 

Rhaenyra scoffs and straightens up, gathering the attention of those around her. "Do not let them disembark. Daemon, Laena: surround the armada. Not a single ship is allowed to make land." She orders swiftly. "I want it made clear that I will not allow King Viserys to lay claim to my islands after he washed his hands off the matter." She gave a long-suffering sigh and looked to her family members. "Unfortunately, it also means one of us will have to escort them back to King's Landing." 

Sending Laena would be a good way to rub salt into the King's less than stellar marriage. Laena Velaryon would stand before the court a war hero, having ridden Vhagar, the dragon once ridden by the Conqueror Queen Visenya and Prince Baelon, Viserys' father, into battle and defended the Stepstones with fire and blood. The inevitable comparisons would be drawn up between her and Alicent Hightower and Lord Corlys looked ready to offer his daughter as messenger just so that he could see Viserys' regret in person. See what you could have had, see what you threw away by marrying the worthless daughter of an overreaching second son instead of my daughter.

Sending Daemon alone was more likely to end in shouting and bloodshed than anything else. Daemon would no doubt insult Viserys to his face in front of the court, then Otto Hightower would call for Daemon's arrest for disrespecting the King, then Daemon would insult the Hand, the Queen, and the Crown Prince- Gods, just thinking about all the horrible ways that would go was starting to make Rhaenyra's temples throb. No, Daemon would not be going to King's Landing without supervision. 

Her mother was still needed as Lady Regent of Dragonstone and Rhaenyra would never send Aemma Arryn to the Red Keep if she could help it, Laenor and Rhaenys were finishing securing the Stormlands. 

Rhaenyra looked at her aunt with the same eyes she used as a young girl when she wanted lemon cakes before dinner. Alyssa the Conciliator was the only one who would keep a level head and keep the bloodshed and pettiness to a minimum... or at least, just contain it to Viserys. "Ñamar?" 
Alyssa Targaryen clicks her tongue and sighs. "I shall go deal with the snakes."

...

More than one sailor pissed their pants when they saw the dragons approach the ships. 

Captain Tytos Lannister, fourth son of a third son and captain of the Lannister fleet, swallowed hard and prayed to the Stranger that he was not about to be burned to death. The black dragon - the one they called the Cannibal because it ate dragons and was ridden by a lawless woman who had no respect for the King, let alone anyone else - flew closer than the other two, its belly brushing the top mast. 

Suddenly, Princess Alyssa Targaryen was descending from the crow's nest. 

She was dressed in a black riding habit with steel armor pieces fastened to the princess' shoulders, neck and arms. There was a sword hanging from her hip and a dagger on the other one and if rumors were to be believed, they were probably more knives hidden somewhere on her person. The princess has her hair pulled back in intricate braids and she is clearly not happy to see them. 

"Who is in charge here?" She demanded as she landed on the deck with a hard jump. 
"I, your highness. Captain Tytos Lannister." Tytos said with a bow. "We were sent by his grace, King Viserys, to aid the Princess Rhaenyra in her defense of the Stepstones." 
"Congratulations, you are late and were never required. We have already secured the Stepstones and unless you feel like fighting ash and bones, you have nothing to do here." Alyssa said dismissively. "I am afraid you will have to turn around to wherever you came from." 

Captain Tytos thinks of protesting but catches the shadow of the large black dragon out of the corner of his eye and thinks again. "What shall we tell the King, your highness?" 
"Nothing. I am escorting you back to King's Landing. By order of Rhaenyra Targaryen, Lady of Dragonstone and Protector of the Narrow Sea, and Daemon Targaryen, Lord of the Stepstones, no unauthorized vessel is allowed to make land nor may their crew disembark." Alyssa said and looked around at the gathered crew to make sure they understood. "Failure to comply will be met with dragonfire." The Cannibal roared from above, the other two dragons joining them to reinforce the threat. 

There was nothing to be done other than bow and comply. "Understood, your highness." 

Letter sent to the major houses of Westeros as well as the Free Cities:

The dragons hold the Stepstones and the Crabfeeder and his men have perished to their swords and dragons. All dragonriders and dragons of House Targaryen are alive and well, all of them emerging victorious from the destruction of the Triarchy fleet and its pirates.

By right of conquest, the islands now belong to Rhaenyra Targaryen, who has been crowned by her vassals as Queen of the Narrow Sea after successfully leading them to battle. 

Any future attempts of piracy or illegal occupation will be met with Fire and Blood. 

Prince Daemon Targaryen has been named Lord of the Stepstones and will be acting as Warden effective immediately.

... 

Letter sent to Dragonstone: 

Mother, 

We won. Daemon and a garrison of men are planning on staying behind so that no one attempts to invade again while we are gone. 

Laena and I will be returning to Dragonstone soon. We are both well and have sustained no injuries. 

With all my love and waiting to see you again, 

Rhaenyra 

The Red Keep - King's Landing

Queen Alicent Hightower had just given birth to her second child, a princess they named Helaena, and King Viserys ordered a dragon egg to be placed in her cradle. He did not put the egg himself, nor did he stay around the little princess after the birth. 

Queen Alicent, sore and exhausted from childbirth, did not pay much attention to her either, letting the wetnurse take her away as the bells rang to announce the birth.

Otto Hightower prayed that this egg would hatch too - even a dragon in the hands of a girl would be better than no dragon at all. 

...

King Viserys was headed to a Small Council meeting when the roar of a dragon suddenly made the windows shake. 

Over three years had passed since a dragon had graced the skies over King's Landing and the servants walking around the halls and the smallfolk on the streets cried out as the large shadow of the Cannibal flew over the city. With the dragon came the armada he had sent not four days past, which made a mix of anger and worry start to bubble in his chest. Viserys turned on his heel and began running - or rather, friskily walking - to the courtyard and ordering a horse and guard sent to retrieve his sister from the Dragonpit once she landed. 

Only that would not be needed. 

In a trick he would rather not see any of his attempt ever again, the Cannibal flew low enough to graze the outer walls of the Keep and Alyssa simply unbuckled herself and jumped from her dragon. The guards at the wall walk nearly collapsed from the fright of having a dragon pass right over their heads and a Targaryen Princess suddenly falling from the heavens and landing with a sharp crack. 

Otto Hightower, watching from a window in his tower, clutched his goblet so tightly he could almost feel it giving in. 

It was time to revisit those scorpion ideas again.

Chapter Text

Alyssa curses the entire flight to King's Landing. 

She curses at the fleet, at Viserys, at the dead pirates, and every seagull that crosses her path. 

She curses the Red Keep as it appears on the horizon and curses King's Landing as the stench hits her.

Her knees curse her as she lands on the walkway, scaring the two guards on duty.

...

"Alyssa!" Viserys sighs warily between his wheezes to catch his breath. "Must all your entrances be this dramatic?" 
"There is no such thing as a subtle entrance with a dragon, Viserys - but I don't expect you to know that." Alyssa snarked and walked up to him. Viserys opened his arms, going in to embrace her but instead received a harsh shove to the chest. King Viserys stumbled back a few steps, making the nearby knights and Kingsguards reach for their swords, but he manages to regain his footing and waves them off. Alyssa is glowering at him, her hands at her hips and her face still smudged with soot and ash. "Your solar, now - or I yell at you in front of your subjects." 
"Sister-" He tries to start but is cut off with her raised hand. Embarrassingly, he flinches back, bracing himself for another hit.
"Your solar or the Throne Room - choose." Alyssa pressed, her angry glare not diminishing. 

He saw Otto and Alicent arrive out of the corner of his eyes and for a second wished he could call Otto to deal with this, but this was not an angry Stormlands lord that could be reminded of the King's wishes - this was his sister. His younger sister. The one he had dragged into the throne room chained and she managed to get those shackles off in less than five minutes. The one that rode a dragon that was currently circling above the keep like a warning. 

She had handed him the ability to choose now - and she would not give it again. 

"Solar." He said meekly, bowing his head as he turned around and started walking like a child that had been caught stealing sweets before dessert. 
Otto made to intervene catching them as they walked through the heavy doors. "Your grace, perhaps I should accompany you-" 
"I will not harm my brother physically, Otto. I will simply remind him of the burdens of being King - I am sure you were not happy with his stupid decision to send an armada to the Stepstones either." Alyssa taunted, the hit landing on both the Hand and the King. She suddenly stopped walking and grabbed Viserys' arm gently. "Actually, this matter concerns more than just you, brother and I don't trust you to relay the whole story correctly. Call the court, I'm sure they will all be happy to hear of the victory of House Targaryen of Dragonstone over the Crabfeeder and his men." 

The servants that had been walking along the hall and the nervous knights that followed the King paused at her words. Viserys' mouth gaped open and whispers followed as others relayed the news to new arrivals and hurried off to tell others. 

Viserys did as he was told - as always. 

King Viserys Targaryen sits on the Iron Throne, his Hand at his right along with his wife and little Aegon while the rest of the Small Council stood to the left. 

The rest of the nobility gathered at the sides, some excited to hear news from the war and others eyeing their surroundings with apprehension - many had been there or had heard of what happened the last time Alyssa Targaryen visited the Red Keep, so it was better to be safe than sorry. 

The great doors to the throne room opened and all eyes turned to the lone figure that walked in, back straight and head held high. Alyssa Targaryen's dark riding habit was worn under steel armor pieces that still had smudges of ash on them, and a dark metal headpiece held back the princess' golden hair away from her face, the length of it gathered into the intricate Valyrian braids that Queen Visenya was known to favor. It was very similar to what they had seen Princess Rhaenyra wear when she interrupted the hunt less than a week ago. 

Viserys had never been one for violence. He had no talent with swords or lances, so he was never made a squire, he had no military training, even in hunts others had to hold a beast down in order for him to actually kill it, and that often took a couple of tries. He liked tourneys and jousts and that was mostly because of the pageantry and public approval more than anything.

His siblings, however much it displeased him to admit, were natural fighters, much like their parents had been. Daemon was knighted at sixteen and given Dark Sister, Alyssa bested all the knights in a melee at eighteen, they both gained reputations as ruthless fighters around the Known World.

War was unthinkable to him. He was young when his Uncle Aemon went to defend the Stormlands and was felled down by an arrow, and that was the extent of armed conflict he had seen during his grandfather's reign. Viserys was stubborn to keep that hard-earned peace, and yet it seemed his siblings and the rest of his family were doing everything in their power to render his efforts moot. 

"It is my honor to announce that under the leadership of Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Stepstones are now free of pirates. At the age of six-and-ten and with arrows being shot at her, she burned over a hundred pirates and destroyed half their ships." Alyssa announced to the gathered court with an abundance of pride. "Princess Rhaenyra led the aerial attack on their ships with Lady Laena and myself while Prince Daemon led the fighting men on land and Lord Corlys captained the naval assault. Working together, we have managed to completely eradicate the foreign invaders and bring peace to our coasts once more." 

Viserys is flooded with an emotion that is equal parts pride and revulsion. They turned his baby girl into a killer too.

His beautiful daughter, the Realm's Delight, now had blood on her hands. 

Alyssa did not seem to notice, or did not care, about his inner storm as she changed subject. "In accordance with the laws of ownership established by Aegon the Conqueror, if a territory is left unused and undefended by its owner and another claims it, then the original owner has no recourse to reclaim it." She recited, turning to the Master of Laws. "Is that correct, Lord Strong?" 
"Aye, it is." The Master of Laws nodded from his place.
"Adding to that, the Triarchy had taken full control of the Stepstones before we killed them all. There was no previous lord or warden of the Stepstones, and the ownership of the islands has long been disputed between Westeros, Dorne and the Free Cities. Having led the efforts to eliminate the Triarchy, it is only right that Princess Rhaenyra absorbed the Stepstones into part of her territory by right of conquest. The men have proclaimed her Queen of the Narrow Sea; and her first act was to name Prince Daemon Targaryen as Lord of Stepstones and negotiations with Dorne are to begin posthaste." 

A rumble of comments were heard from the assembled nobles, but none as loud as the offended guffaw that came from the Lord Hand. “To proclaim herself Queen while she is neither the ruling monarch nor heir to the throne is preposterous-!"
"No more preposterous than sending your maiden daughter to a married man's chambers, Lord Hand." Alyssa said primly with a predatory grin, pointedly ignoring the blushing young Queen and the laughs disguised as coughs from the courtiers, and then turned to the King. "Worry not, brother, you are still King and the title is only that: a title. But it does bring me to my next point: in compliance with the laws of conquest and the annulment contract signed by yourself and Lady Aemma Arryn, the tariffs and tolls collected by said garrisons will go to Dragonstone alone. The new fares that will be tallied on Westerosi ships will be sent shortly." 

Lord Beesbury goes pale once he realizes what that means. Ser Steffon kept an eye on him for fear that the old man would collapse. None of that mattered to King Viserys as he sat on the Iron Throne and imagined his daughter - not grown as he had seen her during Aegon's hunt, but as a babe and a small little girl that struggled to hold the pitcher correctly when she first became a cupbearer - atop her golden hatchling, who just yesterday had become big enough to carry her, being sieged by arrows and scorpions. She was no Queen Rhaenys or Prince Aemon to send into battle! And they rode fully grown dragons and were felled down anyway! 

"Is Rhaenyra alright?" Viserys finally asked, his voice almost extinguished by anguish. 
"She was not harmed and she remains regal as ever. You should be proud, Viserys - we certainly are. Rhaenyra has shown to be a decisive leader and did not leave the fight even when her own life was in peril - she was like Queen Visenya Come Again." Princess Alyssa praised her niece, wanting especially to make sure that Viserys heard that she led the fighting men. 

Viserys smiled widely and pushed himself upright with some difficulty. "My daughter has made us proud, indeed!" He laughed, only to be interrupted by a sharp cough. "A feast- no! - three days of feasting to celebrate the joyous tidings my sister has brought us! Another victory for House Targaryen!" He called, much to the surprise of the nobility and the displeasure of Princess Alyssa and some lords from the Stormlands. 

With what right did this idiot call to celebrate the end of a war he did not participate in? 

He had to grab onto he nearest knight's arm to stand upright. "Have ravens sent to Driftmark and Dragonstone! I want everyone together to celebra-" 
"Are you out of your fucking mind, Viserys?" The princess did not yell. She did not shout. It was a low, almost growled question. "You expect everyone to leave the territory we just fought and bled for because you want to celebrate a victory you did not ensure?"
"You are talking to the King, Princess-" Otto Hightower tried to police her tone but was quickly silenced by a roar from the Cannibal. 
Alyssa glared at the man. "I will speak to my brother however I fucking please." She then turned to Viserys, who was looking at his shoes and fiddling with his robe like a scolded child. "You are lucky we did not burn your armada the second we saw it. If you really wanted to aid in the fight, then you should have sent aid to the Stormlands, who were hit the hardest and had their women and girls taken and their villages ransacked. Instead, you wasted resources and men by sending them to where they were neither wanted or needed." 

Silence reigned over the throne room as the nobility watched their King be given a verbal lashing by his younger sister. Such a spectacle would have been unthinkable in the time of Jaehaerys, but it was glaringly obvious to all that King Viserys was nowhere near the previous monarch. 

"I will leave in the morning, I don't intend to spend more time in this shithole than I need to." Alyssa said finally to her brother. She looked around the gathered nobles and found the eyes of Lord Caswell. "Are my rooms ocuppied, Lord Steward?" 
Lord Caswell stood at attention and bowed his head. "No, your highness. I shall see that they are readied." 
"Thank you, my lord." Alyssa then locked eyes on the Grand Maester, who had not forgotten that she had stabbed him in the shoulder and was currently attempting to hide behind Ser Otto. "I see you, Mellos - I am not going to stab you again unless you give me reason to. I just need one of your acolytes to send a few ravens for me."
"I...," the Grand Maester Mellos looked at the Hand, who only glared at him for showing such weakness in front of the court. The man gulped and nodded. "Of course, Princess." 
"Good."

She didn’t wait for the King to dismiss her. She simply turned her back to the throne and walked out.

…

My dearest husband,

I’ve arrived safely at King’s Landing and will depart for Dragonstone after breaking my fast tomorrow, barring any delays.

See you in Dragonstone with all our household (hopefully) in one piece. 

All my love, 
Alyssa

Bloodstone - The Stepstones

With Daemon staying behind at the Stepstones to supervise the building of the first garrison and burn away any scouts, Rhaenyra and Laena were free to return to their homes.

Rather, Daemon and Laena all but had to force Rhaenyra to mount Syrax and go back to Dragonstone. Rhaenyra was insistent on staying until Daemon was fully healed, even though the healers still stationed on Bloodstone agreed that he was in no danger of dying or festering, and Daemon was equally insistent on her flying to Dragonstone to continue ruling her seat. Laena thought it was like watching two equally stubborn goats clash heads, though she refrained from making such a comparison outloud.  

"I am your liege lady and I could have your heads for daring to disobey my orders." Rhaenyra countered almost petulantly as her uncle and cousin refused to let her walk back to their tents.
"Your mother must be missing you terribly and there is nothing left for either of us to handle here." Laena tried to appeal to her love of Aemma Arryn and the growing sense of practicality she had been cultivating as a Lady Paramount. 
Daemon took another approach entirely, pulling Rhaenyra into a hug so her head rested right on his chest, where she could hear his heartbeat. "Do you hear that, zaldristos? I am still alive and I don't plan on greeting Balerion any time soon." He smelled a whiff of ash and lemon and something uniquely Rhaenyra that had his own heart beating faster, much to his embarrasment. 
Rhaenyra felt Daemon's heart beating and breathed a little easier, only to blush deeply when she felt his breath so close to her ear and cheek. "I still don't want to leave you alone." 
"I won't be alone. I'm surrounded by men loyal to me and trusted healers, not to mention Caraxes will not be going anywhere." Rhaenyra shot him a tired glare that looked an awful lot like Alyssa's. "Oh, I see. You are concerned I will do something reckless." 
"And will you?" 
"Will you leave if I swear to not do anything arrogantly stupid?" 

Rhaenyra pouted for a second but nodded, prompting Daemon to step back and place his fist over his heart and bow his head. "I swear upon the ashes of my parents to return to you in one piece and not do anything that might endanger my life without good reason."
”Honor and bragging rights are not a good reason. Just so we are clear.” The Lady of Dragonstone pointed out as she nodded again, allowing him to rise to his feet. 
Daemon smirked. “As you say, my liege.” He jerked his head towards Syrax, who was being preened by Caraxes. “I suggest you leave before the Bloodwyrm gets too comfortable with your Golden Lady and doesn’t allow you to take flight.” 

Rhaenyra rolls her eyes affectionately and goes to hug Laena. “Thank you for everything, cousin.” She then lowers her voice so that only Laena can hear. “Keep an eye on him, please?” 
“Of course.” Laena whispers before she lets go and curtsies. “It was an honor to serve, my princess. I’d like to see my father attempt to betroth me now that he has seen what I could do to his fleet.” 
Daemon snorts. “I would pay good coin to see Corlys’ reaction to that. Please let me know beforehand, Lady Laena, we might even make it a paid event and make a profit.” 

Rhaenyra watches an easy smile pass between them and something bitter and burning curdles in her chest. It plants her feet to the ground and prevents her from moving towards her dragon. For some reason, she is afraid to leave - afraid of what could happen once she is away and they are left alone. 

The ground shakes and suddenly Syrax has detached herself from Caraxes and gone up to them, her snout lingering over Rhaenyra’s shoulder and eyes suddenly locked on the other two dragonriders. The she-dragon breathes out a sulphuric warning, startling Laena into taking a step back and making Daemon raise his hands towards Syrax. 
“Syrax may think we are still in battle and confuse friends with foes.” Daemon warns her, keeping the dragon’s attention on him. “Caraxes and Vhagar have acted similarly in the past. The keepers at Dragonstone will know what to do, but be ready for her to be difficult.” He speaks more softly to Syrax. “Lykiri, Syrax. Lykiri. We are safe, your rider is safe.” 

Syrax huffs as if she doesn’t believe him, but stops huffing at them. Rhaenyra counts it as a victory that Laena is still eyeing the golden dragon with trepidation. She climbs onto Syrax’s saddle and pets her scaly neck in thanks, though now that the moment has passed she feels a little off for scaring Laena, who has been nothing but a loyal friend for over three years. Rhaenyra thinks that she’s should get her something nice for the victory feast they will be hosting at Dragonstone the following fortnight, once the patrols for the Stepstones and the building of a garrison is underway and they can have a proper celebration with their bannermen and soldiers.

Rhaenyra takes to the skies without actually saying goodbye.

Dragonstone

While the Lady Paramount of Dragonstone was finishing a war, ravens arrived for her ladies-in-waiting by the dozen. Some of them were from their concerned families asking about the war on the Stepstones, others were from vendors and business folk from their various connections around the continent, and an ever increasing number of them came from suitors. 

Now that the War on the Stepstones was over and Rhaenyra emerged victorious, Aemma made sure to write to the girls’ families detailing their valuable contributions to the war effort, something that did not go unnoticed for the unmarried men of the nobility. A letter of reference from the former Queen that praised their abilities in managing a household through a crisis? It made their prospects reach unprecedented heights. 

Johanna Westerling, who already boasted an uncle in the Kingsguard, was surprised to see a letter from Lord Jason Lannister addressed to her, waxing poetic about all the gold he possessed and all the luxuries he would bestow upon her as his wife. They had all heard of Rhaenyra’s unpleasant encounter with the man and it seemed that he truly had no further personality than his pride and his family’s wealth. 
“Good. I can work with that.” Johanna said as she showed the letter to the other young ladies at breakfast. 
“Are you certain? Men like that won’t like their wife ordering them around.” Sabitha Vypren pointed out. 
“The trick is to let them believe they are the ones giving the orders. A few well-placed suggestions here and there, some specific and very carefully worded questions, and calling them ‘my lord’ and they will do what you want.” Johanna relayed. “That’s what my mother advised me anyway.” 
Catelyn Strong snorted as she bit into her pastry. “Gods, men really are useless.” 

Multiple murmurs of assent echoed through the table. 

“Don’t you think it is suspicious that he was rejected by Princess Rhaenyra not one fortnight ago and he has already proposed to another?” Melissa Beesbury questioned. 
Maris Baratheon, who has just received news of the birth of yet another younger sister and is preparing herself for her parents’ possible annulment, leans into sarcasm. “Well… if the King can entertain potential spouses minutes after an annulment, why should other lords wait to propose to another lady?” 
Celaena Celtigar, the eldest among them at twenty and still unmarried by her own choice, rubs Maris’ back in sympathy but doesn’t deter from replying. “I think Melissa has a point, especially considering he asked a lady-in-waiting to the woman who rejected him. It could be a plot to gain information about the Princess or Dragonstone.”
“Or perhaps, since her last lady-in-waiting conceived and carried a boy quickly, he hopes that serving Princess Rhaenyra acts as a sort of fertility blessing.” Rosalind Strong mocks with an eyeroll. “But I agree with Celaena. No offense to you, Johanna, but I’m sure there are other eligible ladies in the Westerlands.”
”Indeed - but how many can claim to already have experience in the running of a keep during a war? Ironborn attacks are always a possibility and some houses along the coast have been reduced to one or two members after a particularly brutal raid.” 
“That’s why the women of Bear Island are also trained to fight.” Wylla Manderly comments. “The Mormont women are well-known for being some of the best fighters in the North. It doesn’t really make sense why the West doesn’t train their women to do the same.”
“They would likely be too offended if their sisters, wives, or daughters were better fighters than them.” Sabitha grumbled and placed a hand on the hilt of her sword. While the general rule on Dragonstone was to not carry weapons during mealtimes and gatherings, Lady Aemma had lifted the ban for the duration of the war. 

Speaking of Aemma Arryn, she was catching snippets of the girls’ conversation and sighing internally. 

Having been betrothed at ten and married at ten-and-one, Aemma had not had the opportunity to appraise and dissect any proposals - she was told she would marry Viserys and that was that. It brings her relief that these young ladies have options presented them, that their opinions have weight - something Rhaenyra vehemently insisted on: one word about an undesired match and she would take on the lady permanently without the need for marriage, paying the spurned suitors and the lady’s family with her own. It was unprecedented, but so were most of the things they were doing at Dragonstone. 

“They have good heads on their shoulders.” Rhaella says suddenly, catching Aemma’s attention. Though she no longer wears a veil, the former Septa dresses in unadorned coat-dresses, mostly in black or ash grey, and wears her white hair in an orderly bun at the back of her head. “What you and Rhaenyra have done here… I think my mother would have loved it.” 

While Vaegon spends most of his time in the library with Maester Gerardys, Aemma has spoken quite a lot with Rhaella. The woman, who kindly informs them that she is just past her seventh decade, takes tea with her almost every day in the small solar attached to Rhaella’s guest chambers. The older woman doesn’t complain about being treated as a guest still - watched guest, actually - and instead thanks Aemma for her hospitality. Rhaella reminds her a lot of Alysanne, or at least the Alysanne that most people imagine when they think of the Good Queen. 

Rhaella speaks about her uncertain first years, about being given to the Faith so young, growing up in Oldtown, her lessons to become a Septa - but she also speaks of the conversations she had with Maegelle when she their paths crossed, of extending an open invitation to Vaegon to meet (that he never took), but perhaps the one that hurts the most is that she tried to see Aérea when she came back from Valyria, the letters from Queen Rhaena that were dripping with grief and pain. 

“I think my mother would have yelled at the King, yelled at Father’s ashes, yelled at Alyssa and Daemon for good measure, and then eventually barely approve of this.” Vaegon snorts as he gulps his bitter concoction. It’s a drink brought over from Leng, made by roasting and brewing small beans into a drink that is very bitter but boosts their energy and alertness. He’s been drinking it constantly to be able to stay awake at night and keep reading well into the night. 

Aemma is about to reply when a roar reverberates through the hall.

A single golden dragon circles the island, announcing its return to all the inhabitants.

The Lady of Dragonstone had returned.

Chapter Text

Dragonstone

The household gathers at the outside terrace, the one overlooking the long and narrow stairs that stand above the waves, lined up in order of status and importance with Lady Aemma Arryn standing front and center. 

Syrax has grown a lot since they’ve arrived on Dragonstone, unchained and flying freely and even going hunting with Dreamfyre - the blue dragon had gone so far as to push Syrax out the caves by the bum, forcing the spoiled hatchling to learn to catch her own food - but she was still slight enough to be able to land on the stairs, allowing Rhaenyra to climb down and greet her mother and people on the ground instead of atop her mount. 

Rhaenyra has to stop herself from running the last few steps and the second her feet hit the ground the entire household kneels save for Aemma, Rhaella and Vaegon, who curtsy and bow instead. As Lady Regent, Aemma is the one to step forward and speak. “Dragonstone is yours, Princess. We are happy to see you back.” 

That is all either is able to pretend to care about formality and Rhaenyra jumps into her mother’s waiting arms, Aemma nearly weeping with joy at the feeling of her only child being back in her arms, safe and sound and alive. The two women cling tightly to each other and for a moment there is nothing else - just a mother and her daughter reunited. 

“I missed you so much, sweetling.” Aemma pressed a kiss to her daughter’s hair and split apart, holding Rhaenyra by the shoulders so she could look at her closely. No injuries, no broken bones, no bruises that she can see. “Welcome home.” 
“I missed you too, muna.” Rhaenyra smiled sincerely before looking at her people. “Please, all of you, rise.”

The ladies, knights and higher servants rise to their feet in unison, smiles gracing their faces too as they see their lady returned unharmed. Rhaenyra was genuinely delighted to be among familiar and trusted faces again. “I’m happy to see you all again and to hear that you have risen to the occasion and maintained my home while I was away at war. Thank you all for your hard work and I will meet you tomorrow to review your future duties as we settle into peace once more. Please feel free to finish any time-sensitive tasks and take the rest of the day off - you’ve more than earned it.” The Lady of Dragonstone thanked her people graciously, bowing her head in gratitude. She turned to her mother. “We should give a boon to the others as well - cooks, maids, grooms and guards. It wouldn’t be fair that everyone else gets to rest and they don't.”
Aemma smiled proudly at her daughter, barely back for a minute and already stepping back into the role she has grown so wonderfully into. “I shall see it done.” She had to use all her strength not to lick her thumb and rub away at a soot spot on her daughter’s cheek in front of her staff. “For now, bath and refreshments?”
“Yes, please.”

The household parted in order for Rhaenyra to pass, bowing and curtsying again as she and Lady Aemma walked past them first, followed by Septa Rhaella and Archmaester Vaegon. There were some scattered calls of relief and praise from them as they saw a true Valyrian dragonlord returning victorious to her seat. 

“Welcome back, Princess!” 
“Good to see you well, princess.” 
"Seven blessings to you, my lady!"
“Queen of the Narrow Sea!” 
“Our Queen has returned!”

Ser Harrold Westerling smiled and bowed to Princess Rhaenyra as she stepped into the castle, relieved to see her well. “Welcome back, my princess. I shall thank the gods for allowing me to see you once more.”
Rhaenyra grinned at seeing her sworn shield again and quipped with humor. “Was it like waiting for me to return from my morning ride, Ser Harrold?” 
“A thousand times worse.” His eyes twinkled with fatherly pride and amusement. “I still find it hard to believe that the little girl that clung to my cape has now become a war hero, but I could not be more proud of the woman and warrior and you’ve become.”
Rhaenyra nodded in a vain attempt to hide the tears gathering in her eyes. “That is the highest compliment bestowed upon me so far, Ser, especially since it comes from you.” She stepped closer. “But I would still ask my most loyal protector to escort me to my room.”
The old knight offered his arm and bowed his head. “It would be my greatest honor, my Queen.”

Aemma Arryn watched her daughter and her knight walk away and if Rhaenyra hugged his arm a bit too tight and Ser Harrold leaned into what could almost be considered a hug, she would not begrudge it.

Her daughter was home and that was all that mattered.

...

The next morning, a small package is sent to King's Landing from Dragonstone, entrusted to a messenger boy that was instructed to deliver it to the King personally. 

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,

My sincerest congratulations to the Queen for another successful pregnancy and uncomplicated birth - may she have a swift recovery and rejoice in another healthy babe. I have found several little toys and swaddling clothes from when Rhaenyra was born and thought it fitting that another Targaryen Princess make use of them. I hope that Princess Helaena enjoys them as much as her sister did and that she continues to grow strong and loved. 

On the matter of daughters, it will please you to know that our daughter is back in Dragonstone, unharmed and in high spirits. This comes as no surprise to any of us here on Dragonstone, who have had the absolute pleasure to see Rhaenyra become a capable and excellent Ruling Lady and a truly impressive dragonlady that would make the Valyrians of Old proud to claim her as their own.

I am only informing you of this as an act of mercy from one parent to another, for the gods know that you have been a truly negligent King - Jaehaerys’ ashes must writhing in shame at having a craven for a successor - and that it was your cowardice that pushed our daughter of six-and-ten to rise to the occasion and protect her people. And before you can use that pitiful excuse of not having a dragon, I will remind you that you did not even send aid to the Stormlands or the Stepstones, completely ignoring your responsibility to the realm as King - the same responsibility that you so valiantly hid behind to call for our annulment so you could procure a male heir. 

I can only hope that Crown Prince Aegon will learn from your mistakes and actually care for his subjects.

Best wishes, 
Lady Aemma Arryn

The Red Keep - King’s Landing 

Otto Hightower wished that the Targaryens would stop being such Seven-damned headaches. 

Viserys, who detested even the thought of war, didn’t need any suggestions to ignore the Triarchy and leave the Stormlands and the Velaryons to deal with foreign pirates. It was supposed to be the perfect chance to keep Prince Daemon occupied and, hopefully, get him killed like the previous rider of Caraxes. The two headaches would kill each other and leave the Narrow Sea weakened. He had expected Princess Alyssa and maybe young Laenor Velaryon to get involved in the fighting too, which would have only meant less annoying Valyrians to deal with and dragons becoming available for his grandson to claim one day. With Dragonstone left without its bulk of fighting men, it would only make it easier for his men to sneak into the island and get more eggs for his grandchildren.

He had not expected that the spoiled, vain Rhaenyra Targaryen would successfully lead the charge on the Stepstones. 

He had not expected Corlys Velaryon would allow his daughter of five-and-ten - not to mention his prized mare to trade for more power, and there was nothing that upstart sailor wanted more than power - to go to war.

He had not expected Rhaenys Targaryen and her son would protect the Stormlands.

He had certainly not expected Aemma Arryn to kill his thieves and send back their severed hands directly to him. 

When the wretched girl that used to drag his daughter away from their lessons turned up at Aegon’s nameday hunt and said that not only would Dragonstone be fighting against the Triarchy, but that she would be at the front of her men, he had actually been happy. Rhaenyra would get painted as a barbaric and violent woman playing at war, and when she indubitably failed, it would leave Dragonstone without a Lady and ripe for the taking. The succession she had established beforehand would have to be dealt with too, but fortunately, the main two inheritors were also going to war and all it took was a good shot to take down a dragonrider.

All Otto would have to do was to wait and allow things to settle into place.

Only nothing went the way it was supposed to.

The Targaryens emerged victorious and alive, that blasted girl would be remembered as an efficient leader and was now being hailed as a war hero, and there were still no dragons for his grandson to claim. His attempt to get more dragon eggs was thwarted by that barren falcon and he still could not get the image of the severed hands in a box out of his head - nor be at ease now that he knew how easy it was for them to infiltrate the Red Keep and sneak all the way to the Tower of the Hand without anyone noticing. Even when residing in their little islands, they still had allies in King's Landing, sneaky ones. 

Viserys also had to make a scandal and send an armada to aid his daughter - and Otto still burned with rage when he recalled how he had called the Princess who ignored him “his only child”, as if he didn’t have a perfectly good and healthy male heir and now another daughter that he could pamper - only for them to arrive late and be herded back to King’s Landing like errant cattle. The Triarchy was defeated, all the dragonriders were alive, the pirate loot would head to Dragonstone and Driftmark and away from the Crown, and the victory of the Targaryens of Dragonstone made the King look like a pathetic worm. Not only that, but the dragons had aided the Stormlands too, which meant one potential problem for Aegon’s rule if they ever needed the armies of the Stormlands and they decided to pay back Viserys’ inaction in kind.

After court was dismissed and the wild princess all but forced a scared Mellos to follow her, Otto escorted his daughter back to her chambers and shut the door behind them. Hard. 

Alicent looked at her father with wide eyes, confusion and shame clear in her face. The wild princess reminding everyone the embarrassing circumstances that led to her becoming Queen made the young queen's skin crawl, but she was more concerned about her father's explosive reaction. "Father? Is it really that bad? It is just a title-"  
“For now. It could also be the perfect steppingstone for that blasted girl to increase her power even more. Viserys refused to defend his territory and she reclaimed it from the Triarchy - no one is going to contest her now.” Otto seethed. “Nothing to be done about that. At least her lack of marriage or courtships can play out in our favor. That fool Lannister will be too insulted to ask again, but others should be able to rise to the occasion - someone that understands the natural order of things and can bring her to heel." 

Alicent scoffs in an unqueenly manner. Rhaenyra would sooner feed whatever poor man her father sent to her dragon than play by the rules the rest of them mortals have been forced to followed. Her former friend has always idolized Princess Alyssa for rejecting marriage and doing whatever she pleased and Prince Daemon for his sharp tongue and lack of decorum - and now that Rhaenyra was allowed to essentially run wild and take control of her life, Alicent doubted that even the Mother in the flesh could put her in the correct path.

No, Rhaenyra would do whatever she pleased and everyone else would have to deal with the fallout.

—

Alyssa’s chambers had largely been left untouched ever since her first escape. 

Technically, it fell under the Queen Consort’s purview to dictate the living spaces of Maegor’s Holdfast, but Alicent Hightower either didn’t know or didn’t care to have the rooms repurposed for someone else - something that pleased Alyssa greatly, as she found the room clean but unchanged. If she moved some stones, she would probably still find her back-up knives hidden in some nooks and crannies. 

After sending her messages and taking a much-needed bath, Alyssa found two maids laying out a shift and a dress that she doesn’t recognize as having left behind in the keep. “What is this?” She asked, startling the girls into facing her and curtsying. 
“Your highness, the Queen offered to lend you this gown to wear to dinner.” 
“Alicent shouldn’t have bothered, I will take dinner alone in my rooms - I have no desire to deal with my brother’s weeping or Otto’s scheming.” The wild princess said and dismissed them with a wave. “You may take it away and thank the Queen for her kindness, but I will have to decline. I will, however, ask that my clothes be laundered and ready to be worn again by tomorrow morning if possible. Oh - and send Lord Caswell to me, if you could. That will be all, thank you.” 

The maids bowed and scurried away, taking away the dress with them but leaving the shift and hairbrush. 

The castellan was one of the few staff members around the Holdfast that Alyssa could remember from years past that was still working in the Red Keep, so which was why she had called on him for this endeavor. She would rather not have to trust her food and drink to anyone in Otto Hightower's payroll. 

...

The next morning, Alyssa was very purposeful in going to the training yard while most of the castle inhabitants were still breaking their fast. 

She had woken up right before dawn broke, restless and ill at ease in a Keep that may belong to her family but was now crawling with more snakes than usual. It curdled in her stomach and hit her with nausea and Alyssa would have suspected poison if she hadn't asked Lord Caswell to taste the soup and wine in front of her last night. It seemed like Alyssa would have to thank Aemma for her work with the Smallfolk while she was Queen too, because she did not recall the city smelling this bad when Aemma Arryn or even Alysanne were responsible for the fountains. Was the rot of the court now manifesting itself physically now that the snakes were going about unchecked? 

"Princess Alyssa." A familiar voice said and Alyssa turned around to find Alicent Hightower and a knight of the Kingsguard she did not recognize standing at the edge of the courtyard.

She had not been paying attention to Alicent in the Throne Room yesterday, but now that she was standing in front of her, Alyssa could see that the young woman looked tired, with dark bags under her eyes and slouched shoulders that Queen Alysanne would have slapped her for if she was still alive, and looking out of sorts in a deep red gown that should have denoted her station but instead made her look like a little girl playing dress-up. Which she is, in a way. It would appear being Queen to Viserys sucked the life and vitality of whoever was forced to endure him.

"Alicent." Alyssa said back and then looked to the knight. He looked Dornish, which was odd, considering their peaceful but cold relations with the Crown - Targaryens of Dragonstone notwithstanding, of course. A Dornish knight making it into the Kingsguard sounded like something Llewyn would have mentioned in his letters. "You must be Ser Ryam's replacement, Ser-" 
"Criston Cole, your highness." The knight bowed to her. "I was the one to defeat Prince Daemon in the Heir's Tournament." 
"Ah, yes, I'm afraid I missed that tourney. I was too busy committing treason by preventing the King from cutting the Queen open like a fish." She said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. It was very petty of her, but she would hold that over Viserys' head until they were both in Balerion's realm - and even then, she would continue to torture him for the rest of eternity, hopefully with the help of their parents.  

Both the Queen and the knight did not know how to answer that, Alicent flushing deep red at the reminder of her predecessor's trials and Cole looking at the ground like he wanted to disappear. 

Delighting in their awkwardness for a second longer, Alyssa sheathed her blade and clasped her hands behind her back. "Was there something you wanted, Alicent?" 
The young queen cleared her throat and attempted to stand taller. "I would ask that you impress on Rhaenyra the importance of doing her duty. Her behavior with Jason Lannister reflects poorly on all of us." Alicent said, her face souring as if she had sucked on a lemon. "She has come of age and is expected to marry." 
Alyssa tilted her head at the girl and huffed. "I see - is that your own thought or your cunt of a father's?" 
If possible, Alicent's face matched the red of her dress. "I am capable of thinking for myself!" She stomped her foot in a manner most unbecoming of a woman that has borne children but expected of a girl her age. 
"If you say so." The wild princess shrugged. "Interesting that you did not deny that your father is a cunt, but it does reassure me that you are somewhat aware of his true nature." 
A storm of emotions raged clearly on Alicent's visage, like she wanted to answer the insults but could not find the proper words. What would she say, anyway? That he wasn't one? Even Alicent could not argue against such a cold, hard truth, even if she could try to appeal to what she believed were his positive qualities. "Will you speak to Rhaenyra?" 
"Oh, absolutely not. My niece has carried out her duties as Lady of Dragonstone to perfection and Jason Lannister offered no advantage that would compel her to accept a marriage alliance - not to mention that he, like most lords, is also a prick that deserved to be taken down a few pegs." Alyssa lectured the young queen. 

A large figure blocked out the sun and the queen and the knight looked up to see the Cannibal circling overhead, having just returned from hunting down its own breakfast. Ser Criston had watched the large beasts flying overhead during the Heir's Tournament and seen Princess Rhaenyra's dragon up close during the hunt, but he felt a chill going down his spine at the giant black dragon that was now right above them and could be commanded to burn them to a crisp with a just a word (or less, if stories about Princess Alyssa and Prince Daemon's bond with their dragons were true and not even spoken words were needed for them to pounce.)

"Ah, it looks like my darling has finally finished its meal." Alyssa said with a smirk towards the dragon before turning back to her goodsister. "A gentle reminder, Alicent. You may be miserable in your marriage like every other highborn woman in this kingdom, but I will remind you that I offered you the chance to live another life and you refused. You do not get to take out your bitterness on my niece or anyone else because you regret your own choices."

With that, Alyssa Targaryen turned on her heel and headed right to the stables, eager to get out of this snake's pit. 

Bloodstone - The Stepstones 

Varian blandished a pair of sharp scissors and pointed them at Daemon Targaryen. “You’re next.” 

Daemon’s hair had become so tangled at the ends with all the blood and flesh and ash that it would be a complete waste of time to even attempt to untangle it. It was a common problem among soldiers who went into battle with only half their hair pulled back, leaving the rest free and thus getting tangled and matted during the battle. Not to mention that hair products were rarely carried by Westerosi soldiers and hair care was not a priority when it came to war camps and soldier’s upkeep. 

Lyna and some other healers had had to shorn a few soldiers’ hair completely to be able to treat cuts on their heads, and those who kept their hair like Daemon had to cut off the ends too. Others like Roqo, the one with the longest hair among them and kept in an oiled and neat braid, were able to avoid such a fate - which is why the Dothraki man was carefully brushing his waist-length hair with oil and adding a set of bells to the new braid he had earned for winning this battle… as well as watching the darilaros’ brother pout at the scissors with an amused smirk on his face. 

They were in Marcus’ set tent, where Varian, Roqo and Lyna also slept during their breaks. Lyna had been offered a place in a tent with the healers from Dragonstone but had refused and bunked with her housemates instead - she was currently sleeping in a cot in the corner and hidden from sight by Roqo’s giant figure. The men were chatting idly and Varian had started to fuss with his hair, complaining about the lack of good hair products in Westeros, and had pointed out Daemon’s tangles while he trimmed his own beard.

Daemon Targaryen, not usually one to let vanity get in the way of practicality but still very much attached to his silver mane, pouted at the ends of his hair. “There really isn’t a way for you to save my hair?” 
Varian snorted as he swiped the scissors clean on a wet cloth. “That blood has been sitting there for two days, prince - even if we manage to wash away the blood and get it untangled, your hair might as well be pink at this point.” He hummed pensively at his own idea and tilted his head. “That would not look bad actually.”
“Fucking Tyroshi.” Daemon groaned and rolled his eyes along with entire head. “Fine, you may cut my hair. But if you mess up even once-“
“Don’t worry, Daemon.” Marcus said as he filled a cup with some Volantene drink and handed it to his goodbrother. “The only thing Varian is better at than cutting heads, is cutting hair.”
“If you’re lying to me, I will cut off the Tyroshi’s head and then send your balls to my sister, Maegyr.” Daemon took a big gulp of the drink and sat up straight, squaring his shoulders. “You may begin.” 

To the colorful man's credit, he was not a terrible barber. He first chopped off the irreparable part of his hair and then guided Daemon to lean back over a basin of warm water to completely wet his hair, something that was apparently very important in achieving a good cut, and then propped the small mirror against Roqo’s stomach, which earned him a glare that the Tyroshi ignored, so that Daemon could see the process. Only then did Varian start to work earnestly. 

Daemon, pouted as he saw his hair get shorter and shorter. "I can't even recall the last time my hair was this short." 
Varian smirked as he picked up another chunk and snipped at the ends. "Worry not, Prince, I am sure all the maidens will still be fawning over you." He glanced at Daemon's eyes suddenly looking to the side and grinned. "Is there a particular maiden you are worried won't like your new hair?"
"There is, the darilaros had that same look when she tried to hide her feelings about Marcus." Lyna suddenly said, making them look to her corner, where she was now awake and propped up on her elbows. 
"I thought you were asleep, healer." Daemon shot back. 
"I was, but your threats woke me up." The healer said with a roll of her eyes. "And I know what I am talking about. I was the one that had to hear when Alyssa called you a 'prick with pretty hair'." She added, directing the last part to Marcus Maegyr. 
The man bashfully ran his fingers through his locks and smiled like an idiot. "She does like my hair..." 

Daemon groaned once again. "I swear to the Fourteen, I will grab those scissors and stab myself in the throat."  

Chapter Text

Dragonstone

Rhaenyra, Aemma and the eldest ladies-in-waiting all gathered in the Chamber of the Painted Table, ready to discuss their own future battles: marriages. 

The laides gathered their best prospects and the letters that had arrived asking for their hands and stood on the side of the table where their region was, special figures with their house's banners lying on the map to illustrate their families' holdings. 

"You truly have no objections to Jason Lannister as a match?" Rhaenyra asked Johanna. "I do not want you to feel as though you owe it to me to put up with that brute."
Johanna shrugged her shoulders. "I would prefer a man who likes to read poetry and doesn't consider himself a golden lion, but this is too good an opportunity to pass up." She said, cold in her logical approach to marriage. "It would make me the head of the Lannister household and put several key players in the Westernlands directly under me, and I can find contentment in working to improve Casterly Rock and its people, just like we've done here." 
"Very well." The princess conceded to her lady's conviction. She grabbed the figure with the three shells of House Westerling and placed it on Casterly Rock. "But I want at least two loyal servants going with you to Casterly Rock, consider it my wedding gift. They will answer only to you and make sure your messages can get in and out of the castle, as well as look after you. If Jason Lannister or his maesters ever think of sacrificing you for a babe, I will turn Casterly Rock into a second Harrenhal."

Aemma looks at her stubborn daughter and knows that it is not an empty threat - the ladies understand so too. The sight of the bed of blood and an unconscious Aemma still haunted Rhaenyra's dreams, women everywhere spoke in fear of what King Viserys had attempted to do with the Queen, and despite most rational people condemning the act as barbaric and cruel, they all knew men would sink to desperate lows in search for a son to secure their legacy. It's part of the reason she herself had insisted on founding the House of Healing so that there would be more trained midwives to assist more women in the childbed - after all, it was only because of Lyna, Alyssa's healer, and a group of midwives from Volantis that Aemma was able to be delivered of a breech baby. And unlike the maesters, most midwives would not sacrifice the mother for the sake of a child. 

"The same goes to all of you, my ladies," Rhaenyra continued, pulling Aemma out of her thoughts. "I would prefer it if you all talked to the midwives at the Healing House and sought to incorporate at least one of them into your new home as an official healer or in disguise if need be. You have all proven yourselves to be competent, loyal and determined ladies, not to mention dear friends to me in these past three years. It would hurt me dearly to receive news of your passing because of men's negligence and incompetence, and I would return that hurt tenfold on those who caused it." 

A solemn silence washed over them as the sincerity rang through their hearts. Some of the young ladies smiled, others nodded in acknowledgement, more than one sighed in newfound relief.

"Speaking of Harrenhal," Catelyn Strong with a light cough said to cut through the tension. "Our brother Harwin is still unmarried, but our father will want him to settle down soon and make some progress in rebuilding the keep. Any gold from a dowry will be put towards repairs so you don't sleep on damp stone, we keep to the Old Gods, and our brother is very respectful and patient-" 
"Not to mention tall and dreamy." Vera Sunglass swooned, making the ladies erupt into a fit of giggles and Lady Aemma look at them with an amused smile. Many of them had seen him compete in the Heir's Tournament and more than one had stared up (and up and up) at his easy smile and kind eyes when he rode by.
Rosaline Strong rolled her eyes at the way they were acting over a man. "Yes yes, he is very nice - which one of you is willing to marry him?" 
"Approximately how much gold would be needed to fix up the keep?" Melissa Beesbury asked, thinking about materials and labor costs. 
"Lots of it. Lots of it." Catelyn repeated for emphasis and the ladies from wealthier houses exchanged looks. A large dowry seemed like a small price to pay for a kind and gentle husband, especially one so pretty. No doubt lots of letters to fathers would be written in the morning. 
"Maybe write to your brother first, see what he would like in a match?" Aemma reminded the sisters and put a stop to any wild daydreams from the other ladies. "Do not let a handsome face distract you from his other features, young ladies. Judge with your minds, not with your eyes." 

No figurines were moved to Harrenhal, but the ladies from the Riverlands continued to offer their insights on the different available lords and their advantages and disadvantages. The Riverlands were known to be pretty fractured and though none quite reached the point of the Blackwood-Bracken feud, there were still skirmishes and petty fights that have resulted in more trouble than anyone wanted. Aemma had suggested inviting a lady from House Blackwood and a lady from House Bracken to serve together on Dragonstone, hoping that living and working together would invite cooperation that would hopefully resonate to the other members of their houses, but their ladies were not old enough to take on as ladies-in-waiting, so that would have to wait.

"It should not even be our problem to fix." Vaegon had scoffed as Aemma proposed the idea to Rhaenyra at breakfast. 
The Princess of Dragonstone narrowed her eyes at the maester. "And since when is this our problem, Great Uncle Vaegon?" 
"I intend to stay here, and I don't need feuding young ladies getting into fights anywhere my books or experiments could be harmed."
Rhaella tastefully cleared her throat and also glared at the man. "We should also seek to create a nurturing environment for everyone living in this castle, which would be difficult with two of its inhabitants at such odds with each other. They would have to be under continued supervision when together or else completely kept apart. It would not be impossible, but I cannot imagine it would be pleasant for anyone involved." 
Aemma sighed and set down her cup of tea. "Vaegon is in the right. The Blackwood-Bracken feud is the responsibility of Lord Tully as Lord Paramount and if he cannot solve it on his own, then the responsibility falls to the King to keep the peace." 
The Targaryens said nothing, only slouching wearily - Vaegon and Rhaella had heard of Viserys' "pacifist" nature, but now that they were on Dragonstone they saw firsthand what his "solutions" actually caused. The Stepstones were just the latest in a long history of inaction. Vaegon rolled his eyes. "... so the feud will continue until both houses are burned to the ground. That will be fun to watch." 

Leaving the mess of the Riverlands for another day, they continued on to the Stormlands, letting Maris Baratheon start the conversation as the daughter of its liege lord. The girl's blue eyes were heavy as she decided to start with the possible discord that was brewing in the Stormlands due to the birth of her youngest sister, who was not the desired son Borros Baratheon, heir to the Lord Paramount, was expecting.

"Grandsire and Cassandra wrote. Mother's family is already threatening to take up arms against the Baratheons and whatever future lady if she is set aside, and the lords so far are not very willing to propose their daughters as a second bride that has no guarantee of bearing a son either. Grandsire is pushing for Cassandra to be made heir and is already looking to her education." Maris informed them, placing three black stags on Storm's End. "That means Cassandra will have to marry a Stormlands lord to keep the support of our bannermen, but Ellyn and I can still use our hands for outside alliances."
Rhaenyra looked to the lower part of the map, where the Stormlands' oldest rival was pictured. "I'd suggest a Dornish house to push for peace, but it would have to be strategic. It can't be the Martells, but it has to be a respected house, with a good reputation and something that can be traded with the Stormlands, and one with enough credit on its own so the marriage isn't seen as overreach." Unlike the Hightowers, was a common thought that they all shared but none said out loud. "We could also write to the Princess of Dorne, suggest the idea of a marriage as well as possible wards. A Stormlands bride for Dorne, a Dornish squire for the Stormlands." 
Maris cupped her chin as she thought. "It has merit, but it has not been that long since the last battle in the Dornish marshes and tensions are still high. I will bring it forth to my grandsire and see what he thinks." One stag remained in Storm's End and the other two were slightly moved further away, ready to be picked up and moved. 
"And your father?" Aemma questioned. "I take it he is not happy about this." 
"He is stomping and storming about not having a son, so Grandsire is keeping watch on him - if only to make sure he doesn't sire a bastard son and then attempt to legitimize him and seize Storm's End." 
"Maybe it would be wise to send a message to Rhaenys. Her support of Cassandra would go a long way to discourage any rash action from Borros... as would having a dragon around to remind him of what consequences could befall him if he tries anything." Rhaenyra suggested.
Maris blanched. Despite her disappointment at her father, she never thought to actually have him killed. "Are you suggesting Princess Rhaenys resort to kinslaying, Princess?" 
"Of course not." She corrected herself but then waved it off. "I was suggesting Meleys breathe some fire over him, maybe burn his beard and hair a bit. Hopefully, coming so close to a dragon's maw will be enough to... knock some traitorous ideas out of his head." 

Maris breathed a little easier and nodded seriously. She didn't want her father to be killed, but she could see they may not have a choice in the future. He wanted a son as much as the King had, and had pushed her mother well past what was recommended by the maester in an attempt to get one, and now the King had set a precedent by annulling his marriage to the Queen over the lack of a male heir... they all knew it was only a matter of time before her mother was deemed barren and Borros Baratheon called for an annulment. Her grandsire could imprison him in their home for the rest of his life, but they didn't have any guarantees that other lords would not pounce on Borros once Boremund passed, freeing him and restoring him as "rightful heir to the Stormlands" - not without proper support for Cassandra as heir. 

"As much as we all enjoy plotting murder... what about you, your highness?" Wylla Manderly asked. "There have been many letters asking for your hand, and we've all watched you throw them into the fire - not that they don't deserve it, some of them were truly terrible." The ladies, including Rhaenyra, had taken to reading their marriage proposals out loud after dinner, oftentimes acting out the magnanimous offers in funny accents and making fun of the way the men talked about themselves. It was a nice way to wind down after long days and it also let them know how many truly sent the exact same letter to different ladies, hoping at least one of them would bite - as if they were fishes and the suitor a desperate fisherman. "But we could help you select possible matches from our homelands."
"My case is... complicated." Rhaenyra sighed, picking up the lone dragon figurine on Dragonstone, painted gold to resemble her lady Syrax. "As a ruling lady, I need someone who is competent enough to lead but not too ambitious to want to overrule me as Lady Paramount; someone who won't feel snubbed by our children carrying my last name so Dragonstone would remain in Targaryen hands. I need someone I can trust and work with, who will listen to me and support me as a ruling lady and do not override my orders or disrespect me in public. And of course, them having Targaryen or any Valyrian blood would be preferable to keep more dragonblood in my line." She finished listing off the qualities in her ideal husband and set the Syrax figure back on Dragonstone, alone.

"What about Laenor Velaryon? He is a dragonrider, the son of a Targaryen princess, and I heard he was knighted for his efforts in the Stormlands." Celaena Celtigar offered.
"He is also the heir to House Velaryon, which means he would be expected to spend at least some time at his seat, which brings up more issues: who takes priority? Would I be expected to be Lady of Driftmark too? Be a ruling lady here and a consort in the other? How would I split my time between each keep, how often would we truly spend together as husband and wife? If I can only give birth to one child, which house do they inherit? I gave the same reasons to Jason Lannister when I rejected his suit, which was the kinder option for him." The princess added, showing just how much thought she had put into the matter. "Corlys already proposed this match to us when I was first named Lady Paramount and I rejected him immediately then. He has tried to push for it twice more but I refused again. I have spoken privately to Laenor and he is not too happy with his father's schemes to hoard power to his house and agrees that marrying me would be an unwise decision." She turns to her ladies. "Laenor is a good person and a considerate friend, so I have no doubt that any woman who marries him will not suffer him - but he does, however, have the shadows of his renowned parents bearing over him and I can't imagine having Corlys Velaryon as a goodfather would be pleasant for anyone." 
"Rhaenyra-" Aemma said as a warning. They'd had conversations about insulting their bannermen before - both behind their backs and to their faces. It would not do to speak so lowly of those who are meant to follow you.
"He is another Otto Hightower, but with a fleet and Valyrian blood. I will say as much to his face." Rhaenyra stated with a pointed finger, sounding very much like her aunt Alyssa in that moment. "He was already suggesting Laena as your replacement when she was a girl barely flowered and you had just risen from near death." 

Sabitha Vypren snorted, sounding more insulted than amused. "All in favor of just killing all the troublesome men and starting a matriarchal society say aye." She joked - though not really - and had almost all the ladies raising their hands in response, including Rhaenyra. 
Aemma sighed once more and pinched the bridge of her nose. "We cannot solve all our problems with murder, ladies - that is beneath us. We shall continue this discussion at a later date - for now, you all have other tasks to be doing. I shall see you at supper." 

The ladies curtsied to the princess and her lady mother and walked out of the hall, a few of them muttering plans about who to get rid of first - in jest, of course - and proposing embarrassing deaths they could suffer. Aemma Arryn was left alone with her daughter, who was still riled up and with her shoulders tight as if about to pounce on someone. 

"Sweetling-" Aemma tries to say as she reaches for her arms but is interrupted by Rhaenyra flinching away.
"I hate this." Rhaenyra said and pulled on the hair at her temples. "The suitors, the alliances, the talks of dowries and heirs. I swear to the Fourteen - I will go back to burning pirates on the Stepstones before having to read another letter from a pompous lord asking for my hand." 
"I know, little dragon, but it is not something you can avoid. Even your Ñamar Alyssa had to contend with suitors while in Volantis."
"But she got to scare them away with her dragon, and I can't do that because we have to keep good relations with the rest of the kingdom for the sake of our trade."
Her shoulders slouched tiredly and Aemma finally got to hug her, pressing a kiss to her hair. "Tell you what - how about we go flying for a little bit? I'm sure Dreamfyre would love to see how agile Syrax has become." 

Grateful for any chance to soar through the skies and not talk about betrothals, Rhaenyra readily agreed.

Bloodstone - The Stepstones

Daemon ran a hand through his shortened hair - he would never admit it directly, but the Tyroshi made a good job of cutting it at just the right length so that it would complement his features, so he would find something expensive to give the man later - and observed the Velaryon sailors unloading building materials and the Volantene architect and Braavosi engineer looking over the plans for the first fortress. 

His holdings. Daemon Targaryen, a second son with no lands and no keep, was now Lord of the Stepstones. 

He would have a fortress to run. A garrison to manage. Soldiers to train. Defenses to maintain. 

He had been essentially drifting since he was six-and-ten, forever jumping between different places when he found himself exiled or overstaying his welcome. Viserys exiled him over whatever slight he perceived, Alyssa's manse could not accommodate two grown dragons, the Bronze Bitch's keep was out of the question, even Prince Reggio's hospitality got incredibly suffocating over time. But now ... now he had his own keep. A place to call his own, where he would not be forced out or ordered away because he was in charge.

It had been a couple of days since Rhaenyra returned to Dragonstone, but Daemon could not help but feel a gaping hole in his life and chest every morning that he exited his tent and did not see her in the camp. He could not remember the last time he felt like this, constantly plagued by thoughts of Rhaenyra and her safety, her comfort, her embraces, her soft hair and her pink pouty lips- 

"Are you alright, valonqar?" A teasing but sincere voice asked behind him, and he turned around to see his goodbrother, Marcus Maegyr, approaching with the Dothraki. 
"I am older than you, Maegyr," was the first thing that came out of the Prince's mouth. "And I am perfectly well, I was just lost in thought." 
Marcus hums like he doesn't believe him. "So you are not thinking about that maiden you were sighing about yesterday?"

Daemon had a few ideas to make Marcus sigh in pain but decided he would rather not risk Alyssa's fury and wisely held his tongue.

His goodbrother took his silence as being correct. "May I give you some advice?" 
"I don't think I can trust the advice from the man who willingly married my sister - that shows you have poor judgement." 
Marcus shrugged the insult off and went ahead anyway. "I would have wallowed in my longing for Alyssa for the rest of my life, just so she would not feel pressured to return my affections. If it hadn't been for us meeting in Braavos and having to deal with a Sorrowful Man, I don't think either of us would have made the first step." He turned to look at Daemon. "But at least I had the certainty that I would not have to watch the woman I loved marry another. You do not have that luxury, valonqar, and neither does Princess Rhaenyra." 

That Marcus Maegyr, a man who Daemon has spoken with no more than ten times in his life, could figure him out so quickly made something in Daemon shatter with anxiety and anger. His cheeks flushed red. "I do not know what you speak of." 
It was the Dothraki's turn to huff in laughter, which once again made Daemon curse Alyssa for collecting the most obnoxious people in the world for her household, and pointed between Daemon and Marcus. "Mooning like cow in birth, just like you." Roqo had gotten much better at High Valyrian, but he still preferred to only speak when necessary and what was necessary. 
"Apparently, I had the exact same face when we were sailing to King's Landing to "rescue" Alyssa from your brother." Marcus explained with a light blush at the memories. "They are right, it truly did feel like I couldn't breathe if she wasn't there."

Daemon cannot open his mouth to reply. All he can think about is the fact that Marcus Maegyr is right. Rhaenyra doesn't have the luxury of remaining unmarried and without direct heirs. The only other ruling lady, Jeyne Arryn, had an heir in a younger cousin, but Rhaenyra had designated him and Alyssa as heirs before going to fight in the Stepstones and right now none of them had any children that could inherit Dragonstone if something happened. The only young Targaryens were Viserys' spawns with the Hightower chit and Daemon would much sooner destroy his family's keep and kill all the dragons than allow Otto Hightower's blood anywhere near the island and the heirlooms, a sentiment Rhaenyra shares (if only without his standard intensity).

Rhaenyra would have to wed and have at least one child to inherit, and the thought of seeing his beloved niece cloaked in another man's colors, kissing another man's lips, lying under another man while he- 

No. It was too painful to consider. Rhaenyra deserved the moon and all the stars in the sky - she deserved a husband who would not seek to douse out her fire but burn with her, two suns shining bright. Daemon would give her that, if she asked. He would figure out a way to capture a falling star and gift it to her; he would slay their enemies so she could live and rule in peace; he would keep her safe from those who would harm her; he would give her children and hire the best healers and midwives in the Known World and hand-feed her lemon cakes and stay by her side so she would not be afraid of dying like her mother almost did. 

A new image conjured himself in his mind, picturing Rhaenyra sitting up on her bed, silver hair unbound and an angelic smile on her face as she cradled a small bundle against her chest and sang a Valyrian lullaby to them. She looked up and beamed at him. "Come, husband, your child would love to see you." 

Fuck. 

Daemon didn't know how much time passed where he was standing still as a statue, but suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder and the Volantene was alone, the Dothraki gone and the rest of the remaining company loitering further away in the soldiers' camp.

"I can supervise the builders and architects if you'd like. Alyssa should be back soon with the Cannibal to patrol the waters." Marcus offered. 
Daemon jilted into awareness and grasped Marcus' shoulders with both hands. "You are my favorite goodbrother." 
"I am your only goodbrother?" He frowned but before he could get an explanation, Daemon was rushing towards his red dragon, leaving Marcus alone to look at the sky in hopes that his wife would be back soon. 

He had so much to tell her. 

Dragonstone

Aemma Arryn was surprised to hear the telltale shriek of the Blood Wyrm, announcing Daemon's return. 

He was supposed to remain in the Stepstones for at least a moonturn, and she couldn't help but feel apprehensive and a little scared of what could have possibly compelled him to return to Dragonstone so early.

Aemma looked to Johanna Swann, who had recovered completely and slowly speaking up more, even smiling sometimes at meals with the other ladies. She was currently working as Aemma's assistant - now that she was a lady and not a Queen, it would be odd for her to have ladies-in-waiting - as a way to pay for her upkeep, even though both Aemma and Rhaenyra had vehemently refused that term and insisted they were more than happy and willing to accomodate her as a guest. "It is not to reject your generosity, but I want to feel normal and useful again - not like a recovering victim," the young lady had said and that was all it took to convince Aemma to grant her a place in her smaller, quieter household, helping her with missives and reports. 

"Johanna, you are free to retire once you finish those letters - I will go greet my cousin." Aemma stated and didn't wait for the girl to nod before she was rushing out of her solar and down the hall, Ser Luthor's heavy steps echoing behind her. She didn't even bother to get a maid to find Rhaenyra - she knew her daughter well enough to know she would drop whatever she was doing and run to greet her uncle.

She finds Daemon in the underground entrance of the Dragonmont, just as he is descending from Caraxes. Once he sees her, he is in such a hurry to get down from the saddle that his foot catches on the last rope ladder and he nearly smashes his face on the ground, barely managing to stop damaging his beloved face with his hands. 

Whatever it was that had the great Daemon Targaryen in such a state, it terrified Aemma. "Daemon! Are you alright?! What has happened?!" She said as she hurried to reach him, getting to him just as he got on his knees. She was about to call for assistance when Daemon waved everyone off and asked them to leave.
"Go, I need to have a conversation with my cousin." Daemon reassured them as he stood up, showing them that he was perfectly alright. Both Ser Luthor and the few dragonkeepers that were helping herd Caraxes obeyed him immediately and left in different directions. 
"Daemon... what is it?" 

Daemon Targaryen took a deep breath and bowed before Aemma. "Lady Aemma Arryn... I would like your blessing to court your daughter, the Princess Rhaenyra."

Chapter Text

Dragonstone 

"... I would like your blessing to marry your daughter, the Princess Rhaenyra."

Aemma blinked at Daemon, struggling to comprehend the words that had just come out of his mouth. "What did you say?" 

Daemon, who had bowed his head in respect, lifted his pleading gaze to her. "I am asking for your permission to court Rhaenyra. To prove myself worthy of becoming her husband." 

Aemma Arryn flinched as the full wright of those words hit her. It was one thing for suitors to send letters waxing about their lands and power, another for them to show up to their petition days and peacock in front of the obsidian throne, and another beast entirely for Daemon Targaryen - the feared warrior, the head of their security, the adoring uncle - to stand there and ask for the chance to court Rhaenyra. 

It sounded impossible. Almost ridiculous. 

Daemon took her silence as hesitation, so he reached for one of her hands. "I've been thinking about the future - of this island, of the Stepstones, of this family- about the challenges Rhaenyra faces now and will continue to face as a ruling lady. If she took me on as a husband, there would be no more letters and visiting lords trying to impose themselves on her; I would lead her armies, protect her claim, defend her judgement to both allies and enemies. I would not force myself on her if she was unwilling, and I would never force her to bear children before she was ready to do so and her body healthy enough to endure it. No price would be too high for me to pay to see her happy and safe." 

Aemma stood silently, blue eyes looking into dark purple ones to find any hint of dishonesty or insincerity... and found none. This was the most vulnerable Aemma had ever seen Daemon in twenty years of knowing him. The closest she had seen him to this was when Baelon suffered from a ruptured belly and died less than week later. She'd been too weak to accompany the hunting party and had stayed behind in the Red Keep, only to watch with concern and trepidation as they returned earlier than planned, with maesters yelling for that herb and that treatment and Viserys looking pale, his eyes red and swollen from crying as he described how his father had suddenly collapsed and they thought he might not have long. Daemon had slunk in after his older brother, shoulders slumped and looking defeated but not yet to the point of tears. 

It wasn't until they were gathered together with the rest of their family - if that pitiful combination of Jaehaerys, Viserys, Rhaenys, Corlys, Daemon and herself could be called that - and the Grand Maester proclaimed that Prince Baelon would not be able to recover that something in Daemon broke. Like he had just now considered the possibility of his father dying. Before his eyes could even fog with tears, he announced he was going to fetch Alyssa from Volantis and left, disregarding any attempts from Viserys at calling him back. Aemma could imagine that he had waited until he was alone with Caraxes to allow the tears to fall, or perhaps even until he was up in the air and he could scream and sob without being heard. 

Daemon Targaryen - the Rogue Prince, the wielder of Dark Sister, the perfect image of a cutthroat warrior - was bearing part of his heart. 

And he had done so to ask to court Rhaenyra. 

Not marry directly, like all the other suitors had said in their letters and visits. Just court, to talk about the possibility of a future together and what that could look like. Aemma had watched as her ladies-in-waiting back at King's Landing, the ones whose parents entrusted the finding of a husband to the Queen, walking around the gardens arm-in-arm with a suitor, another lady or Septa walking closely behind as they talked. Sometimes they'd sit near her preferred spot in Gael's garden and she would overhear their conversations. Even the most callous, duty-driven lords at least made the effort to find common ground with the lady they were courting - though there were also those that talked over the lady or didn't bother to resist looking down a passing maid's bosom. It was perfectly acceptable to cease a courtship in the match proved unsuitable and there wouldn't be the dishonor and suspicion cast upon broken betrothals. 

Aemma, who had grown up with her Arryn family in the Vale, had never quite grasped the shift that most Targaryens' feelings did when it came to their family and their tendencies to marry each other. Cousin marriages were accepted by even the Seven and the Old Gods, but she failed to see how one could grow up among many siblings and grow romantic feelings for any of them - the same went for nephew and niece like with Prince Aemon and Lady Jocelyn (though she assumed being of similar ages played a part); and the other combinations throughout Targaryen history.

Had Daemon always looked to Rhaenyra as a possible bride? Were the care and attention he has shown her since her birth the product of familial love or the romantic kind? If he had always looked to Rhaenyra as a just a niece, what changed? Why now?

The thought exercise was making her dizzy and Daemon now looked actually ready to cry, so she pushed them away and squeezed back his hand, stepping closer to him. "You have always been Rhaenyra's most stalwart ally, so I would grant you permission to court her with some conditions." 
Daemon's face lit up and he nodded sharply. "Anything." 
"Firstly: you may ask Rhaenyra, but she is free to refuse you. If she does, you will continue to be civil and obedient as is required from you as her vassal and will not turnover your cloak just because you got denied. Am I clear?" 
"Of course." 
"Good. Secondly: if Rhaenyra agrees and you are truly serious about becoming her husband, you will be watched at all time by Rhaenyra's ladies and myself to observe your behavior. If I so much as suspect you are only doing this claim more power or take control of Dragonstone, I will have Ser Harrold cut you into little pieces and leave your body to the pigs. Is that understood?" She made a point to mention it would be his mentor and Rhaenyra's knight who would be doing the killing and that he would be left to the pigs like a common farmer instead of burned in dragonfire like a Targaryen prince.
"Perfectly." 
"Excellent. Now, last and most importantly." Aemma stepped even closer, so that she could glare directly at Daemon as she spoke. "Your vows of faithfulness start now. You will not visit the brothel or have a whore brought to the castle; you will not look at another lady, maid or peasant; and you will do as such for as long as the courtship lasts for the very least. If Rhaenyra agrees to take you as her husband, then she will be the only person in your bed and you will not stray from it. Again, if I hear even a rumor of you taking a mistress or a whore, I will not ever bother with a knight - I will gut you myself and have Dreamfyre use your body to pick her teeth. Do you swear to be faithful to my daughter, Daemon Targaryen?" 

Daemon bowed his head again, this time with a fist over his heart like a knight's bow. "I solemnly swear to remain faithful to my sworn liege, regardless of her final decision."

Aemma Arryn nodded and accepted the oath. 

Just in time to hear the heavy doors to the keep opening, the whining of the hinges echoing through the cavernous dragon entrance. 

Bloodstone - The Stepstones 

Alyssa Targaryen landed in the Stepstones not long after the departure of her older brother. 

Most of the men that were now in the island building the fort ran in the other direction when they saw the giant black dragon land, save for the small group that followed the dragonrider. Marcus Maegyr was the first to reach the side of the dragon, arms braced up and ready to catch his wife as she slid down from the saddle and immediately fell into his. 

Alyssa grabbed the sides of his head and kissed him, the rest of her body pressing into his as his arms wrapped around her waist and lifted her feet off the ground. Lips molded to each other, breaths shared, sighs of relief and delight as hands trace down familiar curves. 

"I missed you." Alyssa said breathlessly as they split apart for air. 
"I missed you too, my dragoness." Marcus replied with a peck to her cheek. "How was the capital?" 
"Full of shit - literally and figuratively. I don't know what the previous Queens did, but I don't remember the city smelling quite so rancid before, and the greedy rats that live in the Red Keep don't help either." She nuzzled the side of his head; nose pressed against that spot of skin behind his ears and breathing in the oil he brushed his curls with and the unique smell of his sweat. It was comforting in its familiarity. Marcus hummed in acknowledgement and fell silent, allowing her to catch her breath and forget about that terrible place and remember that she was back with him. 

The Cannibal purrs as it lays its head down next to Alyssa and curls its large body and wings behind Marcus so the pair are encircled by the black dragon. Alyssa chuckles at her darling dragon's dramatics even as it rests, scratching the scales between its horns and bending down to kiss its' snout. "Rest well, my friend." She says as Marcus strokes its head too, silently thanking it for bringing her back safely. Hand in hand, the two step over the dragon's tail and go towards their friends, who are waiting nearby and looking away to give them the illusion of privacy. 

Lyna and Roqo greet her happily and even Varian is in a better mood, no doubt from counting his looted treasure. Alyssa sees the amount of soldiers that are gone and have been replaced by builders and the Velaryon ships are only half warships, the other vessels belonging to Volantis and Braavos. Vhagar was gone too, so she figured that Laena and Corlys had gone back to Driftmark with their share of the spoils and to reunite with Rhaenys and Laenor. The ships from Dragonstone that were meant to carry Rhaenyra's claim to the prize had left as well. 

The most pressing thing she notices is that Daemon and his dragon are nowhere to be seen, so she turns to Marcus with a raised eyebrow. 

"Is Daemon out on patrol? I'd figured he'd be here to supervise the building effort or hear how I berated Viserys in open court." Alyssa quipped, only somewhat worried that her brother was missing. If it were serious, she would have run into someone in the sky, so the fact that she managed to arrive and was not immediately disturbed upon landing means that whatever happened is not that grave. 

There was a second of silence before all four Essosi started laughing. They attempted to explain what had happened between their wheezing, but all Alyssa could catch from broken Valyrian dialects and Dothraki snorts were "brother", "blushing" and "dramatic." 

"Oh, my dragoness, you will not believe what I have to tell you." 

...

"I still can't believe you got Daemon to talk about his feelings." Alyssa whispered with wonder in her voice as they laid in their tent, a few unexpected tears prickling the corners of her amethyst eyes. "If our father was alive, he'd be kissing you." 

Once they finally stopped laughing and explained what had happened, the rest were very quick to gather their belongings and set up another tent just close enough to be considered a camp, but as far as they could without being able to overhear their reunion, leaving Marcus and her alone with a plate of food Lyna shoved into her hands before going away, muttering about finding wax and linens to stuff their ears. 

Marcus grinned with pride and spooned some stew with a piece of bread and held it up to her lips, Alyssa rolling her eyes but smiling back as she took in the morsel. It was not horrible, all things considered. The Stepstones may not become another fertile hub like the Reach, but at least the pigs brought from Braavos were reproducing fast and allowing them to add some meat to the carrots and potatoes the Vale had sent and add flavor with the spices that had arrived from Dorne. 

Alyssa wiped away the sauce lingering on her lips and kissed him for the thousandth time since she arrived back in the Stepstones, Marcus still smiling even through the kiss. 

"You are the only Targaryen I want to kiss." Marcus stated. "Though I would settle for him not killing me after finding out that I took his daughter's maidenhead years before we were married." 
Thinking about her father is easier now that so much time has passed since his death, but the scar on her heart still aches. "He wouldn't have killed you, Marcus. Threatened? Yes, maybe even taken you to the Dragonpit to introduce you to Vhagar, but he would grow used to you, eventually." 
Marcus snorted. "At least 'grow used to' sounds a lot better than ´fed to a dragon'." 
"That is no doubt what Daemon is experiencing right now at the hands of Aemma." Alyssa laughed and put away the bowl of stew to curl closer to her husband, rolling over so her back was pressed to his front. "Poor bastard."

He giggled under his breath too as he reached for the candle that lit up the small space and blew it out before cuddling his wife again, one arm settling over her midsection and the other stretched out for her to use as a pillow. "Good night, my dragoness." 
"Good night, my husband." 

Dragonstone 

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Lady Paramount of Dragonstone and the Narrow Sea, had been out of the castle when she saw the Red Wyrm approach the island. 

While the spoiled princess in the Red Keep would have dropped whatever lesson she was suffering through to run to greet her uncle, the ruling lady of Dragonstone did not have that luxury. 

She had to make excuses first. 

Rhaenyra turned to the dockmaster, whose ledgers they had been reviewing in order to craft a new system of tolls and tariffs for Tyroshi and Myrish ships, and closed up her notebook, handing it to Wylla Manderly, who had been accompanying her. "My apologies, Master Davos, but I must go meet Prince Daemon. He would not have left the Stepstones alone without good reason and I fear for what he has to say." It wasn't a lie, exactly - she was worried about something bad happening in the Stepstones that forced Daemon to return - but wanting to see her uncle was her main driving force. "May we continue this at a later date?" 
Master Davos, a seasoned sailor with balding grey hair but sharp eyes, nods severely. "Of course, your grace. I serve at your leisure." 
"Thank you. I will try to send a message tomorrow with a new meeting time. If you already had another appointment, feel free to propose a new meeting time and send it back with the messenger. I would hate to disrupt your schedule more than I already have." 
The dockmaster waves off her courtesies. "'Tis quite alright, Princess. The sea and the storms don't care much for man's schedules, and so we must learn to move with winds while staying on course." He bows as is required before a woman of her station. "I hope Prince Daemon brings no ill tidings." 
Rhaenyra smiles at him all the same. "Thank you, Master Davos. Let's go, lady Manderly." Ser Harrold is waiting outside with their horses. Rhaenyra doesn't use a carriage when going only with a lady and her shield, preferring to ride herself so the people can see her. 

Rhaenyra barely got up on the saddle before she dug in her heels and rode fast for the castle, silver braid whipping behind her as she urged her horse to go faster. She didn't even look back to see if Ser Harrold and Wylla were following after her. All that mattered was seeing Daemon herself. 

The castle gates opened for them to reveal a… rather average day. 

Maids were bustling about with linens and trays, guards on patrol, some of her ladies practicing archery - nothing unusual, nothing that would indicate that something bad or urgent had happened, no desperate page sent to fetch her. Everything was normal. 

The anxiety that had been building up in Rhaenyra’s chest, however, refused to fade. She dismounted from her horse and walked into the keep proper, barely acknowledging the servants that bowed and curtsied as she passed, and went straight to the underground, to the connection with the Dragonmont.

Ser Luthor was standing outside the door, which informed her that her mother was there as well. He bowed to her and pushed open the door to the cavernous entrance, revealing Aemma and Daemon facing each other and the air heavy around them.

Her mother and uncle had been arguing. 

At least, that’s what it seemed like.

Aemma Arryn smiled at her daughter and then turned back to Daemon with a severe nod before making her way to the exit. She pressed a kiss to Rhaenyra’s cheek as she left. “I’ll be right outside, sweetling.”

Before she could understand why that was, Rhaenyra and Daemon were left alone. 

…

Daemon Targaryen had never been so nervous before. 

Not when he was faced with a multitude of soldiers, not in his command of the City Watch, not even when claimed Caraxes at two-and-ten. 

Rhaenyra looked just as regal now, in a more formal riding habit and breeches that she used for business on Dragonstone town and her silver hair windswept and trying to escape the bounds of her braids, as she did dressed in her most expensive finery. The true image of a Valyrian dragonrider, even when her feet were on the ground. 

“Kepus, you’re back early.” Rhaenyra said as she approached, steps echoing through the caves along with the roaring of the torches. “Did something happen in the Stepstones? Are you unharmed?” She looked over him as she got closer, her hands carefully inspecting his face for bruises and cuts and finding none that she hadn’t already seen. 
“No, the Stepstones hold. I left Maegyr and Alyssa’s household there to oversee things.” Daemon quickly reassured her and grabbed her hands, pulling them down and keeping them in his bigger ones. “I came to see you.” 

The last sentence rang even closer, almost like a bell. 

Daemon suddenly took a step back and went down on one knee. 

“Rhaenyra Targaryen,” he began, barely higher than a reverent whisper. “I kneel at your feet to ask for the chance to court you… so that you may judge if I am worthy of becoming your husband.” 

Rhaenyra’s eyes widened and her breath caught, looking down at her uncle as if he had grown a second head. “Daemon…”

”I would not seek to trap you, to force you into a tower, or turn you into a breeding mare. I would remain your loyal servant and protector, as I have been all your life. I would enforce your will and stand beside you in the face of those who would see you beaten down and made to kneel.” Daemon continued, looking up at her with pure sincerity in his dark purple eyes. “If by the end you do not consider me worthy, I will back away and continue to be your devoted uncle,” his voice shook a little bit, as if considering that possibility hurt him. “But if you do find that you can take this Rogue for a husband… I will give you everything you could possibly want. Nothing would be too much or too difficult or too expensive to obtain. If you wish for me to give you the moon on a string, I will fetch it; if you wish a stoneman from Valyria, I will go and risk whatever is there and bring it here; if you wish to be Queen of more than just the Narrow Seas, I will become the Visenya to your Aegon and see you seated on a throne.”
Rhaenyra shuddered under the weight of his words, the sincerity that painted them gold and red like their dragons. “And if I ask that you chose me over a child?” She asked, her voice trembling at the thought of a bed of blood, this time her own body lying on it. “If you have to choose between your legacy and myself?”
“Never.” Daemon said, horrified by the idea. “Rhaenyra, you are the most important person in the world. Any legacy I have is because you gave me the chance. You gave me a keep, a charge, a post of my own - for that alone I will never be able to repay you.” His throat was becoming dry from so much emotion. “If you wish to take moon tea for the rest of your life, I would be the one to hand it to you every morning. If it failed for some reason, I would get you the best midwives from across the Known World and tend to you myself so you never had to lift a finger. And if something went wrong, and a choice had to be made… I would choose you. I swear on the Fourteen Flames and the blood we share that I would always choose you.”

Rhaenyra feels tears gathering in her eyes, and she knows the glassy look on Daemon’s are not because of the flying either.

For so long, she had imagined her wedding as an execution. The day a man put his cloak over her shoulders would be the first day of the end of her life. All the men that have come forward or sent letters asking for her hand were after her gold, her dragon, her Valyrian blood that they could pass on to their heirs. What did they care if Rhaenyra was terrified of ending up like her mother? Bred over and over again in the pursuit of a male heir despite Aemma’s visible weakness. Westerosi law stated that a woman belonged first to her father and then to her husband. The only reason Aemma Arryn lived was her own foresight to call for aid in the form of Alyssa Targaryen and her foreign healers.

If she married Daemon, however…

Daemon, who had placed an egg in her crib against Jaehaerys’ wishes; Daemon, who always greeted her first when he came back from his newest exile, arms laden with gifts; Daemon, who taught her High Valyrian; Daemon, who could have remained with Viserys when her mother and her were given Dragonstone and instead chose to go with them, to leave behind the City Watch he had put so much effort into rebuilding and shaping and effectively started over in their grey island keep. 

Daemon, who had just sworn to place her before any child they may have. 

Daemon, for all the faults that King Viserys and the Lord Hand liked to rave about, did not break his word. 

If she married Daemon… 

Rhaenyra imagined him placing a matching cloak over her shoulders, her name unchanged by the marriage as the Septon pronounced them husband and wife. It did not feel like an execution. The idea of Daemon kissing her to seal the vows… was certainly not unpleasant. Just the feeling of his hands around hers, his thumbs rubbing her knuckles, sent warm tingles up her arms… and down her spine. Would his lips be soft and his hands gentle with her untouched body? 

Shaking away those thoughts, Rhaenyra looked at Daemon and readjusted her hands so she could hold them back. “I accept your offer of courtship, Daemon Targaryen.” She said and lifted his hands so he knew to get up. Daemon rose to his feet, towering over her but not imposing himself into her space. He maintained eye-contact as he lifted each of her hands to his lips and pressed lingering fingers on them. 

Gods help her, this would be a short courtship. 

…

Aemma Arryn was waiting for them outside the doors, the guards dismissed and no servants loitering to watch them emerge together, hand in hand. 

It only took one look at her beaming daughter to know that she had agreed and that it would be only a matter of time before Aemma was planning the wedding of her only child. Gods, the thought of having to see her little girl walk down the aisle of a sept was already enough to set her crying but she held strong and turned to Rhaenyra. 

“Are you happy, my girl?” Aemma asked. 
Rhaenyra beamed like never before and nodded. “I am, muna.” 
“Good.” She smiled and then eyed Daemon carefully, trying to see any signs of smugness or victory and instead only finding… contentment. “Remember my conditions, Daemon. I would hate to have to feed you to Dreamfyre when you’ve made my daughter so happy.” 
“Mother!” Rhaenyra exclaimed, but was quieted by Daemon squeezing her hand and bowing his head to Aemma. 
“I would sooner climb into the dragon’s maw myself than dishonor her, cousin.” Daemon said solemnly before smiling at Rhaenyra. “Would you accompany me on a walk around the gardens, my princess?” He offered her his arm, which she gladly took.
“I would, my prince.” 

Aemma followed behind them and ordered the first servant she found to let Ser Harrold know where to find his wayward charge. At least it reassured Aemma that the gardens were visible from the window of her rooms and she would be able to keep an eye on them too, like a falcon protecting its chick from her nest. As she made her way back to her rooms, she caught sight of her daughter’s ladies-in-waiting performing their various tasks and nodded at them as she passed, which also reminded her that there were other matches that had to be made and more weddings and dowries that would need to be planned. 

Amanda found her in her rooms a candle mark later, an untouched tray of tea and biscuits on the table as Aemma sat in the window seat, looking at Rhaenyra and Daemon still walking around the garden, Ser Harrold always five paces behind them. The older Arryn sighed and pressed a kiss to Aemma’s forehead like she was a little girl again and not a grown woman and mother, and sat down on the end of the window seat to keep her company. 

“You know…” Amanda started, “… no one would think less of you if sought out some companionship of your own, Aemma.” 
Aemma shook her head. “Don’t be silly, Amanda. Who would want the barren former queen for a wife?” There had been some offers of marriage shortly after the annulment, but those were from men and lords trying to impose themselves over the regent of Dragonstone while Rhaenyra was still in her minority. Those letters ceased the second the Lady of Dragonstone assumed control of her seat. 
“You are a kind, graceful, and generous woman that deserves the world. Any man should consider himself blessed by all the deities to be in your presence, let alone hold your regard.” Amanda argued back harshly even though the vitriol was not aimed at Aemma. She still blamed herself for allowing their father to agree to the marriage with Prince Viserys when Aemma had barely bled for the first time. The day after the first time Viserys took her to bed to consummate the marriage, Amanda nearly went to the Prince’s chambers to cut off his cock herself. The night after that first miscarriage, where Amanda held Aemma through that shivering night, brushing her hair while the lump of flesh slipped bloody from her womb and stained the sheets red, Amanda was halfway getting up from the bed to strangle Viserys when Aemma called out for her - weakly, barely more than a whisper - and so she stayed her hand and let the fucker live. 

No matter how many times Amanda apologized and Aemma absolved her, the older sister would carry the burden of guilt. The least she could do now that Viserys had undone his marriage to Aemma was to find her little sister all the happiness in the world. Now that Rhaenyra was being courted - not that anyone was under any impression that she would marry anyone but the Rogue Prince - she knew that Aemma must be feeling even more lonely. 

Aemma smiled weakly at her sister and extended her hand, which Amanda took. “I’m fine, truly. It’s been… strange, learning to be alone after spending so much of my life married, but not unwelcomed. I no longer have to listen to any snores.” She said with a bit of humor at the end that made both women giggle like girls. 
“Fine, I will leave it alone - for now.” Amanda conceded. “But if you meet someone that you find handsome or witty enough… promise me you will allow yourself some companionship.” 
Aemma still found it hard to believe anyone would chase after her, but nodded anyway. “I promise.” 

Amanda nodded and they both went back to looking out the window, the sun slowly setting over the Narrow Sea and Daemon and Rhaenyra still talking as if nothing else mattered. The distant roars of the dragons blended with the crashing of the waves upon the stones and the ships from different regions and cities floated lazily on the docks. A comfortable silence settled between the sisters as they watched peaceful sunset. 

They would take any measure of peace they could - they knew it was not bound to last long. 

Chapter Text

Driftmark 

Laena Velaryon has traveled and seen all sorts of spectacles from around the world. 

None were quite as entertaining as watching the snout of her mother’s dragon hovering over the balcony of her father’s solar and glaring at Corlys Velaryon while Rhaenys Targaryen laid down what would not be happening in regard to her children’s betrothal.

Laenor and Laena were standing behind Rhaenys, very aware of the power move that their mother was implementing to keep her husband in check. After the disappointment that the son of the Sea Lord of Braavos turned out to be, Rhaenys Targaryen had made it clear that Corlys would not be allowed to make any betrothals without the proper research… and his wife’s approval. 

“You’ve allowed your ambition to blind you to obvious faults before, Corlys.” Rhaenys sentenced when the Sea Snake bristled against her control and the dragon's presence. “I will not allow your faults to harm our children’s lives.” 
“That boy was a mistake, I can admit that much.” Corlys acquiesced with a placating hand. “But that does not change the fact that it was a match befitting her station, as was proposing her as a bride for King Viserys.” He tried to find comprehension in Laena’s eyes, but he got a glare instead. Laena hadn’t forgiven him for either betrothal yet. 
“Viserys was in desperate need of a male heir and he didn’t even give Aemma the decency of waiting until she was older - even if I had asked that he not bed Laena until she was five-and-ten, a single whisper from that snake of a Hand or Viserys’ own delusions was all it would have taken for the King to take his marital rights.” Rhaenys said harshly, leaning closer at the same time that Meleys breathed down Corlys’ neck, the dragoness' hot breath making the sailor sweat. “What is more important, Corlys: your daughter’s life or having your blood on the throne?” 

Corlys Velaryon looked between his wife and his daughter both glaring at him and then at his son, who was also glaring at him. Laena as Queen had been a beautiful fantasy that had been within reach until they conveniently found the Hightower chit in the King’s chamber and, like a complete idiot, the King decided to marry a daughter of a minor house instead of his own kin, a woman of Valyrian blood and whose house controlled two dragons outside of House Targaryen. With that dream shot down, he looked East to his long-time business partner, the Sea Lord of Braavos, who had a marriageable son. He had known that the boy had the habit of drinking and gambling, but he had assumed that a man like the Sea Lord would be able to rein in his son and that he would sow his wild oats and sober up when it came time to marry his Laena. Only that match was quickly dissolved with a single conversation between Alyssa Targaryen and his wife. 

For all his ambition, Corlys wanted to believe that he was not a cruel man. Ruthless, perhaps; stubborn, certainly; but never cruel. King Viserys and the son of the Sea Lord may be powerful men, but Laena had a dragon. She rode Vhagar, who was tied with the Cannibal for the biggest dragon alive; she was the daughter of a Targaryen Princess and a legendary explorer; she was stubborn and strong and would never let any man or King treat her poorly. He had set up those matches under the belief that those men could be managed, if not controlled directly by Laena or himself and Rhaenys if necessary. 

"Laena, I am sorry that my actions gave you the impression that I did not care for you - I truly am." Corlys said, his voice steady but sincere. "I would never willingly betroth you to anyone who is cruel or would treat you poorly." Laena said nothing, but her expression softened a little bit, which Corlys took as a win. "You and Laenor are my pride and joy, and I swear on the Merling King that I will aim to make matches that are worthy of you." 
"Rhaenyra has written now that she is back in Dragonstone." Laena said, her arms crossed over her chest. "She will be hosting a feast in a moon's time to celebrate the victory over the Triarchy, and we have been invited as guests of honor. Some of the families of my fellow ladies-in-waiting will be visiting as well. Surely one of them has someone that you may deem worthy, father." 

The greatest explorer who ever lived realized he could not survive this storm, so he bowed to the dragons.

Bloodstone - The Stepstones

Just when Alyssa thought she would be able to have a decent night of sleep in her husband's arms, her body decided to fuck up her plans. 

Morning found her with her stomach in her throat and the smell of Marcus' sweat and clothing suddenly went from comforting to nauseating. She barely reached the bucket that served as a makeshift chamberpot, hidden in the far corner of the tent where the smell would be less pervasive, and practically had to crawl on her hands and knees because even the idea of getting up seemed too perilous. 

Warm hands were quickly on her, brushing back her hair so it wouldn't get in the way and rubbing gentle circles on her back. 

"I'm here, I'm right here." Marcus reassured her as he supported her body with his own. Once last night's dinner was finally out of her, he carefully helped her sit down over his crisscrossed legs, cradling her in his lap as she tried to breathe normally again. "The stew did not agree with you?" 
"More like the stew and whatever you cleaned yourself with did not agree with me." Alyssa replied with a sigh as her stomach settled. 
Marcus frowned. "It's the same lye soap we use for our travels. It's never made you sick before." His concern only grew as he felt her forehead and didn't feel more than the normal warmth from a hectic awakening. "You don't feel feverish. I will go fetch Lyna." He carefully lowered her onto their bedroll and pressed a kiss to her forehead, ignoring Alyssa's groans at his fretting. "I will be right back." 

Marcus Maegyr flagged Roqo as he was herding some pigs farther away from the Cannibal and ordered him to stand guard outside, then he went to the Infirmary, where Lyna was keeping watch on those slowly recovering and tending to any injuries that occurred during the building of the fortress. The healer dropped what she was doing and followed the Volantene back to their tent, trying to think about possible causes that may have caused such a reaction - always going from most awful to least awful. 

He couldn't have been gone for more than five minutes, but when they entered the tent, they saw Alyssa peacefully asleep on the bedroll, as if nothing had happened. 

Lyna knelt next to the sleeping woman and checked her neck and wrist pulse and her forehead temperature, breathing a little easier when she didn’t find an erratic heartbeat or a harsh fever. It ruled out several

Marcus and Lyna shared a confused look, and they went back outside. 

"It's not poison, seeing as you both ate from the same bowl and you are perfectly fine." Lyna stated with her hands on her hips. "It could be her body's response to a battle nightmare, or that she suddenly developed an aversion to the soap. Do you think something might have been given to her in the capital?" 
"She said she had her meals tasted in front of her, but she also complained that the stench was worse than before." Marcus informed the healer.
Lyna's face twisted in anger. "That place is a shithole with so called "healers" that don't wash their hands. It would not surprise me to find that there is shit in the water too." She looked down as she thought through some more possibilities and saw Marcus' foot tapping the ground anxiously, like a horse that wanted to run and was being reined in. "Even if that is the case, at least she is with us now - and I am a thousand times better than those grey priests." She reassured him in the softest tone she had ever used with him in nearly ten years of acquaintance. 
Marcus let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "You're right, I-" 
"Go sit by her side. She was sleeping peacefully again, so that means she isn’t in pain - and you can send Roqo to fetch me if her ailment changes." 

Marcus barely managed to nod respectfully at Lyna before he was bolting back into the tent, his heart only slowing down when he saw Alyssa had not moved. He laid down next to her, their fronts facing each other so he could see the rise and fall of her chest and her placid smile. He grabbed one of her hands and held it in his own, thumb lying on the wrist so he could feel the drumming of heart under his finger. He could almost pretend they were camping outside the Vaes Dothrak or off on another adventure, enjoying a quiet respite before inevitably running into more problems.

This pocket of peace would not last long, as less than an hour later, Alyssa startled awake again, but not from her own discomfort. It came from the bond with the Cannibal, that invisible string tugging behind her heart that let her know the dragon was in pain. 

Marcus tried to get her to slow down, but Alyssa didn’t care to explain as she shoved on her boots and ran outside, racing toward the dragon that was not under attack or visibly hurt, but was curled up on itself and crooning softly. 

”I’m here, my friend. I’m here. Where does it hurt?” Alyssa Targaryen asked as she laid her forehead against its snout. She could see Marcus and Roqo out of the corner of her eye, standing as close as they dared just in case. 

The Cannibal lifted one of its massive wings and draped it over Alyssa, forcing her under the wing like an errant hatchling. Alyssa, pressed between the inner wing membrane and the thick hide of the dragon’s torso, shuffled sideways in an attempt to slither under the dragon’s wing but was stopped by the Cannibal curling even tighter around itself. It had only done so a few times before, like when her father died or she got captured by Qaarthi warlocks, but never because Alyssa felt under the weather. 

“I’m not hurt, my darling. Are you hurt?” Alyssa insisted again. The smell of dragon was hardly ever pleasant, but whatever was making her stomach act up found the smell of blood, burnt flesh and sulphur that was particular to the Cannibal found it particularly awful. 

Protect. The Cannibal’s intent crooned through their bond. Feeling Alyssa’s discomfort, the dragon loosened the wing’s hold just a little, letting her head come out from under the wing and get some fresh air, as well as see Marcus and Roqo getting even closer with concerned expressions on their faces. Protect eggs. 

Alyssa frowned. “My friend, there are no eggs here- and you like to eat those.” She said as she petted the dragon’s hide. 

The Cannibal used its snout to guide Alyssa closer to its tail, annoyed that she didn’t understand what it meant. Our eggs, our hatchlings grow together. The dragon lifted its wing and uncurled a bit, revealing two dragon eggs that shone like the shiniest obsidian in the sun, still covered in fluid and resting on the grass.

The Cannibal had laid dragon eggs. 

The Cannibal was a female. 

“Oh my fucking gods,” Alyssa gasped as she beheld the eggs, then looked at the Cannibal’s preening eyes. 

See? Our hatchlings will grow together. The Cannibal seemed to say, happy that she was getting the message and coming closer to her own revelation. With more restraint than Alyssa had ever seen from the dragon, the Cannibal gently poked Alyssa’s middle. Come soon. 

Marcus finally decided that the Cannibal was not a danger to others and approached, carefully walking up to the dragon’s face so it could see him clearly. Never approach from behind or from the side unless you want to be roasted. The Cannibal almost perked up when it saw him, unfurling its wing and pulling him into its embrace too. Roqo took a step back just in case. 

“Is something wrong? What is it?” Marcus asked with worry as he gathered Alyssa into his arms when he saw her shocked face, her eyes a little lost. “My love?”
”I… she says I’m…” Alyssa’s voice trembled and she looked up at him, amethyst and dark wine meeting with equally glassy sheens from tears of worry. “I think I’m pregnant.” 

A moon after the victory House Targaryen of Dragonstone, the houses of the Narrow Sea, as well as their allies in the North, Dorne, and even in the Stormlands find themselves invited to Dragonstone to celebrate their victory with a grand feast and a ball. 

Lord Lyonel Strong and Lord Lyman Beesbury, whose daughters and granddaughter respectively were serving as ladies-in-waiting to Princess Rhaenyra and had received high praise from Lady Aemma for their skills and strength in Dragonstone keep while the fighting went on, also found themselves invited to said festivities. 

The King and his family - the Queen, the young prince and princess, and the Lord Hand - were not invited.

—

The Red Keep - King’s Landing

Lord Lyonel Strong, Master of Laws for the Small Council, presented his eldest son and heir with the handful of letters that had arrived from the Dragonstone ladies… and their fathers. 

“Those are a lot of proposals, Father.” Harwin said as he beheld just the amount of letters, each corresponding to a lady that was willing (some more than willing) to marry him and become the Lady of Harrenhal. 
“It means you will have several options to choose from. Your sisters speak highly of all the ladies and you will be meeting them soon.” That made Harwin look up from the letter he was reading and gape at his father. “I will be speaking with the King tomorrow about seeing to my heir’s match, and we will be departing for Dragonstone with Lord Beesbury, who just so happens will be visiting his granddaughter to see to her own matches as well.”
Harwin raised an eyebrow at him. “Is this some ploy you old men cooked up to unite your houses?”
Lyonel reached for the side of his son’s head and lightly slapped it. “Careful, boy - I’m still your father.” He said, even though the slap made Harwin laugh and he wasn't really berating his son. "I won't say no to a match with House Beesbury, but you will be able to speak with all these ladies and judge their character for yourself. And you will speak with all of them." 
"Yes, father." The Commander of the City Watch said, already planning who to leave in charge during their trip to Dragonstone. Thinking about the island made him frown as he realized something. "Won't the King be... offended that we are invited to Dragonstone's victory feast while he and his family are not?" 
"But we are not going to celebrate Dragonstone's victory," Lyonel said slowly, the second meaning underneath made clear with his raised eyebrows and pointed finger, "- we are simply going to see Cat and Rosie. The King understands better than anyone how it hurts to miss one's daughters." The last sentence is laced with just a bit of sarcasm, enough so that the clear stab at the King's poor relationship with Princess Rhaenyra is evident.

Harwin nearly spits out his wine from laughing so hard at his father's words. 

Lyonel Strong was not usually one to resort to schoolyard taunts, but Harwin saw everyday how the city had the habit of making the worst in a person jump out. 

...

King Viserys has been in a slump since the invitations for his councilors had arrived. 

There hasn't been a grand feast thrown on Dragonstone since Prince Aemon was alive - Rhaenys' five-and-tenth nameday, if memory serves him right - and now there would be two entire days of celebration for everyone that had fought in the Stepstones. Viserys had spent his own short tenure as Prince of Dragonstone in the Red Keep, learning how to rule from his aging grandsire, only ever spending time on the island during odd retreats in his youth and during one of Aemma's pregnancies - the one that gave them their precious Rhaenyra, in fact. It seems fitting that she was born on the same island that she would later rule over as Lady Paramount, but it is also the same island where the Targaryens have absconded to and left Viserys all alone. 

There had been no invitation for him. 

(Nor for Alicent or Otto or anyone else in the Small Council - but Viserys did not even consider them in his wallowing.)

Otto had raved about insults and disrespect to the Crown and the Royal Family, but Ser Steffon had reminded him that the Crown had refused to participate in the war or support the Stormlands, so it was well within Dragonstone's rights not to invite them. Alicent was shocked by the lack of invitation as well, but she seemed more upset than angry. Viserys assumed it was because she was worried about Rhaenyra and wanted to see how her former friend had fared in combat - after all, he was worried about Rhaenyra too: the Realm's Delight turned the Realm's Defender. He couldn't imagine the little girl that complained about getting dirt on her favorite dresses doing well in a soldier's camp or witnessing the bloodshed of war, regardless of what Alyssa claimed during her visit. 

With Helaena's egg growing cold in her cradle like Aegon's, Viserys felt the embers in his chest dimming down. When Alyssa visited, he had hoped to ask that she at least take them up to the sky, just like their mother had done with him and Daemon and Baelon had done with her and Rhaenyra, but she was gone before he could ask her. His children looked like Targaryens but they didn't know the feel of the wind in their faces or the powerful muscles under dragonhide beating to keep them among the clouds. The maesters should be able to teach them High Valyrian and Viserys could eventually take them down to Balerion's skull, but that seemed like a poor imitation of what he had experienced in his own childhood. 

Viserys had been raised among so many dragons - his younger children would only see them from a distance. 

A knock on the door of his chambers interrupted his musings and the guard outside the door announced the presence of Lord Beesbury and Lord Strong, which Viserys allowed to come in. He was curious about what they needed to talk about only with him and not with the rest of the Small Council. The Master of Laws and Master of Coin bow to the King and approach the King, who had been sitting next to his Valyrian model. 

"Your grace, I've had the pleasure of advising two great kings and serving the Realm to the best of my ability," Lord Beesbury started. "And as much as it pains me to say this, I'm afraid it is time that I retire to Honeyholt, to spend time with my grandchildren and see them settled before it is my time." 

King Viserys looks at the old man, who has been serving in the Small Council for almost as long as Viserys has been alive, and thinks that this is just another thread that is being pulled from the tapestry of the past. His mouth gapes and he feels the breath in his lungs leave him. He looks to Lord Strong, who's been serving for close to ten years now, and realizes he is probably here for the same reason. "And you, Lord Strong?" 

"I'm afraid I must also retire from my position, your grace. Harrenhal has long been left in ruins, and it is my hope that my son Harwin and I will see it habitable if not restored. Not to mention, my daughters are of age and I must see to their marriages." 

Right, fathers were usually in charge of who their daughters married. Not him, though. Rhaenyra had refused to further comment on the subject other than declaring the men of Westeros unsuitable and would probably not even bother to tell him who she chose until it was time for her to marry. If she did at all. The idea of his darling Rhaenyra despising him so much that he would not be invited to her wedding, that he would not get to walk her down the aisle of the Sept and watch some man that was not worthy of kissing her feet cloaking her in his colors was like a bucket of cold water over his heart. 

Tears sprung to his eyes and high-pitched whine left his throat and forced his head down, which startled both Lord Lyman and Lord Lyonel into stillness. 

Was... was the King crying because of their resignation? 

"Your grace?" Lyman Beesbury approached carefully, one hand extended gently as he slowly got closer to the weeping monarch.
Viserys sniffled and brought his gloved fingers to his face. "I won't see to my daughter's marriage." He sobbed. "I will be just another guest in that hall..." 
Lyman remembered comforting his children when they were small, and though it was very strange to be comforting their King, he still patted one of Viserys' gloves and shoulders. "There, there, your grace. It's alright. I'm sure the Princess will not forget you in her preparations once she chooses a groom." 
"She does not write to me! She ignores my letters! It's like I never existed!"
Lord Strong retrieved his handkerchief and awkwardly walked over to the King as well, placing the fabric into the hand that was missing fingers and assisting him in dabbing his tears and mucus. "My daughters speak praises of Princess Rhaenyra, your grace. They say she is kind but strong, and that she commands the respect of everyone around her. She commands over Dragonstone much like you do, sire - she has learnt by watching you." The words tasted off in his mouth, but Lyonel knew that a pacifying lie would go much further with the King's altered state than the cold truth. 

That made the King laugh through the tears, a happy disbelief shining in his eyes. "My Rhaenyra always had such a presence about her. I believe she would have outshone even the Good Queen if she had gotten the chance. Oh, if only Aemma had-," thinking of his former wife made his throat seize up, interrumping his ramblings. He sniffed again and smiled weakly at the lords. "Could I ask that you deliver a message from me to Rhaenyra when you visit Dragonstone? Mention that I really would like to speak with her." 
"Of course, your grace." Lyman smiled back, patting the King's hand again. He felt like he had just dealt with a child's emotions - only this time it was neither his own children nor grandchildren that he had to comfort. Seven Hells, not even a young Princess Rhaenyra had had such a meltdown. 
King Viserys, none the wiser, nodded at the grandfatherly lord that reminded him so much of his own father and then at Lord Strong. "Thank you, my lords, for your years of service to the Crown and the Realm. I would call for a feast to celebrate your departure, but I fear that you would not like that, would you, Lord Beesbury?" 
Lord Beesbury chuckled at the jest, even though he really didn't want to think of what the King will do now that he is no longer Master of Coin. "Indeed, my King. One must remember to keep the people fed first, then worry about the rest." 
Viserys nodded sagely and turned to Lord Strong. "Any last advice from you, Lyonel?" 
Stop letting Otto whisper venom in your ear and actually walk through the city, the Master of Laws thought internally, but didn't say out loud. "I would only remind Your Grace that sometimes justice looks like tyranny to those it should punish." He said carefully, praying that he would get the hint. "Peace is not always attainable through peace. Aenys kept the realm at peace, but his indecision was the seed that the Realm would later reap with Maegor."

King Viserys did not particularly understand why Lord Strong was bringing up such a comparison. It's not like his little Aegon would turn into a Maegor. Of course, not! With a mother like Alicent, truly the farthest thing from Visenya Targaryen, there was no way that Aegon would go around wreaking havoc and destruction. Nevertheless, he thanked the lords for the advice and dismissed them. 

As they headed to the chambers of the Master of Laws for dinner, Strong and Beesbury walked almost in daze through the halls of the Red Keep. 

"I..." Lord Lyonel was too stunned to even begin to form a sentence. "I need a drink." 
"So do I, young man." Lord Lyman sighed, leaning a little more on his cane. "So do I." 

Dragonstone

Rhaenyra went on a morning flight with Laena and Laenor, the three dragonriders racing around the islands and daring each other to fly close to the arriving ships to give sailors and travelers a spectacle worth remembering, but there was another reason for their flight as well. 

They landed on a small islet, barely more than a sandbank, and jumped down from their saddles with the things they had tied to their saddles before taking off. Rhaenyra had brought a blanket, Laenor had brought a wineskin, and Laena a list. They meet in the middle of the islet, set down the blanket and sit down together. It could be considered an innocent reprieve from duties, three cousins enjoying some peace and quiet in the middle of the sea, but they were meeting together to discuss important matters: ones that they wanted to decide for themselves before anyone else stepped in and decided for them. 

Marriages - most importantly, Laenor and Laena's marriages.

The Velaryon siblings were on better terms with their father now, but even if they could forgive their father's nature, they would not forget it. Corlys Velaryon was still an ambitious man and now that Rhaenyra and Daemon were about to announce their betrothal - and thus eliminating the two most advantageous matches for his children - they needed to prepare in case their father felt slighted and did something stupid. Which unfortunately, meant meeting like this and baring some uncomfortable truths. 

"I... I've tried to lay with women before," Laenor admitted, swallowing hard and taking a sip from the wineskin to soothe the dryness in his throat. "Father took me to a brothel in Spicetown before we went to the Stepstones and I... could not harden enough to perform." Admitting this in front of any man, no matter how friendly, would result in mockery, but Rhaenyra and Laena look at him with pity and understanding, which is almost worse. "I'm afraid that would make conceiving an heir quite difficult." 
"We also don't wish you to suffer, Laenor." Laena comforted her brother with a hand to his shoulder. "Maybe there is some... herb or tonic that could be used to help you? I'm sure there have been other noblemen that have found themselves in similar conditions." 
"Maybe, but if you ask a Maester and they talk, it will only cast doubt on Laenor, his wife, and any children they might manage to have." Rhaenyra pointed out. 
"So we ask someone else. What about someone from the Healing House? Or Alyssa's healer?" 
Laenor grimaced. "It would still require finding a wife that would be willing to put up with my defect and not tell anyone about it." The heir to Driftmark buried his head in his hands and breathed deeply, feeling the weight of his father's name and legacy weighing down on his shoulders. "I'm sorry. I know I should not be complaining when the hard part of bearing children is not my prerogative, but I cannot help but feel guilty for dragging someone else into this." 

Rhaenyra laid her hand on Laenor's other shoulder, squeezing gently. She meant what she had said to her ladies: Laenor himself was not the problem - he was a good man with a kind heart, which was a rare thing among men and especially in the nobility - but the expectations that came with being wife to the Lord of the Tides. Corlys Velaryon, who cared about his legacy more than anything else, would not be pleased if all his grand work to secure that legacy ended because of his son's incapability. The Velaryon name would be remembered, one way or another - he would make sure of it. 

It was their name that gave Laena an idea. 

"What if we find another way?" She said, catching the attention of her brother and cousin. "What if we find a way for the Velaryon name and legacy to continue without having you marry?" 
Laenor looked up from his hands with hesitation. "How?" He asked. 
"Father just wants for his name to be great and remembered, but we are not the only Velaryons around." 

The three cousins discussed islands, keeps and people until the sun began to set. They would need to convince some people and pay off a few others, not to mention build a new keep somewhere and deal with a very angry Corlys Velaryon, but that was something they were willing to do. 

They had been pawns from the moment they entered the world - it was high time they took their place as players. 

The Victory Celebrations at Dragonstone would be remembered for the many intriguing, funny and downright impressive moments that would be witnessed by those who attended.

Ser Harwin Strong, easily the most desired bachelor present, stood tall over the tide of marriageable ladies that swarmed him like sharks to their prey, making it easy to see the man’s almost panicked face as he tried to navigate the situation. He talked with the ladies and danced with them, as required, but in the end it was Celaena Celtigar - the spinster of Claw Isle, the richest vassal house after the Velaryons, who remained unmarried at twenty and served as a liaison between Dragonstone and its allies to the East due to her extensive knowledge of post-Valyrian language and cultures - that caught his eye. Ser Harwin danced with her once and did not dance with anyone else for the rest of the night. 

Despite it being a celebration of their victory over the Stepstones, Lord Corlys Velaryon seemed almost sad as he sat at the high table, surrounded by his proud wife and content children. There were talks of a meeting between the Lady of Dragonstone, the Lord of the Tides, and the Princess Rhaenys and her children that ran so tense that the dragons themselves nearly intervened. It was well-known that the Sea Snake pushed for his son to marry Princess Rhaenyra, despite having been rejected twice already by the lady. Unfortunately for the lord, that would not come to pass. During the festivities, Laena Velaryon be seen having a serious conversation with one of her cousins, Daemion Velaryon, while the newly knighted Ser Laenor would be seen avoiding all female company and talking with their old and new business partners instead, his sworn knight by his side. 

Princess Alyssa and her eclectic household were present for the celebration as well, her husband almost bordering on overprotective and their Dothraki bodyguard never straying further than two feet from them. Since Prince Daemon was now splitting his time between Bloodstone and Dragonstone, the Princess and her people were free to return to Volantis. 

One particularly shocking sight was that of Lady Aemma Arryn, the former Queen of Westeros, laughing and jesting with a visiting nobleman from House Fowler, a minor Dornish house sworn to the Martells that had come with their liege to discuss the settling of the Stepstones. The two supposedly first bonded over their similar House motifs and words, and the man is said to have claimed that “there is no doubt that out of all the birds that grace the sky, it is the woman that was born a falcon and turned into a dragon that is the most impressive.” 

But perhaps the most notable and swoon-worthy was the closeness between Princess Rhaenyra and her uncle, Prince Daemon. The two could not be parted more than five seconds from each other’s side, the Prince’s hand often resting on the Princess waist as she talked with their guests and the Princess’ arm around his while they greeted the visitors. They danced only with each other and had eyes for no one else. Every soul on Dragonstone had been spectators to their courtship, maidens giggling at the Rogue Prince showering the princess with flowers and trinkets and men finding themselves quietly disappointed by the attention of the Realm’s Delight being only for her uncle.

During the final feast, Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen stood from her place in the high table and announced that she and Prince Daemon Targaryen would be joined in marriage. The entire hall exploded in applause and cheers as Prince Daemon kissed the Princess’ hand like a knight from the ballads and they opened the dance floor with a Valyrian dance that reminded everyone of dragons gliding through the skies.

The day after the final ball, ravens were sent throughout Westeros to all major houses and one to the Red Keep - this one extended to the King and the Queen and the members of the Small Council - to announce the happy news. 

It is a great pleasure to announce that Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen and Prince Daemon Targaryen are betrothed and will be married in a year’s time in Dragonstone. 

They eagerly await your presence a fortnight after the Day of the Mother to witness their union and celebrate their marriage. 

Please respond with confirmation of your attendance. 

...

Ser Otto Hightower read the invitation out loud to the King, having interrupted his and the Queen's breakfast with the message that had just arrived from Dragonstone. 

Alicent's mouth dropped open in shock as she heard the news. 

King Viserys went completely still, his muscles locking and his breathing becoming ragged as his mind repeated the message over and over again, trying to decipher it as if it was a complex code and not a simple invitation. 

Rhaenyra. Daemon. Betrothed. Married. 

Rhaenyra. Daemon. Betrothed. Married. 

Married.

With speed that Viserys hadn't been thought of possessing, he stood up and ripped the message from Otto's hand, reading it with his own eyes and finding the exact same words staring back at him... along with another message, written in High Valyrian on the other side of the invitation, in Rhaenyra's neat little handwriting. 

Father, 
I understand you will not be happy with this news and that you will think that Daemon has somehow tricked me into a marriage, but I can assure you he has not. 

Finding a consort for a ruling lady has been a difficult task, one that neither I nor Mother took lightly. I spoke with dozens - dare I say a hundred - of lords and knights in search of a suitable Lord Consort and the noblemen of Westeros proved to be ill-suited to stand by my side. Daemon has been nothing but loyal and supportive all my life, and he has proven time and again to be willing to fight for me and mine.

And before you bring up his escapades on the Street of Silk - yes, I know about them; Daemon told he'd been with whores and didn't want to tell me the details out of respect, but Alyssa had no problem with filling in what he left out; take your rage out on her, if you dare - I will inform you that Mother's guards from the Vale have been keeping watch on Daemon and they've reported nothing that would indicate he's been disloyal to me even as we were courting.

Daemon is truly the only man I can picture myself marrying and being happy with. He listens to me and never goes against my orders in the field or the council, he stands by my side during petitions, and he has agreed to be Lord Consort in title and record. Not to mention that I know and trust he will not order me cut open for a babe.

If you do attend our wedding, I hope you project the image of the Peaceful King you wish to be. Mother will not forgive you if you ruin the events she is meticulously planning by causing a scandal or sulking like a grumpy toddler. 

Yours faithfully,
Rhaenyra

Viserys could practically hear every scathing word in the letter coming out of Rhaenyra's mouth, in the same tone she used when she interrupted Aegon's Hunt to declare she would be heading to war. Too honest in its language and particular in its words to come from the mind of anyone else besides Rhaenyra. Proud, stubborn Rhaenyra that would not be bound by rules or traditions and took what she wanted like a dragon. The young woman that not too long ago - it could not have been so many years ago, Viserys refused to believe that he has been without his family for so long - was a little girl was demanded lemon cakes before dinner.

His little girl was getting married. 

To his brother. 

Viserys' eyes went white and he fell to the ground like a puppet without its strings.

Chapter Text

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Viserys Targaryen, King of Westeros, slumps back in his chair. 

The food is delicious and plentiful, the talking and laughter from his family members indicate that they are happy, the guests chat amiably and sings praises of the decorations, the accommodations, the music and the entertainments organized for the week of celebration, and the King... is miserable. 

He loathes the match, he raged against it, he tried to command another to wed his daughter - and it did nothing, because he had no power over his family. He was the ruler of an entire country, and he did not have the obedience of his daughter and brother - nor the respect of the rest of his family it seemed. 

It hurts too much to look to Rhaenyra being so besotted with his brother and his cheeks sting red with embarrassment at being spoken to like a misbehaving child by his daughter of seven-and-ten, so he turns to his wife and finds Alicent looking just as sour as he was feeling, much to his comfort. At least someone else is as miserable as I am. Gods, he really wants to get drunk, but he remembers what Rhaenys and Rhaenyra said about Aemma putting so much dedication into her only child's wedding and stops himself from finishing a third cup of Dornish red too fast.

The first course ends with compliments to the cooks and more than one lord already swaying in their seat, which is when the servants clear away the plates and the musicians ready for the opening dance - one which traditionally should be between the bride and her father, and the groom and the bride's mother. If the bride's mother had passed away and the father had remarried, most would usually pick the nearest older female relation of the bride (or the stepmother, if the bride was fond enough of her). 

Daemon and Rhaenyra stand up, and Daemon kisses his betrothed on the cheek before walking behind the high table and heading to the right, stopping for a second right behind the Queen to look her up and down with complete disregard and borderline disgust before continuing on down the table until he was standing behind Aemma Arryn. "My dearest cousin." He greeted with a bow and extended his hand. 

Aemma accepted the hand and rose gracefully, with no hesitation. 

Rhaenyra, on the other hand, looked expectantly at her father with a twinge of concern in her eyes and Viserys wanted to believe that it was genuine - that his daughter may be stubbornly unreasonable like his brother, and in that they were certainly a perfect match, but that she really did care for him. "Father, are you feeling well enough to dance?" 
She is smiling expectantly at him and looks so much like his little girl that gave him that same look while asking for lemon cakes that he immediately agrees. "For you? Of course, my girl." 

He ignores Alicent's hurt look towards him, hoping to find comfort or at least reprimand his brother for his callous dismissal of her, and she only sees him looking at Rhaenyra like she is the most important thing in the world. 

...

"That was a bit much, Daemon." Aemma chastises him in High Valyrian as they twirl around the floor. 

Rhaenyra is dancing with Viserys, the King looking in much better spirits but even then moving slower than Aemma and Daemon. It was a simple dance, with couples moving in a box step around the floor to a steady, medium pace. It was not fast and yet Viserys already looked like he was sweating from the effort to follow the steps. 

"The chit dared to imply my wife is a poor ruler, which is rich coming from a girl who can scarcely do more than open her legs and give money to the Sept." Daemon defended himself, lifting his arm so that Aemma could gracefully twirl under it in a swirl of delicate blue silk before moving back to their starting position. 
Aemma was not about to remind him that they weren't married yet, so she simply rolled her eyes continued to dance. "Still, just ignore her. She is merely lashing out because she's realized she has no power. Let her embarrass herself. You enjoy your wedding." 
"Oh, I am very much enjoying my wedding this time." He said as he caught Rhaenyra's eyes from across the room and smiled like an idiot. 

His look of love made Aemma instinctively look for her own lover and she found Ben sitting at the Dornish table, leaning on one hand and smiling too as he watched her dance. He caught her gaze and his grin became wider and he straightened up, sending a wink in her direction that made her blush. Daemon noticed and laughed, much to her embarrassment. 

The dance ended and two couples bowed, the music fading out and the guests around them clapping loudly. 

...

Viserys smiled at Rhaenyra through slightly misty eyes and didn't get to say a word to her before Daemon was at her side once more, asking for the next dance without so much as glancing at his brother. To Viserys' ever-growing pain, Rhaenyra barely said goodbye over her shoulder before joining Daemon in the flurry of couples that were joining the dance floor. 

He looked for Aemma and found her looking in his direction with a wide smile and his heart skipped several beats. 

It had been so long since he had last seen that beautiful smile. There was always a pregnancy or a loss or some other problem they were wrapped up in as King and Queen that the days where they could be together as simply Aemma and Viserys were so very rare. With the... loss of Baelon and their annulment, he had resigned himself to losing her love in favor of doing his duty to the Realm, but now that he saw her smiling like that... a spark of hope lit up in his chest as he started to approach Aemma, dismissing the knight that was trying to offer his arm to stabilize him.

Maybe things could get better between them. They could not marry again, of course - but soon enough, if Rhaenyra was blessed, they would be grandparents together. Surely it would only be for the benefit of their grandchildren that they see them together. Oh, the image of Aemma holding another white-haired toddler on her lap as Viserys made funny faces at them - just like they had once been with Rhaenyra - made his heart flutter with possibility and excitement-

And then a tall, dark-haired Dornishman appeared from behind him, walking up to Aemma and joining hands with her like it was second nature and talking in hushed tones. 

Viserys' mouth gaped like a fish's and cold fury burst in his chest. Who was this man that presumed to touch his beloved wife's supple skin?! He would have the hands removed for his audacity! He looked over at Aemma, expecting her to look uncomfortable and flinching away but found her even happier and laughing at what the man was telling her, inching closer to him to whisper a response to his earlier quip. The man wore blue Dornish robes, with details in black and silver and a black sash around his waist secured at the knot with a brooch. Viserys didn't recognize him from any of his previous encounters with the Dornish delegations and he needed to know who was it that had stolen Aemma from him.

Embarrassment was added to the anger as the stranger turned around and Viserys could see his face as he led Aemma to the dance floor once more. 

Viserys had never considered himself ugly - he would admit that even before his illness, he was tired from ruling the realm and he liked the glow of something else that seemed natural in Aemma and Rhaenys and Alyssa and even Daemon - but the man that had captured Aemma's attention was definitely handsome. It made burning hot jealousy burn in Viserys' chest and the stumps of his missing fingers and the patches of skin that were falling off from his back. This man walked with strength and unburdened shoulders, unencumbered by the weight of duty and a crown, and Aemma held his arm not like a lifeline but as a show of affection. Affection that had once been bestowed upon Viserys and that he had not received since he set her aside. 

"Aemma," Viserys called, making the couple stop and turn to face the monarch. It was then that Viserys could see the brooch on the man's waist had a hanging silver falcon and moon on one chain and a light blue stone that matched Aemma's eyes perfectly on the other. He couldn't bear to look those sky-blue eyes looking at him with no love, so he eyed the stranger first. "And this would be-" 
"Ser Benedict Fowler, your grace, uncle to the current Lord of Skyreach." The stranger said with a clear Dornish accent and a bow of his head, his arm still in Aemma's grasp. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." 
"Yes, yes, likewise." He mumbled to get the pleasantries out of the way, then finally faced Aemma again. "I was hoping, perhaps, that you could honor me with a dance, just like before." He was still a little out of breath from dancing with Rhaenyra but godsdamnit he missed dancing with Aemma. When was the last time they danced together? At the feast where he announced her last pregnancy? Before that? 
Aemma Arryn narrowed her eyes and tilted her head in false confusion. "Your grace-" 
"Please, Aemma, just call me Viserys." He insisted with a small smile. "It's not like we are strangers, after all." 
"Viserys, it is inappropriate for a married man to dance with a woman he is not bound to - you should go ask your wife for a dance." Aemma said sharply with a jerk of her chin, pointing at where Queen Alicent was sitting at the Head Table, her father leaning over her and talking in hushed tones. 

Her words of rejection hurt more than any Maester's knife. 

Viserys' chest heaved with shallow breaths, unshed tears misting his eyes and his head bowing like a defeated soldier. He felt worse than that time Daemon of two-and-ten namedays bested him in the training yard despite being four years younger, or when Alyssa yelled at him in open court. In a twistedly fitting way, he realized the only time he had felt so rejected was when Aemma walked into the throne room with blood still dripping down her thighs, shouting out his greatest shame for all to hear.

He lifted his head warily, an apology or a plead already on his lips, but Aemma and Ser Benedict were gone. He sluggishly went along with Ser Steffon as the knight helped him back to his seat, giving him a great view of the dance floor and the dancing couples. He did not glance at his wife, nor at his Hand, despite their immediate attempts to gain his attention. 

The music starts up again and Viserys hears the two Hightowers at his ears as if they were far away, his eyes finding Aemma and Ser Benedict dancing together, pulling their bodies closer together than some of the other couples when their arms or hands met, their gazes locked in each other's. Selfishly, Viserys prays that Aemma looks at him - at his teary eyes, at his frown, at his pout, at his clear heartbreak - and realizes how she much she's hurt him. But his former wife does not look at anyone else, her eyes and attention fixed solely on her companion with a look of love that had once upon a time been bestowed upon Viserys himself.  

The damning blow to his already battered heart comes when the song ends and it's Aemma who rises on her tiptoes to kiss the Dornishman. 

Viserys had never wished death on anyone, but for a long moment, he thought he would be happy to hear of Ser Benedict's death.

...

Otto Hightower noticed that both Vaegon and Saera Targaryen had the audacity to look at him with distaste as he tried to reach his daughter. 

Being led to a regular table instead of the high table was humiliating enough and he certainly didn’t miss the smug looks from certain nobles as he was rejected from even approaching the high table to take his seat, Ser Westerling firmly glaring him down and informing him that “he was not part of the bride and groom’s family and thus had no place at their table”. 

Otto seethed and reminded the knight that he was the father of the Queen, the bride’s stepmother, and received silence and a raised eyebrow - as if he had suggested something utterly ridiculous. 

Growing aware of the fact that he could not argue with a knight of the Kingsguard without the King present, Otto glowered at Ser Westerling and allowed an usher dressed in red and black to guide him to the Reach table. He scanned the rest of the tables and saw the recent withdrawers of the Small Council seating together at the second highest table along with their children and grandchildren, Beesbury and Strong laughing and chatting like old friends. In his twenty years on the Small Council, Otto could not recall ever seeing the aging Lord Beesbury happy at a feast - but then again, it wasn’t like he was responsible for allotting the coin for these festivities.

His sharp eyes scanned the rest of the great hall, looking for any sign of discontent or disapproval. The Vale delegation, Princess Rhaenyra’s kin by her useless mother, was happy - even Rhea Royce, who was amiably talking with some ladies from the North, probably discussing archery or horse-riding or some other unladylike pursuit popular with such women. The Northern party in their furs and wools were in good spirits already, despite their known solemn nature, and the Manderlys were bragging about bringing the best oysters loud enough for the entire hall to hear. The table for the Riverlands was masterfully set so that Blackwoods were on one end and Brackens on the opposite one, with neutral houses and House Tully in the middle to act as buffers.

The Stormlands, as expected, were speaking praises of Princess Rhaenys and Ser Laenor for defending them from the Triarchy, but Otto also noticed that Ser Borros, Lord Boremund’s son and heir, was nowhere to be seen. There had been some rumors at court about Lord Boremund setting aside his only son as heir and going straight to his granddaughter, which would have been laughable if not for the fact that there were also letters sent to the King informing him of the Carons being willing to raise the banners if “Borros decided to do as the King had tried and ordered his wife cut open for a babe”. If Lady Cassandra did become Lady Paramount of the Stormlands, that would mean there’d be no less than three women ruling as Lady Paramounts over a significant portion of the Realm. 

It was a preposterous idea- but one that could be circumvented if he played his cards right.

It could be the perfect opportunity to invite Lady Cassandra to court as a lady-in-waiting for Alicent, under the pretense of learning to rule under the Queen herself. Otto shelved that thought for later, keeping an eye on the black-haired girl of five-and-ten that was sitting next to Lord Baratheon. She was comely - maybe he could order Gwayne to speak to her as well, order him to charm her as Alicent had done with the King. If a marriage could be arranged, it would give Otto access to at least fifty-thousand fighting men and a significant cavalry. 

He was about to look for the foreign delegations when the doors opened and the King and Queen were announced, halting any plans being woven in his head.

.

Queen Alicent Hightower doesn’t look her father in the eye when arrives to her seat at the main table, too busy bracing herself for the tongue-lashing that is sure to come. 

“Fix your face, you look like a child who was denied sweets,” Otto hisses harshly the second he is behind her chair, paying no mind to Ser Criston two feet away from him and within earshot. 
Alicent protests the comparison immediately. “Rhaenyra humiliated me!” She shout-whispered back.
Otto cursed silently and swiveled his hair around to make sure the high table was empty and then turned back when he verified the other Targaryens and Velaryons were gone to mingle with the other guests as the dancing continued. “Foolish girl. You are the Queen - you should not initiate petty adolescent fights.” He chastised his adolescent daughter. “You should be mending bridges with the Princess so she could be more easily persuaded to give eggs to Aegon and Aemond.”
The Queen lowered her head in shame and glared at her plate. “Yes, father.”
“Good. Now go introduce yourself to the Baratheons - hopefully you can convince Lord Boremund to send his eldest granddaughter to become a lady-in-waiting for you and get the Stormlands back on our side.”
Alicent looked up at Otto with a frown. “Hadn’t you already sent an invite?”
“That was before Lady Cassandra was set to become the heir to Stormlands.” He leaned closer and gritted his teeth from anger. “It is not your place to question my orders, Alicent - Queen or not, I am still your father. Do you understand?”
Her cheeks reddened and she nodded. “Yes, father.” 
“Good.” He straightened up and fixed his jacket. “Go.”

..

His next stop was with the renegades that had abandoned his family’s city and scurried like rats to this dreary island. 

Ideally, he would be able to convince Viserys to ask them to come back to King’s Landing with them, but Otto was not foolish enough to let him fumble another family relationship by being himself. Every other Targaryen already openly defied the King and Otto was very aware of the inexistent power of persuasion that Viserys Targaryen possessed.

No, this matter he would handle personally.

Those that were not dancing were scattered around the room, talking with the other guests in clustered groups or pairs in the edge of the dance floor, and he luckily found the two Targaryens he was looking for together, talking with Lord Beesbury and a girl that must be his granddaughter. He had heard through the grapevine that she was as skilled with numbers and coin as the former Master of Coin and once again cursed that she had been snatched up by the Princess for her own household. A girl with some real brains would have been a boon to Alicent’s middling court. 

He approached the group and they all stopped talking when they noticed him, looking at him like an interloper and barely acknowledging his position with a head nod. “Lord Beesbury, how are you finding your retirement?” 
“Most invigorating, Ser Otto. The city of Dragonstone has so much to offer now and it is a true pleasure to try its rising ventures.” The aging Lord said as he leaned on his cane. “Not to mention, my lungs have enjoyed the… fresh sea air of the island after spending so long in King’s Landing.” None would point out loud that King’s Landing was also by the sea and that the difference came from the waste disposal system made by Braavosi engineers that was available on Dragonstone and… sorely lacking in King’s Landing.

Otto ignored the useless poke and turned to his true objectives. "Archmaester Vaegon, Septa Rhaella, it is an honor to make your acquaintance and a wonder to meet you both here of all places. It was quite a surprise to my house that you both had departed from Oldtown so suddenly… and quietly.” Otto Hightower pointed out, trying his hardest not to grit his teeth at these traitors.
Vaegon scoffed. “It was quite a surprise to hear that a daughter of Oldtown was found unchaperoned in the King’s bedchamber, so I suppose we were all victims of our biases.”
The former septa slapped her cousin on the arm, but any hope that she could be moved to their side was snuffed out when the old hag opened her mouth. “Vaegon, one must lay blame on both guilty parties. It is clear that King Viserys acted very inappropriately towards a maiden that did not know better. As someone much older and experienced, he should have acted with wisdom instead of his loins.” 

Gods, must all the people in this blasted inbred family be so annoying? Did decades of safety, learning, service, and welfare mean nothing to them? If it wasn't for the fact that they needed their support - though Otto would rather have them as symbols of support, quiet banners that would not complicate his rule - then Otto would have been happy ignoring them completely and writing them off as either unimportant... or easy enemies to be disposed.

“Queen Alicent wishes to extend you both an invitation to reside in the Red Keep once more and care for your kin, the royal family. Crown Prince Aegon would surely benefit from a tutor that learned to rule on Jaehaerys’ knee and the Queen would be most happy to count on a familiar Septa for the instruction of the ladies of the court and the little Princess Helaena.” The Hand said his chest puffed out, the imposing nature he was trying to convey lost to the disinterest of the Targaryens.

Vaegon scoffed at the proposal. "Give up my studies here to teach your snot-nosed grandson? No, you have maesters for that. Though you may thank your daughter for the invitation, if this was even her idea."
Otto's temper flared. "And if an order from the Conclave-"
The Archmaester narrowed his eyes and interrupted him. Otto was not used to being interrupted. “I may be old, ser, but I certainly do not recall swearing loyalty to the Citadel or House Hightower when I said my vows. I swore to hold no land and fuck no cunts and I have upheld them." He spit out the last sentence like a curse, then turned to Rhaella. "What about you, cousin?” 
“I do not remember either, cousin.” Rhaella said in an equally sarcastic way. “I remember taking vows of service and celibacy… both of which I have continued to uphold while serving in the orphanage on Dragonstone.” She smiled at Otto but it was not a reassuring one. "I shall remain here as well."
Vaegon did not even bother with pretty words. “I am continuing my studies here. It’s nice to be able to focus without some Sept bell constantly ringing in the distance.” He then shooed Otto away with his hand like an annoying fly that lingered close to sweet nectars. "Go kiss my nephew's arse or whatever it is you do." 

Otto Hightower did not wring the old man's neck only because there were too many witnesses. Instead, he gritted his teeth and stomped away, not dignifying the Targaryen's words with a response. 

Melissa Beesbury looked at the retreating figure of the Hand with open disgust. "You were not exaggerating in your letters, Grandsire." She said to Lord Beesbury and patted his hand. "It must have been exhausting to deal with that every day." 
"That is one thing I will certainly not miss about the Red Keep." Lord Lyman sighed as he sipped the pear brandy imported from Tyrosh.
Vaegon scoffed - his favorite way of communicating. "Is there anything to miss in that dreary castle?" 
"Oh yes, there were these delicious apple pastries that they served at dinner that I just have not gotten hold of again-" 

Ser Criston watched his Golden Princess dance in the arms of the Dark Prince and felt a surge of pity in his heart. 

The poor little princess, too besotted to realize she had fallen into the trap of a most devious man, smiling carefree as she danced with a monster. As a knight of the Kingsguard, Ser Criston couldn’t take to the dance floor and since his official charge, the Queen, sat stiff in the high table, he could not move from behind her. 

It was only when the Lord Hand gave his daughter an order - and what an odd thing, Criston thought, to have a Queen that was ordered around like a rebellious child - and the Queen stood up to talk with the nobles that he finally got to stretch his legs and walk closer to the dance floor and see the Princess closer. After two dances with her betrothed, Princess Rhaenyra was persuaded to dance with others, and Criston was captivated as she danced a skipping ditty with Ser Laenor, laughing as they turned and twirled together. She moved with such grace, his princess. 

Unfortunately, Criston’s attention was pulled from the image of beauty and placed back at the beaded net that held the Queen’s hair as she approached the Stormlands table, where two dark-haired ladies were talking about naval defenses of all things. One was taller and had the Baratheon blue eyes along with a dress with golden antlers on the neckline, which made it easy to identify her as the heir apparent to Storm’s End, and the other had darker blue eyes and a black dress with white details and a pendant made to look like a swan.

The Queen seems to arrive at the same conclusion as Criston just then.

The other lady was none other than Lady Johanna Swann, the noblewoman taken by the Triarchy and sold to a brothel in Lys, where she suffered who knows what indignities until she was rescued by Princess Alyssa Targaryen, who proceeded to burn the entire island to ash.

As a squire in Dondarrion lands and a knight in the Dornish Marshes, Criston had seen his fair share of ruined maidens with hunched shoulders, clutching shawls to their chests, and wet tears streaming down their red cheeks. He pitied them and delighted in the punishment of the men that ruined them. But he also saw the girls that became angry, the ones with hate in their eyes and sharp nails as they left justice not to the knights but took it upon themselves. He remembers the girl of eight-and-ten that killed the nobleman that raped her, her spine straight and her glare unflinching as she was sentenced to death by hanging. Johanna Swann looked at the Queen and the knight with the latter girl’s eyes. 

"Lady Cassandra, it is a pleasure to see you again." Alicent put on her softest smile and turned to the young lady that had been the subject of so much gossip and pity last year. “Lady Johanna, it warms my soul to see you safe back on our shores. It really broke our hearts when we heard of your… unpleasant fate with the Triarchy. We prayed for your wellbeing.” 
Johanna Swann showed no emotion other than disbelief as she scowled at them. “Yes, your concern was very much noticed in the lack of royal ships and zero soldiers deployed to protect us.” 
The Queen flinched noticeably, embarrassment making her face redden. “The King has to protect all of his subjects. Declaring war on the Triarchy would have brought more harm than good.” 
“It does not erase the fact that harm was done, your grace." Lady Cassandra spoke up, her blue eyes betraying that famous fury underneath them. "My lord grandfather and the lords of the Stormlands asked for aid just as they did during the Myrish Raids, and King Jaehaerys did not hesitate to send men and a dragonrider - his own son and heir, in fact - to defend the Stormlands." 
Johanna nodded at her liege's defense and looked at the Queen with open disdain. “Is the Crown in such dire straits that they cannot fulfill their first duty to their vassals: to protect their people from foreign threats?”

Logically, Criston knew that his place in the Kingsguard involved being seen but not heard, but even he could not stay silent to such an open insult to his charge. It would reflect poorly on him if he allowed this harlot to act in such a way with the Queen - and if the Lord Hand heard, Criston had no doubts that he would wind up dead faster than all the other Kingsguards, since he didn't come from a noble family.

“You are talking to the Queen, Lady Johanna.” Criston pointed out and placed his hand on his swordhilt to ensure the message got to them.
Both ladies were less than impressed with his posturing. "Hold your horses, Ser, we meant no disrespect to the Queen." Lady Cassandra said diplomatically and then turned to Alicent. "I apologize if you took offense at any of our words, your grace." 

Alicent was starting to feel dizzy from the mounting humiliation she had endured that evening alone on top of the one at their arrival, as well as the pressure from her father's orders and the knowledge that she had failed to fulfill them. "No offense was taken, my ladies." She finally said with great effort and then reached for Ser Criston behind her. "Ser, could you be kind enough to escort me back to my chambers? I am feeling light-headed and would like to retire early." 

Criston Cole leapt like a starving dog at the chance to assist the Queen and quickly stepped up, placing the young noblewoman's dainty hand in the crook of his arm and leading her out of the grand hall without so much as glancing back at the two ladies. It was a knight's purpose to protect the weakest, after all, and what better example of protecting the weakest than escorting a frail woman from the catty bitches with a bone to pick? 

Ser Criston added another paragraph to his mental chapter in the White Book while Alicent stared up at her savior with stars in her eyes. 

As the last song closed and the last stragglers were guided back to their quarters, Alyssa Targaryen leaned on her husband as they walked across the keep to their rooms. 

One of the Maegyr's household guards was standing outside their doors and nodded at them as he opened the door slowly, like they had all learned to do to avoid waking the hatchlings. 

It did not work, unfortunately, for the ever so slight groan of the door hinges opening woke them up. 

And when their children woke up, the little dragons did too. 

Alyssa and Marcus sighed and bid the guard goodnight before rushing to the nursery adjoined to their room, where a local Dragonstone wetnurse stood over the cradle trying to soothe all four babies. "Shhh, shhh, hush little dragons." The older woman cooed in the Dragonstone dialect of Valyrian but that did nothing calm them down. 

"Thank you, Kaela, but they are stubborn little shits when they want to be." Alyssa smiled at the wetnurse and looked into the crib, her heart, as always, melting at the sight of the two little things she had carried and labored to bring into the world curled up around their cradleborn dragons in one nest. She carefully lifted her little girl into her arms and laid her on her chest, the baby's eyes opening with interest at the movement and mismatched green and purple eyes looking up at her mother with a toothless smile that halted her cries.

Alyssa dismissed Kaela back to her cot behind a partition while Marcus appeared in the room with his formal jacket and silk shirt taken off and his bare chest a sweet sight for his wife to see. It was an even sweeter sight when he picked up their son and cradled him to his chest, the boy calming down at the feeling of his father's skin and settling down without much fuss. 

Talisa and Baelon Targaryen-Maegyr were certainly as different as the sun and the moon when it came to their personalities and appearance.

The two small dragons, on the other hand, were both pitch black and the only reason they could be told apart was because of their different eyes. 

The hatchlings, already familiar with Marcus and Alyssa, flapped their little wings and clumsily flew to the banister of the crib and then to the adults' shoulders, settling around them like collars with their heads resting close to their respective infant's. They settled down quickly too, comfortable around their mother's rider and favorite toy as much as they were around the human hatchlings. 

"All that is missing is the Cannibal and we would be a proper nest." Marcus joked quietly as he walked closer to his wife, the two of them lost in the sight of the sleeping babes and hatchlings.
Alyssa chuckled and brushed her side against his for the lack of free hands to actually hold him close. "Maybe we can miss the first rounds tomorrow and go see our friend while everyone else is at the tourney. I'm certain our little hatchlings are missing the Cannibal as well." 
"Splendid idea, my dragoness." He pressed a kiss to Alyssa's cheek, then on Talisa's head and then Baelon's. "Let's go to bed - I can't feel my feet from all that dancing and none of these babies will be letting go soon.

Alyssa could not agree more, so she leaned close to him and kissed him on the lips, their sleeping children held securely between them and the hatchlings around them to keep them safe. 

The following day dawned with anticipation as the guests were guided to the tourney grounds. 

Knights and squires got ready in their allocated tents, armor polished to shine and strapped on with diligence as grooms delivered fed horses to their owners. Ladies fiddled with their favors on the stands, coins exchanged hands as the listings were posted and people started to bet on what knight would beat that other knight - though the attention and speculation of most was focused on what the Rogue Prince would be doing that day. 

One could always count on being entertained as far as Daemon Targaryen was concerned, after all. 

King Viserys nursed a raging headache from the wine he had downed yestereve once he retired from the feast. The sight of his daughter and Daemon together and Aemma passionately kissing a man that wasn’t him was too much to handle and the carafe of Arbor gold in the chambers prepared for him was all too easy to pour. He does not recall much of what happened after the fourth cup of wine, but he remembers calling for his wife and taking her with more force than he usually did, fueled by the anger and grief that stemmed from the helplessness of the night. His thrusts were marked with calls to Aemma, for her to look at him, to remember that she is his. 

Viserys did not remember any of that when he woke up, but Alicent certainly did as she got up from his bed once he fell asleep. 

The Queen that now sat stone-faced next to the King, a squirming Aegon held on a nursemaid’s lap as Alicent was still sore from the King’s… attentions the night before. 

She eyed the Lady Aemma and her lover, as she came to find out at the feast, sitting on the bench behind them out of the corner of her eye. The two sat close together and held hands, which made a mix of jealousy and disgust bubble in Alicent’s chest. Here was Aemma Arryn, cast aside for her failure to fulfill her duty, flaunting her healthy, handsome lover as if she had done anything to deserve it while Alicent still felt the intrusion of Viserys’ member like grease that wouldn’t rub off. 

Next to them sat Princess Saera - and gods did it bother Alicent that people suddenly remembered that time when the dying King Jaehaerys that wasn’t even aware of what year it was confused Alicent with Saera - dressed in expensive silks that were tailored to show as much skin as possible. Alicent’s face burned at the sight of the woman’s breasts nearly spilling out of the bodice of her dress and the whore had certainly enjoyed the lingering stares from nobles and peasants alike as she arranged her skirts and showed them a glimpse of her knee. 

The Septa and Archmaester were also present, talking with their kin. After her fruitless conversation with Cassandra Baratheon and Johanna Swann, Alicent had gone to report to her father like a good little soldier and found him seething from the open defiance and rejection by the former residents of Oldtown. Not only would they not return to the Starry Sept and the Citadel, but they also refused the King’s invitation to reside in the Red Keep to educate the Crown Prince and guide the court in the Light of the Seven.

And of course, the worst culprit of them all, Rhaenyra Targaryen, sitting on Viserys’ left in her black dress with gold and red embroidery depicting dragons, as usual. She held on her lap a wreath of fabric flowers that looked like it was made by a child, which meant that Rhaenyra had done it herself. Alicent remembered her former friend’s lack of talent with the needle and thread and how often Septa Marlowe would chastise her for not trying harder, only for Rhaenyra to eventually give up and toss the hoop aside, claiming that dragons didn’t need to learn how to sew. Smugly, Alicent thought that it was an omen of how ill-suited Rhaenyra was for marriage and how she would flounder in her wifely duties, which made the Queen feel a little better.

The trumpets blared, pulling Alicent out of her venomous pit of despair and getting her to focus on the knights that rode onto the field, cheers filling the air as they started to ride up to their intendeds and betrotheds to ask for their favors. 

Ser Harwin Strong asked for the favor of Celaena Celtigar, his betrothed; a knight from House Frey rode up to Sabitha Vypren, a sword carried openly on her hip, and asked for her favor - but he did not receive flowers or a handkerchief, instead the young lady drew her sword and tapped his shoulders with the blade like a knight would and wished him luck; Laena Velaryon gave her favor of sea blue ribbon and seashells to her cousin and future husband; and two certain former councilors were pleasantly surprised when Ser Allun Beesbury, heir to Honeyholt, asked for the favor of Catelyn Strong.

Ser Criston Cole was approaching the royal box when the shriek of a dragon tore through the air, bringing all the noise and movement to a scratching halt. 

Daemon Targaryen rode out atop his black steed, in his polished black armor made to resemble dragon scales and his winged helmet tucked under one arm, his lance held high in the other. The cheering grew to astronomical levels as people rose from their seats to receive the Prince of the City, nodding to them as he passed fellow combatants, maidens waving their handkerchiefs, and visiting foreigners with that proud smirk on his face. 

The Rogue Prince brushed past Ser Criston, who had been too busy glaring at him to resume his journey to Princess Rhaenyra. “Out of my way, Ser Crispin, I have to collect my future wife’s favor.” He drawled, each word a poke that stoked Criston's fire. Daemon didn’t even wait for a response, too focused on his beautiful betrothed to focus on a hedge knight that got lucky once and was raised to Kingsguard by Otto’s paranoia only. 

Daemon came to a halt in front of the royal box and held out his lance to his Princess. “My beloved Rhaenyra! My twin flame! Would you do me the honor of granting me your favor so that I may crown you Queen of Love and Beauty before all?” 

Rhaenyra giggled like a girl as she stood and skipped to the balustrade, holding out her favor and letting it fall down the lance. “May the gods grant you strength and good aim, my prince - and I expect your face to still be this handsome when I marry you tomorrow.” She added the last part as a joke that had the people around them laughing. Daemon set his helmet on the saddle and used his free hand to fix the favor high on his arm, letting him smell the blood and sweat and sweet lilac perfume on the fabric. “I spent many hours stitching this favor together, try not to break it, Uncle.” 
Daemon grinned up at her and held up his free hand, Rhaenyra leaning over the balustrade and extending her own and even with the added height of the horse it was still a stretch to reach Daemon’s hand to squeeze it. “I shall keep it whole and honor your favor.” They both hesitate to let go, their hands remaining in that reaching angle even as Daemon's horse starts moving and Rhaenyra stays at the edge of the balcony, her eyes trained on him. 

The crowd goes wild at the display straight out of a knightly ballad, maidens swooning at the declarations of love.

Ser Criston feels his anger boiling and rage unlike any other take hold of him. 

He wants to throw all rules out the window and gallop towards the Rogue Prince now so he can fall from his horse and hopefully break his neck on the fall and- 

His attention is suddenly stolen by the Queen, of all people, fiddling with a wreath of pure white flowers and evergreen and Criston remembers that momentous tourney - the one where so many lives changed course but especially his. Princess Rhaenyra's favor had helped him win against Lord Fleabottom and ascended him to a Kingsguard. Maybe a Queen's favor was all that was exactly what he needed to win once again and this time slay the dragon and rescue the princess. 

With uplifted spirits, Criston rode towards the royal box and pointedly ignored the Princess, who was too busy giggling with her ladies, and instead pointed the end of his lance at the Queen. 

"Queen Alicent, it would be this humble knight's highest honor if you were to grant him your favor!" He called, looking up at the young woman with his best charming smile, the one that had many maidens and whores back at home attempting to seduce him.
Without a single second of hesitation, Alicent stands up and gives her favor to the Kingsguard. "May the Seven guide you to victory, Ser Criston." She wished him luck with a kind smile and her eyes lingered on his smooth skin and big eyes for a few seconds longer than appropriate before returning to her seat besides her hangover husband. 

The trumpets sounded again and so began the tourney.

Chapter Text

For Alyssa Targaryen, the morning of the tournament dawned with the hungry whimpers of the baby girl in her arms. 

Talisa Targaryen was not one used to being made to wait for anything. 

"Shhhh, I have your food, impatient creature, it's right here." Alyssa whispered to her before pulling down the neckline of her sleeping shift and cradling her to her breast. The little one immediately latched and happily drank, her little fist clutching one of Alyssa's fingers and her feet shuffling. Unlike her brother Baelon, who was quieter and liked to observe, if Talisa was awake, she was moving. 

Speaking of brothers, Baelon must have sensed that there was food nearby that his sister had gotten to first, because he started to squirm on Marcus' bare chest, waking up his father and the hatchling. 

"Good morning, little dragon." Marcus cooed at his son, who stared back at him with his wife's amethyst eyes. Baelon looked around, his gaze settling on his father's face, then his hatchling's snout, and then to the side to his mother and sister. He must have recognized Alyssa as his source of food, because he started to reach for her, much to Marcus' false offense. "Oh I see, you do not love your father. My own blood has cast me aside." He sighs dramatically, which Alyssa responds by rolling her eyes. 
"You are welcome to bear heavy and sore tits if you wish for them to feed from you." She said with only a hint of resentment as Talisa unlatched and was promptly taken by her husband, who handed her Baelon so he could feed and grabbed one of the cloths they left on the bedside table over his shoulder.
He cradled Talisa to his covered shoulder and started palming her back just as the midwives had taught them, only stopping to press a kiss Alyssa's cheek. "I will massage them and ask Lyna to prepare those warm pads with chamomile." Marcus reassured her, kissing her bared shoulder and then Baelon's head. 
Alyssa hummed at the kisses and the prospect of some relief in the form of his talented hands. "I love you." 
"I love you too, my dragoness." He replied and as if on cue, Talisa spit up and completely missed the cloth, having turned her head away and leaving a blot on his collarbone. 

Alyssa could not help it: she started laughing both at her daughter's smile and Marcus' surprised expression. He looked like he was actually contemplating that their daughter of two moons had planned to spit on him in retaliation for making her mother momentarily mad. 

It had been an adjustment, having two demanding (though very adorable) babes in their lives. While most noblefolk handed off their children to wetnurses the second they left the womb, Alyssa and Marcus could not be pulled away from theirs. They slept in a shared crib at the foot of their bed in Volantis and were fed by a wetnurse if Alyssa was away or had dried up, but the rest of the day they were with their parents or passed around the household to be entertained. Her handmaiden Pili had gotten married to a sailor under Captain Xanda and they had a five-year-old daughter that lived in the manse too, and with Yasir the gardener getting too old to handle the heavy gardening tools, he was very happy to spend the days making flower arrangements and minding the children whenever they were not in someone else's arms. Or playing with the dragon. 

The Cannibal had been overprotective of Alyssa over the rest of her pregnancy and downright possessive once she neared her labors, to the point where even Marcus was growled at when he approached. Once she was about six moons along the dragon refused to let her climb up to the saddle by twisting her neck so her head was blocking the rope ladder and huffing when Alyssa threatened to step on her snout to get up. Eventually - and eventually should be understood as almost a fortnight - Alyssa relented and flopped down on the ground, resting her aching back against the Cannibal's warm side and letting the dragon curl up around her like she was another egg. 

The less is said about the birth of the twins, the better.

On those chambers in Dragonstone, silence settled between the members of the little family, the only sounds coming from the hatchlings stretching awake and climbing down from the couple's shoulders to fly to the hearth, where they would rest a little longer in the dying embers of the fire. 

"Are you sure you do not wish to see the men's tourney?" Marcus asked as he settled Talisa on his bare chest, her eyes dropping sleepily when he stroked her back. "Lyna and I can stay with the children, and you can go cheer on your brother." 
Alyssa clicked her tongue and kept her eyes on Baelon. "Daemon will ask Rhaenyra's favor, he will be brutal and dramatic as always, and he will win and crown her Queen of Love and Beauty. I can hear his peacocking at supper." She looked to the hatchlings nesting in the hearth and reminded herself to ask for more meat from the dragonkeepers. "Besides, it's been one day and I already cannot listen to Viserys' pathetic weeping or his wife's haughtiness. I am liable to kill someone in that royal box and Aemma would never forgive me for that." Marcus shared an understanding nod. He too could not believe that the girl that his Alyssa had offered an escape to had turned around and tried to use her new position to berate her former friend - her former best friend, if what he heard from others could be believed. 

"Morning with the Cannibal it is, then." 

...

As it turned out, their morning would not be spent alone with the Cannibal.

Alyssa and Marcus rested against the Cannibal's side as their children and the hatchlings played right in front of them, a large cowhide rug keeping them safe from the rough stone below them, when a familiar sharp whistle and a man's happy steps greeted them. 

"I thought I heard my favorite little nephews." Daemon Targaryen said in way of greeting, his hair mussed from flying and his gloves hanging carelessly from his pocket. His easy walk got stopped by the Cannibal, who lifted her head at him and bared her teeth at him. "Rystas, Cannibal." The Rogue Prince bowed to the dragon with more respect than he had ever shown Viserys and waited while bright green eyes looked him up and down. After a few seconds of deliberation, the Cannibal laid her head back down and let him pass. 

Daemon immediately sat down on the other side of Alyssa and her husband, right at the edge of the rug that contained his nephew and niece, and grinned at them. "Hello, hatchlings." He said at all four of them and went to pick up the nearest babe, Talisa laughing with delight as she was swung around and above Daemon's head. It was something their father had done with Rhaenyra when she was a little babe too, and now Alyssa had a lot more sympathy for how Aemma was always distressed when he did that.
"Daemon, please do not break my children." Alyssa sat up on instinct, her hands ready to reach for them at a moment's notice. 
"Relax, haedar, I'm well-versed in the handling of nieces." He joked and settled the baby girl on his arms, her little hands clapping together. He smiled down at her and then smirked at Alyssa's expression. "After all, I am marrying our other niece tomorrow."
"Give me back my daughter before you begin that tourney with a broken nose."

Daemon rolled his eyes but relented, giving Talisa back to her mother and leaning down so he was at eye-level with an ever-observant Baelon. 

The Rogue Prince would deny it to anyone else, but he had cried when Alyssa asked to use their father's name if her child was a boy. It had been right after Daemon and Rhaenyra's betrothal celebration, and she didn't yet know she was carrying twins, least of all their gender, but she had gone to Daemon and Aemma and asked for their blessing - for Daemon's father, for Aemma's last babe. 

Aemma had not hesitated for a second before engulfing her in a hug and giving her approval, Daemon had only taken a second to brush away at the tears that sprang in his eyes before joining the embrace. 

The fact that her Baelon had inherited her amethyst eyes - their father Baelon's eyes - just made the name much more fitting. 

"And how are we this morning, nephew?" He asked the little boy, who remained looking at his uncle with those bright eyes and a pout on his lips as he examined him. 

Without warning, Baelon inched closer to Daemon's face and hit his little palm against his uncle's cheek, the boy giggling as Daemon backed away in mock offense at the boy and very real offense at Alyssa and Marcus' roaring laughter. 

"Gods, Alyssa - only your children would come out of the womb already wanting to fight." 

At the tourney grounds, the horn was blown and bloodshed followed. 

Ser Harwin Strong defeated Gwayne Hightower - and Lord Lyonel would swear that he did not laugh when the Hand's son flew off his horse with a high-pitched shriek, do not be silly, Lord Lyman - but lost to Ser Luthor Largent, the captain of the Dragonguards. More than one maiden - and matrons... and widows ... and wives sitting next to their husbands... - watched with open mouths as the two large men rode against each other and the way they moved in the saddle, and they cried out in a chorus of disappointment when Ser Harwin had to leave the field. 

The Frey heir that had asked for Sabitha Vypren's favor made it to the second round before he was unhorsed by a Tully knight - and he must have hit the ground hard, for he ripped off his helmet and declared that he had already won by virtue of receiving a fair fighter's favor. He was called Fool Frey and helped off the field by two squires, who were desperately calling for a maester to check his head.

Ser Daemion, Laena's future husband, did fairly well, unhorsing several opponents and losing when the fighting continued on the ground and he received a morningstar to the side that knocked him to the ground. Laena tensed in her seat when she watched her betrothed go down and clutched Rhaenyra's hand even as he yielded and managed to walk mostly on his own. 

There were lost teeth and broken limbs and knocked skulls and several dead horses - the usual. 

Rhaenyra was caught between pride and anxiety as she watched Daemon in his most natural form: fighting. He was unflinching and unyielding as his lance hit the bodies and shields of his opponents, sending them flying to the ground or beating them in combat if they got up. He wielded Dark Sister as an extension of his arm and parried and blocked and slashed at his opponents. Knights old and young and from every corner of the Kingdom fell as the Rogue Prince showed them all once again why he was knighted at six-and-ten and given Dark Sister. 

Viserys loved the spectacle of tourneys. As King, he adored the cheers of the crowds, their gratitude in providing entertainment and a way to lift their spirits. Before that ill-fated heir's tournament, people noble and common would chant for him, for Daemon, for Rhaenyra, for Aemma if she was present - but since that fateful day, there were no warm greetings and the cheers that did ring were met with awkward silences that snuffed them out quickly. The people of King's Landing would always clamor for bloodshed and fighting, but the King and Queen and their children might as well not exist. Remembering what the people had shouted at them before their wedding, Viserys thought their coldness was actually the better option, even if it hurt him. 

As the fighting continued, the King could not help but flinch at every arm and leg that was twisted the wrong away and the screams of the knights as they were carried away rang in his ears as a painful reminder of his own sins. (A bed of blood, Alyssa trying to reason with him, Aemma crying out. NO! NO! VISERYS!) Every so often he would look back at Aemma, a desperate attempt to show her that he was suffering as a consequence of his actions so she could finally forgive him and fucking smile at him again like she did when they were still married. And yet every single time, Aemma was either focused on the fighting or talking with Ser Benedict, her hand never leaving his own and their heads leaning closer together like they were in their own little world. 

King Viserys was a jealous man, though he would never admit it out loud to anyone. It would not do to have a jealous King - it meant that he did not have enough power to acquire what he desired. Viserys was jealous of Daemon's strength, of Alyssa's popularity, of Rhaenys' regality - but most of all, he envied that Dornish knight who was holding Aemma's hand and dancing with her and getting kissed by her soft lips. 

During a pause for refreshments, Rhaenyra and several of her ladies wondered off to check on their betrotheds, and Alyssa and her husband finally appeared, two servants bringing more seats next to Aemma and Ser Benedict. Since her escape all those years ago, Alyssa enjoyed adding armored elements to her dresses and today was no different - she wore polished steel vambraces that resembled a dragon's scales and shoulder pauldrons that depicted snarling dragons over a rigid dress of blood red. Marcus Maegyr wore his usual Volantene clothes in dark red too, matching his wife's colors. 

"Did we miss anything interesting?" Alyssa asked Aemma as she settled in the cushioned chair. 
"Not much. Daemon is rising up the lists, so Rhaenyra will probably get crowned Queen of Love and Beauty once more." Aemma said with a smile on her face as she remembered the last tourney where her daughter got handed a crown by a relative. She turned to Ben and explained. "During King Viserys' coronation tourney, Alyssa entered in disguise, won the jousting and the melee, and crowned Rhaenyra." 
Ser Benedict nodded in appreciation. "I am now sorry to have missed it. It must have been quite the spectacle." 

Viserys didn't know what hurt the most: the fact that this stranger was integrated into their conversation so easily, or the fact that Aemma referred to him, her husband of nearly twenty years, by title first once again. 

"Will you be fighting in the women's tournament, sister?" Viserys asked loudly, finally spotting an opening to slip into their conversation. He did not see Alicent and Otto scowling at the idea of a women's tournament.
"I trained half of these girls and have at least two decades on them, it would hardly be a fair fight." I am still recovering from giving birth to two large-headed babies and it took a moon for me just to walk to the market again. "Besides, I have already won a tourney - and it's not as fun when I don't get to beat men that thought they could make me their wife." 
"And yet you became a wife all the same." Alicent pointed out with a mean edge in her voice.
Marcus recognized the tone in the bitter queen's words and laughed it off. "Oh, I never presumed to make her anything - and my dragoness has bested me in combat many times." He looked at Alyssa with besotted eyes and kissed her hand. "There is no shame in losing to one so skilled." 

Vaegon Targaryen interrupted the show of affection with a very obvious fake cough and a groan. "If I had been warned that I would have to put up with my eldest siblings' romantic nonsense again, I would have stayed at the keep."
"If you think Baelon and Alyssa's wedding night was bad, you should have been in Volantis for their wedding." Saera raised her cup of wine to her niece Alyssa and grinned. "What was it the Braavosi said? That they could hear your husband's begging all the way from their city?"  
Alyssa raised her own cup towards Saera, as if she was making a toast. "And the Meerenese complained they could hear my cries of pleasure from their pyramids."

The teasing sent the brash Targaryen women laughing in an unladylike manner and clinking their cups together in toast, and even the grouch that was Archmaester Vaegon and the tranquil Septa Rhaella cracked slight smiles at their antics. Marcus Maegyr grinned, his cheeks red but not out of embarrassment, instead pulling Alyssa into an almost chaste kiss by the hand he was still holding. Rhaenyra and her ladies-in-waiting watched with a mixture of longing and some bashfulness at hearing of a marital act being discussed so openly but as something that was pleasurable instead of the duty-filled sermons from Septas or the silence of their mothers. 

Viserys witnessed his family laughing together and jesting and was once again reminded that he was not part of it. 

Alicent was mortified - both by being so easily brushed off and by the way these women spoke of pleasure in the marriage bed when all Alicent knew was discomfort. Maybe it was something only Targaryen women knew? Something else in their unnatural blood that made the marital act feel good instead of uncomfortable? There were still bawdy songs about the wedding night of the Spring Prince and his sister-bride, though Alicent did not care to listen to them and thought them the product of a bard's imagination. What lies had these women told Rhaenyra and the other impressionable young ladies about their fate? How dare they leave them blind to the suffering they were about to experience and sell them a lie instead? 

The Queen, dressed in grey but with emeralds on her throat and ears and dark green binding on her modest neckline, simply straightened her back and look on as she waited for the tourney to reconvene. She thought of Ser Criston's powerful stance as he defended her from those stormwomen last night and his beautiful eyes that glowered with rightful anger and held back a sigh. It had been no hardship to give him her favor. He was like a knight from the songs, always at her back and never looking at her with the contempt or mockery that still followed her around the Red Keep, forever guarding her from those that still called her a whore and lending his support when the King's absence and obliviousness left her stumbling. 

She could hardly wait for her white knight to defeat the black prince. She pictured herself receiving the flower crown while Rhaenyra sulked and cried after her precious uncle, the herald proclaiming her Queen of Love and Beauty and the crowds cheering; she would take Aegon into her arms then and show the righteous prince she had brought forth and they would cheer louder. Alicent would have their approval, their recognition, their admiration. 

All would be well. 

...

It finally came down to the final joust: Daemon Targaryen against Criston Cole, once more. 

And this time, Daemon knew better than to get cocky. Nothing would stop him from crowning Rhaenyra today.

...

Ser Criston was disappointed but not discouraged by the Princess' infatuation with Prince Daemon. One could hardly expect a maiden like the Realm's Delight to be discerning enough to look past the wiles of a man like the Rogue Prince. 

Once he defeated Daemon, he would crown Princess Rhaenyra and beg for an audience with her, and there he would make her see the truth: that his love for her was pure and noble, unlike the dark obsession of Daemon Targaryen, and that if she came along with him, they would live humbly but lovingly, happily ever after. She would be able to leave the dirty business of war and ruling behind for someone else and be free of those constraints, somewhere far away where no politics and princes could find them. 

But first, he needed to slay the dragon.

The horn sounded once more and everyone in the stands waited with bated breath for the bloodshed. 

Both knights charged at the same time. 

Daemon held fast to his lance as it shattered on Criston's shield. Riding horses was no different than riding dragons, in theory - and Daemon Targaryen was a very skilled rider. He dug his heels in moved with the horse, adding more strength to his jab at the Kingsguard and landing with such a force on the shield that it made the knight's arm fly back and lose grip, the white shield landing uselessly on the ground along the splinters of Daemon's lance. The impact still made Daemon's arm sore, but it was drowned out by the sight of Rhaenyra standing up from her seat and clapping for him, her smile a radiant beam of light that could outshine the sun. 

What was some pain when that was the prize bestowed upon him? 

With a bow to his future wife, Daemon took another lance from his squire and resettled in his saddle. 

The second pass was harder, with both knights eager for blood and not wishing to drag this for longer than it needed. Daemon aimed for Cole's shoulder, where a well-aimed blow could throw him off his horse. It would be nice if the bastard actually stayed down this time, but the Rogue Prince would not object to fighting him on the ground as well, if only to get even from the last tourney.

Ser Criston was of a similar mind, not even bothering with the pretension of wanting to entertain the masses or create a reputation as a knight anymore. 

He aimed straight for Daemon's head and urged his horse forward. 

...

Daemon Targaryen saw the particular way that hedge knight was aiming his lance and scoffed under his helmet. 

Of course, the bastard would rely on dirty tricks again. There were stains that not even a white cloak could hide. 

As he rode forward to meet his opponent, Daemon lifted his shield in the last second and redirected his lance straight into Cole's exposed side, causing the knight to fall sideways and onto the dirt, the crowds roaring in approval as Ser Criston hit the ground. 

A rational man who wished to keep his head and his dignity would have yielded and lived to tell the tale. If it was any other man, Daemon may have even bought him a drink for his bravery in aiming so boldly at the head of a Prince of the Blood. 

Ser Criston was neither. 

He stood up again and his hands went straight for his morningstar.

Ser Criston's vision swam black when his back hit the ground, but when he opened his eyes again and saw the cloudy sky, his vision went red. 

He would not yield to Daemon Targaryen. 

Ignoring the pain that burned through his body as he got back on his feet, Criston unhooked his morningstar and shouted a challenge that was lost to the deafening cheers and calls of the spectators. He turned to look at his golden princess, hoping that she would see him as her champion, as the one who would free her from the torment that would be getting married to a man like Lord Fleabottom, but all he sees is Princess Rhaenyra blowing a kiss to the man as he dismounts almost lazily, as if fighting for honor and glory is a tedious task. 

Daemon Targaryen unsheathes his sword, the hiss of Valyrian steel singing and lingering in the air. "Come on, then, Cole." 

Criston swings like a man possessed. 

He goes for the head, the legs, for the groin, for every spot that honorable knights should not immediately aim for but that he is too far from caring right about now. He has to win; he has to defeat the beast and save the maiden. That is how he will become the hero of the story. Prince Daemon blocks his attacks and uses his shield to deflect his blows and inflict his own damage, digging the point of the black and red shield into every gap he can find in Criston's armor. 

Like a miracle granted by the Warrior, Criston finds an opening - the side that Prince Daemon does not favor and that is left open when the proud, overconfident monster sets aside his shield to face him with weapons alone. He drops his morningstar and unsheathes for his own sword too, wanting to make this an even fight. A proper duel that would go down in history. The day that the valiant white knight defeated the wicked black prince. 

Criston blocks and parries every swing and thrust from Daemon, pushing all his weight into the attacks as they move back and forth on the field like partners in a twisted dance. He thinks that if he can get Daemon against the poles that divide the jousting fields, he can use the environment to his advantage and have the prince cornered and unable to do those full turns he likes doing so much. More peacock than dragon, he scoffs at his own mental comparison. 

He is so focused by the Prince's sword that he completely misses the well-aimed kick until it lands on his thigh, sending him to the ground once more and on the side he had taken a lance to as well, sending hot sharp pins of pain through his body. He tries to lift his sword once more but an embarrassingly quick disarm with Dark Sister sends it flying out of his grasp, and his attempt to reach for it is halted by an armored foot stepping on his wrist. 

Daemon Targaryen lifts his helm and bares his teeth. "Yield." 

Criston spits - though the angle only makes it so that glob of saliva and blood ends on his own armor rather than Daemon's - and grits back at him. "Never." 

With a long-suffering sigh, Daemon rolls his eyes. "Have it your way then." 

Of all the things Criston expected, he never saw the closed fist coming. 

...

Daemon Targaryen punched Ser Criston right in the nose, the knight's face lolling limply to the side and a trickle of blood dripping from his nose and onto the ground. 

The tourney is now over. 

The spectators rise to their feet in cheers and shouts as they call for their champion, cries of "Prince Daemon!" ,"Prince of the City!" and "Prince of Dragonstone!" among the many he hears from nobility and smallfolk alike as the horn sounds once more, officially ending the men's tourney. 

"And now Prince Daemon will crown his Queen of Love and Beauty!" 

As he makes his way back to his horse, Daemon steps on something that must have been a white and evergreen favor and sweeps it aside with his foot like it was nothing, all too focused on getting the crown on his betrothed's beautiful hair. He mounts his stallion and picks up a new lance and a beautifully woven crown of red roses and white baby's breath and other little flowers he did not know the names. 

Rhaenyra looks even more radiant, if such a thing was even possible, as he approaches the royal box, the crown hanging on the edge of his lance. The rest of his kin - not counting the King and his new family, of course - are standing up and cheering too, but there is only one person whose approval he craves the most and his heart beats faster as he gets closer and closer to her.

The smile on her face is one he hopes to see every day for the rest of his life, and he will endeavor to do everything to make that a reality. "Princess Rhaenyra, my twin flame! The most beautiful maiden in all the lands ever to exist! My future bride! I crown you now and forevermore, my Queen of Love and Beauty!" Daemon calls out and extends the meager crown to his bride, delighting in her glowing happiness as she takes it and settles it atop her head. 

The crowds go wild once more, and their cries are joined by the dragons that inhabit the island.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Alicent had started picking at her nails when the third lady twisted her face in disapproval at the setup. 

One could be personal taste, two could be a coincidence, but three ladies from three different regions all looking aghast at having to sit in benches with cushions, without a proper tea service, and a young Queen with her adolescent ladies-in-waiting and fussy toddler is not a good sign. Still, Alicent straightens her back and reminds herself that she is the Queen. The most powerful woman in the realm. They have to listen. 

"Good afternoon, my ladies. Thank you for coming so promptly." Queen Alicent smiles graciously at them. "Please take a seat, we shall commence once the others join us."
"This is certainly a surprise, your grace." A lady from the Riverlands says as she sits down on one of the cushions and gives an order to one of the maids for her tea. "I do not recall when the last ladies' court was held." 
"I do." A lady from House Tyrell piped up. Despite being from the same region, the Tyrells had not warmed up to the new Hightower queen, and Alicent was still hurt by the fact that they had rejected her invitations to multiple ladies from their house to join her entourage. "It was shortly before Queen Aemma's last labors. I believe we discussed the issue of supplying more funding to orphanages and motherhouses, as well as sending more grain." She took the opportunity to address the Queen directly. "Is that a topic we will be addressing today, your grace?" 

"If we have time, my lady. There are other topics I would address first, and I believe you could all be of assistance." Alicent hid her bloody fingers in the folds of her skirt and pulled her shoulders back. "After hearing certain untruthful comments and witnessing some rather inappropriate behaviors, I believe it is our duty as married ladies to provide wisdom and guidance to the unmarried ladies of our realm - especially about certain aspects of married life that they may have been ... misled about." 

That received a reaction from all three of them. Lady Tyrell gaped at her, the Riverlands lady blinked several times, and the third, an old woman with a gaudy Westerlands necklace almost dropped the teacup she was holding. They were all older than Alicent, and so the Queen figured that they would have additional wisdom to share with the younger ladies once they arrived and would be willing to save them from unfounded expectations and prepare them properly - but they looked at Alicent as if she had grown a second head.

Before any of them could say anything else, a steady stream of ladies began to trickle in from outside, chattering among them about the tourney they had just been witnessing. There were comments about the bruises and cuts that the young women would no doubt be sporting on tonight's feast, insinuations about riding astride and lost maidenheads, and some remarks about the amount of blood - but they were surprisingly balanced out by the ladies, especially the younger ladies or the ones clearly from Dorne or the North, that were complimenting their forms and ferociousness. 

Once again, there were raised eyebrows at the benches and set up, but the most vocal criticism came from the two women that led the new arrivals. 

Saera and Rhaella Targaryen, the killer of septas and the former septa, arm-in-arm like dearest cousins. 

The disgraced whore snorted loudly at the display, making Alicent jump in her seat at the inappropriate sound and volume. "Is this what passes for a ladies' court nowadays? A few benches and the scraps from the kitchen?" She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow at the trays, her mouth snarling in disgust. "My pleasure houses have better arrangements than this." 

Saera Targaryen's insult and her comparing Alicent's gathering to a brothel made the Queen of Westeros burn bright red with embarrassment, her eyes narrowing with hatred. How dare the harlot talk about her brothels in the east in the presence of not just the noblewomen of Westeros but in front of the Queen and the young Crown Prince? Not to mention that regardless of whether or not she was still a septa, Rhaella Targaryen had been raised in a motherhouse in Oldtown by pious and obedient servants of the Faith - that language alone should have scandalized the old woman, but she merely patted Saera's arm. 

"Do not be so rash, cousin. I'm sure her grace had a valid reason for calling a ladies' court so urgently that it did not give her time to set up a more appropriate space-," she turned her sharp violet eyes to the Queen. "Is that so, your grace?" 

Alicent could feel the patronizing snark in Rhaella's voice, and she understood now why Rhaenyra had never liked listening to Septa Marlowe. But she could not rebuke Rhaella's words when they were not directly insulting her. "With Princess Rhaenyra's wedding fast approaching, I thought it prudent to gather the bride and all the unmarried ladies to impart some of our womanly wisdom upon them - to prepare them for their wifely duties." 

The ladies that had been arriving and settling on the benches - several of them standing awkwardly as they tried to figure out where they should sit based on rank and region, if there was a seating chart at all - went stone still when they heard the topic of this meeting. It was already embarrassing enough to have to listen to their mothers or septas - but now they had to listen to the Queen talk about it as well? In front of the older ladies where their future goodmother might be found? 

A young lady that resembled Cassandra Baratheon, most likely the sister that has been in Rhaenyra's service, frowned. "We have been thoroughly educated in preparation for our wifely duties, your grace. How to manage a household, make preparations for feasts and celebrations, organizing staff, balancing the quarterly earnings - we have even received lessons on our region's trade and made the preparations for defense and sieges during the Stepstones War." The older ladies looked at the young lady with interest. Many had heard of the education Princess Rhaenyra's ladies had received by tutors and the former Queen, and many were taking the wedding as an opportunity to observe them as possible brides for their sons.  
"I believe the Queen is talking about the marital bed." Laena Velaryon, in her teal and pearl dress, walked up to the front, remaining on her feet. "Is that so, your grace?" 
"Yes, Lady Laena, that is correct." Alicent jumped at the chance to gain back control of the conversation. "I would hate for all of you to walk into your marriage bed with false expectations of what it will be - and based on the things I have heard, I realized that it falls on me to lead you back to the correct path." 

Before any other lady could ask what she meant, Queen Alicent Hightower began to explain what would happen to them in the marriage bed. How they would need to lie still, on their backs, with their legs open while their husbands climbed on top of them and inserted himself into their bodies; that it would be painful and they should focus on a fixed spot above the canopy to distract themselves from the pain while their husbands rutted their hips, but that the thrusting would not last long; and finally, their husbands would spill their seed inside their wombs and they would be allowed to retreat to their own rooms, with some heated compresses to relieve the pain. Fortunately, once they found themselves to be with child, most lords would be courteous and relieve them from the marital bed until they gave birth, and the recovery period would grant them an additional moon or so of respite from the marital act until it came time to have another. 

As she listened to this poor little mouse recount her experiences with the King of Westeros, Saera Targaryen was silently dying of laughter, hiding her face in Rhaella's shoulder to muffle the noise so that the Queen would keep talking. Once that explanation was done, she could no longer hold it and started chortling and cackling like a madwoman, drawing the attention of the ladies around them and making Alicent Hightower's face bloom red. The married ladies had been rendered silent by the Queen's recounting of the marital act, a few nodding along in recognition but most of them staring at the Queen with pity and disbelief. 

"Gods, you'd think the son of Baelon and Alyssa - who traumatized the High Septon himself on their wedding night with their cries of pleasure - would have learned something about pleasuring a woman in his forty years of living." Saera laughed loudly and snorted at Alicent's confused and offended frown. "Oh, you poor little tower - no wonder all of you Hightowers always have that same pinched look, no one in that house has gotten a good fuck since the Andals came." She chuckles at her own joke while Bethany Hightower, Alicent's cousin, blushed scarlet at the former courtesan's words and bowed her head to avoid making eye contact with anyone. 

The unmarried ladies looked at Queen in terror, and some of the married ladies were about to step in to add - or refute - the explanation, but an older woman in a green-blue dress with fur trim, probably one of the Northern guests, softly cleared her throat before anyone could speak. “It is true that the first time might be painful, your grace, but not every coupling should be an ordeal.” She said evenly, her eyes wide with disbelief as she turned to the unmarried ladies. “There should not be any pain at all, if your husband knows what he is doing. Extreme pain or even persistent discomfort are causes of concern and should be discussed with a midwife or a maester.”

The Queen listened to the Northern lady and scoffed at the last bit of advice. Of course the Northerners with their tree gods would not understand the burden of duty and the righteous suffering of women as vessels. It was only by the grace of the Mother Above that they would be relieved from the painful duty of the marital bed by becoming pregnant - the maesters may assist with tonics or beverages to aid in conception, but Alicent could not imagine going to Mellos to relieve the discomfort she stoically endured whenever Viserys called her to his bed. It was not his realm of expertise, nor his place to intervene. 

A widow from House Fossoway, made obvious by her black attire with tiny red apples on her chest, nodded along to the Northern woman’s words. “Lady Manderly is correct. My dear Oswald was certainly… talented in that regard.” The married ladies tittered behind their hands, knowing exactly what she meant, and Lady Fossoway smiled at them and then at the unmarried ladies. “A good husband will strive to bring pleasure to his wife - it deepens the bond between spouses and helps nurture fondness. I find myself missing not just the physical sensations, but the way he would gently kiss away my sweat and we would talk in hushed whispers until we fell asleep.” A sad smile graced the widow’s face and the lady sitting beside her, a stone-faced Vale woman, placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

Panic surged through Alicent’s veins while everyone else sat in silent contemplation. Things were not going according to plan - and the fact that a fellow Reach-woman backed the heathens’ argument for sinful pleasure felt like a slap to the face. Could she not see that Alicent was trying to help the young ladies? If memory served her right, the Fossoway widow had a young daughter herself - maybe she ought to summon the girl to serve as a lady-in-waiting so she could guide her personally.

Alicent Hightower cleared her throat loudly to gain back control of the situation. “Thank you for your input, Lady Fossoway, but the Book of the Mother clearly states that the only reason for coupling is to beget offspring, not for something as banal as pleasure.” She said severely, cutting through the silence like a knife. “That a fellow follower of the Seven would disregard their teachings-”

The Queen was suddenly interrupted by none other than Septa Rhaella herself. “Lady Fossoway has disregarded no teachings, your grace.” The Septa almost spat, so harsh was her tone. “There is nothing in the Book of the Mother that states that the marital act must be painful or that a wife cannot enjoy the act itself. The Mother calls for the devout to nurture their husbands and children, but nurturing must be born of love lest it sours the recipient. I have met many poor souls in the motherhouse that were fed suffering and it took hold of them so deeply they would turn that suffering on those around them. I can think of no better example than Maegor, raised on his father’s indifference and his mother’s ruthlessness.”

Alicent had no rebuttal to the Septa’s words, not that she would be able to voice them if she had by the way her throat closed up at the reprimand of a Septa, no matter how distanced. Her head felt like it weighted a ton and that her ears were stuffed with cotton, the heat on her cheeks growing hotter with every judging look from the women she was supposed to command as Queen. Even worse were the ones that looked at her with pity, like a child who had bitten off more than they could chew and was now struggling to finish the bite.

There was a soft, almost imperceptible rustle and the women present all rose from their seats and curtsied when Princess Rhaenyra rose from the farthest bench, where she had been listening and watching her old friend’s reputation crumble to the ground. “You don’t look well, your grace. Perhaps it would be wise for this… ladies’ court to be adjourned. We could all use some rest before dinner tonight, I believe.” 

Without waiting for permission, Rhaenyra clapped once and several maids appeared from the walls, clearing away tea cups and uneaten biscuits while the footmen waited for the ladies to disperse so they could clear the benches. The guests curtsied lightly at Alicent and Aegon before taking their leave, with only Rhaenyra, Rhaella, Saera standing together and the ladies forming a strong cavalry behind her. The Princess of Dragonstone looked at the Crown Prince for the very first time and wrinkled her nose. “Is he meant to be making that face?”

Alicent suddenly remembered that Aegon had been at her side throughout all this and looked to the side to see Aegon’s face twisted in a grimace, like her was crying, only no sound would come. She recognized this was the prelude for a tantrum and already flinched at the hour of screaming she would be subject to. “He is merely tired from all the excitement.”
”All the more reason for everyone to retire, then.” Rhaenyra nodded with just the slightest nod of her head. “Do not hesitate to ask for anything you might need, your grace.”

Every inch the dragon princess, Rhaenyra Targaryen swept out of the room with her female relatives and her pack of ladies, the doors closing shut behind them with a resounding bang that startled Aegon and gave start to his ear-splitting wails.

Not for the first time, Alicent wondered if a pillow to the face could not solve that problem.

King Viserys had figured that Aemma would be at this Ladies' court that Alicent was hosting in the Great Hall, but he really did not want to miss another chance to talk to her. He resolved to wait for her in her chambers, that way he could catch her once she returned to change for dinner and they could talk for a while. 

He missed her. Gods, he misses her so much. 

Ser Steffon walks loyally behind him, so Viserys does not see the grimace on the knight's face as they approach the family wing of the castle. There are more guards there and they look bewildered at the King's presence. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees one of the guards they pass nod to another and that guard start running, probably off to warn someone - but it is not until they reach the fourth floor, where they run into the first real obstacle: a guard with a falcon coat-of-arms standing guard outside one of the hallways. 

The guard startles into attention when the King and the Kingsguard walk into view, but he eyes them wearily despite the bow of his head. "Your grace." 
"Are these Aemma's quarters? I would like to wait for her in her solar so that we may have a word." Viserys made a single step forward, expecting the guard to open the door for him and stand aside so he could walk inside, but instead Viserys found himself almost struck in the forehead by a brace. 
"Apologies, your grace, the Lady Aemma is... occupied in her chambers at the moment." The guard went red in the face as he said so, his eyes searching Ser Steffon's to wordlessly communicate why they shouldn't go inside. 
"Oh, even better! I will talk to her right now, then." He tries to enter again, and this time the guard's arm blocks his path. Viserys turned his head to glare at the guard. How dare he deny him entry to Aemma's chambers?! He is the King of Westeros! No place is forbidden for him! "Step aside, ser - your King commands it." 
"Your grace, you really do not want to enter-" 

Maybe it was the sum of all the little slights he had endured these past two days - Aemma's coldness, Rhaenyra's distance, his brother's dismissal - along with his growing impatience, but Viserys could not help himself and his face went red as he pushed the guard's arm down. "You do not tell me what I want, boy! Now go before I have Ser Steffon take your hands!" 

Ser Steffon narrowed his eyes at the guard, but he really did not want to sever the man's hands when he was clearly fulfilling his duties. These past three years in King's Landing have been wearing him down more than the other twenty in service. Between watching Queen Aemma - he was the sworn shield of Queen Aemma Arryn and regardless of what chit the King put a crown on, she was still his Queen - get cast aside and the rise of the Hightower Queen, the castle has been slowly infected with knights from the Reach, most of them sworn to Oldtown if not Hightowers themselves, all the while the King plays with his Valyrian model and ignores the troubles of the Realm. 

Being a Kingsguard is supposed to be an honor, to guard the King as he rules with wisdom and strength like King Jaehaerys did. Instead, he just feels like the unwilling spectator of a horrible play. He should have taken Harrold on his plan to convince the King to send them both to Dragonstone to guard Princess Rhaenyra. To plot not against but certainly away from the King felt wrong back then, and Steffon had argued that leaving the King with a guard that almost entirely answered to the Hand was also detrimental to the Princess and Queen Aemma - not to mention that there was no guarantee that they wouldn't wait until the Queen gave birth to an heir and a spare before getting rid of King Viserys and taking over completely. Ser Harrold had seen the wisdom in Steffon's reasoning and so he stayed behind, arguing against the Hand in the Small Council and guarding the King as he fumbled one catastrophe after another. 

This was truly only the latest in King Viserys Targaryen's lapses of judgement.

The King walks into the rooms and only makes it half-way through the empty solar before a noise makes him freeze. 

It's a laugh, high-pitch and lively and familiar, followed by a small moan that he barely recognizes from long gone couplings and recent dreams.

"Oh! Oh, gods, yes! Yes, just like that!" Another moan follows, this one louder and higher in a way he had never heard. "You are so good to me. So good. Oh! Yes, right there!" 

Another voice joins in, this one deep and breathless and proud. "I only exist to please you, my lady" 

He recognizes those voices - he knows exactly who they are. By the gods, he should turn around and run away, but his feet move closer to the bedroom door. Hearing it... is not enough. He needs to see the proof of his Aemma, his love, making noises like that for another when she was always so meek and sweet on their marriage bed. 

Through the open door, he looks upon an act that he has not witnessed since his days touring the Street of Silk with Daemon. 

That blasted Dornishman kneeling naked by the side of the bed, his muscled back to the door bearing scars from previous battles and Aemma's pale dainty legs thrown over his shoulders, one supple calf hooked on the man's head. Aemma is sitting at the edge of the bed, her hands tangled in the man's dark hair and her head thrown back in pleasure. 

That is all he can take. 

King Viserys Targaryen, the First of his Name, turns on his heel and bolts out of the solar like a man being chased by a dragon. If one listened closely, they would hear the little sobs and sniffles that came from the monarch's red face.

Ser Steffon felt the heat rush to his face and deeply regrets every decision that has led to this moment. He nods to the guard at the door as a thank you for trying to save them the embarrassment and orders him to carry on, walking briskly out of the room to catch up with the King. In that regard, Ser Steffon is fortunate that the King cannot move that quickly, because he catches him pretty fast, finding him leaning on the edge of one of the windows to catch his breath, staring out into the sea. 

"Your grace?" Ser Steffon asked tentatively, looking over the weakening body of the monarch to check for any sign of collapse. "Shall I lead you to the maester?" 
The King sniffs once more, like cat suffering from a cold. "No no, that's quite alright, Ser Steffon. This is not something a maester can cure."

Viserys allows the knight to lead him back to his chambers like how Rhaenyra would drag her dolls around, the ragged king offering no resistance as Ser Steffon took them back to his prepared chambers on the opposite wing of the castle.
…

King Viserys Targaryen misses the feast that night, claiming a headache and lack of appetite. The Queen and the Hand of the King at first think that he was lying and was doing this as a show of his disapproval. They tried to ambush him with their complaints of “disrespect and outright hostility” they have been subject, but Viserys blows up on them too.