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Chapter Text

I awoke from my slumber with the nagging knowledge at the back of my head that my breasts were smooshed against my bed. Breasts? That's not right. I thought to myself, And I'm fairly certain I haven't slept in a bed in close to a year. My head swam with questions, some of which were only beginning to be answered by things I was remembering, though I did not remember knowing them. My eyes opening showed only a fuzzy image of a large room obscured by a curtain of pale hair in front of me, and before I did anything else, a hand pat revealed another fairly interesting detail about my anatomy between the legs. Normally, this happened to me only in a dream. Brushing the hair out of my eyes revealed a... strangely familiar place. Not familiar in that I recognized it, but familiar in that I felt I ought to have recognized it.

Sea-blue silks on a large ornate looking bed, downy pillows, what I assumed was a mirror, and a mosaic on the walls depicting a woman on a beach and a ship sailing away, iron candelabra set on a bedside table of whatever kind of wood, it was lacquered is all I knew. I knew the bedside table contained a chamber pot, somehow. Climbing out of the bed, and noting idly that I'd slept alone that night thankfully. Don't I every night? Fuck me, what is today? A nearby window was open, and barely taking note of my nightwear I looked out from the window, every step to it hitting me with a bounce I found myself liking more for the affirmation than anything, and so I saw a fairly.. natural landscape. No streetlights, no distant radio towers, just the roar of the waves hitting rocks, and the cries of gulls over the shore. "This has to be a fucking joke." I laughed to myself, a dark almost melodious sound, slapping my cheeks with hands too callused and attached to arms too strong to be my own.

Pinching the bridge of "my" nose, "my" other hand rested on my hip and I paced about the room looking for some kind of answer to my predicament, even as the things I knew seemed to keep flowing in. Curiosity slowly overcame the subtle terror, I approached the mirror and saw... a fairly attractive, surprised-looking woman. Very fit, and maybe in her twenties. I wasn't an expert. That's you, you fucking goombah. What really caught my attention was not he- my, femaleness though that was certainly something. No, it was the pale, almost moonlit-silver hair and purple eyes. Fuck me, I look like a-

A door opening broke my train of thought entirely.

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Pine resin, quicklime, salt, sulfur, distilled coal tar and peat. Alchemical Fire. Volc- I was interrupted by the arrival of my sister. If the unannounced door opening was any indication. Is that what I think of her? Not a day ago she felt almost half a stranger.

A scarlet shape was all the confirmation I needed.

“Sister, I would have thought you would be enjoying all there is to enjoy on Driftmark. Yet here I find you; nose deep in ink.” Rhaenys teased, her head cocked to one side, hair hanging loosely down to her waist with the faintest curl at the tips. She was glancing at what I had been writing, then to the dozen-ish pages of paper forming a small stack beside the one I was currently writing on and I felt a tension leave my shoulders I had not known was even there.

And I’d have thought you’d be with Aegon. Part of me wanted to say, but I quashed it, “What do you want?” I asked, mildly annoyed at being interrupted. Her hand touched my shoulder and I tensed up slightly, at that she frowned.

“Aegon is busy with our uncle and I find myself bored.” She answered, as if that wasn’t a stupid reason. Is it really stupid? Or are you being too harsh on these people? It is not their fault. I sighed. It really was a tiring day.

“Given Aegon’s plans, I hardly think you would be bored.” I replied, as she looked over the papers I’d already written. Ideas, mostly. On what I could remember of administrative concepts and bureaucratic apparati. Her lips curled to a frown as she muttered something. Did I do something wrong? Does she suspect…?

My heart pounding in my chest, I asked, “Did you say something?”

She looked as if she wanted to say something but shook her head, “I… ‘Senya, let’s just go riding.”

She didn’t even have to make the tone pleading, I felt it in every word. Part of me felt bad, as I’d avoided practically everyone. Aside from practice in the training yard early in the morning and a meal taken with my new kinsmen the day before. Which reminded me, “I should break my fast first, then we can go.”

Rhaenys just stared, lilac-eyes widening, “It is closer to sunset than midday. You have not even had breakfast?”

“I had bread.” I weakly protested, the bread loaf quarter still mostly uneaten. When I tried to stand up I nearly fell over, my legs shaking, my stomach hurting I hadn’t even noticed I was this hungry. I heard her mutter something in the Westerosi common tongue, and felt my heart almost leap from my chest when she grabbed my arm fairly tightly and shoved the bread into my hands.

“We are leaving. Now.” I did not argue with her on that as she very nearly dragged me, impressive, given she was at least two inches shorter, and probably a couple dozen pounds lighter.

Not long after, we sat down and ate. Well, I was eating. She was alternating between reading what I’d written and watching me eat. I felt almost bad that she was so concerned. Usually I wasn’t so bad about not eating, Normally I have you, love. My heart felt heavy for what felt like the hundredth time that day. I tried not to let it show.

“Is this why you have avoided me? Writing? Is this for that idea of Aegon’s? Conquering the Sunset Lands?” She sighed, “With any luck, our uncle will convince him to set aside this.. This fool notion. I could understand if he wished to take the Riverlands. But he means to take all of it? I love him, truly. But he has no plan, ‘Senya.”

“Daemon won’t even try to convince him, he wants Driftmark's power to grow. Even if he did want to, our brother is too enamored of this dream of his to think of setting it aside. He would set out to conquer the Westerosi if all he had was a dinghy, Balerion and Orys.” I replied, almost snorting.

She waved the pile of parchment, “So this is for that. Why?”

“I am planning for the future. Someone has to.” I told her, and finished the meal, rinsing my hands. My hands.

“I’ll race you to Dragonstone and back.” I changed the subject and forced a smile. I owed her, and she deserved better.

“Does that mean you and Vhagar won't be eating until tomorrow?” She smiled and I laughed as I gently shoved her shoulder.

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Drumming my fingers on the impressive goldenheart table, a gift from my father to my mother’s kin, Visenya’s mother’s kin, remember that! Ignoring the gaggle of silver-haired heathens speaking of invasion plans I found my gaze wandering from the view of the sea granted by the open window to the room as a whole. By how the skies looked it seemed close to late afternoon.

The solar of the Lord of Driftmark was familiar to me, and yet felt almost new. This time not for the normal reasons that the world itself was strange and familiar. No, the last time I, or Visenya, remembered being here was nearly a decade before. When Daemon’s father, my grandfather, Laenor Velaryon still ruled, shortly after my great-aunt’s death. Since those days the room, a large chamber really, had been renovated. Daemon’s tastes in decoration were grander than those of his father, though also more influenced by the Westerosi style.

Still, tapestries depicting some city from the Freehold mainland I couldn’t remember the name of hung on the wall alongside busts of past lords of Driftmark resting on small waist-high columns marked with bronze plaques remained from Laenor’s days as lord. Were these lost in the Dance? Or perhaps even placed in some dank cellar come the time of the series? Perhaps they’re still there. With more busts and names. Not that it mattered. I doubted tragic Alyssa, wily Corlys, or young Monterys would ever be born and if they somehow were I’d be dead long before the end of the first century anyway. Dead with a name and face not my own. Does she miss me? Does he? My heart ached again.

“Are you in agreement, Archontissa?” I glanced to where that amused voice had come from and restrained the urge to snap back that came from the me that was… the old me.

“I am afraid I did not hear you, Lord Velaryon.” I replied to my uncle. He was a handsome man even by Valyrian standards. Clothed all in a dark blue velvet save for the white lace at his neck and cuffs and the silver-work of his black knee-high soft leather boots, he cut quite the figure. Taller than Aegon by an inch if I had to guess. His lilac eyes so like to and yet unlike those of Rhaenys. I had never liked them, those eyes held little excess warmth for his sister’s children.

Aegon didn’t bother letting our uncle speak up and explained, “You and our esteemed uncle shall lead the fleet against the Arryn fleet at Gulltown and push from there along the coast until the Riverlands are ours and I can bring the Riverlords to reinforce you  with Ser Aethon in the vanguard meeting you at Saltpans.” He said it as though he expected it to happen. More a command than anything. Does he picture troop movements on a little map in his head? I had to keep myself from laughing at the image.

“Rhaenys and Orys will be going against Argilac, then?” I asked, though I knew the answer already.

“So you were listening to that much at least.” He stifled a chuckle, “What are your thoughts?”

I smiled, “It might be best if our fleet did not engage with that of Gulltown. The Braavosi have made some form of alliance with the Arryns, and at least ten war galleys from them sit in wait alongside the rest of the ships.”

Aegon’s brow furrowed, “Where did you hear this?”

I felt my heart drop to my stomach as my thoughts raced for excuses to cover this fuck up.

“Dragonstone. I heard it from sailors there when Rhaenys and I were there yesterday. We stopped at the harbor.”

We did no such thing. Looking at Rhaenys, I saw no hint of surprise save for a very slightly raised eyebrow.

“And who were these sailors that knew so much, I wonder?” Came the voice of my uncle, composed yet ever so slightly amused. I could just see the smile in my mind’s eye.

My sister spoke before I even had a chance to retort, “Men of little account, Lord Velaryon.” Never had Rhaenys’ voice sounded so beautiful to me as it did right now.

“Of course, Archontissa.” I caught him waving his hand almost casually as if to dismiss the whole line of discussion.

“How do you propose we deal with the Arryn boy-king, then? His mother is a formidable woman from what I hear, and if we do not take Gulltown then we have no foothold in the Vale. It is quite hard, after all, to march from Saltpans to the Gates of the Moon if the path is not cleared. We would have to march through the Mountains of the Moon from the west.” Aethon finally spoke up, though the voices were different, he and my brother looked quite alike.

“That would be quite the feat, even for our great conqueror!” I smothered the chuckle that threatened to escape my throat even as I said the words. The amusement was worth it, even with the mild confusion I seemed to have stirred.

Our meeting continued on, mostly hammering out the details of the invasion and what kind of timetable we were working with. We expected to set sail within the month. To arrive at the place where I knew the future city of King’s Landing would be, to subdue nearby lords and then we would follow roughly what I remembered of the canon plan. Still, aside from that close call I considered it.. A success, I suppose. Afterwards I took Aegon aside outside the chambers he and Rhaenys shared as guests here.

“Brother, would you like to make a wager?” I almost smiled at him.

“What might that wager be, Visenya?” He asked, looking genuinely curious.

“That I will conquer the Vale before you have handled Harren.” I idly tugged at my braid, a warmth spreading from my chest. A smile threatening to show.

“Oh? What do you seek as a prize for winning, I wonder?” He asked, smiling ever so slightly. Looking less serious than I’d seen him all day. His purple-eyes seemed almost pleasant to me.

“Hopefully a child, nephew. After all, you are without an heir of your body.” Came again the voice of the man I liked least on this island, and I was reminded of that fact again. A marriage I do not want. I want you, love. Why? Why now that I have what I wanted, can we not be together?

I almost did not notice the sensation of a light yet somehow familiar feeling set of lips brushing against my own.

Almost.

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The skies were clear as I made my way past the gates of the keep with the first slivers of early dawn just behind me, barely even taking notice of the armored guardsmen parting for me, dressed in the new Targaryen livery Aegon’s idea I remembered and my heart raced for a moment before I breathed deeply to put it under control. Ingrained memory being my guide through the large stronghold, I made my way to the Stone Drum.

I enjoyed Dragonstone. Or, rather, I enjoyed the quiet and peace of the keep whilst my brother and sister were away. I suspected that wouldn’t be much longer as we had planned to return today anyway. I would enjoy what little time I had away from them regardless.

After the night before I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. My hand gripped at Dark Sister’s sheath, I wished I’d had her the night before. I would have been safe.

With every step through the castle of my ancestors I found I had some fondness for the dragon stonework all over the damn place, the imagery of dragons and cities from the old Valyrian mainland on mosaics and ceiling domes wrought by sorcery centuries before m- Visenya’s birth. Memories came to me of columns of both sorcery shaped stone and similar though marble-clad columns in the great hall itself which boasted the highest ceilings and bright murals and friezes made in the Freehold itself. I loved it all even though I still thought it gaudy and tacky. It was comforting from familiarity alone. I knew this place. It was home. It was safe. Rounding up servants was fairly easy, and I had them prepare a bath. I needed one badly. Who cared if I might have barked orders at them like an agitated dog? I needed to be clean, and it did not take all that long for me to be cleaned.

Even if it took a fair deal longer for me to feel that way. I ensured Dark Sister was always close.

Clad in light clothing and padded gambeson, my silvery hair braided, I made my way to the practice yard itself, Dark Sister sheathed at my hip. Some men were already practicing, most of them men-at-arms but another I knew and greeted me with a smile.

“Welcome home, sister.” A faint amusement lit up the dark purple eyes of Orys Baratheon. His lips curled into a smile. His dark brown, nearly black hair shorn to the nape of his neck recently.  He was of a height with me. Despite his hair, and his height being lesser to that of my trueborn brother, he was very handsome, though without the cruelly perfect features of our father. I could only see Aegon in his face.

I forced a smile, “Practice with me.” I commanded, though he was Aegon’s castellan at present and in name he was in charge of Dragonstone, he obeyed without complaint. I wish he had listened to me. My stomach lurched and I shook away the thought.

It wasn’t remotely fair. I was his liege lord’s wife, and a more talented warrior besides. We sparred and practiced for what felt to me like all day, but really only lasted until late morning. I felt great, though he was going to have bruises, part of me knew without looking. I struck harder than I should have, and he did not complain even once. Though he was clearly not happy about it, I noticed as we left the yard. I tried not to look at his face as I placed a hand on his shoulder while we walked to what I assumed would be the great hall.

“I am sorry. I should not have struck you so.” I truly was sorry. He had done nothing wrong. It wasn’t his fault he looked like him. I shouldn’t have let it out on you.

He laughed it off, “Don’t worry. We’ve all been of an ill-temper since the Archon left. We are soon to leave for war, after all and yet all we do is sit and wait. Many are eager to earn lands of their own. Compared to Lord Qoherys, you are not so bad.” At that last he grimaced.

Quenton Qoherys. Aegon’s sworn sword, and companion since the conflict in Volantis that brought down the aspirations it held for being the new Valyria. He’d lost his family to the infighting among the Volantene Old Blood in the leadup to the last coalition against Volantis. His family had been Elephants that opposed the dominant Tigers. I felt some pity for him, the man was only two and th- thirty-two and had lost his brothers and sisters and parents and most of his extended family. Only two sons yet lived, and he narrowly escaped death himself. He’d stayed at Dragonstone ever since, sworn to the Archon.

“I suppose him wanting land is only natural. I wouldn’t want to be leeching off the table and coffers of another forever either.” I laughed, despite nothing even being that funny. He laughed too. Though neither of us spoke after. My eyes found the decorations on several columns, and I considered them beautiful in their own right. Dragon motif or no, the detail was exquisite and I found my gaze flitting from wall to wall as I took in the sights.

This continued until we parted at the great hall itself. I’d wanted to laugh at the fact the whole damn thing was shaped like a resting dragon. With the entranceway being a maw, teeth and all. I knew it was, certainly. But another set of eyes, my true eyes, felt it as a fresh experience. Not too long afterwards I’d returned to what felt to both parts of me as a sanctuary. My own chambers, a place where I could close the world out. Sitting on the edge of a bed that I recognized from childhood. Not yours.

A place to think.

And so I did.

I had Dark Sister almost drawn by instinct before remembering who it was, even then my hand rested on her hilt. Idly, I noticed the late morning sky had given way to the early afternoon.

Rhaenys’ hands were raised in what I guessed was a gesture meant to reassure me that she had nothing on her. I mentally kicked myself. She didn’t deserve that. It’s not her fault.

“‘Senya, there is no one here but us. I promise. I had the guards sent away. I did not even bring Alarra.” Her favorite maidservant, from what I recalled. “I just want to talk.”

I looked down at my hands.

“You lied, sister.” Those words hit me harder than I thought they might. She is her sister, not yours.

“I’m not quite sure what you’re talking about?” The words sounded lame and half-assed even to me as I actually looked at her. She was today wearing her riding outfit rather than the scarlet dress from yesterday. Her hair done up in a loose ponytail.

She only sighed, only making me feel like I’d done something wrong,“You said you learned of the Braavosi making some pact with the Arryns. From… sailors, here.”

“I did.” I forced the words out.

She laughed incredulously, “Was it before or after we spent our time together speaking with the port authorities? Or mayhap when we spoke to that cloth merchant from Leng? ‘Senya, I was with you. We did not speak to any sailors! Why did you lie about this? What is wrong with you of late? You have barely spoken to anyone for days! And when I come to find out what is wrong you draw your sword on me!” Her words had me hiding my face in my hands, trying to think of something. I did not imagine telling her Dark Sister did not actually leave her sheath would help.

I bit my lip and looked up, “I am sorry for lying, but the means by which I learned did not involve any wagging of tongues, and I have known for longer than a few days.”

“How?” Her voice came out less frustrated now, and more curious. I frowned, not sure how I was going to phrase it.

“I…” Her lilac eyes seemed to bore into me, I breathed in and out, “A dream.” I tried to find the words, “It was revealed to me in a dream. Not a normal dream, I swear it. I know it was true. I saw it. I saw you in the Stormlands too. Both you and Orys. You fought on muddy ground during a storm, the Storm King leading his banners against you near his own lands. Orys was wounded, Meraxes grounded in the storm. Our uncle was slain at Gulltown in battle.” I sighed.

“You swear that this dream… that you saw what you believe are events to come?” Her voice was softer now as she sat beside me, her hand on my shoulder was gentle yet firm. It was a surprise when she brought me in for a fairly firm hug. She’s not your sister. For the first time in several days I shut that voice in my head out and simply returned the hug.

I half-smiled, nodding, “If we keep to the present course, certainly. I would recommend you slow your march slightly. The storm in my dream did not seem the kind that would have lasted longer than a day.” I explained. As well, the Last Storm made the battle difficult for the Targaryens as best I recalled. The muddy ground hindering their men.

I continued explaining.

“As for me? When we’ve secured the Blackwater Bay, I will take the Vale without need for a single battle. Our uncle need not be involved.”

“Oh? And how do you plan to accomplish that?” She seemed to tease me, I idly touched my braid.

My lips curled into a smile, “I’ll show the Arryns that their vaunted fortress, their Eyrie, is little more than a gilded cage.”

The room went quiet as Rhaenys’ face went from incredulous to thoughtful. She seemed as though she were about to say something but then shook her head.

She broke the silence of the past minute.

“Did you have any other dreams?” She asked, her voice clear and soothing.

I frowned, “Only the normal kind.” We walked hand in hand, love. He had teased me and I him, and when I woke the pain seemingly healed in the dream had returned and with greater intensity. Even the memory of the dream made me smile, so long as I kept it from ending. For a moment the stone room became a beach with pink sand, blue skies and bluer water. Memory was shattered by noise.

“Then… I will consider what you have told me.” I supposed that was all I would get from her as she got up to leave. “But to be frank, sister, you look horrid. You need sleep.”

I felt a weight lift from my shoulders at that. “Thank you.”

Then she paused and glanced back with a pained smile. “Do not think I have forgotten the matter of your odd behavior, sister. We shall speak of it after you have gotten some sleep."

I could only grimace as she left. I hadn’t slept more than an hour in the past thirty.

For the rest of the day I tried to clear her last words from my mind and return to that sunlit beach until sleep claimed me.

All I could think of were her words.

Chapter Text

Part of me loved this dinner, the colors on display and the brighter atmosphere helping lift the gloom of the previous days from my shoulders. Rhaenys had insisted I attend, and I was sincerely glad she had. Despite being forced to dress up for it. Being in this solar brought to mind memories of better times in childhood. Mother had sung and played the harp for father, and for us.

Not yours. I ignored the thought.

“Sister, what do you think?” Came the voice of Aegon. Acting as if nothing was amiss. As if nothing had changed. I had hoped… I squashed that line of thought.

Taking a breath, I looked at my brother, save for his face. He wore a long black silk tunic with flame embroidery at the edges, it went down to his knees, and his legs were covered with red trousers. He wore a new mantle, I’d noticed. Rich and heavy black silk trimmed with gold thread and the inside lined with crimson silk. The same color as the three-headed dragon sewn onto the front of his black mantle. The mantle was held together at his shoulder by a double-clasp shaped like dragon heads.

“I told you before; Argilac won’t accept those terms, friend from the war or no. At least try to avoid asking for lands that are already his, if you want to have any chance of his acceptance.” I replied, keeping my breathing steady as I continued, “Orys, in the eyes of the Westerosi is a baseborn bastard with neither land nor title. He will be insulted beyond belief if you suggest this match for his daughter.”

I wanted to scream at him.

He laughed, waving his hand as if my concerns were nothing. “Visenya, I am merely setting my bargain high so that we may come to a better agreement. Think about it, Orys will gain a wife and I a kingdom without needing to fight Argilac! Then with time Orys will be king, then a lord when he swears himself to me. I have read my Westerosi histories, our Orys will be a new Joffrey Lydden.”

From his position sitting to Aegon’s left, Orys looked to be forcing a smile, “I am honored that you would seek so high a marriage for me, Archon.” Aegon clapped him on the back.

“What have I told you, Orys? We are brothers, do not call me by title when we eat together.”

“As you command, my Archon.” He said the last with a grin, unable to contain himself any longer.

Aegon punched his shoulder and started talking about how they will handle the next round of negotiations that were sure to come. Stupid man. 

I had to reject another temptation to pour a glass of wine. Though it was a far cry from the chilled and flavored water I was used to, I still preferred to drink water. Better bland and tasteless than to risk being loose-lipped, after all.

Picking at my food, mostly bread and some form of fish prepared and seasoned rather well, I became aware of Rhaenys’ eye on me from where I was sitting beside her.

Rhaenys’ dress was a rich scarlet silk brocade with raised gold thread and fine scrollwork. Worn over a heavily embroidered silk tunic that was trimmed with more gold thread and adorned with garnets. Geometric shapes decorated the edges of the long sleeves and cuffs and the vertical stripes leading down from the shoulders. Even the few dragon shapes were mostly kept to the hem on the dress proper all came together to look actually… fairly decent. Especially with her hair done up as it was. She would look finer in lavender and silver, I think. I half-smiled at her, then looked at the sleeve of my own attire, two-layered rather than three and not so elaborate though still just as finely-made as what she wore.

Save for my cloak, which was purple and edged in gold, and my shoes which were ash-gray. My attire was black and red, colors that according to what family folklore said we’d used since the days of Torgas the Strong. A worker of bronze that tamed the dragon Cyaxares and sired several children who would go on to found their own houses in the time before the Freehold. When Old Ghis waxed and Valyria was wild and untamed and man struggled to survive in those lands.

What is her game? I frowned at Rhaenys’ tunic. She normally never wore such when we dined as a group. The right to gold was reserved for the first spouse, and the head of the household. Rhaenys seemed pleased, if her face was any indication.

I glanced at the edging of my cloak, and then Aegon’s mantle. I had no right to the gold either. A fake parading about in their sister’s skin. A parasite. I stared at my food. A mix of roast lamb, marinated pork, fish and bread. This is the kind of thing you’d thought about, isn’t it? Don’t say some part of you didn’t want it. 

I frowned at the back of my hand. It was far easier when this was something I could just step back from or talk about with some folks as a hypothetical. Just stop talking about it and that would be that. Certainly, I liked that my feet were no longer fucked up. That I felt awake and human without needing to pop pills. If I had my way, I’d be with you as I am now. I smiled as I thought of seeing Crete beneath a bright sun and blue skies, of old ruins and museums and cats. Of dumb arguments over pointless things we both knew were pointless. I’m sorry I probably won’t be there to read what you wrote, love. I’m sure it would have been great. 

“‘Senya, you are drifting again.” I almost slapped the hand of Rhaenys when she touched my shoulder.

“Do not touch me.” I barked without thinking. Drawing the attention of the two men at the table. I suppressed a shudder when I saw his purple eyes for the first time in days.

“This has to end.” The clear, yet serious voice of Aegon was directed at me and I felt a chill run down my spine. What? Does he know? How? I regretted listening to Rhaenys. I needed Dark Sister. With her I might be able to stab him and get away. Get to Vhagar. Run.

I raised an eyebrow, not letting myself be baited into saying something incriminating.

“This.. rivalry you have with Rhaenys. Surely we are all too old for it. Rhaenys should not have to debase herself in order to keep from insulting you. She is your equal, not some mistress or secondary wife. Why must I play along with your inability to accept my decree, sister? It has been eight years. And on this night of all nights? It should be joyous, we should be celebrating Orys’ wedding soon to come. Yet all you have done is sulk and brood.”

What in G-d’s name is he talking ab- and it hit me. Rhaenys’ dress, the abundant gold thread and my frown. Fuck me. I wanted to tear his eyes out. I balled my fists hard enough that I was sure my knuckles had to be white. I stood up from the table, not bothering to dignify him with a response as I made my way to the door of the solar.

“Who do you have to mourn, sister, that you wear those shoes?” I froze up, seeing red. Who indeed! I felt the tears welling up. I kept my voice as calm as I could, my breathing even.

“Better men than you, brother.” It hurt, so I laughed.

“Is that so?” He asked, sounding amused if anything. How dare he. I refused to look at any of them.

“You think this... my.. That my ‘brooding’ is about some… custom? About you? Of course. Why shouldn’t it be about you? Everything is about you, is it not?! You greedy lecherous egotistical cunt!” I stormed out of the room, feeling pithy enough to swoosh my cloak as I left to return to the only decent place on the damned island.

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Dismissing guards in his livery, I entered my only sanctuary inside the keep and my bleary eyes were drawn to Dark Sister in her sheath. How long would it take? A few minutes or more? 

“Dark Sister thirsts for blood, doesn’t she?” I laughed, tears dripping. “She can have mine, then.” A queasy feeling quickly put a stop to that line of thinking but the temptation was still there. So too was the sword still there, ruby in the guard catching the rays of sunset and blazing like fire.

With a shaking hand I removed the dragon-headed clasp from my cloak and threw it, a quick flash of gold as it passed through the air ending with the sound of metal colliding with stone that felt oh so satisfying to hear. The cloak itself I bundled up and threw over my shoulder.

Memories of a marriage ceremony, of pride at upholding family tradition came to my mind. Her damned memories. “I hate you, and your damn customs and this fucking cosmic joke. F-fuck all of you.” I continued on, and paced about and ranted under my breath until everything was feeling a lot heavier.

It wasn’t long before I’d stripped out of the damned dress and changed into something more comfortable.

I glanced out the window. Could I fly away? Just escape on Vhagar… go to Essos, live quietly and without these chains? Be who I want. I lied down on my bed, hair undone. It’d be nice. I drifted off with visions of travels in far off lands and a heavy heart. Home would be better...

The sweet smell mixed with other scents was the first thing I noticed, and then the rising moon. It’s not that high in the sky yet My heart skipped a beat when I noticed a figure illuminated by candlelight. “Good, you are awake.” Rhaenys stated, and got up to light several other candles.

I watched her as she practically glided across the floor and moved with a grace I could only dream of. Though she was no longer wearing the dress from before, she still wore the long scarlet tunic with its gold thread trim. Her shoes were the same red as her tunic. Gold trimmed clothes and red shoes. Is she mocking me?

“Please sit with me, sister.” Her voice broke my train of thought and I went to sit down. When I did, it was fairly clear what she was doing. I looked down at where the smell from before had come from.

“You forgot to eat, ‘Senya.” Her voice sounded amused. Is she doing this for Aegon? Did he put her up to it?

The bronze tray held peas, fish, fruit and a pastry that had my mouth watering. Held together with some kind of honey-smelling syrup, and filled with chopped hazelnuts and cloves. It smelled amazing, and my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten since the night before. Idly, I filled a cup with water from the pitcher beside the tray and drank.

“Thank you, Rhaenys.” I forced a smile.

I wiped at my eyes, then prayed silently and began eating the food she’d brought. Slowly, but I did. I didn’t know what to say to her. So I didn’t try to make small talk.

“Who was he? You clearly loved him greatly.” I felt my heart pound in my chest. What does she know? What did I say?! I wracked at my brain to try and remember. My vision narrowed to what was immediately in front of me.

“Your man on Driftmark, you need not hide it from me.” Her voice was so self-assured and calm. Gentle too.

I fought the urge to laugh at the absurdity of what she said.

“I have no man save our husband, sister.” I felt like I was going to throw up.

“Come now, those shoes you wore were for mourning. What you said to our brother, as well as how you have acted recently? It is obvious you found a man on Driftmark, and your marriage vows kept you from him.” I wanted to throw a punch at her. My heart ached.

“You’re wrong. Everything you just said is wrong.” I stood up, but she gripped my arm. “Leave.” I commanded.

“No. Not until you tell me what has you so in.. in a mood. Please, I want to help you.” She only spoke in that damnably soft yet insistent tone.

“You can help me by leaving.” I was taller than her, and stronger too. “If you don’t, I’ll make you.” I gripped her other arm. Hard.

“You can’t solve this with words, Rhaenys. Please, shut your fucking mouth and leave.”

“‘Senya, listen to m-” I squeezed her arm tightly. I wanted her to shut her damn mouth and keep her ‘theories’ to herself.

I got into her face, my purple eyes meeting her lilac. “Get. Out. Tell that to Aegon, that whatever he put you up to, he can shove it up his ass and fuck off.” Why can’t they leave me alone?!

She sighed, though her face looked more determined than defeated, there was hurt in her eyes however, “Fine.” I slowly let go of her, and my heart sank as I watched her leave. I felt empty, and it hurt.

“I’m sorry.”  The words were barely more than a whisper, and I knew she couldn’t hear them. I wanted to scream them and I couldn’t.

I looked at the tray once more and a torrent of guilt raged in me. Why? Why did you do this, Rhaenys? I’d snapped at her and insulted our… her husband, and she decided to make sure I ate.  I don’t deserve this. Especially not now.

I slammed my fist against the table, sending a knife clattering to the floor. I wanted to scream at myself. All she did was try to help. It’s not her fault that she can’t know. My appetite was gone for the night.

All I could think of were her lilac eyes.

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My early day mostly went as they had usually gone. Practice to keep my skills sharp and to let me focus on something else for a couple hours at a time before leaving, then a bath. A new addition in the form of being reminded not to forget to eat by a serving girl Rhaenys had apparently appointed to the job the day before was certainly a surprise. Still, the keep was large enough, and our routines different enough that I didn't even have to see Rhaenys. Let alone speak with her. I wish I could stop thinking about last night. Shame and guilt mingled in my gut as I left with one of the men-at-arms of the keep to go visit the port.

We mounted palfreys, mine grey and his a rich chestnut and part of me felt excited as the last time I’d rode a horse was when I was fifteen. My heart ached for a moment at the reminder. I’m sorry, aunt, I won’t get to come visit like I promised.

“I’ll call you Rochiril.” I muttered at the horse, a pleasant warmth blossomed in my chest for a moment, and I blushed slightly at the silliness of giving the horse that name.

We rode out from the shadow of the keep, and the Dragonmont itself. The mingling of brimstone and sea breeze creating a scent both pleasant and familiar, yet it was one that I found myself loathing at the same time. Aegon loved this scent best. I remembered from Fire and Blood, and I wished I hadn’t. Why does he have to stain this too? 

Dragonstone was certainly dreary under the shadow of the Dragonmont, but this time of year and in this season it was drier. Though not so warm and pleasant as Driftmark, it was nonetheless pretty. Half of me was familiar with it from the skies and on land, but the other half was still excited to ride around on an actual island. I had lived by a river, but only once in my life had I seen the ocean and even then only from high up and just for a short time. I wanted to squeal, I could hardly contain myself. Focus. I breathed in and out.

After passing through the outskirts of the town, fields of crops worked by farmers, it wasn’t long before we were near the port of Dragonstone itself. I remembered it from several days before but back then I had arrived on dragonback with Rhaenys. Speaking to a few merchants as well as some lower authorities here, mostly just tariff collectors and those that inspected goods as we passed the time. The fisher folk worked bare chested, a fair few had Valyrian features and weathered skin. Did the fish at our table come from them?

Idly, I noted the presence of a number of cats at the town and outside of it. Many were lingering over near fishermen, and I noticed that some fishermen even gave fish to cats. Displays like those made me smile, and I had to restrain myself from dismounting and going off to pet one of the little fluffy cats.

Our port was nice enough, I supposed. With paved roads and a fair deal of stonework, as the town itself had started as an outgrowth of the Dragonstone outpost after the natives had been mostly driven off. The town was small, not really a match for that at Driftmark let alone any of the larger port towns in Westeros, and the great cities? Not even worth comparing. I remembered the colossal High Tower and the city it watched over. I will make a city to put that to shame. My mind’s eye was filled with visions of white walls surrounding a city of wonders shining under a warm summer sun. I smiled. But first… I glanced toward the hill overlooking the port itself, and the limenarch’s house, fortified residence really, atop the hill.

“We’re to pay the limenarch of Dragonstone a visit.” I said to no one in particular, and frowned when all I got was a nod. Having someone to talk to would be nice. I quashed the feelings that threatened to break through at that thought. It wouldn’t do for me to seem frustrated over nothing. I set my horse to a canter. My silver hair whipped a bit in its loose ponytail as we approached the gate of the house itself.

“Bring out the Limenarch.” I commanded the guards at the gate. While at first they asked who I was, once I gave my name they were quick to obey, and part of me loved that. It was not long before the limenarch was standing outside his own gate, looking up to me from the ground whilst I was still ahorse.

“Archontissa, your visit is unexpected. Have we displeased the Archon?” The limenarch tried to keep his voice steady, but even I could tell he was unnerved. Of fucking course he is. You show up out of nowhere just to sate your curiosity while he’s just minding his business.  

The limenarch’s tunic was a fairly short cream-colored linen, with multicolored embroidery and no sleeves past his forearm. His mantle was dark and went nearly down to his feet. I could only see the barest hint of bright stockings from what little I could see of his legs. His shoes were well-made, but nothing special.

“No, I have merely come to inspect the port. Your wife is well, I hope?” He paled slightly, as it took me a few seconds to realize why. He must think I’m… oh fuck. I felt a tinge of warmth touch my cheeks.

I waved my gloved hand, “Fear not, I am not threatening your wife. I merely wished to ask after her well-being. Is she well?” I asked, trying to phrase this properly. Neither Visenya nor myself were really that great with people.

At that the man’s features relaxed and he smiled broadly.

“She is indeed, just this past week a son was born to us. Named Aerion, for your father the late Archon.” I narrowed my eyes almost reflexively at that. Bootlicker. I breathed in slightly. I am being unfair. The man did after all owe his position to my.. Her father. Though if he wished to gain any favor from Aegon for naming his son that… He did not care to wait for father’s corpse to burn before he mounted Balerion, why should he care for the whelp of some civil official? 

I tried to keep the irritation out of my voice. “I asked after your wife, not for whether the child born to her was a son or a daughter.” A girl. I want a girl. Dark haired like I used to be. Tall like her father. I wanted to cry, but gulped that down.

For fairly obvious reasons his previous enthusiasm and open joy dimmed, and I kicked myself mentally for it. It’s not their fault. “She is well, certainly. She insists on feeding the child herself rather than letting me hire another to save her the toil.” I frowned at that. Save her the toil? More likely that he wanted her to help him run the port, it was all but an open secret that she’d done most of the management since he was appointed to his post.

“Let her. It is important for a mother and child to bond, and breastfeeding will make them closer.” I’d read that once in a novel, I didn’t know if it was true but if his wife wished to take a break from helping him run the port then he shouldn’t be trying to force her into it. “Still, I am glad to hear of your wife’s continued good health. But we digress, I would like to hear of any recent developments here at port.”

“Of course, Archontissa.” He launched into an explanation of a mix of things I found genuinely interesting, such as the news that the port’s incomes have experienced steady growth since the last Volantene conflict, and somewhat boring like the contents of certain foreign ships he found interesting. I asked more questions, even idle ones about things I wondered regarding port traffic. I relished all of it. It was a distraction that let me just slip into the feeling of being for a while. Indulge my curiosity with someone who didn’t really know who I was supposed to be.

“I still need to make my inspection of the port itself, Limenarch Haeron. If you would be so kind as to show me around?” I interrupted once I’d felt that telltale feeling of too much time passing in conversation, and the comfort and novelty of the situation slipping into tedium. Haeron bowed and I felt that sense of satisfaction at someone practically jumping to listen to me.

He had servants escort his own horse out, a mottled courser that looked as though it had seen better days. With the noontide sun beating down on us despite the shadow cast by the Dragonmont my little three man party rode down to the town at a leisurely trot. It was not long before we had arrived once more at the port, and as the limenarch told me mostly things I wasn’t interested in, I mostly tuned him out and enjoyed the feel of the breeze.

Pretending to be interested, I looked around at what seemed the right things to look at, and nodded and grunted agreement or disagreement when it seemed the right time. I barely know anything about this place. I realized. I could recall the layout of the island from the skies, and the town of Hull and even my memories of Oldtown from the skies were sharper than what I could remember about the port practically on the front door of Dragonstone. The recent visit with Rhaenys had been the first in years. Christ, if people can’t pay attention to what’s on their doorstep no fucking wonder the Seven Kingdoms are a damn mess.

Realizing I’d drifted off, I cleared my throat and felt a surge of joy as Haeron snapped to attention.

“Show me to where you do your record keeping here at port. I should like to have a look at it myself, we can not have you hiding an entire smuggling ring from the Archon after all.” That had him paling and stammering denials, and me half in stitches as I laughed. “I jest!”  I told him, getting myself calmed again and stopping laughing.

“Still, I would like to inspect it, Limenarch.” I stated fairly bluntly. I needed to know what needed changing, if anything. If not... It’d help kill time if nothing else. 

He bowed deeply and led me to what I assumed was the main office of the port itself. A sturdy enough building, one floor and made of brick and mortar. I entered, my hand on Dark Sister’s hilt the entire time. It was comforting to have her in my hand.

Haeron led me through a… well, I didn’t want to throw stones but the building was a damn mess. Fuck, is this what paperwork is like when you can’t just store information on a computer? Part of me doubted that it needed to be as messy as it was.

“Just give me everything from the past month, Haeron.” I wanted to sit down and read through, and was gladdened by his haste to ensure I had what I wanted. Soon enough I was reading over the paperwork, nestled in a corner of the building normally reserved for the limenarch himself.

“You can stop hovering over me, Haeron. Wait out of my sight, but stay in sight of my guardsman.” I casually dismissed the man, comfortably reading a month’s worth of shipping manifests. The handwriting of a dozen different men, some more easily read than others, was over all easy to parse.

Most of it was boring. Just… inventories, the names of captains, important crew on each ship and the cargo of each ship. Sure, there was interesting stuff here and there. Two slaves part of the “cargo” of a Myrish ship, olive oil from Driftmark, blood oranges from Dorne, and… I blinked. Not sure I’d read it right. The name of the ship on the documents listing the ships that had departed was different from the name it was stated to have in the original manifest. Not just in a typo sense, but a name that I’d seen twice before on the papers. Used for different ships. Not only that, but several times cog and galleon had been used as different descriptions for the same ships.

I had been joking about a smuggling ring, but this was triggering my paranoia something fierce. I needed proof. More proof. I needed someone else to look at this. Maybe I’m misreading all this. I stood up from my seat and marched out the room only to see Haeron going from nervous to practically terrified at my expression.

“Thank you for your assistance, Limenarch.” I forced a slight upward curl of my lips, I hoped it looked like a smile.

“O-of course, Archontissa. Have we met the standards the Archon expects?” He looked near to pissing himself.

I tilted my head, then shrugged. “For now.”

“I am glad to have been of assistance to the Archon. I also offer the hospitality of my home for supper if you should desire to speak further.” He seemed to say the last by reflex, a common courtesy.

“I think I will take you up on that offer, Haeron. Tonight!” I didn’t even need to think, it kept me from Aegon. I wouldn’t have to face Rhaenys so soon.

Haeron looked stunned. I barely registered his voice as he stammered in my direction while I and my guardsman left.

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The breeze had picked up since I’d gone into the office, and by the look of the skies the early afternoon skies had given way to late-mid afternoon. While the shadow cast by the Dragonmont was still overwhelming, I could not deny that were I still my old self this day would definitely be one I considered hot. Probably around eighty degrees at present. Now it felt natural, and even comfortable. Small blessings. I laughed to myself.

Looking out over the port, I noticed there were fewer men out now than before. I assumed most went inside, save for some few fishermen and merchants. But what caught my eye most was the group of men who had clearly disembarked from a ship flying the banner of the Velaryons. At the head of them a tall man speaking to an official for what I assumed was paperwork related reasons. For a moment I had feared my uncle had come to Dragonstone. An heir of your own body, nephew.

Calm yourself! I breathed deeply, and calmly as I told my guard to ride back to Dragonstone. He of course obeyed the command of his Archontissa.

Steadily, I guided my palfrey, my Rochiril, over to the party. On you, Rochiril, he must look up at me. I rested a hand on Dark Sister.

The face that I saw when the tall man turned his attention to me had my heart racing again. Until I pushed my nervousness down.

“Ser Corlys, it has been some time.” I greeted him.

Corlys had the good looks one would expect from Valyrians, and unlike his elder brother was untouched by any real resemblance to Aegon. He looked much like my uncle. Just as tall, maybe taller. As well, he was softer facially than Aegon. Softer than his father too. His eyes were a pale blue. Like mother and grandfather. His attire was simple enough. A sea-blue tunic going to below his knees, with silver thread embroidery on the hem and arms and a darker blue sash around his waist.. A grey cloak over him held by a silver sea-horse clasp set with sapphire eyes. His boots were a washed-out black, and stained with sea salt. On his head was set a hat of blue felt, embossed with white thread in the Arbor style. His hands were covered with worn black gloves, decorated with fine stitching.

“It has indeed, cousin Visenya.” He replied warmly.

“What brings you to Dragonstone?”

“I have returned from the patrol my father set me to. It should please him to know that there were no pirates in our waters that I had been able to find.” He chuckled.

“That does not answer my question. Why come to Dragonstone? Should you not be returning to Driftmark with haste?” I wanted to kick myself when I saw him frown. I didn’t mean… “I am curious, cousin. It is not that I wish you gone.” I do though. I felt bad, it was not his fault he resembled his father.

“It is soon to be night, and I hoped to have the hospitality of my kin at Dragonstone. I have been at sea for nigh on a month, Visenya.”

“If it is food you wish for, then I will be dining at the home of the Limenarch tonight and I would like it if you did as well.”

He waved his hand, in a manner that reminded me far too much of Daemon. “I wish to dine with all my cousins, not only one of them and an upjumped scribe. If you will excuse me, Visenya.” He started to walk off with his men. I felt anger boil up in me, and I shoved it down as I spoke up.

“Cousin, I would like to set up a game of Four Corners. I would like it if you would invite Rhaenys, and if you would join us.” I practically made the request a command. I would not be ignored.

He laughed. “Of course, Archontissa!”

I sighed, looking up to the hill, and the house where I would be supping tonight.

Chapter Text

With the light of the setting sun at my back, my horse was led off to the stable as I arrived inside the residence of the Limenarch, passing the sturdy man-high stone walls and the gates of the outer walls to reach the small open-air courtyard of the home. A square courtyard with a painted statue of my father at its center. It was fine work, truly, but it could not compare to the true image of the man in life. A few inches taller than he was, too. I smiled wryly.

The courtyard, and indeed the dwelling in general, was lit by a series of lanterns and candles even now in the early evening. Illuminating the wall frescoes of the courtyard, a scene from legend, of the first dragonlord’s life. His mother the moon, and his father a mortal man who earned her love by capturing the sun’s light in a necklace. It was said their child’s hair was touched with both sun and moon in equal measure, and it was he who ended the long night and sired the race of Valyrians. A cute tale, but most likely nothing else. Rhaenys always liked those stories when we were children. I clamped down on the guilt that surged within me and set that line of thought aside.

The floors were tile mosaics depicting wildlife scenes, and looking down I was reminded of my sandal covered feet baring my toes. I could have worn something more formal for footwear, but I wanted to let my feet breathe tonight and the sandals were well-made regardless. Besides, I was in riding clothes so it wasn’t as if the sandals clashed that much. Who will chide me? Some upjumped coin counter and his wife? I snorted as I was led finally into the central room where the limenarch and his wife were waiting.

My eye was drawn to the altar, the household shrine itself. A silver star with seven points took the place where some figure or icon to one of the many gods of Valyria would have rested. Why does it feel so wrong to me? I shook the feeling off, that momentary distraction done and over with.

Haeron was dressed much as before, save for his shoes being finer and this time I caught the scent of perfumes that I assumed both he and his wife had for the occasion. “We welcome you to our home, Archontissa.” I caught him glancing toward his wife. A woman of average height, with long and flowing flaxen-colored hair with green eyes. What caught my attention was her clothing, a dark robe with few embellishments save for a bright green banding around her waist with her mantle worn in a style that fastened about her waist and shoulder. I couldn’t remember seeing the style before.

“I was born and raised in the Stormlands, Archontissa.” She spoke for the first time, in a Valyrian that I could barely catch the hints of an accent in. Her voice was clear and composed. Am I so transparent? I composed myself, adopting as close to a neutral expression as I could manage.

“You are Westerosi, then.” I said.

“I am as Westerosi as my husband, Archontissa. I am a woman of Dragonstone, and have been for years.” She replied without hesitation.

I nodded, “Of course.”

The silence stretched for almost ten seconds before the limenarch bowed deeply.

“Please, allow us to escort you. It is difficult to eat if we are not in the dining room.” He weakly offered, and I just went with them. I was here to eat after all, not to awkwardly exchange words with his wife for the evening.

The dining area was simple enough, well-lit and neatly furnished with couches and a large center table. Painted walls depicting nature in the form of a scene involving herons in a reed marsh. The food was surprisingly similar to what I had the night before, mostly a mix of fish and other meats and green vegetables. Save for the corn. Actual cob corn. Seasoned shrimp and some hot dogs, that’d make it feel like home. Almost. My thoughts were interrupted by Haeron’s voice.

“I am pleased that you accepted my invitation to dine with us tonight, Archontissa.” Even I could tell that was a lie. “My sincerest apologies if the humble fare of my house is not up to your standards, had I more time I would have prepared something more worthy of you.” Something in me hated the simpering, and I had to bite back harsh words and dismissed his concerns with a wave of my hand.

“You do not need to use titles with me tonight, Haeron. Call me Visenya.” I forced a laugh.

“What is your name?” I asked the limenarch’s wife.

Her reply felt like a slap to the face. I wasn’t sure if I heard it right.

“Could you repeat that?” I kept my breathing controlled.

“Alesandra. I was named for my grandmother, Archontissa.”

I strained to keep a polite smile on my face as it felt like she’d driven a knife into me. So close to… it’s not fair! The meal continued mostly in silence, occasionally broken up by a small talk or another. Until we had finished, and dessert had come and gone. Fruit tarts and spiced cold meats, chilled with ice.

“What did you think of your meal, Archontissa?” His thin smile was nervous, as it had been throughout most of this dinner.

I felt a surge of rage boil up at his tiptoeing around me. I’d been polite and tried to be friendly, and yet he insisted on titles and acting as though I was going to rip his head off if he said one wrong word. You’re not being fair to him.

“It is... “ I waved the utensil very slightly in between my thumb and index finger, “I enjoyed the food, certainly. The conversation was better, though. What about you? Speak freely, I am a woman grown, not a girl with pride pricklier than a... “ I snapped my fingers, trying to remember what the animal was. Hedgehog? What’s the thing with quills. Fuck. “No matter, what I mean is that you won’t offend me and I promise no harm will come from anything you say here.”

“Archontissa, you swear it? I may speak freely with no fear of reprisal?” He asked nervously, and I simply nodded.

“If you wished you could run me through, Archontissa. You do not seem well-pleased with me, and have seemed on the cusp of a rage many times. I fear you, even as I accept that you dragonlords are as above me as a man is above the beasts of the field.” I caught his wife frowning at that last part.

“I… see. Haeron, nothing you have done has upset me. I merely have greater things on my mind.” Pitying yourself? Trying to play friend to people you don’t even know? “I shall speak well of you to my brother-husband the Archon upon my return home.” The words felt like bile.

His face lit up with something other than nervousness and fear for the first time this night, and it left a knot in my stomach. You’re his lord’s wife. Even with people she did not know, I couldn’t escape that fact. I swallowed my sadness as customary farewells were given, and I refused an offer for escort back to Dragonstone keep.

With the silvery light of the crescent moon bearing down on me I rode back… back home. For that is what Dragonstone was now. I had not woken up, I had lived every day a life that felt as real as that which I had lived before. There was no going back, no matter how much I wanted it.

Rochiril’s reins in my hands, I spurred her to a spirited canter.

Glorious is G-d who in His wisdom has cursed me with this existence.

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Walking about the keep after my daily practice yard regimen was becoming a habit, but at least today I would break the monotony a bit. The halls and castle were still splendid, but I felt even that part of me becoming familiar with the areas I treaded most days.

I also found myself nervous about the day’s upcoming event, as while I had taken the time to set up the game, even inviting our half-brother and tasking him with finding two more players, I knew not if Rhaenys would choose to come. I would not blame her if she did not. I was vile towards her. I hoped our cousin would convince her. After all, five players is not enough. I forced a laugh.

Passing guards that were becoming all too familiar, I left the keep in short order on Rochiril to where I had arranged for the game to be played. The skies were only partly cloudy.

Arriving at the ‘arena’, really a field with some hastily erected border posts for the purpose of the game, I nodded to myself when I saw three familiar men in riding clothes who had arrived here before me. At least you didn’t bring him, Orys.

Quenton Qoherys was only of a height with Orys, maybe slightly shorter but his build was broader, and while only a few years my elder he looked closer to thirty-six than thirty, at least in my opinion. He had the handsome features one associated with Valyrians. Save for his flat nose. Slave’s blood. I wanted to heave as I realized what I’d thought, and I quickly decided to greet my half-brother.

“I had thought you would not be arriving for another half hour. What got you here so promptly?” I asked, and cringed internally. You could have phrased that better. 

Orys seemed to take it in stride, just waving it off and replying, “I found my players more quickly than expected, sister.” I raised an eyebrow at that. Is he being literal? Is he mocking me? I pushed down the feeling. He wouldn’t mock me. The thought felt hollow.

Servants were busy at work, no doubt ensuring the boundary posts would stay in place even as others were setting up the goal posts.

“Oh?”

Quenton spoke up, “Your husband the Archon had no need for me in the training yard today, Visenya.” I frowned at the mention of Aegon before breathing in and out very lightly. I turned my attention to the last man of the bunch.

“And you, Ser Vaeron?” I asked, and a smile lit up the face of the recently knighted third son of Crispian Celtigar. It was fairly infectious, as I felt my nervous mood melt away as the young man replied.

“I was chosen by the Archon to take place in this game of Four Corners, Archontissa!” At least someone was happy. Meanwhile, I wanted to scowl at Orys.

“Is that so?” I kept my tone even, and Quenton then replied.

“I was there, Visenya. Though the knight embellishes his tale. Your husband was in earshot when Orys invited me and declined the offer before it could be made. Vaeron invited himself.” The eighteen year old knight’s face reddened at that and Quenton laughed.

“Ser Vaeron, and the Archon gave me his blessing!” He protested.

“Ser Vaeron, then. My brother nodded in your general direction. Mayhap he was giving his blessing to the bookshelf which was near to where you stood.” Orys teased, and that had me laughing. And the back and forth continued until we were interrupted by the arrival of two figures on horseback. The nervousness returned as the events of that night played in my mind again.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to worry about it for long as we were soon ready for our game. My team consisted of Orys, Quenton and myself. The other being Rhaenys, Vaeron and Corlys. Our hammers in hand, and all players in position we started the game.

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I panted, having enjoyed the game of polo. Certainly, they called it something else. But it was definitely polo. Our team may have come off the worse, but it was still more fun than I’d had in some time. Visions of hippodromes for horse racing and perhaps even tourney use and indoor arenas for other sports came to mind as I thought of what I’d see if I could pester Aegon about once we ruled Westeros. I’d love to play more, and having something like this to do would make what time I had free as Queen, what little I could expect… well, to be fun and active.

Orys smiled and for once I smiled back, widely and genuinely. “That was a close game, sister. I had not expected you to play so wildly.”

Quenton laughed, sounding lighter than he had since his sons’ last name day. “Our lady certainly rode her horse like she was born to it today. Were it not for Vaeron and Corlys we might have won!” Vaeron was skilled and clearly played a lot. But even he had been merely good compared with my cousin. Corlys was… he was something else entirely.  Half a horse himself and daring and bold. My heart raced.

“We must do this again, when we are able!” I laughed, “Next time I think Rhaenys will be on my team!” Rhaenys looked a bit puzzled, but then more than pleased at that. Good, she deserves it. Thank you, little sister.

Nodding my head toward the side, I let her know I wanted to talk alone as we left our sweating mounts and the excitedly talking men behind and walked to the other side. We sat upon a smoothed bit of stone together. Her forehead was dried somewhat now, after a good wipe as was my own and her silver ponytail shone in the afternoon sun. I didn’t know how to approach this, so I just spoke.

“I want to apologize, for what… for what I said that night. I was cruel to you, and I hurt you. I should not have. You deserve far better than I for a sister, Rhaenys.” She merely tilted her head at that, not saying a word and my heart was pounding in my chest as a result. Say something!

“I am a horrible sister. I was angry at Aegon, not you. I should not have let my anger at him taint our own conversations.” I gulped, as I made the decision on what to say next, “And you were right. I was upset about a man, a man I can not have, not ever. Especially not now.” That’s not a lie, after all. Even if it’s not entirely true.

At that, Rhaenys’ expression turned from attentive to thoughtful, and moments passed in the awkward silence.

“What is this man of yours like, ‘Senya?”  She smiled at me.

I coughed, “What?”

“You have never been moonstruck, so I want to know what kind of man it takes to catch the eye of my dutiful sister.” She elbowed me gently. I smiled as I recalled all that I could of him.

“Tall, taller even than our uncle. Dark-haired. Brown eyed. He was educated and had something of a temper, from what I could glean. Handsome. Obsessed with histories of the far east. Fond of island cats, and he liked the sea.” I frowned, feeling heavy and knotted up inside even as Rhaenys’ hand rested on my arm.

“He had my heart, even if he could not have my hand and now he is gone. The tides are cruel indeed.” The tides of fate, and the will of G-d. I hope you will be happy, love. “You can not tell Aegon that I had eyes for another, even for a short time. Promise me, please.” I begged. I did not want to imagine how much worse things might be if I were thought of as… some woman who could not keep to her vows. Even if I wanted to break them now. I am not his wife.

I felt my arm being squeezed, gently by her hand. “I am sorry.” A chill ran down my spine, and my terror must have shown on my face as she shook her head and hugged me. “No, ‘Senya. I will not tell Aegon. I am merely… sad to hear that you loved, and that love could never be. It must be horrible. But you do not have to bear this alone, sister. If you cry I will not tell.” I hugged her as tightly as I could, trying to find some way to express how much the words meant to me.

Realizing she might be uncomfortable, I loosened my grip slightly, “Sorry. I should not have… I apologize for…” I blushed, and felt my face burning as she grinned.

“‘Senya, it is fine! I am merely overwhelmed.” I swore that her grin had gotten wider.

Folding my arms under my breasts I glanced away from her. “By… what?”

“You are acting more my sister, for once. Than the Archontissa. I missed this, ‘Senya.” She rested her head on my shoulder, and I stroked her tied-up hair.

A parasite, wearing Visenya’s skin. I shut the voice up, and just let myself enjoy the feeling. I couldn’t replace the Visenya she lost, but maybe I could make her happy anyway. She wasn’t really my sister, but I could play pretend. It felt good, and she deserved it.

I won’t let you die, I promise.

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It had been almost three weeks since we’d all been in one room together, since that dinner where Aegon had claimed Orys would be the new Joffrey Lydden. In place of formal wear I was in riding clothes, as was Rhaenys. Orys was dressed in a bright red tunic, heavily embroidered on the cuffs and hem with similarly bright boots, though yellow and made of a soft leather. His mantle was missing.

Aegon, however, was dressed in a shorter black tunic with gold stitching along the sleeves and finer embroidery in the shape of dragons, worn over a fairly plain undershirt and fine linen leggings. His boots were taller than Orys', with open toes. His mantle was akin to that which he wore at dinner.

“You know why I have summoned you all here.” My brother said as he wore the biggest smile I’d seen in some time, I almost wanted to smile with him. Almost. I can not wait, Aegon. When the time came, I’d be sure to let him know I told him so. That I was right.

He snapped his fingers and a servant brought a fairly plain box over. It was well-made and fairly large. Having multiple hinges so that it could not open easily by accident. When the servant, a fair-haired young man set the box down Aegon dismissed him. “Heavier than I thought it would be. Perhaps Argilac sent a gift? I had thought I would have to argue more to get him to accept.” He smiled at Orys, handing him the box.

“Our Orys will have the honor of opening this.” Orys nodded respectfully and opened the offered box. I had never seen a face go from puzzlement to disgust to anger until I saw Orys in that moment.

My half-brother dropped the box on the table where it landed with a thud. Filled with straw and a pair of hands, one of which had flopped from the container to the table. I felt like I was going to lose my lunch at the sight.

“How dare he! That mangy Westerosi lord of pig sties and wailing whores!” Aegon raged, his fist colliding with the table and knocking the single hand to the floor. I wanted to tell him ‘I told you so’, but I could not get my mouth to work. All I could see was the hand flopping out from the box, all I could think of was the man we’d sent to deliver our message, and the fact I’d wanted to gloat to Aegon about this.

I’ll give his family a bag of silver. I vowed as Aegon continued to rage.

“He harmed our messenger. He insulted me! How dare he! My brother is more than good enough for his daughter! He should be honored I would grant his daughter the privilege of marrying Orys! Rhaenys, we ride for Storm’s End. We will show this barbarian what it means to insult the dragonlords.” His purple-eyed gaze sweeped the room, and I felt when it landed on me. “You will come too, Visenya. His precious castle will not protect him. Tarth and the Storm King’s fleet will burn first, then we will take Storm’s End and show him not to insult us.”

I shook my head. “No. Aegon, think about this. We can’t. Remember our plan.”

“We can not let Argilac get away with this! He has so little respect for us that he maimed our messenger! He thinks so little of us, of our brother that he would kill the man who brought him my message!” Rhaenys placed her hand on his shoulder, and he seemed to calm slightly.

“Aegon.” She spoke clearly, calmly, and with a surprising sternness. Aegon nodded and breathed in deeply, then let it out.

“Visenya is right, brother. We should keep to our plan. We will need more swords at our back, and when the time comes… we can simply take his castle and kingdom. Storm’s End would make a fine seat for our brother, and Argilac will know that he lost his kingdom when he rejected having a son.” Rhaenys spoke the words with a faintly amused tone, and Aegon seemed to return to his normal self quickly enough.

Aegon nodded, as if having come to a decision.

“Visenya, send the raven. Our uncle will summon our vassals for a council of war. It is time the Westerosi were brought to heel.” He said, rubbing his chin.

I did as he asked. The image of severed hands burning in my mind all the while.

I am sorry. 

Chapter Text

I idly stroked the shining green scales of Vhagar’s head, looking out from my spot at the smallest hill towards the tallest hill of the future King’s Landing. Even now, most of our men worked to erect a fortified camp there. Aegon’s High Hill, I think? Is what it was called. I touched my braid with a mail-clad hand as I felt the sunlight being blocked out by black wings whose size could more than cover my Vhagar.

Aegon, who was sat upon Balerion, circled around the hills, followed by silver Meraxes ridden by Rhaenys, and then the two flew off across the bay again as they had since we arrived the hour before. I hope you’re enjoying it, sister. I would not sully her happiness with my own complaints even if she found it alongside him. We all deserve to be happy about something so long as it doesn’t hurt someone.

Not for the first time this day I balled my hands into fists fairly half-heartedly as I felt my heart ache.

“Is something amiss, Archontissa?” Came the voice of Vaeron from behind me.

I sighed, “No. I am merely bored.” I replied, glancing over at the over eager boy who’d entered my own entourage after our first game of Four Corners at Dragonstone. When did I start thinking of eighteen year olds as that much younger than me? I remembered when I thought being his age made me an adult, and laughed softly to myself.

The shoulder length silvery hair of Vaeron, touched with some few strands of gold, flowed slightly with the strong breeze as he smiled again. I liked his smile, it was earnest and honest. “Father says the waiting is the worst part, and I agree. I know the Archon wants to establish himself here first, but I want to fight.” He blew at a strand of hair that had gotten in his face.

“I would rather we not fight at all, Vaeron.” He furrowed his brow at that, and I could more than see the confusion in his grey eyes. For a moment my thoughts turned again to his Clawman mother before I shrugged that off.

“Why is that so?” He asked me as he ran a bare hand through his hair.

“What right do we have to run in and just… conquer all of these lands? I could understand if Aegon wished to take the Riverlands and free them from the yoke of the Hoares and put them under our wing. Even taking the Stormlands after Argilac maimed and killed our messenger, but why the rest?” I sighed again, my thoughts on this topic again for what felt like the tenth time today.

“You might as well ask what right the men of the Sunset Lands have to rule as they do over their subjects or fight in their wars. Besides, Archontissa, would it not be better if all of it were under one crown and the wars of the Westerosi stopped?” Aegon’s words, even if they came from Vaeron’s mouth.

I shrugged, “Mayhap.”

And that was that.

My eyes were drawn again to the bay, not to Rhaenys and Aegon flying about but instead to the ships that comprised our forward invasion force. Many smaller galleys and a number of larger ships with the lion’s share coming from Driftmark. Not that Daemon would let us forget.

The largest ship was his Lord Laenor. With her pristine white sails, silver prow and sea-green coloring she certainly stood out among the rest. Only the Sweet Sister could compare, and she was a full eighty oars smaller, though black-painted and with scarlet sails and a golden dragon’s head on the prow she managed to almost make up for the deficiency with sheer presence.

Sweet Sister indeed. Aegon had named her for m-.. For Visenya, after an argument. The real Visenya hadn’t spoken to him for a week after that.

Humming softly, I thought back to the slapdash nature of the men of our host. From the few horsemen of Dragonstone, resplendent in their scale armor and their faces covered with mail stretching down from a cone-shaped helmet, their lance heads shining in the light of the springtime noontide sun, a holdover of the sparse cavalrymen of Old Valyria mixed with traditions learned in the century since. The men of Driftmark in their silvered-steel armor from fine mail to heavy plate and even shining mirrored lamellar, More Westerosi than Valyrian a part of me thought. The Celtigars brought men in both mail and heavy cloth armor, armed with long axes. Archers and men-at-arms from Massey’s Hook made up the least of our host, and the men of Dragonstone and Claw Isle looked upon them with suspicion, but Aegon had ordered all of them to work together and so they had.

I envied him that. His ability to just say something and expect it would be done, without regard for the possibility or even the idea of failure. I hate that I envy you at all.

Snapping myself out of my thoughts I cleared my throat and spoke, “Ser Vaeron, please see to the men of this hill, you are in command of them while I am gone.” Does that sound official enough?

“As you will, Archontissa!” He replied with a bright smile that helped clear my mood a little, walking off and gesturing at the men under my command and no doubt giving orders about trenches or some such thing while I commandeered a black courser for my own purposes.

Riding on horseback was one of those things I’d grown to enjoy in the past month, Visenya was good at it, and now I was. We? Maybe? I frowned at the thought, I was myself and that was all I needed to know. It’s bad enough I answer to your name like a trained dog, can I not even enjoy something without you having a say in it? I gripped the reins, guiding the courser past the camp boundaries. Ruins dotted the lands around our landing spot here and there, I’d heard it said that there were a hundred forts for a thousand kings.

The hills were practically lush compared with my home of Dragonstone, with their rich green grass and foliage and abundant timber not far from the shore even as the fishing villages near to us continued about their daily lives after we’d informed them we were not there to slay them.

Even Driftmark was not this beautiful. White sands and blue seas were nice, but this place reminded me more of home. Along the side of a dark river, not too busy, not bustling and even with the differences it still felt closer to my old home than Dragonstone could. Save for the sea.

I rode on, Balerion and Meraxes flying over the hill I’d been on not long ago on their continual circuit. Balerion lagged behind, and Meraxes spun. The sight of that made me feel sick. How can Rhaenys feel comfortable with that?

Perhaps my sister was simply mad. Maybe she liked the thrill of it. Maybe that’s what got her ki- She won’t. Not here. As the two flew off, this time straight out into the north end of the camps I averted my eyes from the sea. It seemed wrong, that a body of water could be big enough I couldn’t see the other side of it. I knew that oceans existed, of course, and seas and even massive lakes but that wasn’t the same. So close to it, the water seemed large enough to swallow me whole.

It made my heart ache all the more for home.
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It begins in truth, now.

The Conquest had truly begun, the dragons were assembled, Meraxes and Vhagar nearest to us, and I and Rhaenys were to be the first to meet the enemy. To fight and kill just so Aegon could have a damn crown. He was willing to kill thousands just for his dream to rule over people who had never been asked.

And yet I remembered a little boy who came to the training yard at Dragonstone, a smile on his face and laughter easily coming from his lips even when covered in scrapes gained from an energetic ‘duel’ between him and me.. How father had fussed when he saw! I shook my head.

It was hard to reconcile that boy with the man I knew. What do you see in him, little sister?

I breathed in as the man broke from his embrace with my sister, both of them laughing happily. My heart ached at the sight. I wanted that. But never him. It isn’t fair. I breathed out, my mail-clad hand no longer in a fist as I calmed myself.

“‘Senya, come over here!” Rhaenys called, and I resisted the urge to shrug my shoulders as I walked over to her and Aegon. I would not shrug in public, it was not fitting for a woman of my standing.

“Yes, si-?” I asked simply, or, rather, tried to but before I could say anything I was cut off by Aegon’s voice, clear and commanding as he spoke loudly at the men assembled at the high hill. From Vaeron to the sons of Lord Massey to my own cousins and the many men-at-arms and knights I did not know among them.

“Now is when this conquest of the seven kingdoms begins in earnest, and much as the blacksmith’s work begins with a hammer stroke so too does that of my own great work. With the honor of the first blow going to my wives, my sisters, your queens!” With that last he grabbed a hand from Rhaenys and I in each of his hands and raised our arms.

I felt my heart race at his words, he spoke well, I can see why men might follow you. I wanted to blush and hide at the cheering his words stirred in the crowd. I almost didn’t notice when he let our arms down.

“VICTORY TO THE ARCHON! GLORY TO THE ARCHONTISSAS!”

The words rang inside my head. I felt a smile form as I saw Rhaenys on the other side of Aegon. Her hair loose and free, readily smiling and looking as though she was born to this, despite her doubts about Aegon’s ambitions. How does she do it?

She looked beautiful, even in armor, though maybe that was to be expected given the attire was more ceremonial and aesthetically pleasing than it was made for protection. What foe do we need to fear when we rule the skies? Rhaenys had said to me with a laugh when I brought up the idea of a helmet.

What foe indeed. My heart hurt when I thought of a scorpion bolt in Meraxes’ eye, of Rhaenys dead or worse. I remembered the arrow wound the original Visenya took at the Field of Fire. I was drawn from my thoughts by the flash of sun reflecting off bright scales.

Rhaenys was already on Meraxes and ready to leave.

The fine bronze scales of the armor, the thinnish black undershirt beneath it matching the luxurious leather boots and trousers, and the scarlet cloak all served to provide a rather striking image. Atop Meraxes, her silver hair being blown in the breeze, she looked more a warrior-queen out of song than the warm sister I’d come to know better in the past month. That fierce image was broken for a moment by her waving down at us with a smile, even as she cracked the whip to get Meraxes moving.

Seeing Rhaenys fly off on Meraxes had me nervous, it was her task to bring Rosby to heel and my own was to put an end to any idea of Stokeworth resisting before they could even raise a levy. On the way we were to force the submission of the lesser lords and knights.

“I wish you luck, ‘Senya.” Aegon said, and though his words seemed sincere, I liked them not. You do not get to call me that. I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue. I hated that I didn’t hate him as much as I did weeks before, I hated that I was unable to muster the same hate, and most of all I hated that I remembered the face of this vainglorious silver-haired heathen better than that of my own love or even my father. It’s not fair that your faces are beginning to fade, and his is the one that haunts me.

“I will be back… at some time.” I weakly replied. My voice sounded and felt oddly distant from me.

Grunting, I clambered onto Vhagar, whip in hand and shoved down the discomfort in my tummy at the thought of being in the sky again. Of being on the back of a beast larger than any animal I’ve ever seen aside from the other two dragons. Flashes of my first flight with Vhagar passed through my mind’s eye. How can a girl of eight be braver than a woman of six and t-.. Twenty-six? She had picked the dragon because she was the smaller one, but she had still done more than I would have if I were her. And I am, now. I’m sorry.

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and when I opened them I cracked the whip. Vhagar heard, and she knew by now what it meant.

Vhagar’s movement as she pushed her powerful legs and beat her wings to achieve flight sent a shudder through me. It was less like riding a courser, let alone my palfrey Rochiril, and more like guiding a… I didn’t even have words for it. It was like nothing I’d experienced before, a storm given form, a roller coaster gone off the rails, wild and yet controlled and it had felt like that the past three times I’d flown on her as well. The winds blew against my face and whipped my braid around and all I could think of was to not look down. Regardless of my curiosity. Which only made me do so.

Seeing the ground even for a moment from Vhagar’s back had my stomach seeming to leap to my throat and then sink. Everything was so much smaller from high up, and the sky was vast and all I had supporting me was Vhagar underneath. Even the sea is safer than this!

Feelings of terror and comfort warred within me as I saw the passing farms, the rivers, and everything else dotted about as I got Vhagar to fly to Stokeworth.

In the end I clung close to the saddle, my face pressed to it nearly the whole time.
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The flight to Stokeworth, aside from my discomfort, was without incident and the few times I let myself peek out below I saw the lands fly past and would quickly hide my face once more as the queasiness and fear overpowered my curiosity. Don’t look down.

My legs were tight against the saddle, as though it would somehow keep me better attached than the chains which were already there.

Riding a dragon was not like riding a horse at all, even with a whip it seemed more like I was guiding Vhagar with my mind more than with any rein or command. Perhaps there was some kind of genuine bond between dragonlords and dragons. It matched up with what the real Visenya remembered, certainly. But her knowledge of dragonlore was surprisingly non-mystical.

Why has Vhagar not eaten me, then? A dragon has only one rider, after all. I’m not her, is it because she’s dead and Vhagar accepted me instead? Am I enough Visenya for her to accept me and whatever bond there is not to snap?

I did not know the answer.

As the castle came into sight from the horizon I realized Stokeworth’s walls were nothing to write home about, and the castle itself wasn’t so impressive really. It was sturdy, certainly, but I doubted it would take all that long to get the lord to submit.

Which was why I was surprised when not a few minutes later I had men trying to kill me when I swooped down on Vhagar, as I’d wanted a clean landing in front of the castle itself to accept the lord Stokeworth’s surrender.

Men in chain byrnies, men with steel sallets covering their heads, men with crossbows and longbows loosing their bolts and arrows at me. My heart raced.

Damn them all. I thought to myself as a bolt nearly hit me square on the face, but instead whizzed past. Just barely missing me.

I saw red.

As though she felt my emotions, Vhagar roared and flew off eastwards from the castle, I did not care enough to avoid looking down, and all I felt was rage mingled with fear. My hands were close to shaking as I thought of the bolt. Dead. Dead with another woman’s name and face. I breathed in and out, and strength filled my limbs again as I resolved to do what I had been afraid to do.

With Vhagar’s wings beating powerfully I gave the command, and the bulk of this monster beneath me tensed as the fire built for release, I could almost swear I felt the heat rising from her scales and my heart clenched with dread.

Despite the arrows and the bolts and the men scurrying about, the moment seemed quiet, and I broke it in one breath. With a word that felt like bile in my throat just as it tasted like the sweetest Arbor gold.

“Dracarys,” and the fire that had been held within the great beast erupted outwards from her terrible maw in one gout of flame, green with touches of gold swirling within it, and they coated the roof of that small castle and set ablaze the straw and the wood and the men who manned it.

Green flames danced and the stench of smoke and sulphur filled my nostrils, I thought the men would stink, but the fire was all I knew. The heat touching my cheeks, only countered by the light breeze which blew a few errant strands of hair across my face. I wanted to throw up.

Crossbowmen and archers who’d dared to stand against me screamed.

Valyria once ruled the world, it is time these dogs remembered who their masters are. A part of me took pleasure in it, and I realized that I had enjoyed it too and disgust mated with satisfaction all while my silver braid blew in the wind.

With Dark Sister drawn and raised in one hand and saddle-rein held in the other I laughed, laughed because it let out the complicated storm of feelings I had roaring inside me.

“Kneel to your betters, dogs!” By the gods, I wished for the secrets of my ancestors, to wield flame and set flame to running down the length of my steel blade. I would sound a horn and break their wills, I would gain power beyond that of any man alive, I wo- I would be a monster.

The thought haunted me even as I saw the men of the castle waving a banner of truce and desperately trying to put out the flames I had commanded Vhagar to set on them. The screams of the dead and dying were no longer glorious but horrible, and I wanted them to stop.

As the men walked out of the gates, another truce banner in hand, I flew off on Vhagar to make the rounds of the castle once more. In good shape, aside from the few light bits of fire damage here and there, it’ll be fine soon enough. I was consoled by that knowledge, those men were active combatants, and the castle was not made an early Harrenhal.

That was the thought on my mind as I landed in front of the men to accept their surrender. Led by a plain looking man in his later years, his black hair peppered with grey and his brown eyes looking up at me upon Vhagar with a mix of fear and resignation, judging by his fine attire with the heraldry of Stokeworth clearly on it, I figured he must have been the lord.

I spoke first, loudly from Vhagar’s back and as clear as I could.

“Kneel, and swear fealty to the Targaryens of Dragonstone. To I and my brother, and you shall remain lord over your lands.” I gave the terms and saw the man I assumed to be the lord speak to a nearby man in gray robes, I assumed was his maester. A middle-aged man, and comically portly, but he held himself with pride as he spoke at me with a gravelly voice.

“My lord Stokeworth does not speak Valyrian, Lady Targaryen. If you know the Common, he would prefer that you spoke in it.” The words made me wish I had a helmet, because I knew for sure my face must have been red with the mix of embarrassment and indignation I felt.

“M-my sincerest apologies, Lord. I only a-assumed that a man of means would at least know the language of culture and trade, rather than being limited to the tongues of the Andal barbarians.” I wanted to kick myself at that last part, as the words left my mouth, I could see the men reacting poorly. Not violently, but they were clearly offended. Of course they are. Stammering and you insulted them. What a queen you are.

“Now, I will accept your fealty to my brother, and you will remain as lord of this land and be confirmed in your rights as your family has always held.” Aegon’s instructions, certainly, and I wished he hadn’t given them.

The man knelt, his finery touching the dirt as he did, the truce banner dipping, and him offering his sword. I imagined it looked comical, given he was knelt before a dragon.

He gave oaths that I did not care enough to hear, aside from something about serving my family loyally from now until the end of time. I gave him a nod and spoke at him with a forced smile.

“Do you see? Not so difficult, is it?” I saw the men burning again in my mind’s eye, “Now, you will go with your heir and your vassals and march south to give your fealty to my brother in person. He will accept your swords at the mouth of the Blackwater Rush, at the highest hill.”

When he gave his final oaths, the smile I bore was no longer forced, and with a crack of a whip I sent Vhagar flying once more, her wings kicking up a small storm of dust and leaving men on the ground no doubt clearing their eyes.

We flew, this time back to the camp where this had begun. My heart light, and my entire being feeling warm as though I’d stepped into a hot bath. I’d done it, after all. I had made a proud man kneel, and with minimal deaths on his end. Did the original Visenya do so well?

I could not remember.

Chapter Text

The new scent of farmlands and orchards fat with fruit around various small towns seemed to fill my nostrils despite my only having landed near one an hour before to sate my curiosity.

I’d done naught but land yet my arrival had sent a number of people panicking and running toward the town gates. The people had been afraid.

Of me.

I hated it. So I left as quickly as possible.

Part of me enjoyed that fear, the knowledge that these backwards wretches at least knew how powerful I was when astride Vhagar. Another, what I felt like was the true me, only felt terrible about it and wanted to kick myself for not thinking before doing what I did.

Another part only remembered the dying men at Stokeworth. The screams of men burning alive.

Not that it mattered for long, as I had been back in the air soon after, and on my way back to the three hills. This time flying lower and trying to force myself to actually look down more often, if I was going to be a dragon rider, I couldn’t just… be afraid of the skies. I can just see Rhaenys laughing at me if she knew.

It was hard, though. It wasn’t just something I could snap my fingers and get rid of. That feeling of the sheer vastness of the open skies, of how insignificant I was on the back of Vhagar, of how the only thing keeping me from potentially falling to my death were the chains and my clinging to the saddle.

The feeling of my stomach sinking, then going up to my throat, the chill down my spine, how hard it was to breathe when I saw the ground from a great height… It just didn’t stop. Will it ever? I tried to ignore that voice. I had to get better, I had to. What if I can’t?

Instead of the passing lands, the height I was at, I thought of other happier things. It was nice to be lost in my thoughts. I barely even had to try to guide Vhagar to where I wanted her to go. I wondered how much of that was magic, and just dismissed it as not worth worrying about by the time I arrived back at camp.

In the late afternoon sun, a golden orb traveling the length of the partly cloudy reddish skies, I almost felt invigorated to return to somewhere familiar. It wasn’t Dragonstone, and it certainly wasn’t home, but it felt safe.

I took in the sights of the sun and skies over the sea. Of the ships in the bay, the villages in the shadow of old ruins and the hills. In an hour or two I could imagine there’d be a ruddy sunset over the green hills. If only I could use that banner. I would never see it in action now.

Men seemed to be done with their work for the time, and I swore that parts of the main camp were more built up than they had been when I left a few hours before. Meraxes was already there. Rhaenys finished first, then? Even if she hadn’t, Meraxes was the faster flier and I was taking my sweet time getting back. Balerion was resting in the shadow of the high hill, and I felt a smile come to me at the sight.

Vhagar’s bulk moved seemingly effortlessly with minimal need to guide her, I wasn’t even sure if the whip crack and command did that much, as she seemed half in-sync with me, and while she flew to a clearing within the main camp I just idly swung my legs back and forth in the saddle, despite the chains. The movement calmed me, and while part of me wanted to shout that I had finished my task and done so with ease, another part just didn’t feel in the mood to yell.

That part won out as I loosened and then removed the saddle chains. Already feeling mildly annoyed at the few men milling around asking if I required any assistance. What I wanted was for them to fuck off and let me be. That’s not fair to them.

I wanted to ask if Aegon was busy, but the words wouldn’t leave my throat. I didn’t know whether it was because it was a dumb question, inappropriate to ask, or if I just didn’t want to talk at the moment. So I didn’t speak a word to the camp servants in their livery upon getting down from Vhagar.

Sunlight glinted off her green scales as I walked off to the outer ‘wall’ of the camp to find a place to think. I needed to figure things out, and unwind a bit. I yearned for the solitude of the skies, and yet the fear was still there. Mingled with the desire to fly. Why? Is this your fault, Visenya?

How much of me was even myself these days? I didn’t want to become her. I didn’t want to see others as lesser or to think burning castles or people was actually right. It’s bad enough I’ll die with your name on my gravestone.

At least I wouldn’t have to worry about her rotting corpse being the last physical piece of me left in the world. We cremate our dead, after all. I wanted to laugh. We? I am not Valyrian! I tugged at my silver braid in frustration with a bare hand.

“Archontissa!” I wanted to scream at the man who’d spoken to me and I turned around to face him. He looked nervous, his eyes were a fairly vibrant blue, part of me noted.

“What is it? Tell me and go.” I barely kept myself from yelling.

“Y-your brother, the Archon. He wished to see you upon your return.” I felt my heart pump faster at his words, and balled my hand into a fist. I didn’t bother replying, and calming myself with a breath or four, I walked off to the main tent.

I hadn’t noticed just how busy and crowded the camps could be, with all the men brought over sea and others hired from among locals it seemed almost a small town of people scurrying about their tasks. The tents were houses, the palisades walls, the trodden dirt paths were roads and the soldiers were the town watch and guards.

Washerwomen went about their work the same as cooks and peasants selling their wares to soldiers. Though by this time in the day they were ready to leave for their homes, it seemed. No matter who was in my way, they quickly moved aside, and I was glad for it. I did not want them to make me snap.

My brother was waiting for me in the clearing I remember having taken off from earlier, guards flanking him and his hand resting easily on Blackfyre’s hilt. My own hand went reflexively to Dark Sister, and I gulped ever so slightly.

He was clean-shaven as always, his silver hair neatly cut at the neck, and on his head he wore the leather fillet of a man at war, adorned with garnets and topaz gems catching the light of the sun such that I had to avert my eyes slightly. With his easy smile and fine features, part of me acknowledged that he was handsome, even if said smile was dimmed upon my arrival. I don’t like you either.

A man who hadn’t fought a single battle but he was garbed for war. His armor a blackened steel scale, like and yet unlike the bronze which Rhaenys and I wore, and it was worn over a black long-sleeved undershirt and short dark grey tunic trimmed with red. The stockings he wore were a similarly dark grey, complemented by black leather boots studded with red jewels. The outfit tied together by the cloak he wore, the same one he’d worn to our dinners, though with a different single-headed clasp and held together below the neck rather than at the shoulder.

I barely kept myself from stepping away when he stepped toward me, and then placed a hand upon my shoulder. You don’t get to touch me! I feigned a smile, and I imagined his was just as false as mine. His hand moved to my arm and gripped firmly but not with too much force.

Reflexively, I balled my hand into a fist for a moment.

“Sister, you have returned. I am most glad that you claimed Stokeworth with haste!” He smiled wider, “And Rhaenys took Rosby with greater haste still! Come, we must feast together tonight. We have not spoken together since we left Dragonstone.” I wanted to slap him, for comparing the speed of my conquest to that of Rhaenys. You should be glad you have me to help you at all. For a moment I saw a man, half covered in green flame, who’d jumped from the battlements of Stokeworth to his death on the ground below.

Not for the first time I wondered if perhaps I might just fly off somewhere else. Not for the first time, I realized I had no idea of what to do after that.

“Where is Orys?” I asked, hoping it might get him to talk about something else and let me go.

His grip loosened and I slipped from it. His hand resting back on Blackfyre’s hilt once more. I started walking toward my own tent. He followed me, dismissing his guards and his next words were spoken in a more even tone.

“He is directing the men at the smallest hill, I sent him off when Rhaenys returned.” My hill, then. I sighed. My tent, scarlet and gold in color, felt more to me like a home than anywhere else at the moment.

“Why did you send him there?” I asked, frustrated and breathing in and out softly.

As we stopped in front of the ‘doorway’ of my own tent he frowned, as if confused, “To save you the trouble of having to inspect the work of the men under your command. It is quite hard to dine with you and Rhaenys if one of you is busy elsewhere.”

“So I do not have a choice, then? You have already decided for me. That you wish to eat with us, and that we will just do it because you want that.” I wanted to say more, but bit my tongue.

“Do not be like that, ‘Senya. I o-” I saw red.

“You do not have the privilege to call me that. Only Rhaenys, do you understand?” I was not his love, and I did not love him. I did not even care for him. Regardless of the tolerance I’d built up.

“Are you well, dear sister? You have been like this since we shared a bed at Driftmark.” A sharp intake of breath was my way of trying to close out what I remembered. “You seemed even less enthusiastic than usual. Did I fail to satisfy you then?” He did not even wait for a response, shaking his head, “Perhaps...” He trailed off for a moment, then he smiled softly, his purple eyes staring straight into my own. I did not know a smile could seem cruel. “Might you be with child?” He asked, placing a hand on my mid-section.

I felt ill, the ghost of another touch flickered in my memory, he was only an inch taller, but he was larger than I, I remembered. How can you say this with a smile, you vile uncut mongrel.

“No, do you need to see my bloodied wraps?.” Not that it was his business. The words made my skin crawl, admitting that to him. I feigned a neutral expression.

“That is a pity.” Taking his hand off my belly, he frowned before that changed to the slight smile I was familiar with, “I am sure I will give you a child soon.” He moved to touch my cheek and with nary a thought I gripped his wrists like a vise.

Blissfully, I caught sight of silver-scaled Meraxes flying in from the south over the horizon. South? I imagined that meant Rhaenys had gone for a bit of a joyride.

“Our sister is returned.” I forced a smile, letting his wrists go, and he turned to face the skies with a wider smile than he’d graced me with as he saw Meraxes. Her silver scales were brilliant even from where we stood.

--------

Chapter Text

“To everlasting victory!” 

I laughed as our glasses clinked together and I downed my fifth glass of wine. Tonight, I had let myself actually try wine, it was Rhaenys’ idea to mix a fine undiluted Arbor red with a watered down yellow wine from New Ghis, and it tasted… sweet and sour at the same time. Rich like no juice I’d ever had, and part of me realized I’d missed this. My worries had flowed away with the wine as it went down. Sweeter than honey.

It had been two days since I arrived back at Aegon’s glorified army camp he and his men called his “Aegonfort”. Palisades had been raised, and though the beginnings of an actual central structure had been completed, the “keep” as we called it was just the command tent belonging to Aegon. Not far from my own, it was a pavilion of purple and scarlet and gold silk, with fine rugs and carpets and all the amenities one could have away from home while at war.

Even at night it was lovely inside, well-lit with lanterns and carefully placed candles casting our shadows and that of various objects against the walls and floor of the tent. 

“Tell us about your plans, little brother! You’ll have your lords here, and then what?” I laughed as he flashed a smile and raised a closed hand with the index finger pointing skyward. Then brought his hands back down and swept them forward and out, knocking over an empty wine glass. 

“We’ll have my coronation, here, on the mouth of the Blackwater. In full view of the Westerosi lords and peasants. A king needs an audience, after all.” He laughed, and I laughed too. He seemed handsome enough tonight, I almost forgot what he was.

Rhaenys was tidying her hair a tad, brushing a stray strand from out of her face. “Kings need titles too.” She downed a half-glass of wine, how many was that now? I couldn’t recall. I probably had had more than her, though.

“King of Westeros, maybe. No, for certain.” Aegon mumbled loudly. 

I chimed in, “King of Kings, there’s a fine title, brother!” In my mind’s eye I saw him dressed like some kind of Sassanid shah, and I stifled a giggle. 

“No, there will be no kings but me. Westerosi kings will bow to me and be lords or be slain and replaced with those who will behave, and that is that.” He looked like he was keeping himself composed. I wonder if my face is as flushed as his. I giggled, unable to contain it this time.

“What’s so funny, ‘Senya?” Rhaenys asked, her long silver hair hanging freely in ringlets, she’d had her hair done today. I liked it a lot. It looked wonderful with the clothes she wore, a silken scarlet shirt with embroidered cuffs and black trousers in the Westerosi style. She wore red shoes with them. 

“N-nothing. Just thought of Aegon dressed up like some Yi-Tish Emperor.” I lied. When did lying become so easy? I frowned, feeling bad, so I drank a bit more wine.

Aegon looked like he was thinking about it, and laughed. His laugh wasn’t so bad. Rhaenys laughed with him. 

“I think you’d have looked better in a dress, little sister. Lavender, perhaps. It would fit your lilac eyes better.” It really did, or so the image in my mind showed. Dazzling and radiant, I wished I could be like that.

I swirled my drink around and sipped at it. My head dizzier than I remembered it being. I’m probably just buzzed . Giggles burst from me again at the idea. Me. Buzzed. Me drinking at all was funny. What would he think if he could see me? I giggled even more, at the image of my father seeing me as I am now. It’d be awkward as hell.

“So, King of Kings?” I asked after calming myself down.

“No, Visenya, I can not let these Westerosi get ideas . King of Kings, would be saying they are Kings.” He shook his head, as if dismissing the very idea completely. His hands at his side, dusting at his cloak, at something I couldn’t see. Maybe he got food on himself?  

“You do not have to make them kings, it is just a title. Great King, perhaps?” I thought of Cyrus the Great and other rulers from my home’s history. G-d, my head felt fuzzy. “It sounds a fine title indeed. High King?” I hummed to myself.

“Why are you so set on this title, sister? I said no already, that should be that.” I frowned at him, and breathed in and out slightly. Why does he make things so difficult?  

“It is a good title, it is not my fault you could not find a good name even were it to bite you in the ass.” I smiled, drinking more and enjoying every drop as they slid down my throat. “Aegonfort? Pfft, that sounds like the name of some little boy’s hiding spot. Dumb as shit.” 

“That was not my name, the men came up with it, I only let them have it.” He clenched his fist. A scowl clear on his face. I smiled at him, it felt good. 

“So you let a bunch of workmen tell you what to do, but you won’t let me give you an actually good name? Of course, what can I expect from you? Taking what you want, and not caring about what others say except when it suits you!” I wanted to slap him, and I didn’t know when I’d stood up, the world felt uneven, and I felt slightly sick. Even worse when I felt a pair of hands on me, holding me, and saw they were Aegon’s.

“Let go of me!” I frantically pulled, but his grip was stronger than my own, he was stronger than me. I remembered the brush of his lips from back then and I wanted to run, I felt like I was going to wet myself until another hand touched me, on my shoulder, and that calmed me.

It was Rhaenys, and Aegon had let go of me.  Rhaenys was holding one of my hands.

I looked down at the glass and with my free hand knocked it off the table. “Your fault.”

“‘Senya, it is not the fault of the wine that you drank so much.” I wanted to scowl at Rhaenys. How dare she take his side. “It is late, and we all need rest.” She said, sounding exasperated. I sighed, and clung to the only stable thing in this wobbling world I found myself in.

She dragged me out of the tent, the starlight and moon in the sky lighting the way, I still couldn’t get over how clear these skies were. It was truly beautiful. A thousand thousand little lights in the sky, and I felt tears come to my eye at it even as Rhaenys guided me by the arm. 

“I’m sorry, I drank too much.” I wanted to cry, I felt horrible, “I’m pathetic, Rhaenys. I c-can’t even keep a promise not to drink, I’m s-so-” I sicked up, and then again. 

Everything was a blur.

So it wasn’t a surprise that I smiled when I found myself resting on what felt like the most wonderful thing after being taken to my tent. I assumed it was my own bed. My tummy still hurting slightly, and shaking my head felt uncomfortable.

I barely noticed when darkness claimed me.

------------------------------------

I woke up with the worst headache I could remember having. My tongue was as dry as sandpaper and hanging out and a foul taste on it. The dulled muffled sound of boots on the ground outside filled my head.

I didn’t want to open my eyes. My cheeks were hot and my stomach felt as though if I were to move it would roll out on its own. I wanted to fucking die. It’s only been two weeks… I can’t be dealing with that again . It was different too. Instead of a cold hook in my stomach it was more like a little ship in a storm. 

“What the fuck happened…”  The words made my head hurt more, but I blew air into my nose, and wanted to throw up at the smell. My limbs felt like they were made of lead, but I dragged myself out from my covers and bed.

Naked? I didn’t remember undressing myself the night before. I didn’t remember much of anything about the previous night, and normally I dressed in some kind of sleepwear. 

My feet touched the comfortable floor of the tent, the carpet and rugs helping sell an illusion that this was something other than a temporary abode. A scent reminded me that I had barely eaten the day before, as far as I could recall.

Opening my eyes I saw the silken walls of my tent. It was still strange to see, and on a nearby stand there was a pitcher of water. Beads of condensation covering its silvery surface. It looked like the finest drink in all the world. Especially when paired with the slices of beef roast, mullet fish, a wedge of cheese and a few thick slices of bread with a side of butter, all on a fine bronze tray. 

If it weren’t already dried out I imagined my mouth would be watering.

So I drank from a silver cup. Trying to let my head settle, I hadn’t had a headache like this since before I’d woken up at Driftmark what seemed years ago right now. I missed my pills. Some thoughts flowed in, memories of what kind of herbs and powder mixes might be used to relieve pain. “I don’t know what I’d do without your knowledge of medicine. Ask the physician I suppose.” I laughed softly, even as the noise made the pain flare up.

Looking in a nearby mirror of polished silver I saw a woman who looked as bad as I felt. Her hair a mess, her cheeks tinged red and yet her face sickly pale, purple eyes barely focused. That’s you. The thought that had come to me every time I’d seen my reflection. “Let’s have you cleaned up.” I mumbled, then letting more water go down my throat to wash down my meal after I was done. 

A wash basin was set out and ready, and while it wasn’t the equal of a bath by any means it worked well enough that I could at least clean myself up to face the world without feeling like a completely vile mess.

I summoned and let a servant, a pretty enough young woman, barely more than a girl really, handle my hair. Part of me was surprised at just how used to them aiding me in basic things like that I had become. You’re a noblewoman, this is just how things are . I reminded myself, wringing my washed hands.

Dressed in a deep purple linen robe with gold banding below the neck, above the elbow, and the wrists, and gold-trimmed purple shawl draped over my shoulders, I left my tent, two men I didn’t recognize guarding the entrance, though I paid them little mind. In the fine robe, I felt almost out of place at the camps. My red shoe clad feet made practically no noise with each step. 

I squinted when the first rays of the midday sun hit my eyes, sending a new wave of pain like daggers stabbing behind my eyes. The only comfort was the cool breeze against my face.

The central camp had further walls erected, and the beginnings of a wooden castle were being laid at the center itself nearest Aegon’s tent. That would be the Aegonfort itself, I think. 

I frowned, I wouldn’t let it take decades for a proper palace to be built, and if I had my way the city wouldn’t be nearly as much of a mess. Maybe they’ll remember me for it . Visions of wide main streets and open marketplaces surrounded by colonnaded buildings, grand aqueducts bringing in water and the city enclosed within strong walls white and gleaming beneath a warm sun filled my mind. For a moment I could see it as if it were truly there, before the familiar hiss of a dragon broke me from my daydream.

What seemed a hundred feet to my left Vhagar was eating some recently roasted bull, green scales reflecting the bright sun and that same distance to my right lay Meraxes content and sleeping, her scales even more dazzling than my Vhagar’s.

I felt bad for admitting it. It is not as though Vhagar isn’t beautiful. But like her rider compared to me, she just was… prettier, in a way I couldn’t define.

As the men and women of the camp worked and went about their tasks, both in the center command camp and those I knew were going on in the other hills, it really did seem more a ramshackle town than a base for war, and though I knew it was not the first time I had noticed it, it was not something that was easy to really… grasp. That men who were doing drills and laughing when they were done, and eating and drinking like it was a normal day would gladly kill others tomorrow if it meant the chance for plunder and personal glory.

Soldiers are scum . I sighed. It is not as though I am any better. I burned men alive. I killed them. And for what? Because I was told to? I hate him, and yet I do as he orders me to. Why? I did not like the answer. 

I glanced back to Meraxes. Rhaenys would normally be out flying at this time. At least, that’s what she’d done the past few days. Is she well? Part of me thought she was probably with Aegon, then. 

So I asked a man at Aegon’s own tent if he had seen her with him today perhaps. I was informed that there was a meeting of the lords going on in Aegon’s tent.

A meeting. That I hadn’t been summoned to. 

Part of me bristled at the insult, until I calmed myself. You were hung over. Asleep until well past dawn. Why would you be summoned? I wondered if I might have said something foolish, if I was so drunk the night before that I couldn’t remember much of anything. Perhaps I wasn’t invited because I had somehow angered everyone else. 

My heart pounded in my chest. Did I tell that ? I breathed in and out until my heartbeat slowed, even as I stood near to the entrance of Aegon’s pavilion. No, if I had, I most certainly wouldn’t have been left as free as I was. I’d be locked up. My feet dragged lightly on the grass, the sun hung in the blue sky, golden and shining. What if they do know? If I did say it. If they’re discussing how to handle me right now. If I’m too valuable to throw away because of Vhagar. I could see the accusing stare of Rhaenys in my mind. I can’t lose you . I felt tugs at the edges of my eyes. 

Aegon’s tent seemed to cast a larger shadow than it had before. 

They might not be expecting you. If there’s any clues to be had, you’ll find them now . Better now, than when Aegon came and had me thrown in chains for killing his sister and traipsing about in her skin. 

My hand on the curtain, I released a breath I hadn’t known I had taken and entered into the dragon’s den.

“-’s why I have you, Lord Velaryon. Your ships and those of our good Kasereon.” Came the voice of Aegon. Smooth and confident as it always was.

The scent of incense was faint, but it was there. As well, candles lit the tent.

A moment later, I realized all eyes were on me and I wanted to hide under a rock. But the part of me that was the real Visenya refused to feel like a skittish child. I found myself standing proudly, tall, as if my head wasn’t aching and I hadn’t interrupted a meeting I hadn’t even been invited to. My braid hung over my shoulder, and I turned a purple eyed gaze over the assembled group. Everyone from Vaeron to Orys was at the table.

Rhaenys was dressed for war as she had been when we had both left days before, though not wearing a scarf. Her expression was not one I could easily read. What did I say last night? I shoved down the feeling of unease. 

My… Visenya’s uncle, his lilac eyes untouched by any surprise, looked bored, as if my entrance was not worth noting beyond courtesy. Touching a knuckle to his forehead in lieu of bowing his head. You should be kissing the hem of my robe . A part of me wanted to say that out loud. I looked past him to my b- Aegon. 

He seemed unphased, worse he seemed almost happy and beckoned me over to the table. On which was set a number of maps. 

“Visenya, it is good that you are here.” He said, as I walked over to look at whatever it was to sate my curiosity. 

“Is that so?” I tried to keep my tone even and neutral. 

He just gave me that smile again and laughed. “You have always had the better mind for strategy, sister. Tell me, what do you think our host should do?”

I tilted my head. “Why are you asking?”

He waved his hand almost absently, “A force of five-thousand swords rides to meet us. It seems these Westerosi think to drive us from their shores.” 

“I could handle five-thousand on Vhagar alone. Is that what your plan is?” Send me out to see if I’m loyal? 

“No, Orys will lure them with a detachment from our host and I will show them the maw of Balerion himself.” He smiled, looking almost excited at the prospect. Candlelight seemed to dance in his eyes. Just like… I almost dreaded it by now. How things had gone seemingly on-script. 

“Lords Darklyn and Mooton?” I asked, and then wanted to kick myself when both recognition and confusion touched Aegon’s features.

Aegon glanced at Vaeron with the slightest hint of annoyance, and the youngest Celtigar seemed to almost shrink where he stood. Left hand barely kept from tugging at his sleeve.

“It was not him, Aegon. Leave him out of this.” I snapped, not caring that with how sharply I said the words it made my head hurt. 

“Archon, I beg your leave.” Orys’ voice piped up as he bowed his head. He was all courtesies of course, with Aegon. Fucking toady. 

My trueborn brother sighed and… shook his head. 

“No, I will not have this meeting disrupted so. You will stay, and we will all speak politely. There will be no argument, this I say as Archon of Dragonstone and the lawful head of the Targaryen family.” He raised his hand up and then directed me to stand beside our uncle. 

I didn’t have to listen, of course. So I stood nearer to Aethon instead. Noting that the cloak he bore seemed new, as I hadn’t seen it when we were at Driftmark. Black silk, but with silver trim along the edges and embroidered with wave shapes at the bottom. One of these days, I’ll get a new cloak .

The silence stretched on for what felt like a minute before my cousin glanced to my uncle, and then back. 

“You want us to take the fleet to Duskendale and put it under a blockade while you and Orys put these Sunset lords to rout?” He offered.

“I will have Visenya go with you to deliver news of the defeat of this host to Duskendale, and you will take the ships that are there and return to us within the week.” Before Aethon could say another word, Aegon raised a hand and spoke again, “You have ten days, if the winds are not favorable.” 

“I am not your errand-girl, Aegon.” I don’t want to do what she did. Why couldn’t he have Rhaenys do it instead? 

“You are, however, a Targaryen.” And he was the head of our household, even if legally, it would be shared. Balerion put any real arguments to rest. 

I sighed in response, and looked down at the map. It was fairly detailed, all told. I guess that makes sense, given the Painted Table.. And the fact that dragons exist. It wasn’t a modern map by any means, but I could tell the rough area it was supposed to be between where we were and Crackclaw Point.

“Five-thousand swords, you said?” I frowned, and resisted the urge to sigh and wash my hands of this. I will not let him drive me from here, not in front of everyone. I could see how I would be mocked if I left. Aegon may have been Archon, but he was not my king. 

“Two-thousand horse both heavy and light, in fact. Three-thousand footmen, or near as to not make a difference. I assume they hired mercenaries to supplement their numbers, no man would be so foolish as to leave his lands undefended.” Aegon said casually, yet with a hint of expectation.

I ran my hand across the map’s surface, not paying attention to others, trying to picture it; five-thousand men marching across the lands I’d seen from dragonback days ago. Names of castles and towns were written along the map in Common. Some I recalled, others I didn’t know if they’d been mentioned in the books, or if knowing them was a case of Visenya knowing and not me. Nevton, Greyfort, Ramshorn, Hayford… 

I bit my lip, and tried to avoid glancing up at anyone. The unshaved face of Orys flashed in my mind as I touched a stone meant to mark the presumed location of the enemy, maybe thirty miles south of Duskendale itself as of now.

“I would let them march to here.” I pointed at an area north of Rosby, clear of trees, flat plains mostly not far from the coast. “Bring the Lords Rosby and Stokeworth into the fold through battle on your side, wield their men in addition to your own as a reserve. Especially the horses. Bring them in from the sides and north if possible.”

“So you would have us… simply outnumber them, then? What then, would you surround them with our greater numbers?” I didn’t know if it was Aegon or Aethon who spoke, they might as well have been the same half-buzz in that moment.

I shook my head in response. “No, not surround them. If they’re surrounded they will get desperate, and fight all the harder. It might even incentivize our new vassals to turn on your men for the hope of an easy victory through surprise.” I rubbed my thumb, index and middle fingers together out of habit. “Leave them a way out, and they will take it. Then close the trap when they are in disarray. Harry the retreating men with our lighter horse. Regardless, that is what I would do.” Something about imagining directing a battle, was just… nicer, than having to fight one. If some dragon horns were used to control men, were they ever wielded for the purpose of directing them with a single will in battle?

“Not that it matters, truly. I have Balerion, and they do not. But were we to fight as beasts of the field do, I might indeed take that into advisement.” Whatever pride I’d built up in the past few minutes deflated with that single pinprick. 

My hands retreated slightly into the sleeves of my robe as I fought back the urge to verbally chew his head off. 

“Still, your tactical acumen is why I trust you to return safely with our fleet and take Duskendale itself easily.” I could almost feel the smugness radiating off him. “You will leave in the early morning.” He said, with that damnable tone of finality. I wanted to punch him.

Looking up, I didn’t even bother doing more than muttering a few niceties before leaving the tent to seek out my dragon. My Vhagar. I didn’t care that I was afraid of heights, I only wanted to get away for a few hours.

And so I did.

Chapter Text

Is this really what I’m doing? 

I thought to myself not for the first time. Days before I had done as Aegon had asked, without so much as a fight. What would fighting him have accomplished? I sighed.

My gaze set on the shining moon. The stars bright and twinkling as I found constellations Visenya was familiar with. “Was there really another moon at some point?” I asked no one in particular, this late at night, or early in the morning, nobody was on deck save for myself… and Vhagar. I stroked her smooth yet hard scales. 

Almost like coals, yet they do not burn. The starlight oh so barely was reflected in them. It was still amazing how many stars there were that I could see. 

“You awake, girl?” There was my voice again, it sounded louder than it probably was. I forget, was that a phenomenon of human evolution? Or is it just so quiet in other ways that everything is louder? No answer from Vhagar, but why would there be? She needed sleep too, unlike me she wasn’t suffering from a bout of insomnia. Could actually sleep comfortably at sea.

I had tried to sleep before. In a room set aside for my own use and if I were to be completely honest, it was fairly comfortable and pleasing to my eyes. I just couldn’t feel comfortable not being close to an escape when at sea. I’d been kept awake by thoughts of the ship sinking while I slept, or of being trapped.

Yet I knew it was beyond irrational to think those things.

I snorted, “I’m a dumb girl, aren’t I?” I mumbled in my native tongue. It was nice to speak it, when nobody was around. The ship was large too, probably one of the largest in the fleet, as it was made for allowing dragons to rest at sea. Like fucking aircraft carriers? I laughed a bit louder. It was a silly image. 

I stretched my legs, covered by dark trousers. It felt good to stretch a bit after not moving them for a while.

“Did humans even evolve? Or were they just… did they have a more fantasyesque creation?” I felt silly asking, it wasn’t as if I’d ever know. Visenya didn’t. I liked to think G-d made men here too. Guided the creation of all creatures, in some way. Am I allowed to make a shrine at least? My sister, and the Bible said that He had outlawed any worship or altars to Him outside of Jerusalem and the Temple after its construction. But this world had never known His word, had never had a Temple, and part of me wanted to worship Him more than just… just in prayer. It’s a silly idea.

Memories flickered, of a woman whose girlhood was partly spent memorizing the histories of a land that was dead and gone long before her grandfather’s grandfather was even born. Of foreign gods who were once held close to the hearts of the exiles and those who shared the blood of Valyria. Hymns and prayers and ceremonies.

I wish I knew my G-d half as well as she seems to have known her own gods.

The wind that caressed my cheeks felt rather refreshing, the sounds of the night and sea and winds mingling in a pleasant manner. I missed the tents, though, the camps and even the stupid Aegonfort-to-be. At least there the ground was firm beneath my feet.

Again I was reminded of the fact that Aegon had ordered me here. I wished I’d been brave enough to tell him to fuck off. 

A flash of my brother’s face came to my mind. My true brother. His big dumb nose, and those ears that were so big when he was younger. He’d never let folks boss him around, from what I remembered. Is Aegon any less truly your brother? I clenched my fists. 

“Miss you.” A sigh escaped my lips as I toyed with the clasp of my purple and gold cloak, calming myself.

A few minutes passed, and I groaned as I continued to be unable to sleep despite my best efforts. 

My best efforts? I’m the girl that slept on a plane easily, could fall asleep crammed between four people on a couch or cramped vehicle with ease.

I rested against Vhagar more, wondering if she could feel me, or if her scales kept her from really noticing such minor pressure. Or even if she just did not notice me because of sleep. I knew how to command dragons, how to ride and what they needed to eat and what temperatures were best for them, milestones of development and age and a thousand other things. Yet I didn’t know the answer to this. 

Folding my arms under my breasts I took several deep breaths, slowly and evenly, and I became more aware of the sound of the sea. Of the waves gently smacking against the ship, of the light creaking of the wood, of the night winds.

Doing so, focusing on those sounds and my breathing had done more to make me feel sleepy than anything else had. I could feel my eyelids growing heavier.

Breathing more, I turned my gaze upward to the skies once more, my head tilted to the side. My heart skipped a beat.

Is that? 

I looked again. Three stars in sequence. “Orion’s Belt.” I could not keep the awe from slipping into my voice, nor the feeling of wetness pricking at my eyes. Nor did I want to.

It made my heart hurt. At the same time it felt good. Back home I had always looked for it when I looked at the night skies. So many things were different here, but I had that at least now.

I rested my head on Vhagar, my cheek touching her warm scales, but they were a comfort to me.

What am I going to do with my life after all of this? I’ll be Queen… and then what? Avoid Aegon’s bed? Hide on Driftmark or Dragonstone? I wanted a city, a shining jewel of my own, to leave something good behind even if I had to do it wearing her face and answering to her name. I wanted it. I wanted it more than anything, to show that I was not Aegon’s… that I was not just his wife. The original Visenya did it, sorta. But I want to be better than you, if I can. How do I do that?

I had no answer as sleep soon claimed me.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I heard the sound of men moving about, of yelling. My back hurt slightly, and I realized my hand was asleep when I tried to move it and felt the sensation of needles. 

My eyes opened, and for a moment I tried to recall where I was until I remembered after brushing my hand against my dragon’s scales. A large, leathery green curtain surrounded me.

“Wait, that’s not a curtain.” I mumbled, realizing it was Vhagar’s wing. I felt… touched. She’d concealed me with her wing while I slept. “Saving your rider’s dignity, eh?” I joked. Rising to my feet and emerging from the cover of her wing.

My hair felt a bit messy, and I noticed the scent of burnt meat that I associated with Vhagar’s meals at this point.

Part of me felt like I wanted to hide, because I knew that the moment I left the cover I’d be seen and then folks would know and I would be the center of attention. Another part did not care, and dared them to say one word of insult. I was Archontissa, I was Queen, and I was in command. The dragon does as she pleases. 

I wore that part of me like armor as I moved past busy men on a ship’s deck and down below into the chambers of the captain here, my chambers now, sparing only a glance for my dragon as her golden-eyed gaze rested on me, blood dripping from her maw as she ate her slaughtered ox, and that feeling, that pride felt more natural than anything else. 

An hour later I had emerged freshly cleaned and clothed. Ready to face the world on my own terms. 

With the sun shining down from clear skies and the ship, though the slowest in the fleet, making a steady pace with the favorable winds at work I looked out over the… bow? Whatever the fuck the sides of ships were called, I never could remember. I have sailors for that. My cousin’s face flashed in my mind’s eye. He’s a good swordsman, but is that why the original Visenya made him her Kingsguard Lord-Commander? Or what? 

The dark waters, though fairly calm, put me ill at ease. I could not help it. I did not know if I would ever be truly comfortable with being at sea, though I found the water beautiful from land if somewhat overwhelming.

Men moved about their business, and Vhagar slept as she had most days recently, though I wondered if she was merely napping. I glanced down at my glove-covered hands, flexing the fingers and being more aware of the feeling of my braid on my shoulder than I had been of late.

“Are you well, Archontissa?” Came a curious yet frustratingly chipper voice from behind, almost startling me.

“Of course, Vaeron. Are you not supposed to be aboard the Sweet Sister though? I recall telling you to command it in my absence.” I had left the Sweet Sister to be closer to Vhagar, and away from the few men Visenya knew on the ship. The real Visenya. 

Vaeron’s grey-eyed gaze widened in confusion, “You were not informed?” He said, a frown gracing his features.

I squeezed my left hand with my right. “Informed of what, Ser Vaeron?” I felt a pang of dread. What happened? 

“I was… that is to say…” Vaeron glanced at his feet for a moment, looking every bit the young man of eight-and-ten that he was, and I felt a touch of sympathy for him mixed in with my annoyance. 

“Tell me, Vaeron.” The words came out more harshly than I had meant. I was not mad at him, I hoped he would not think I was. 

“The Admiral, your lordly uncle, he removed me from the post you placed me in. My Archontissa, he put your cousin, the lord Aethon, in command of the Sweet Sister.” I was no longer listening, all I could see was red, my hand had moved to Dark Sister’s hilt without my noticing. 

How dare he. How  dare  he! 

I barked out orders to men to have Vhagar’s saddle readied, and Vhagar herself seemed agitated though not wild.

It was half an hour later when I left, and I had calmed a little. There is no use in being angry, I need to use my words, I need to… remain calm enough to talk. I feared for a moment, of losing my temper. It was one thing to argue with and give my brother a bloody nose in a stupid fight in my old life. Quite another to stab one’s kin in a fit of rage. No matter how much I wish they weren’t. They are now. 

I breathed deeply as I climbed the saddle and chained myself in. I may have been dressed for a casual dinner, but I felt ready for a war. 

The sound of a whip cracking, a whip I knew I cracked but did not think of doing it before I did so as I had on previous flights.

The sea wind was in my hair and blowing my braid as great leathery wings flapped. Almost as if in time with the beat of my heart, almost. From the skies the dozen large ships were easily discernible just by the layout of their decks. Though I was not so high as to truly be in the skies, a few hundred feet above the ships was more than enough as the painted sails and hulls and the masts of the many smaller ships seemed almost a small forest themselves. 

I cared not for the smaller ships, only for the largest in the fleet, the one at the head. The Lord Laenor. 

My uncle’s pride and joy. The thought came to me to torch one of the masts, just to frighten the man a little, to remind him of his place. That he had no right to control me. I was his Archontissa. I was a dragonlord. My hands gripped the mostly decorative reins as I resisted the urge. 

A warmth spread in my chest as I completed my circuit of the fleet and Vhagar hovered above the Lord Laenor. Retrieving my war horn from my belt I sounded it to announce my arrival. Men moved out of the way as Vhagar’s bulk landed on the deck of the largest ship in our fleet. Sure, it wasn’t made for this sort of thing, but I was certain they would manage.

Hardly had I gotten my chains loosened that my uncle made his way to me flanked by two guardsmen in silvered-steel scale armor, his silver hair past his shoulders, wearing a teal cloak with silver trim over the dark velvet clothing he adored so much. His lilac eyes hard as he looked up at me.

“Dearest niece, to what do I owe the honor of your presence on my vessel?” He asked, his voice even and tinged with none of his usual amusement. 

He removed me from my post, Archontissa. The one you placed me in. I remembered the words and something in me burned again.

“You will order your son to leave my ship immediately. And you will do this within the next hour. And from now on you will not command my appointed commanders. Do you understand me, Lord Daemon?” I spoke the words as clearly as possible. Pointing at him, shaking my fist to emphasize my words.

My uncle merely shook his head after a moment, a confident smile forced on his features that did not reach his eyes as he met my gaze with his own directly. For the briefest of moments I wanted to look away, but I did not. 

“Your brother-husband, the ruling Archon of Dragonstone gave me command of the fleet, dear niece. I may command any other than yourself, and should you not be on your brother’s flagship I am free to appoint any I wish to its command. You left it to stay on t-” I interrupted.

“My brother is not within a hundred miles of where we are, and from where I stand I could turn your ship to cinders if you do not do as I say. Do you understand? Write a letter ordering him to leave, hand it to me, and I will give it to your son myself! I do not care what Aegon said was in your rights as admiral, this entire expedition is under my command!” I almost screamed.

I will not be some tame dragon kept on a leash! I am his future queen. I am his Archontissa! 

I barely resisted the urge to crack my whip. 

Daemon bowed his head, and muttered something I couldn’t hear from where I sat before he walked off, his stride as graceful as Rhaenys’, and a short time later he had returned. Parchment in hand, and neatly folded. He passed it to a man of his before it made its way to me with some small effort. 

I unfolded it and read the contents. I found nothing wrong with it, he had done as I said, and so I graced him with a smile.

“Your cooperation will be remembered, uncle.” I placed the parchment in a satchel before cracking my whip, and Vhagar and I were in the skies once more. The coastline was a scant few miles away from us. We’d passed many fishing villages and several small towns on our way up the coastland so far. I wished we could have traveled on foot, that I could have had my feet on firm ground instead of on wooden ships that creaked in the night. 

Vhagar’s wings beat steadily, and I took the time to make another circuit of the fleet. Allowing the men to see my dragon in flight closely. I did not take my time as much as I had with the first circuit however, as Vhagar and I landed on the Sweet Sister after a ride of a mere few minutes. Or so I assumed, I wasn’t keeping track of how many seconds passed but it felt like a few minutes.

I smiled as we landed on the deck of the flagship.

“Retrieve my cousin, the lord Aethon. I have a message for him directly from his father the admiral.” My hand rested on the satchel containing the letter from my uncle, the message I had ordered written.

The men, a mix of some silver-haired and others dark haired and even some fair-haired quickly sent one of their own scurrying off to retrieve him. A young one with dark brown hair and skin that was clearly used to life at sunny seas.

As I drummed my fingers against my thigh, the wait began to feel unbearable, I did not know whether two minutes or ten had passed. Only that time stretched almost intolerably. Hurry up! 

I must have said it out loud, as several sailors turned their heads to me almost as if in response. I did not care. Though I wondered if Aethon had somehow heard it, as he was on the deck in seemingly no time at all after that.

His silver hair was not short like Aegon’s, but his face was like that of my baby brother. Not so alike as Orys, but there was a resemblance, and part of me was repulsed by it. Another merely angry, he had Daemon’s damned eyes and Aegon’s face in my mind. He even dressed like his father, save that he wore more traditional dress where his father had his beloved dark velvets in a Westerosi style. His hat like the one Corlys had worn. Damn you. 

“Sweet cousin, your father has ordered your departure from my ship. You are to leave immediately and return to the Pride of Driftmark. Should I find you on my flagship without leave by the time the sun has set, I will cast you over the Sweet Sister myself and you can swim to whatever other ship will have you. Do you understand?” I tossed the satchel at him, containing little other than the letter itself. “You will find your father’s orders in here, Aethon.”

I watched as he retrieved the message with uneasy hands, glancing at my Vhagar and then up to myself several times. It felt nice. 

He neatly folded the message up after he was finished reading. Though the expression on his face was one I couldn’t read as he spoke, “I will leave at once, Archontissa. Allow me to gather my belongings and make preparations.” I dismissed him with a wave of my hand and flew off on Vhagar once more, to return to the ship that was meant to be where Vhagar stayed while we were at sea. 

As the winds whipped my braid, it felt almost like it cooled my temper, and I felt a gnawing feeling at my heart. Like what I had done was wrong. It was wrong, you stupid fucking idiot! I had threatened my uncle’s ship with a dragon, I had threatened to toss Visenya’s cousin overboard to maybe drown. I wanted to hit myself. The feeling only got worse as I landed back at the ship I had favored this entire trip. Not even the beauty of the light of the sun glittering off the waters could soften it.

The surge of energy and purpose I’d felt slipped away once I’d made it back and removed the chains that kept me held in the saddle securely. As I climbed down I felt a twinge of something achy and empty. 

Vaeron’s nervous smile lifted that slightly. His hair worn loosely, and the top of his head covered by a circular hat made of a red dyed felt. His grey eyes mostly warm. He wore the traditional style cloak covering, though his was a darker blue with red crabs sewn into the fine linen and the trim a white. His sandals were made of dark leather, and were tall with open toes. The sleeves of his tunic were fitted and embroidered, and the tunic itself was dark green with a yellowish scrollwork at the hem and went down past his knees. 

A few moments of near-silence passed between us, only the gulls and waves and wind really breaking it. 

“I... “ I breathed deeply, “Ser Vaeron, you may return to the Sweet Sister if you so wish. My uncle will not interfere again.” I forced the words out of my mouth. Though my heart hurt a bit when he seemed to frown slightly before laughing and shaking his head.

“If you wish me to, my lady. I-” I raised an eyebrow.

“My lady?” 

“I, that is, you, Archontissa… It’s no-” He stammered, blushing a red to match the crabs on his family’s heraldry. I couldn’t keep myself from giggling. 

“Vaeron, no need to be so flustered! You can call me what you wish, within reason of course. Archontissa, lady, queen, most beautiful woman in three hundred miles…” I blushed myself at that last one. It sounded so stupid, and vain and arrogant. 

“W-well then, Archontissa. I… I wanted to say that I do not think I should be in command of your brother-husband’s flagship. I was not raised to sail ships as my elder brothers were. I know a little, but…” He chewed on his lip for a brief moment before continuing, “I think your uncle was right to give your cousin the captaincy whilst you were away.” 

He must have seen the glare I tried to conceal, that slipped for a moment, or maybe the probably obvious look of disappointment.

“It is just… The Sweet Sister. She is a fine ship, and needs a better captain at her helm.” He finished, the last words barely above a nervous mutter. It hurt that I agreed with him. He was right. 

My un-.. Daemon was right. I was putting an inexperienced boy in charge of Aegon’s greatest ship. It might have been a power move on his part, a snub at me, but it could also just have been him taking precautions. 

“We could play a game of cyvasse. I am certain there should be a board on this ship.” Vaeron offered.

I frowned for a moment. 

“That sounds nice.” I replied, “I think there is a board in the captain’s quarters. I may be misremembering, but it is worth checking.” I forced a smile, and led the way.

I didn’t win a single game that afternoon. It did help pass the time, however, and we had arrived near Duskendale before nightfall. 

The guilt had not stopped gnawing at me.

Chapter Text

The city’s walls stood firmly against us. Thirty feet in height and we had heard nearly thirteen thick. Almost mocking our lack of numbers with their stoutness, their strength and their height. The pre-dawn light shimmered on the pale stone of them.

It was the second day of the siege, and I stood in a small hastily assembled council of men.

Daemon Velaryon, my uncle, his attire as prime and maintained as ever. This time even wearing a cloak matching that of his sons, though finer in make, and with more silver thread and intricate designs. Both waves and seahorses, and even a dragon on the hem. He looked more awake than I felt by far. Wretched man. He had called this meeting early. I wanted to throttle him. He had no right.

Vaeron stood beside me, dressed as he had most days, but this time he wore a finer clasp. With garnets set in the silver. A gift from his mother. I recalled. I was glad the young man was here.

“I am glad that you have all come to our Archontissa’s war meeting.” Daemon’s voice, smooth and authoritative, carried through the deck of the Lord Laenor, the same deck we had cleared for our use at this moment. Even in the Westerosi Common tongue he had no issues making himself heard and understood.

I bit my tongue. Now was not the time to yell at him for calling a meeting without first consulting me, and using my name in it. I had just barely patched things over with him the day before, through his son, as I had no wish to apologize to him directly.

“We cannot win like this.” The voice of Aethon was as if he were trying to imitate my brother and his father at once, and not quite managing either. He could give orders, but there was no real strength or charisma to it. He was dressed not unlike my brother, though in silvered-scale rather than blackened, and wore the same cloak as his brother.

“We have a thousand swords, many more if we press some of our rowers into service.” Vaeron said, chipper and somehow energetic despite the early hour. “They have but eight hundred.” He said with a smile, I could almost hear it.

“Eight-hundred on the walls, Ser Vaeron. That’s worth eight thousand off of them, or more. We have not the men nor the time to take them. Our rowers would make for poor soldiers, we have few engineers, we cannot build siege equipment and even if we could we lack the fighting men to drive them from their position. Even if we did take the walls...” Lord Triston Massey replied, his words spoken in his queer Narrow Sea-Stormlander accent. He stroked the end of his long honey-blond mustache, as if in thought.

“And if we did take the walls, most like they would fall back to the Dun Fort.” Aethon finished pithily. Lord Massey just offered a smile and nod.

It was strange, for the Visenya side of me at least. The man’s clothing was a mix of both Narrow Sea and Stormlander fashions. He bore the cloak, though his was less ornate than our own, and a doublet where my kin would wear their tunics or shirts. Part of me resented his presence, but Aegon had insisted.

“Or worse, fight in the streets.” I said, almost without thinking.

“Then why do we waste our time trying to besiege the city? We have not the men to encircle it, and if we tried to force our way through by sea, we would have to face them in the streets anyway.” Corlys ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated. The hat I had grown accustomed to seeing was not on his head.

Daemon’s eyes rested on me, “Use Vhagar and we could be done in a matter of hours, niece.” I wanted to scream. The image of men covered in green flame would not leave me.

“No, I will not burn a castle just to save time.” I forced myself to sound as strong as I could.

“There is no other way, Archontissa. We do not have the men, supplies, or time to do this! Your brother wants us back in five days at most!” I scowled at Aethon, his words were like nails on chalkboard at that moment.

“I refuse to turn Vhagar’s flame on a city, not unless there is no other option. I gave Darklyn’s son the choice to bend the knee or die. He still has until this sunset before the surrender is no longer an option.” I balled my hands into fists, my knuckles likely had whitened.

"And if he does not?" Asked Aethon

“Aethon, I will…”  I bit my tongue, realizing I had been about to threaten him with dragonfire if he did not shut up.

I calmed myself slightly.

“I will burn the castle, and the men on the ships. But I will never turn Vhagar’s fire on innocents.” Five days. I shuddered to think of what Aegon might do if I failed. Lock me up? He doesn’t need three dragons. I breathed in and out, before addressing the assembled men.

“If the city is not taken by the time the sun sets and rises, I will take Vhagar and I will force the way through. Until then, maintain the siege and blockade the port. Are you happy now?” I tugged at my braid. My kinsmen, and the others just bowed and gave their polite words and goodbyes. The meeting had obviously concluded.

Now what? I sighed, and made my way to Vhagar.

--------------------

The dawn was beautiful here, in a way even more beautiful than at Dragonstone. With the sun glinting off the chalk cliffs, and the more rugged bits of the landscape complementing the greener parts fairly well in a way that somewhat reminded me of a place I had been, but could not quite recall. Green-grey waters that were beautiful in their own way, despite lacking the sheer gorgeous blue of Driftmark.

Our men had camped close to the ships. Others close to that camp, but near to the walls. And yet a third group along the road.

Disciplined and orderly as the men at the main camp, with much the same armor, though a greater proportion were lighter foot. If I wanted someone dead, they would kill them. A part of me realized.

I had spent an hour circling the city looking for weaknesses. Seeing the camps from the skies as the cook fires were maintained and the men ate their breakfasts. When did flying become so comfortable? I wondered, it was not as if it was truly comfortable, but I was no longer feeling the urge to jump off, nor did the feeling of being more than twenty feet above the ground make me want to piss myself. Is this Visenya? Is it me? 

I did not know the answer.

After a time I landed back on the Sweet Sister. Though her deck was not made for it, she would hold, if barely. The keening hiss noise that Vhagar was making, that whine, reminded me that she was hungry anyway.

My hand pressed against her muzzle, and I rubbed her green scales. “I’ll have a fat sheep brought to you, how’s that?” A low rumbling noise came up from her chest and I frowned. How much does she really understand? I had tried to ignore her once, but something in me… I just could not. It was more than the reasons I had come up with. It was something I did not understand. Am I going mad? 

The sound of boots tramping on wood in my direction snapped me out of my thoughts, and I turned to see what it was. Vaeron, trailed by two guards. I smiled.

“Oh, good. Send word to the men on the other ships, Vhagar needs a sheep to eat. Or a load of fish.” I laughed.

“Y-yes, Archontissa. But I must needs inform you, we have prisoners. Our soldiers captured them as they made their way up the road. The man in charge of it, he would be of little consequence, but h-he claims to be from Duskendale.” I wanted to hit him.

I balled my hands into fists, “Our men captured a merchant caravan? Why? Let them go! They have done nothing wrong!” I barked, and then sighed. I felt like I had a headache coming on. “Actually, let me see their leader.” The least I can do is apologize.

Within half an hour the man was brought aboard the Sweet Sister.

I looked at the captured man. He was old. Maybe fifty, judging by his graying hair and weathered features. But he was well-dressed, aside from the stains on his clothes likely gained from being roughed up.

I winced at the cut on his lip, and the bruise that had formed on his face.

“Search him for any hidden weapons, and…” I wanted to punch something, someone. “Have the man cleaned up, he’ll be eating with me in an hour.” The two men-at-arms looked confused.

“Did I stutter? Do as I command.” I ordered, and a hissing sound from Vhagar was quick to get them to do as I said.

When I saw the prisoner again he was in… well, he was in better shape than he had been. I stamped out on my urge to immediately apologize. You are a daughter of Valyria, you do not show weakness. I schooled my features, and gestured for the man to sit.

He did so, taking a seat across from me, with food ready for both him and myself. Some kind of fish, white bread, a Dornish red wine along with cool water, and carrots all served on a silver tray and clay plates. It was… poorer fare than I had been used to, but I wasn’t complaining.

“Your name?” I made sure to speak in the Common. I will not let Stokeworth be repeated.

He looked up at me, as if weighing his options for a brief moment before speaking, “Lothor, my lady.”

“And you were heading up the road to Duskendale?”

“Duskendale is my home. We heard tell of dragons further south and wanted nothing to do with them, and returned home to be safe.” He said the words almost tiredly. I wanted to comfort him.

“And now dragons have found you regardless. War and dragons both. For what it is worth, I did not intend to go this far north so quickly. My brother-husband, “ The term made part of me want to spit, “Sent me. I want to take this city and be done with it. No bloodshed, I would wait for more men to reinforce this siege, but my brother demands we have the city by tomorrow.” It was a lie, but a small one, how many more did I need to make? If lies stained, my tongue would have surely been black as night by now.

“I am no knight, lady, that honor belongs to my youngest son, but even I know you can not take the walls of Duskendale in a day with what few men I saw.” He pursed his lips nervously immediately after, as if he realized he might have offended.

I sighed in response, I sipped at the water I had for myself before replying, “Truth be told, Lothar, I could have the city by nightfall, if I wished. Your lord’s Dun Fort would melt under my dragon’s flame. His soldiers would burn, the houses would go up in flame green as grass that would burn for an entire day.” I said as though it were as simple a fact as the sun rising in the east. For Visenya, for me now, it almost was. As much as I hated it.

Happiness welled up in me as I saw him freeze up for a moment. He set down his fork.

“Why do you not simply take the city as you say, then?” He asked, his dark eyes avoiding my face. Is he afraid of me? The idea hurt.

“I told you, I do not want to kill more than is necessary. I do not want anyone to die if I can help it. I do not find any pleasure in dealing death, nor in war.” I snorted, I imagined the real Visenya would have screamed. Hell, even Rhaenys would find it confusing I imagine. It was still strange that such a nice woman could find war fun. “When lords go to war, it’s men like you who suffer.” G-d, I sound like a cheesy politician. I meant it though. Even if part of me liked the idea of glory, war felt wrong.

Lothar’s face went through expressions ranging from thoughtful to nervous and then to thoughtful again. “I might be able to help you.” He looked like the words had been almost forced from his lips.

“Oh?” I tried to keep the surprise from showing. Could it be? Hope welled up. I forced my tone to be more even, harder, “How will you help?”

“My son is in the city watch. Without him I would have to pay more coming into Duskendale, my boy ha-”

“How does that help me, Lothar?”

He frowned, before nodding his head, “He commands one of the gatehouses, my lady.”

I could not keep myself from smiling. “You can get him to leave one of the gates opened, then?” I wanted to laugh.

“I will need gold for him to bribe men with.” He seemed to be more comfortable now.

Something in me felt cold. Is he playing me? “What do you want?” I could not stop myself from speaking before I could say the words in anything other than an accusing tone. My hand on the hilt of my dagger.

Lothar looked nervous, “Promise me, you will not unleash your dragon on the town. T-that is all I wish. Do not let your soldiers sack Duskendale. For my family’s safety.”

A facepalm would have been appropriate. Of course he wants that. Not everybody is trying to take advantage of you. Old habits died hard after all. But I’d been burned enough in my life. Am I paranoid? I wanted to think the best of people, so I hoped that was enough.

I lied back in the chair, not enough to tip it back, but still. “Five silver crowns now, and three gold coins when we take Darklyn’s coffers. I won’t have them paid upfront only for them to weasel out of it. Tell your son that.” I frowned as I realized something.

“How do you plan to get in? To contact your son? I doubt they will be opening the gates during a siege.

“They will let me in, no doubt. I may have to bribe a guard or three but they will let me into the city.”

He explained his plan to me. He would enter the city, make contact with his son, and by night he would have the gates left open. The west gate, not the south. After that, marching straight down the main road and to the Dun Fort itself, as the only men there would be household guards. With a gate taken, there was the chance that they might surrender right then. Especially if I were to fly in on Vhagar. I promised I would reimburse him for money he spent bribing guards.

I took the plan, and the man himself to my uncle. And explained it to him in our mother tongue.

Daemon turned to Lothar and addressed the man, “Be on your way, merchant, You and your caravan will be unharmed, your horses, donkeys, servants and whatever goods you had will be returned. Remember the agreement, or your head will adorn a pike the sunset after the next.” He waved a hand dismissively.

I felt my cheeks burn.

“Uncle! Until he leaves, he is a prisoner under my protection, you will not show him such disrespect.” I kept my voice calm, if barely so.

“Of course, Your Grace.” He said, with a flourish of his cloak as he made his way to where he'd be going below deck.

I wanted to chide him further for insulting a man I had tried to make comfortable. For not even using his name.

Not that it mattered, as Lothar was being escorted even as we spoke. It was not even late afternoon, and I felt far more tired than I should.

As Lothar was guided off the ship I followed Daemon below. Nearly bumping into a few deckhands on the way, and noting the presence of a single cat on the ship, I resisted the urge to pet it before arriving where I knew the captain's cabin would be. It was, like most things about my dear uncle, a mix of finery and comfort. With little in the way of keepsakes, from what I could tell, but I barely knew the man so I could have been wrong. My uncle was already sitting in a comfortable chair that put the one I'd used on the Sweet Sister to shame, and another chair already set out as if he'd expected I would come. 

He tilted his head in amusement. "Please, sit with your uncle, Visenya. I do not believe we have ever spoken in private like this before." I tried not to meet his eyes as I sat down, and decided to speak before he could control the conversation. 

“We’ll need to make noise to keep the men of the south gate from finding out too soon that our men have taken the west gate. As well, we should not send in the young men, or the Westerosi. I do not trust them to follow orders in battle. I want the city taken, not sacked. It is more valuable to us unharmed. After all,” I breathed in, I had been thinking on the idea for some time, “My most esteemed kinsman will be given the tariff rights for the port, and it will be richer if it is not first looted.”

“And here I thought you hated me, sweet niece.” He said with a smile, one that sent a chill down my spine, I could not remember him ever smiling so broadly at me before. It touched his eyes.

“I do not like you that much, no. You have never liked us either, uncle.” He chuckled in response.

“You are my sister’s children, for that I love you, but you are right. I like you little. And though Rhaenys may have Valaena’s daring, I say you have her tongue as well as her face. Perhaps some of her boldness as well.” Daemon smiled softly, part of me hurt to hear those words from him and yet craved it, “You insulted your husband thrice over, while in his presence. You even struck him from what I hear.”

I froze up, “Where did you hear… any of this?” I had not struck Aegon at any point, but I had indeed insulted him. He deserved it.

“Servants talk, Visenya. As do men in the camps, if you know to listen. I heard a fair deal on Dragonstone, and more at the king’s camps at the landing camps. I would recommend you stay away from wine, niece, without your sister the entire camp might have known about how you made a fool of yourself.” I felt sick. How much do people know about what I do? 

My black boot clad feet carried me out of the room and back to Vhagar, and a short time later, with the powerful beating of her wings we were soaring through the skies.

I realized I had forgotten to apologize to Lothar for him being roughed up.

Fuck!

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The morning air was heavy with mist as the son of the lord of Duskendale marched out to meet me in the first great courtyard of the Dun Fort. My guard of fifty heavy horse, his of a hundred footmen armored as well as any knight and twelve horsemen.

He had begged after a night of the keep under siege, after his city gate had fallen to us, and after my Vhagar had flown over their battlements with the early morning. I did not burn them as I did the men of Stokeworth.

Beside the son of the Lord Darklyn, another man carried his house's banner, black diamonds on a field of yellow below a single bar of black on which there were five gold crowns in sequence. He was… I did not imagine Robert Darklyn was any older than I. Maybe younger. His features were plain, but he held himself proudly despite his clear unease. Any man can look lordly on horseback. 

On the back of my white courser, I felt just as tall.

“Your Grace, it is an honor to meet with you to discuss t-” I’d had enough. I just wanted this to end.

“Dispense with the pleasantries, Darklyn. Your city watch has abandoned you, and if you sit inside that keep of yours you will burn before noontide. You resisted, but though I will not allow you to keep your city or lands, save perhaps what might be reasonable for a poor landed knight, you will live.” I spoke, with a confidence that part of me felt was unearned, but it felt wonderful to be giving commands like this.

“And if I were to tell you I have twelve crossbowmen ready to loose their bolts at my command, Your Grace?” His face seemed tired. My heart began to race.

“My dragon is outside, and she will be none too happy. Did you know that dragons frenzy on the death of a rider? It takes some time for them to come back under control.” I lied. “And if you somehow managed to kill her, my brother is marching up the road with four thousand men alongside another dragon that makes mine look like a robin beside a hawk. And my sister as well, her dragon though not so great as his, is still older and stronger than my Vhagar.” I smiled.

“Do you have any other questions?” I asked, tilting my head slightly, my braid touching my cloaked shoulder.

“No, it is over. I…” He got off his horse, and knelt before me, offering his blade. “Duskendale is yours, Your Grace.”

Chapter Text

The scents of spiced food and wine wafted about the hall, servants carrying food and drink as I rested comfortably in the seat of the lord of the castle and ruler of Duskendale. Myriad candles providing illumination. Would it kill them to build a great hall with a view of the outside? I imagined great glass windows, clear and well-made that would allow light inside.

It was a far cry from the more open great hall of Dragonstone, or even Driftmark. Which while not as defensible were better lit and could hold more people. At least the Dun Fort isn’t covered in dragons and other horrid iconography and statuary that make it almost tacky. I missed Dragonstone, despite some of the questionable architectural and interior design. I missed the gardens, as relatively sparse as they were, I missed my own chambers, I missed the room containing Aegon’s painted table, I missed the Sea Dragon Tower the most, though. The balcony and view of the sea from it, Rhaenys had liked it when we were children. Mother liked it too.

Mo- Valaena, had said that it reminded her of home. What little fathe- Aerion said of her after her death had included how much she often missed Driftmark. She had loved Aerion, and for that she tolerated living in the shadow of the Dragonmont. She had kept secondary chambers at Sea Dragon Tower for when she and Aerion fought. If I slept there, perhaps Aegon might never bother visiting my bed. I sighed.

“What reason have you to be sad, niece?” The voice of Daemon Velaryon reminded me again that he sat beside me at the high table. Dressed in a manner more befitting his ancestors than the velvets and styles he so adored. His hair, as always, was loose and down to his shoulders and catching the candlelight. He wore a teal and silver silk cloak with a silver dragon’s head with sapphire eyes, he had the right to it after all. With waves and ships and even sea-horses on the edges of the cloak in silver thread, I recalled that in motion it seemed almost a thing alive. A work of art.

His silk tunic was grey and accented with blue, like both the waves of Dragonstone and Driftmark, and at the sleeves was gold scrollwork and on his hands were three rings set with stones of sapphire and diamond and topaz.

I bit my tongue, keeping my desire to tell him to mind his own business under control. It would not do to be rude to a man who could be a good supporter. “Mother.” I replied. I caught the brief change in his expression, confusion turning to his practiced smile.

“My sister is four-and-ten years gone. All men must die, that is a truth ordained by the gods at the dawn of time.” He said almost stiffly. I shook my head.

“No, I was merely thinking about how she loved the sea and yet I cannot stand it. I wonder if she would have approved of Aegon, and his vanity and pride.” A stifled snort was his response to my lie, his gaze rested on my braid for a second before turning back to my face. His lilac eyes were still not something I was comfortable with, though they were better than they had once felt.

“Valaena was a proud woman, surely you remember that much?” He idly touched at one of his rings. “When we were children, she a girl of two-and-ten, demanded that our father reconsider naming one of his ships for her. She said that she would not settle for anything less than the flagship.” Daemon laughed, “When father refused, she convinced your father to take Balerion and have the black beast rake the name off the ship in the dead of night.”

“How did he manage to do that unnoticed?” I asked, curious.

“He did not. He was caught, and my father was furious. Both of your grandfathers were. In an audience before your grandfather the Archon of Dragonstone, My father threatened to deny Aerion rights to visit Driftmark. And before the Dragon’s Throne, your father, a boy of three-and-ten said he would seat Valaena on the Driftwood Throne before he would allow her to be dishonored with such an unworthy ship. Daemion laughed, and ordered my father to build a ship worthy of his future Archontissa.” Daemon smiled ruefully.

“What happened then?” A part of me wanted to hear more of the story, another part just wanted to learn more about her mother and father.

“Daemion took your father aside to his solar, and struck him thrice. Once for being moonstruck, once for causing him such trouble by damaging the property of his vassal, and lastly for acting in a manner unbefitting his station. Aerion bore that bruise on his face proudly.” Daemon leaned back ever so slightly in his chair, eyes slightly glazed over as if in memory. “He told me he knew his father would do it, and that he’d have taken such punishment again.”

“He did all that for mother?” I asked, I had known Aerion loved Valaena, but had figured it was something that had grown over the marriage. Daemon smiled in a way that reached his eyes.

“He loved her more than he loved flying, or so he told me.” His smile dimmed, and a frown creased his features, “I believed him at the time. Maybe he even believed it himself. Still, he dishonored her after your sister was born and I cannot forgive that.”

I tried to figure out what he was talking about. The only thing I could think of was Orys’ birth after Aegon’s. But he was older than Rhaenys by a year. Did he misremember Orys’ age? I was confused, and it must have shown on my face as he simply waved his hand dismissively.

“We will speak of this later if we speak of this at all, niece.” And that was that.

I passed a few more minutes by chatting with Vaeron who sat at my other side. Finding my mood lifted and myself giggling after he told a fairly bawdy joke that he’d heard from one of his older brothers. It felt good to laugh.

“Praise to the Archontissa! Glory to our Queen!” Came the voices of the men deemed of high enough status to dine within the great hall of the Dun Fort, the castle I had captured but hours before. More a grand fortress than a stout castle, at least compared to the castles from home. I found myself again admiring the skill and scale at which the Westerosi built their seats.

I cleared my throat, and raised a goblet filled with a heavily watered down Dornish red, “Praise to those who have followed me, and glory to my family in whose name I have conquered!” A cheer and claps, numerous though not particularly loud ones, were the response I received.

My gaze passed over the great hall more thoroughly. From the banners of simple black and red hanging in place of the old Darklyn ones to the entrances to the hall itself. There were a fair number, leading to various places and hallways within the greater keep. I still need to inspect those coffers. I felt antsy in a way I hadn’t before, but took a breath in and out to calm myself.

Finishing what I felt I needed to eat, I had my hands washed off and dried as I rose to my feet and cleared my throat. “Valiant men of my host, continue celebrating, the wine is plentiful here and will flow freely. I must leave you now to inspect what my efforts have won!” I raised my goblet once more, “To victory!” I shouted.

“May it be everlasting!” Came the traditional reply. From over a hundred mouths.

I turned my attention to Daemon, “You are coming with me, uncle.” He bristled ever so slightly for a moment, but he stood up and followed me as I left the great hall. Having gotten a guide earlier. Part of me was still worried that they weren’t to be trusted, and that I would find out the next morning that the men I’d set to guarding Robert Darklyn had been slain and he’d escaped from his tower cell. Cell is too harsh a word for it. He has nicer accommodations than most men in their own homes. 

Daemon respectfully kept his stride shorter than mine and walked slightly behind me though still at my side as we made our way through the keep to where the treasury was. A lanky though balding man, in Darklyn livery, was our guide through the expansive castle. The hallways were nice and even richly decorated with luxurious rugs across many parts, but they were not a match for those of Dragonstone. The Dun Fort may have been the seat of kings in the past, but Dragonstone is the home of the dragonlords. I remembered that in Old Valyria, our family had vast estates and wealth such that it made most Westerosi lords and kings seem paupers. Aenar came to Dragonstone with that wealth, and spent as though our family still had the same revenues.

His son Gaemon took copious bribes to stay out of the affairs of the Free Cities, and spent vast amounts of treasure on maintaining the old lifestyle of the dragonlords. Throwing lavish parties and turning Dragonstone from a dreary keep into the seat fit for our family. With many decorations of gold and silver added in his time, and statues of himself built out of those precious metals and placed in the courtyards of our home. In his time he built a grand fleet to match that of Lys, and he had to sell some few items of Valyrian steel in order to pay for and maintain it. For his efforts many called him the Glorious.

Then came Aegon and Elaena. Who saw their father’s work and desired to surpass it. Though solely in the opulence of their court. The bribes they received were fewer, and they let the fleet fall into disrepair rather than maintaining it, and they too sold items of Valyrian steel. This time including one of our family swords, rather than some trinkets and jewelry. Maegon was much the same, and after they passed he ruled for ten years and sold another one of the family swords.

Aerys, my great-grandfather, ruled for a time and he was miserly indeed. He stopped the spending, and sat on his growing wealth for his entire time as Archon. Much like a dragon with its hoard. I smiled.

But then he died, and his son Aelyx came to rule Dragonstone. My grandfather murdered him, and his children and slew Baelon next with the support of the Lord of Driftmark, my other grandfather. Daemion’s long reign saw the nadir of our wealth and strength. He sold the last of our Valyrian steel items aside from our swords and the primary diadem, including the consort’s diadem, he killed various dragon hatchlings and prevented the hatching of new ones until it was announced that my mother was pregnant. He spent ruinous amounts on gifts to foreign rulers, and emptied the coffers of Dragonstone on multiple occasions.

It is good you do not remember him, little brother and sister. I barely remembered the man, and his eyes still frightened me. His skin was smooth and seemingly untouched by the years, even as sickness had ravaged his body in other ways. His eyes were haunting, and piercing. I resisted the urge to shake my head, and my heart hurt as I remembered my father. He had been a broken man after m-, Valaena, had passed but he had spent his entire time as Archon rebuilding what our ancestors had ruined. Prudent rulership led to Driftmark and Dragonstone flourishing and increased wealth from trade. He expanded our influence as far as Stonedance. He was forced to sell one of our family swords in order to pay off debts accumulated by our grandfather. Where once we had five, now only two. He even wrote an entire book on dragonlore, after burning many of those texts our family once had. A fair number of scrolls of sorcery. Without h-

“Your Grace.” I blinked as I was snapped back to reality. The lanky man bowing to me as the vault doors were opened, and I was startled at how much gold was there. Gold and silver and other valuables. I’d never seen that much gold in one place in my life. Dragonstone is decently wealthy, but… not like this.

“With this much gold he could afford…. An army. There are plenty of mercenaries in Westeros. If he’d waited he could have brought down ten thousand men, maybe.” My mind swam with possibilities. I could do something with this wealth. I could afford the finest mercenaries the East has to offer. I wondered if I even needed to pay mercenaries in gold, some might accept land after all, and settled foreigners reliant upon the throne’s continued success were more reliable than sellswords.

“It would make little difference against Balerion and the army your brother and half-brother led north to meet Mooton and Darklyn.” Daemon chuckled.

I gathered up thirty gold coins and murmured softly, “I will have these given to the men who got us this city without much bloodshed. A promise is a promise, after all.” I turned the coins over. There were several kinds. Including a few with the face of Horonno pressed into them. Volantene honors. They had to be at least thirty years old. Lyseni coins with their naked woman, I frowned at those. Reach hands from the early reign of King Mern, and even a gold lion of the kingdom of the Rock.

“Leave us.” I told the servant. “I will summon you if I have need of your services.” I watched him until the sound of his footsteps was far enough away that I felt comfortable, and spoke up to Daemon.

“We need to talk.” I said bluntly.

“This had best not be about our earlier discussion, niece. I have no wish to con-” I scowled.

“No. But it did remind me of something. How much do you really think Aegon wants to support you and the house Velaryon?” I asked simply.

“He has promised me the admiralty of his royal fleet, though in truth I hold that position already. Certain taxation relief, and rights to city charters for Driftmark.”  He stood relaxed, his arms folded over his chest.

“He wants to give Orys a kingdom. Argilac’s domain. He would give my half-brother that, and give you practically a pittance. I however have promised you the tariffs of Duskendale, and perhaps even more i-” I was interrupted by my- Visenya’s uncle.

“If I support your interests? Visenya, sweet niece, you have no soft touch for this. But I admit your offer intrigues me. You have even shown an aptitude for a delicate hand at conquest, despite your temper.” He smiled with the last word, I wanted to hit him. I felt like I was being mocked. “Very well, if you support the interests of my family, then I shall support you.”

“That’s… it? That’s all you needed to hear?” The confusion must have shown on my face because he laughed.

“Of course, though I will not support you if it would mean angering your husband for no benefit. A queen’s word is powerful, but your brother-husband’s is law.” He replied with a wave of his hand, and smiled again. “Is that all you wished to speak of, niece?” The words came out clear and bored.

“For now, certainly.” I answered.

“Then we shall speak later. Enjoy your celebration, Archontissa, you have earned it.” He smirked, politely bowed, and then turned to walk off with a grace that I envied. The sound of his boots against the floor repeating in almost perfect cycles until I could no longer hear it.

I let out a breath I didn’t even know I had been keeping in, and felt relief wash over me.

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Drinking together and telling stories, my cousin and I stood on a balcony looking out toward the docks. Our ships filled the harbor, alongside the ships already there.

Westerosi might call this a town. But it looks a city to me. I remembered hearing it had somewhere over fourteen-thousand people, I could not remember where from.

“You were too harsh to Aethon, cousin.” The clear voice of Corlys intoned. Why does he want to talk about this right now? I felt bad about how I had treated Aethon days earlier, but I did not want someone else dredging it up. It’s bad enough when I think about it.

I bit my lip as I looked at my cousin, his face illuminated by the light of the moon. His pale blue eyes even more beautiful than his gleaming hair. He idly toyed with the blue felt hat in his hand. It isn’t fair. 

“I restored his position, is that not enough?” He ran a hand through his hair at that reply, and I felt my cheeks heat up even more as he opened his mouth to speak, but the words did not come out.

“What is it, Corlys?” I asked, wanting to know but also dreading it. “Say what you will, do not fear reprisal.”

“I have spent the past day wondering why you wasted time with the siege, when you could have taken this city in hours.” He said the words calmly, but with a light frown. “Why do you refuse to turn Vhagar against our enemies?”

“I gained the city without that, Corlys.” I replied as calmly as I could.

“By chance alone. If it had not been for your merchant then what would you have done?” His tone was even, but I had stopped looking at his face.

“What is the point of asking? We have the city.” I frowned.

“What happens at the next castle, then? Or the next town that refuses to surrender when we have threatened to show them fire and blood?” He pressed, “What happens when you refuse to follow through? They stop fearing you, and your word will mean nothing. A lord who might have surrendered will now stand against you, knowing you lack the will to bathe them in dragonflame.” I wanted him to shut up.

I laughed. “Will, you say it is will to turn fire on innocents? If a man takes up a sword, and faces us in the field that is one thing, but I will not burn ten peasants just because a single fighting man hides among them.”

“Burn one castle and ten lords will bend their knees. If you care so much for blood on your hands, then consider that.” He sounded agitated.

“What have the serving women, the cooks, the stable hands and the smiths done to deserve death? The children, the daughters who have not taken up arms? Why should they die just because some lord hides with them?” I almost shouted.

“They are the enemy, Visenya! They die in war! Their lords choose to fight, and so they are slain! A single castle is a small price to pay!” I was suddenly aware of how much taller a few inches could seem as he looked down at me, I glanced away.

“A small price for who? For my brother? For his desire to conquer and slaughter just for vanity and pride? What makes his dreams worth more than the life of another man? Our enemies do not force us to kill them. We choose to kill, we choose to bring down our blades, we are the ones who came out to attack them. Instead of one castle being sacrificed so that ten might surrender and survive, mayhap we do not attack at all, and let all eleven live.” I spat out the words.

“Lucky merchants and guards will not always be there to save your hands from having blood on them, Archontissa. Aegon will simply place another in command, if you continue to show yourself to be naught but some spoiled craven child!” I flinched, and he sighed. “I did not mean that. I onl-”

“What did you mean, then? If not what you said, Ser Corlys?” I made my voice as hard as I could.

“I do not want your problems with the Archon to keep you from doing your duty. Please, consider what I have told you.” He let out a weak laugh, “If Aegon relieves you of command, then two dragons might be forced to do the work of three, and even more might die.” I doubted his sincerity, but he was right. Rhaenys might die without me around too. I’d be stuck at Dragonstone, most likely, and I could kiss my dream goodbye. Why does my dream have to cost so much blood? I wished I was home, where I didn’t have to make these kinds of decisions.

I took a deep breath, and then released it. “If I must, then I will. Men in the field? Fine. I even burned fighting men on the battlements at Stokeworth. But unless it is truly necessary, I will not burn innocents as a first solution.” I looked in my cup, noting that there was only a few drops of drink left.

“I can have more wine brought, and we can speak further in the solar.” I offered, “About something else, perhaps.” I looked up at Corlys, and he shook his head.

“It is late, Visenya.” He rubbed the back of his head, “And I find myself weary.” He gestured as if to excuse himself.

I spoke up almost without thinking, “I would like to speak with you again. I never did get to hear the story about your short time in the Stepstones.” He smiled slightly, though he did look genuinely tired.

“Some other time, then. I will have to tell you.” He placed his hat on his head.

I smiled. “I’ll hold you to that promise.”

He just laughed softly as he walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

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Only a few words, and all this land will just… be ours. The letters were written, and now sealed with the wax of the Lord of Duskendale. Proof that they had come from this castle. That the orders within were genuine and binding. Duskendale is fallen. You will lay down your arms and submit to my brother, your new master, Aegon Targaryen. I had written. Come morning, they would be sent out.

“These will go out to all of the lords and knights sworn to Duskendale?” I asked the grey-robed man, he looked not a day over forty.

“Provided they are not shot down in flight, and that the ravens are not otherwise harmed.” He replied politely. His brown eyes fixed on me as I handed him the letters.

“Thank you for your service, Maester…” I did not know if I had already asked. G-d I hope not. If I’ve asked and forgotten already, that’d be awful. I was too young for dementia, after all. Part of me was paranoid that the man had poisoned my meal or drink somehow, as ridiculous as that idea was. Truth be told, I did not trust anyone in the castle who I did not bring with.

“Kenric, Your Grace. Though it is nothing to thank me for. I am the maester of the Dun Fort, it is my duty to serve the needs of the keep.” He said, as if he had noticed my discomfort. I wear my heart almost on my sleeve, of course he’s noticed.

“Of course.” I nodded, and made sure Dark Sister was still at my side as I dismissed him from my presence with a wave of my hand. His chain clinking and making noise with every step he took. I felt bad that I was relieved when I couldn’t hear him anymore. Part of me hated how often I felt bad. Do not apologize, do not regret, you are the blood of the dragonlords. Among the last of those who had ruled the largest empire in the known world.

I relaxed in the high backed chair and took a deep breath. I wish I had your confidence. The real Visenya, while cautious, at least possessed confidence in herself. She acted decisively and with strength. On some level I knew I was her. I remembered her life, it mingled with my own memories, and time and again she had influenced my own thoughts. How much of me is still… me? I felt I had asked the question too many times of late. I could not even remember my own father’s face. I knew he had blue eyes, that his hair was mostly grey, and that he was a bit heavier than he was in his prime. But I could not actually remember his face anymore. Was it always this way? I know I was bad at remembering faces… but… this?

I could remember Aerion’s face as clearly as if I had seen him only last week. Why do I remember your father and not mine? Why do I miss him? I remembered the man who had taught m- Visenya dragonlore. I remembered riding with him. I remembered being told time after time how I and Aegon needed to be closer, as we’d rule together one day. I remembered a man who choked out the command to Balerion to light Valaena’s pyre, a man who cried more than any of us had.

Seeing that the moon had gotten a fair bit higher while I’d been thinking I realized I felt a lot more tired than I had previously and so I rose from my seat, disrobed, and made my way to bed. It has been a long week. 

I turned in bed, my heart aching, as the emptiness of the bed seemed to mock me. In a way that even the one at Dragonstone had not. I wanted to be held, to have my hair stroked, and told how pretty I was and how much I was loved. I missed him more strongly than I had in a week. His dark hair, his dark eyes.

Almost without thinking I moved my hand up to wipe a few tears from my eyes, and then calmed myself by evening out my breathing. G-d, what would Rhaenys think if she could see me now? Pity at best, I imagined.

As exhaustion claimed me I could almost feel the sensation of my hair being stroked, and a kiss.

Chapter Text

Soon, it’ll be time. I smiled slightly.

The sight of the hills in the distance, of the fortified camps which had grown since I’d last been here, the smoke from so many cook fires and the smattering of fishing villages brought a sense of joy I hadn’t felt in some time. Of expectation. At the same time, it felt as though the ship was not moving fast enough. That the land was too far from me. So close, go faster! 

It wasn’t the fault of the rowers that the winds hadn’t been kind these past two days. A twinge of guilt surged in me as I thought of how hard the men had to be working just to meet Aegon’s deadline. How many men did you lose against Mooton and Darklyn, brother? How many men met their end to the black flames of father’s.. Of your Balerion? I ignored the men working on the deck.

Had I taken Vhagar I could have been back sooner. But the thought of returning with the coffers of Duskendale, of the surprise I’d had prepared that wouldn’t work if I returned early. My achievement, Aegon. Not yours. I smiled, even as the wind caressed my cheeks. I could almost see the faces of Rhaenys and Aegon in my mind’s eye. Of my walking down the ship bridge, spoils in tow and my banner held up proudly. What did you gain, little brother? Blood and death and broken men kneeling? I bring gold and silken banners without a drop of blood spilled.

The distant camps grew closer by the minute and yet still I felt as though we couldn’t move fast enough. I half-regretted my desire to stay with the ships before pushing that regret down. I won’t let it be stolen.

I gently balled my hand into a fist. The mid-morning sun reflecting off the silvered-scale I wore rather than the bronze I and Rhaenys had borne. A part of me felt almost sad, at abandoning the traditional bronze. I did not know whether that part was the actual Visenya, or me feeling sentimental over something like that, or both. Still, my cloak was the same as normal. On my brow rested a circlet though wrought of plain silver rather than the leather worn traditionally borne by the polemarchs of Old Valyria. As I rested my hand on the hilt of Dark Sister I wondered what kind of figure I cut.

A more radiant one than they deserve. I thought, a part of me feeling confident and strong.

My thoughts returned to Robert Darklyn, a prisoner on the Sweet Sister, and soon to be presented to Aegon. I felt nervous at the thought of Aegon not approving of my stripping them of lands. He’ll have to deal with it, it was a very public proclamation after all. Every vassal of the Darklyns had been sent the message, and it was announced to Duskendale by every man who’d shout it for a silver coin.

I spun on my heel and returned to see the distinguished guest below deck. Taking my time getting there, and making sure to double up on guards so that he didn’t try to pull anything tricky.

I pushed down the twinge of guilt I felt when I saw him. Certainly, he was fed and clothed and treated well. His dark hair was a bit messy, he looked tired, and the lack of sleep had certainly done his plain features no favors either. But he was not mistreated. Yet. What can I call what I have planned except for mistreatment? I brushed the feeling off. He had crossbowmen lying in wait, and would have used them too, if I hadn’t bluffed. He deserves it. He should have just been left to rot in a gutter, why should he live better than a beggar? What makes him special?

What makes you so special? The thought pierced, but I shoved it aside.

Ser Robert Darklyn just stared at me. A fairly neutral expression on his face. He wore clothing befitting a lord of his house. It’s too bad we don’t have gold ones. The thought of him in gold fetters made me both amused, and ashamed. 

“Clean yourself up, Darklyn. I need you to look presentable.” I laughed softly.

I just managed to catch the flicker of anger in his expression before he concealed it, and calmly replied, “For what, Your Grace?” 

I smiled, “Why, my dear Ser Darklyn, we’ve a parade to attend.” Laughing, I walked out to check on the banners I’d taken from the Dun Fort as well as the coffers of Duskendale I kept on the Sweet Sister.

Aegon and his sisters? No, they’ll remember more than just Aegon. I’m not… I’m not his accessory. I passed the time until we’d made landfall by taking a short rest to center myself. He won’t steal it from me.

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Every eye in the outer camps was on me as I led my prisoners through fairly publicly on my way to the main camp itself. I’d noticed it had expanded a bit since I had left. The walls had been raised higher and in just ten days a good amount of progress had been made in building the hovel that if I recalled correctly would be named the Aegonfort proper, to be torn down decades later. Decades to realize a shack of wood and shit isn’t a fit palace for the royal capital? Part of me was deflated as I wondered if perhaps it had been Rhaenys’ death that delayed it.

I resisted the urge to shake my head to clear my thoughts. I must look dignified. A queen does not shake her head in such a way when all can see her. 

The hundred men I had behind and beside me provided my escort into the camps. Men in mail and scale and leather and cloth, in caps of felt or iron, and guarding the prisoners which were easily picked out by their chains. Fighting men from the camps jeered at the captives, and others cheered at me as I and my sorry retinue passed through. A man, barely more than a boy, carried my banner. My banner, not yours, brother. It was made with haste, though the green dragon looked serviceable enough, and the eight-rayed silver star above the dragon… the sight of the banner fluttering in the wind as it was first unfurled had my heart almost stopping. I had had to keep the tears from my eyes. What would you think of it, my love? 

Gold and silver glinted as several small chests filled with coin were carried by servants and soldiers both, a sampling of the riches of Duskendale, to be seen by those in the camps. Tokens of my success. Small though it may be, it is mine.

And so it continued through the way to the camp at the highest hill. I had ordered coins tossed every now and then to camp servants and soldiers and relished in the cheers I received. Every step toward Aegon’s camp, toward our camp, felt like the party I’d never had as a child. I was the center of attention. I got the praise. This was my accomplishment. 

Aegon’s face when the makeshift gate of his camp was opened went through amusement, then confusion and finally comprehension as his gaze swept over myself and my entourage. Fixated on the banner, and then back to myself. Do you see, Aegon? I clamped down on the nervousness when it peeked its ugly head even as the men that followed me did as had been planned, and carried off the prizes of wealth to outside of my tent, and the others watched the prisoners. Aegon nodded his head expectantly.

He was dressed much as he had been of late, though the tunic he wore was definitely not the same, a longer cut with different shapes sewn into the hem and cuffs. More flames, and fewer dragons. As well, the thread trim was gold instead of red. 

I saw Rhaenys, clad in bronze scale, and a tension I hadn’t known was there seemed to flow away. Her hair hung loosely, curling at the ends, with the bangs framing her lilac eyes. My heart seemed to drop down to my stomach when I saw that the smile she had didn’t reach her eyes. I felt acutely more aware of the presence of the circlet I bore.

“Welcome sister, “ Aegon began, a smile just as forced as Rhaenys’ gracing his features, “I should hope that this..” He swept an arm, indicating the men following behind me, the treasure, and the prisoners. “Means you were successful in the task that I set for you.” A deaf man could not have missed the emphasis he placed on the word ‘task’.

You are Visenya. A Queen. I bowed my head ever so slightly, “Not a single man died, husband. On our side or that of the enemy.” Aegon’s expression showed a hint of confusion as he looked at Robert Darklyn in chains as well as the other prisoners. 

“It seems the men of Duskendale did not wish to burn with their lord. They threw the gates open for our men to seize the city after Ser Darklyn refused our generous offer.” Without Lothar it could not have been done. I’ll have to pay him back for that. Perhaps I could offer his son a job? A loyal knight could be useful. 

Aegon seemed to smile genuinely for a moment before turning his attention to Darklyn and the rest of the prisoners. Assorted household knights and such. He waved off Ser Darklyn’s guards. I felt on edge. He has Blackfyre, and Darklyn is unarmed. I reminded myself.

Robert Darklyn looked downright miserable. Does your pride hurt? Is that it? 

“Had you knelt, you would have remained a lord, Darklyn. Still,” The smile turned to a smirk as Aegon moved closer, barely a pace away, “You need not be a lord to attend my coronation, and I must insist on your attendance.” Darklyn’s face reddened.

“To make a mockery of gods and men? To piss in my face, leave me a plot of land and say I should be grateful?! My family have ruled Duskendale for near as long as your kind have fucked your sisters!” Aegon’s smile lapsed for a moment, and I saw genuine anger in his eyes. 

“Be glad I am not like my ancestors, Darklyn. Such disrespect in Old Valyria would get your tongue cut out.” Aegon laughed and turned around, “Take care not to speak so crudely to me again, Ser Darklyn.” 

I nearly froze as I saw Robert lunge at my brother. Dark Sister out of her sheath almost as fast as I’d thought of doing so. 

I needn’t have bothered, as he not only had missed the mark, but was tackled to the ground with ease by mail clad guardsmen. A glance at Rhaenys showed her own sword was out as well, and I somewhat shakily sheathed Dark Sister once more. 

I’m glad you are unharmed. I did not know whether I meant Aegon, or Rhaenys, or even both. 

Chapter Text

Sighing, I set down my drink and walked back to where I had sat for the past hour since the incident with Darklyn had finished, and we had all chosen to break off for the time. After all, Rhaenys went to scout. An excuse for flight. I smiled, as the thought of her normally made me do.

I blinked at the codex, trying to read in the dim light. Though I had grown used to lamplight, I still missed lightbulbs. It was an odd thought. I shook my head and looked down, this time focusing and clearing out distractions. My finger on the page to help me focus, it was something I had never done, but that Visenya did out of habit to keep track if she ever had to read something lengthy.

The Andal races place great value on freedom. They are bold and undaunted in battle. Daring and imperious as they are, they consider any timidity and even a short retreat as a disgrace. They calmly despise death as they fight violently in hand-to-hand combat either on horseback or on foot... Whether on foot or on horseback, they draw up for battle, not in any fixed measure and formation, or in regiments or divisions, but according to houses, their ties with one another, and common interest… And so on, went the words of Maerys, a polemarch.. Campaign commander, during the time of the Freehold. Half of the manual by the woman who defeated the Andal raids on Myrish settlements was utterly racist crap, mixed in with genuinely good advice about dealing with various enemies the Daughters of Valyria had encountered over the centuries, and a lot of common sense that apparently officers needed to be reminded of. Who’d have fucking thought that keeping your camps organized, clean, and not eating near where you shit would be things that a notable general had to tell the men reading this.

I still enjoyed it for the glimpse it gave into the thoughts of a woman dead for over a thousand years. I could almost forget I was sitting in a tent while reading. As the words of a woman giving an anecdote about the Great Grass Sea or the Rhoyne would fill my mind and sweep me away. I missed reading for pleasure like this. I hadn’t known how much until now.

A gentle jingling noise was all it took to cause the images of stone forts built on hilly lands, of the thought of men in scale and their horses armored crashing into the enemy line and sending them scattering, to melt away. Almost without thinking I turned to see where the noise was coming from, my hand reaching for my sword as my heart pounded.

“Rhaenys?” It was her, certainly. Dressed as she had been, though with the addition of a necklace I did not recognize, and a small bell in her hand. One fit more for a cat’s collar than anything else. Her hair was hanging loosely this time.

“We have not spoken in some time, ‘Senya.” She said simply, her silver hair taking in the candlelight as she sat down with a grace I found myself envying. I rolled my eyes and smiled.

“It is quite hard to speak with you from the ships, and so far away as well.” I laughed softly, “What is with the bell?” I pointed at it. “Am I a servant, that you need to summon me to do some task?” I smirked.

She returned the smile, “No, but when last I tried to gain your attention without first giving warning you nearly broke my arm.” I felt my cheeks burn a bit, she was exaggerating, but I was not particularly gentle when disturbed. “I had this bell made that I might avoid that sort of unpleasantness.”

I snorted. “So, how have the past ten days treated you, little sister?” I tilted my head, my braid swinging gently and touching my elbow. She did not take her eyes off me, something that had unsettled me at first, but I had since resigned myself to maintaining eye contact when speaking. It was what Visenya did, after all.

“I managed what men were left behind after you left with our uncle and Aegon with Orys. Have you seen the Lords’ camp? That is what the soldiers are calling my camp now.” She idly toyed with a bit of her hair, one of her bangs that were framing her face. I frowned.

“Is that where Stokeworth and the other Westerosi are?” She nodded.

“Under close guard, even more than the ones that Aegon defeated in battle and managed to survive. Mooton’s nephew passed just this morning. He was not strong enough to survive the burns he gained.” I felt a lot more tired just hearing that. “It is a shame, apparently he was rather handsome before he rode against us.” 

I tried to shove the discomfort away, and gave as flat a response as I could. “Handsome? Are you not a married woman, sister?” She laughed in reply. I was certain that if she could, she would have shoved me.

“‘Senya, I can appreciate a man’s looks without wishing to bed him. He would never have been worthy of me. No man who is bound to the earth can be.” I believed it. She only grudgingly flew Aegon around with her on Meraxes before he had tamed Balerion. Better than the few times he had needed my aid in flying to some place or another. Only a week after our wedding, we’d visited the Citadel.

“Here I thought you only bedded Aegon for his looks.” I laughed, and at the look of frustration on Rhaenys’ face that she covered fairly quickly, I felt a pang of guilt. “I apologize, Rhaenys. I should not have spoken so.” 

“I would have thought you understood.” She sighed, “You loved a man, surely you know what I feel.” She really does. I felt even worse. I opened my mouth, but she raised a hand. “No. We will not, not now. I came here to speak with my sister, not to argue with you over our husband.” I just wanted to make this right, and I didn’t know how. 

So we just sat there, until she broke the silence.

“Your… device. What is it? I presume the green dragon is for Vhagar, but the star?” She asked, looking thoughtful and curious, “The star…” She pursed her lips, as if trying to puzzle it out.

“The star is for the Faith.” I lied. “Eight rays, rather than seven, but that is my own touch. The green dragon is indeed for Vhagar, and the field that is black as the night… well, you have seen Aegon’s banner.” I smiled.

“Our banner.” She corrected me. “I hope you will not make this a habit, sister. The design is fine enough, but I imagine Aegon is not happy at all.” I frowned.

“He did not look happy, no.” If anything, he looked confused and annoyed. Good. I am not some… some tool of his. Some accessory to his conquest. I touched at my braid.

“What do you wish to do after this is over, little sister?” I asked, stroking gently at the end of my silver braid. “Westeros will be ours, and then what?”

“I have not thought that far ahead, ‘Senya. I have no idea what I want to do after, but… perhaps…” She paused for a moment before continuing, “I would love to fly over all the land we rule, for certain. Let the lords and smallfolk see their queen in her full radiance, and the splendor of my Meraxes.” She swept her hair over her shoulder, smiling widely. “What about you, sister?”

“I might like that. Perhaps other things as well.” I smiled, I thought of a girl with dark hair and purple eyes, before my heart hurt. I would never birth her, after all. Her father was not in this world. And a dark-haired girl would have me exiled, at best. I would like a child.

“A child? Truly? ‘Senya, I did not think you were desirous of that!” I blushed intensely, realizing I must have said it out loud. She simply grinned.

I blushed even more. “Oh hush. Before I throw you out of my tent.” I couldn’t keep from smiling slightly as I said the words. She only laughed at me.

“I should imagine I and Aegon will have three by the day you birth your first, however.” A part of me felt cold, as I remembered. His children. I placed a hand on my stomach, and felt nauseous. I can have children, but they’ll be his. I had no idea how I’d get away with sleeping with another. I can’t. I realized. The idea of being shamed for seeking solace, for trying to find something good in the shitty marriage I was in, was all too real. I tugged at the end of a sleeve, and took a deep breath.

“Are you well, ‘Senya?” Rhaenys’ warm lilac eyes were all I was focused on.

“It is nothing. I only forgot to eat.” I lied, and my heart hurt for doing so.

“You are a terrible liar, ‘Senya.” She said simply, frowning. “What happened in Duskendale?” She had changed the subject, and I was only too glad to answer. So we spent the next hour speaking, until Aegon entered without so much as a warning. I wanted to strangle him. I glanced around to make sure Dark Sister was near.

His gaze landed on Rhaenys almost immediately, and his face lit up with a wide smile. “I hope I am not interrupting, dear sisters.” He stepped over to her, and lifted her from her seat.

“You know you are, Aegon.” She laughed, and he kissed her and she kissed him back.

“What are you doing in here, little brother?” The words came out harsh, though not as harsh as I’d meant them, and the look on Aegon’s face turned to annoyance and tiredness before he set Rhaenys down.

“Can I not visit my wives at night?” I frowned at him. At everything from his simple tunic, with gold bands on the wrists to his fine boots. Blackfyre at his side. “I had hoped to put it off, for a few minutes longer, but it seems you have forced it.” He beckoned me over, I stayed where I was.

He rolled his eyes and smiled, “We will be going to my own tent.” Rhaenys rose from her seat. “Not you, my love. Only ‘Senya and I.” My sister frowned at that, glancing at me.

“I told you not to call me that, I did not give you permission.” I balled my hands into fists, standing up. “As well, I am not leaving with you. I am feeling tired.” I said, not caring how blatant of a lie it was.

“This is a command, Visenya.” I heard my knuckles crack before I let my hands relax, as Rhaenys tugged at Aegon’s sleeve. “No, Rhaenys. I only wish to have a talk with her. We haven’t spoken much of late.” He offered me a hand as he made his way to the entranceway.

I did not bother taking it, and instead wasted several minutes putting on my armor of silver scale as well as my cloak, and only then did I follow after him out of the tent and into the night. I frowned as I noticed we were flanked by a single man, shorter than I and Aegon. But in the light of the lantern he carried I recognized the pendant he was wearing, a butterfly of gold, with intricate veins worked into it, and fine small eyes of jade. “Quenton?” I wondered aloud, my frown gone. He nodded and smiled politely, “Archontissa.” He said the word in his Volantene-accented Valyrian, though not so thick as it once was.

As we made our way to Aegon’s tent I realized that I had forgotten he was Aegon’s man.

How many men are his? I hoped I would have more of my own, by the time this was through.

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“Wife, your impertinence begins to grate.” Aegon began after I rejected his offer of wine as we reclined in his tent.. I could not remember what had happened after I had drank the last time. I did not wish to repeat that experience. “I had hoped you would return from Duskendale chastened, not emboldened.” His face lacked even the hint of a smile I associated with Aegon.

He casually sipped at his wine, shirtless on his couch, wearing only finely-made dark trousers. Blackfyre was set aside not two feet away from him, in easy reach of his long arms. I had to keep my hand from going to Dark Sister’s hilt as his eyes met mine.

“I would have thought you of all men would have appreciated the value of pomp and theater, husband.” I had mostly discarded my more ‘formal’ wear as well. A neatly folded cloak with the armor and boots. The detailed scrollwork on my tunic sleeve caught my attention for a moment. Aegon snorted, his eyes lingering on the circlet I had set aside.

“Certainly, but what you did was something else entirely, dearest wife.” After drinking deeply, he looked in his cup and swirled the drink around, “You harm my authority by presenting yourself as… as my equal in standing.” I tugged my braid almost reflexively.

“We are equal, brother. We swore oaths before the gods, bound in fire and blood, we are partners, you are my husband and I your wife.” The words burned in my throat like poison. False gods and a miserable marriage. I remembered the girl who had been, if not happy to wed him, at least proud to do her duty to her family. Then the awkward fumbling and bloodied sheets.

“Come now, Visenya, you know better. Father is long dead. What do his desires matter?” He smiled, “I doubt he would have approved of you taking up a heraldic device in the style of the Westerosi.”

I nodded slightly, “He made disapproving noises about our uncle’s adoption of those banners in his own hall.” I remembered, if only a little, Visenya had been nine years old at the time, and more interested in dragons than cultural shifts.. “So no, I do not believe he would have approved.” I touched at the end of my braid.

Aegon laughed, “On that matter I believe father and I would have agreed.” I barely had the time to process what he said, as Aegon’s smile had turned to a scowl even as he’d continued talking, “What do you mean to do, sister? Not only have you come back to us parading about your captives and wearing a crown on your head.” Not a crown. But I imagined the distinction wasn’t enough to matter. “But you do so with a banner, a banner I had no knowledge of, with a device I do not know, and one that I imagine was your own idea. Do you know what you have done?” He took a deep breath, and an even deeper drink from his cup.

“You planned to reveal your own scant days from now, Egg.” I replied, forcing a slight smile. A part of me relishing the confusion on Aegon’s face at the name.

He sighed, running his hand through his hair. “Our own, sister. Three heads, for the three of us.” How stupid does he think I am, that he has to explain that?

“I am aware of the symbolism, brother. I was there when we devised it.” I tried to keep the bite out of my tone. Aegon rose from his seat, setting his cup down on a silver tray. The muscle in his arm flexed for a moment before he spoke again, his movements a bit more rigid as he walked toward me, and I stood up as quickly as I could. Part of me wanting to run.

“And you spit on it by doing what you did! We have to be united, to show disunity, to show the Westerosi division is to invite them to view us as weak! We cannot have this! Do you understand?” He shook his finger as if to emphasize every word, he was an inch taller, but as he looked at me, loomed over me, a part of me felt like that inch might as well have been six. “If I do not rule in my own home, then the lords of Westeros will never respect me, even if I make them kneel.” There was the crux of it. Legally, I was Aegon’s equal as Aerion’s heir, but in truth, here even as in Old Valyria, he had more power, and thus was truly in charge. Is Westeros so different? Might it have been different, had I… had Visenya, waited for Balerion to be riderless and claimed him?

For a moment I imagined it, but the image felt wrong to me. I did like Vhagar, she might have been the smallest, but she was my dragon. To imagine riding another felt almost like imagining cheating on a lover. Or of thinking of abandoning a pet. I knew not how much of it was Visenya, but the very idea tore at my insides.

I winced when Aegon touched my hair, breaking me out of my momentary daze. His hand touching my braid as he pulled me close. “No.” I shoved off of him with as much force as I could muster.

He sighed, sounding tired “Do you hate me, sister?” More than any other man I’ve met. I bit my lip. Touching my braid, I wished I could bite his thrice-damned fingers off.

Aegon continued, “You’ve never loved me. Not as a wife loves her husband, certainly. Not that I like you much as a husband loves his wife either.” He rubbed at his chin, “Is it so unpleasant to lie with me? I would have thought it would be one of the few things you did enjoy, after all, Rhaenys has told me I’m…” He seemed to catch himself, and I felt my face heat up.

“You think this is… that this is about…” I did not know what to say. I wanted to cry. I felt laughter coming on. I wanted to lay everything bare, but I could not. I want to live. “No, I… it’s… D-do you fancy yourself some… some prince of peace? From how you have spoken about your conquest, to ‘put an end to the wars of the sunset land, one land under a single ruler’, it certainly seems like you want people to think that. If I had my way we’d never have left Dragonstone.” I glared at him, forcing myself to look.

My brother smiled bitterly, “Then why are you still here, sister?” It was like a slap.

“What?” I did not know how to respond.

“You heard me.” He said, “Why are you still here? You have Vhagar, and nobody would have stopped you from going back home at any time. Not only have you not gone home, but you have followed my commands, if barely, and done more than necessary.” He explained, as if to a slow child. I wanted to hit him.

“So I ask you, why? If all you wish to do is go back and hide at home, why expend so much effort doing as I’ve commanded? All you need do is ask, and you can leave for Dragonstone. Play four corners with whatever fourth sons you can scrounge up, and manage the island while Rhaenys and I conquer Westeros.” His tone was biting.

I did not know the answer to that. You do. I ignored the thought. I did want to help minimize casualties, to make things better if I could. Save Rhaenys. It was a one in a million shot that killed her, but I had to be certain.

“Still, I wonder where your care for the slain even came from. It is unlike you to be bothered by the prospect of bringing fire and blood, you boasted of it months ago. That had you been there, Volantis would have lost more than their fleet.” He adjusted his position, but the damnable smile never left his features. His posture had become more relaxed, however.

She was a harder woman than I. I cannot be her, not truly. “Mercy is a virtue in the eyes of G-d, brother.” He laughed. I almost could not remember the last time I had seen him do so as hard as he was.

I felt my face burning with indignation. “What is so damned funny?” I knew the real Visenya would never have said what I did. But I had not imagined he would mock me for it. I moved my hand away from Dark Sister’s hilt and breathed in and out.

“First, that banner of yours and now you speak of the virtues of G-d? Sister, you sound more Westerosi than even our cousins. It is a grand jape.” His words had me touching at my braid. He was lucky I did not have a cup in my hands.

“The Faith is more trouble to fight against than they are worth, you know that. It is less effort to try and act as they would approve of, than to fight a rebellion led by them.” They had asked Maegor and the early Targaryens for very little, after all. Part of me still chafed at the idea that they asked for anything at all. That the Faith thought it had any right to ask dragons to abandon the ways of their ancestors. Pride has its place, but I’m not you. “They ask their Mother above for mercy, why should not the Mother of the Realm give it to them?”

Aegon smiled wryly, “Mother of the Realm? Mayhap after we’ve finished, the gods might grant you a child.” I felt my stomach lurch, the ghost of his hands on me again.

“Please, not tonight.” I pleaded, but the words came out so softly I wondered if he would even hear.

My brother snorted, “It would not do to have you unable to lead men before our war is over.” He shook his head, “Or worse, you dying in childbed.” My insides felt like they were turning over. He could kill me like… like that. I felt bile rise in my throat. I was aware that more people died in childbirth than back home. But the thought of dying because of him… I hate you. Not for the first time, I wanted to strangle him. What then? What would you do then? What if it failed? Even if it succeeded, Rhaenys would likely kill me. The thought of her being angry at me hurt.

“Is this all, Aegon? I should like to prepare for your coronation.” I said as I sat down and put my cloak back on.

“You are a terrible liar, Visenya.” He sounded amused, “I had thought of lying with you tonight, but I find my desire for that rather diminished as of now.” His desire for it? HIS? I breathed in deeply, and kept myself from pressing my knees together as I finished collecting my things. “You may leave.”

“I do not require your permission to leave your tent, Aegon.” I snapped back.

“All it would take is a few words from me and the guardsmen would keep you grounded, and stranded.” I could hear the sneer. “Is that what you wish, sister? I can arrange for it.”

Something burned in me at that but I kept myself from snapping at him. If only just. “Of course not, Your Grace.” I sighed, and then he sighed as well. Or at least it sounded like it. I felt far more worn out than I had any reason to, and so I made sure I had gathered everything.

“Visenya, wait.” I did not turn back to look at him, as I stood just in front of the tent’s entrance, my hand on the thick material.

“I am glad that you have stopped fighting Rhaenys. That you obeyed me at least in that one thing.” He sounded as tired as I felt.

“It was never about her, Aegon.” I lied. It was only a small lie. Visenya would have disagreed with it being small.

“Is that so?” He sounded self-satisfied. I could almost see the smile.

I didn’t say another word as I left, the night air feeling much cooler than that of the tent. Part of me felt so much more at home in the brief moment between the feeling of the night, the shine of the moon, and then the reality that there were some few men on guard even now. Just a few words, and he could have me confined. It wasn’t about Aegon, and it was. It wasn’t about Rhaenys, and yet it was. It wasn’t about my old life, and yet it fucking was.

I did not bother wiping the few tears that formed as I made my way back to my own tent. Who cares that she wouldn’t have shed tears like this? I don’t have to be her. I reminded myself again, and again.

They never felt reassuring.

------------------------------------

He did this on purpose. I kept the scowl from showing as we reached near to my own hill, having passed through a village.

It was a staged parade through the hills and camps, my brother had arranged for the ways to be clear and wide enough for our purposes. The crown. I could just throw it somewhere. It was a petty idea. Though tempting, for Aegon had forbidden I wear my circlet here.

“Come now, steadfast liegemen, your lord bids you follow behind to the highest hill.” This Aegon’s captain, his sworn companion Quenton Qoherys, commanded of the smallfolk who were in attendance and had followed before. It galled that he had assembled a greater host by far, my own makeshift parade looked petty by comparison.

So it went for the next few places we passed through, and Aegon gave small gifts of silver to the smallfolk and asked them to follow. A smile ever present. On our procession went through green grasses, and near the ruins of once-sturdy stone forts long abandoned or cannibalized for village septs.

We rode with our brother at the head of the procession on white horses to meet the lords who owed us fealty, our honor guard was three horsemen abreast and one hundred men deep, one hundred horsemen for each of us, with Aegon leading one-hundred fifty, and well did they live up to the nickname bestowed upon them by the enemies of the Daughters of Valyria. Iron horsemen, they were clad and masked in gleaming steel, and ahead of the manifold other standards and banners that preceded us we were surrounded by cloth dragons woven out of scarlet thread bound to the tips of spears and their tails catching and winding in the breeze, they were cunningly wrought such that the wind in their widened mouths would produce an almost whispery hissing noise like some serpent.

There along either side of the cavalrymen were the finest of our footmen with their shields and crested helms catching the rays of the sun and glittering, these men were clad in mail shining like fishes’ scales and in the same manner as the iron horsemen they too were masked that they might seem more like moving automata rather than men marching in time.

At the absolute head, even slightly ahead of Rhaenys and I, was Aegon himself. His saddle as elaborate as our own, but studded with even more jewels and he seemed to loom even more than his height should have allowed.

There was a stagnancy in the air from weeks spent here in army camps, as we made our way through to the cleared out camp of Aegon’s, tents pulled down that the Aegonfort as it was being called, was easily seen and was a center of attention. That hovel of wood and earth is no fit place for a king. It was hastily made, ugly if impressive at first sight, but ultimately was a vanity. I wanted to laugh.

As our procession neared the assembled lords, and the men of ours who served as their guards in this time, a nervous looking young man with brown hair, barely more than fifteen, called out “To Aegon Targaryen, great king, victor over the lords of the Blackwater, prince of peace, bringer of order, greatest of the dragonlords, we welcome you warmly and do your will and lay ourselves upon your grace and generosity. Our swords are yours.”

He said, and the lords and knights laid down their swords as had been agreed and Aegon raised a single hand with his palm facing outward. His head held high, my brother spoke in his clear and commanding voice, every inch the king. “I, Aegon Targaryen, am pleased to receive the swords of you lords and knights who have sworn to serve me faithfully, who have seen the folly of standing against my mission to bring peace to these lands and put an end to the wars of Westeros. I will make your land as my own, a home where I and my heirs shall rule until the end of time. So too are you, lords who have knelt before me and given homage, safe in the knowledge that your families will live as they have for as long as you serve myself and my heirs with steadfast courage and faithfulness. Rise, my lords and be confirmed in your rights and privileges of old.” He said the words, and they rose and praises were spoken and accepted.

He raised a gloved hand, and from immediately behind Aegon, on a horse dark as the rider’s own hair, came Orys leading five cavalrymen. With little effort the great banner was unfurled, and the breeze of the day made the black silken banner flutter, and the red dragon breathing red flame upon a field of black was shown to the Westerosi for the first time. Some looked nervous, some even smiled, and yet others were astonished at the sight.

“Behold, friends, I come to rule, not to destroy that which has come before.” He smirked, and climbed down from his horse, and we did the same. As had been agreed upon, a servant brought forth a wrapped object, Aegon’s crown, I remembered. The last of our family’s diadems from old Valyria. When I saw the crown, with its rippled smoky steel, and the rubies set in it, I remembered my father. I did not care to correct on whose father it was. With hands I barely kept from shaking I placed the circlet upon Aegon’s head, as just this once he had knelt to me. If only to accept this crown, for the ceremony. I managed to keep myself from scowling.

The rubies on the circlet blazed like fire for a brief moment, when the mid-day sun hit them.

“Praise to Aegon, King of the Sunset, King of All Westeros, Shield of His People, The Prince of Peace, Master of Dragons!” Rhaenys hailed him, with as fine and clear a voice as any I had ever heard Aegon use. The roars of cheers from behind us, from Orys and the Narrow Sea Lords, from Quenton, and even from the Blackwater lords and knights. But greater even than they were the almost deafening roar from the smallfolk which had been assembled, the hundreds of men and women and children. I wanted to shove my fingers in my ears, I wanted to run and hide, the noise hurt. So I was overjoyed when the noise had died down, and Aegon had had his time to bask in the praise and cheers.

Daemon Velaryon, Crispian Celtigar, and the other lords of the Narrow Sea were summoned to stand before the great banner and Aegon himself. Crispian bore his scarlet cloak trimmed with silver, and on the silver trim were red crabs. His sons dressed similarly, and I smiled at Vaeron as he and his brothers stood before us.

“Kasereon Celtigar, to you I give charge of the finances of my kingdom, that you may shrewdly manage my wealth and make it grow. Bear this burden well, my Saekellon.” Celtigar thanked him, and my brother waved him off.

“Uncle, I name you Navarch, and give you charge of the royal fleet. As well, you are granted the rights to the tariffs of Duskendale.” Daemon did not even bow his head, but accepted the words with little more than thanks.

At last, Aegon brought Orys forth, grabbing him by the shoulder. “To you, my most valuable, most loyal friend and supporter. To lose you would be like to losing my right hand, from this day forth you will speak with my voice in matters where I have charged you.”

“We leave to unite Westeros, my subjects, my children. But I promise that I shall return, and when I have the time of the kings shall be at an end, and in their place will be one king, and one everlasting peace!” The words he spoke were simple, but they almost resonated with me, and I found myself cheering with the rest, so caught up in the moment.

Chapter Text

I stood on top of my hill just watching the men there picking up their tents and things and readying themselves in good order to leave for the ships. Aegon had given me command of one-thousand men out of the entire host in addition to the men on the ships. Four-thousand men to conquer the Vale. Four-thousand. And over half of them were mariners. I squinted when the glare of the sun got in my eye for a moment, out of the cover of the clouds.

Aegon had given Rhaenys and Orys command of eleven-thousand. Two-thousand from the Narrow Sea, and the rest from the Blackwater coast. I tapped my chin, and three-thousand mercenaries, I corrected myself. Aegon had gained the services of the Sons of the Trident and the Company of the Wing. Meanwhile, Aegon would take five-hundred men and march through the Riverlands against Black Harren. With luck, he hoped to have the Riverlords side with him immediately.

Rhaenys and Orys had Rhaenys’ Meraxes, and eleven-thousand men. Aegon gave me four-thousand, and expected me to take the Vale. It grated. Is he setting me up for failure on purpose? I could not remember how many men he’d sent with Visenya originally. Vhagar is smallest, and yet I am meant to take the Vale with her and not even a fifth of the men the Vale can muster.

Seeing my various things being carried off, I felt a pang of sadness. I had grown used to the camps, as stagnant as they had been becoming. Yet again I was being taken away from what was familiar, and forced into other places. I was glad I had bathed after morning practice, with the servants as busy as they were and the camps in the state they were in, I knew not if I’d have gotten one if I’d waited.

I looked down at a gloved hand. When had I grown accustomed to wearing armor? It feels almost a second skin. Visenya had been used to it, and again I wondered how much of her was around. How much of her I was. Part of me enjoyed the dress up, I looked almost heroic. A warrior-queen in silvered scale and a purple cloak trimmed with gold. It was still hard to admit sometimes. Another part felt it was simply part and parcel of being at war, that she had trained for it and rulership her whole life.

She is me, I suppose. It was a fact I hated. But there was little I could do but accept it. Who I was, was… simply myself. I did not know where she stopped and I began. I remembered her life after all, I knew her feelings, I felt her feelings. But who she had been was not going to keep me from being who I was now, and who I wanted to become. And who is that? 

“You are brooding, sister.” I jolted to attention at the smooth voice of my youngest brother. Was Orys’ mother the only one? How long was he here? I needed to stop losing focus like this. I turned my gaze to Orys, who stood to my right. Dressed in black boots, well made and fit for a lord. Linen trousers colored scarlet and a white tunic with silver scrollwork at the cuffs and hem, and designs like dragons and flame, geometric patterns on the trim of his red cloak trimmed with yet more silver thread, all of it making him look almost an imitation of Aegon. The sincerest form of flattery. I snorted.

“Is that so easy to notice?” I laughed, feeling my lips curl upward as I looked at his face. It did not hurt so much anymore, though I still found faces in general unpleasant to gaze at. Orys looked much like Aegon, but even rougher, and his dark hair and dark purple eyes only served to obscure that. But the smile on his face did not come so easy to him, it never had, from what I remembered.

“You are not difficult to read, my Queen.” He said the last word with a smile of his own, almost tasting the word. “If I have overstepped my bounds, you have my apologies.” He bowed his head, almost in reflex, as if he expected to have his head chewed off.

I shook my head, “Speak freely, small brother. I find I prefer that more of late. Besides, you are soon to leave for Argilac’s kingdom, and I know not when we will see each other again.” I began walking down the hill and out the camp, as Orys followed. I could not stand being in place as we spoke. I needed the movement. “I envy you, a war fighting alongside Rhaenys.” I had missed her when I was gone, and her presence was almost addictive now. She made me happy, and I needed that feeling, the feeling I’d missed since I was taken from home.

“Fighting alongside Rhaenys? More like she will burn the Storm Lords while I command the camps, and then I will have Argella’s hand as Aegon promised. I will rule Argilac’s castle, and his land and be above all of Aegon’s other lords.” He repeated the words as if to himself. There was a hunger in his eyes I recognized from men like Daemon, the flicker of interest, of desire when they spoke of something they craved.

“You want it.” I said the words, it was not some grand realization, but a blunt and almost stupid statement on my part.

“Like a starving man wants meat, sister. I do not wish to live solely off the scraps from Aegon’s table, I love him and he is my brother, but I want something to leave to my children. Gods, Visenya, children! I will wed the daughter of a king, what would father say to that?” He smiled broadly, there was an excitement that was almost childlike in itself. “Mayhap something of the treasure Argilac gained in the east will still be in his coffers. Can you imagine it, sister? Me, almost a king, our brother the greatest king these lands have ever known. We will be rich and have power beyond that which Gaemon himself ever dreamed of.”

His own excitement was infectious, I found myself smiling with him, the glare of the sun reflecting off his cloak clasp into my eye was the only thing that marred it for even a moment. “I would not mind, I have plans for this place, little brother.” I made a sweeping motion with both arms, indicating the hills and the bay, “I want things too. I want a city the likes of which has never been seen in these, I want high walls and wide streets and a palace overlooking the sea. I want arenas for racing horses and chariots and for games of four corners. Mayhap even for the knights to joust and for melees to be held. Public baths and colonnaded buildings and grand statues, a palace rather than the hovel of dirt and wood that Aegon calls his seat in these lands. Gleaming walls bathed in the light of a warm sun. A monument that will last a thousand years, my name remembered.” To speak those dreams aloud for once, it felt good. To know that another heard what I wanted.

And then the moment was over, and I felt embarrassed to have let that out. “G-d, I sound almost a child.” I felt my cheeks burning.

“It is better than the sourness you have shown of late, sister. I had forgotten you were capable of showing such joy.” He laughed. “If Aegon is to be believed, y-”

My knuckles cracked as I balled my hands into fists. “Say another word, little brother, and I will feed you to Vhagar feet first.” We both knew I would not do it, and that the words themselves were very clearly just said in anger. I felt awful, like my heart and chest hurt. I liked Orys, I did not wish to upset him. “I apologize, I did not mean what I said.” His expression had lost the soft joy it held before, and he just looked tired.

“Sister, you and Aegon fight too much.” He said the words, and I wanted to scream. Fight too much? Would that Aegon would fuck off and burn. “You act as though you desire it, both of you do. Every slight, every argument I have seen from you, and neither of you so much as try to stop.” I scowled.

“He insults me, and undermines me and treats me like.. Like… I am some lesser person than he. As though he owns me.” Orys grimaced at that.

“Why do you goad him, then? At every opportunity, you seem to do as he does. It is... “ he tapped his chin for a moment, the chin which had the beginnings of a beard covering it with black fuzz, “When I was young, before father brought my mother into Dragonstone’s keep, before he brought me, and I lived with my grandfather. I remember two cats that lived near to our home. They had their places, their hunting spots, and their perches, I remember. But always they would hiss angrily if the other so much as stepped a foot their way, and yet they always would try to move toward the other. You and Aegon remind me nothing so much as those cats, sister.”

“Have you told Aegon this? Has he told you to tell me? Was this all him?” I scowled more, feeling my face heating up.

“Believe it or no, sister, I have my own desires separate from Aegon. I am not his slave. I wished to visit you before I left, and speak with you. You are my sister, Visenya. Regardless of that we do not share a womb. I care for you. If Aegon gave me the chance, I would tell him the same twice over. I am grateful that our father took me into his household, and that I was allowed to be raised with my blood.”

“Mother would have hated you, I imagine. Grandfather would have thrown you to the rocks for your hair.” I felt emotionally tired, and I imagined my smile reflected that. “For what it is worth, your mother is a good woman, and she raised a fine son.” I patted his shoulder.

Orys smiled wryly.

“You have gotten soft, sister.” He laughed.

We both did, smiling all the way to where Rhaenys waited. And I kept that talk in mind all the way until I had to leave by ship.

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Chapter Text

“In the navy,” I plucked the strings of the harp with my strong dextrous fingers, “Yes, you can sail the seven seas, in the navy, you can set your mind at ease…” I hummed a little, smiling as I bobbed my head with the tune that partly existed within my head and partly was produced by my musical efforts.

Playing the harp was one way I had learned to pass the time alongside the morning exercises to keep my fighting skill sharp. After all, I knew how now, why should I not take advantage of it? With my eyes closed I could almost imagine I was somewhere else entirely, rather than on a ship headed for Claw Isle with the rest of the royal fleet for the purpose of collecting more supplies from their granaries. Dull work, but it needs doing. Men needed to eat, and fresh water always needed to be in excess. That was what my uncle recommended at least. It fit with what I remembered of Justinian’s campaign to retake Africa, and Daemon was the expert, so I was not about to doubt him on that.

“Every man wants to be a macho man..” I snorted, and felt the end of my braid tickle my waist. I am anything but. I miss our little games of denial, love. For a moment I could feel the ghost of a touch, the sensation of my cheek being pinched. My heart hurt, knowing it wasn’t real.

Visenya was a woman who had been taught to play the harp, she could sing and dance, though she was not so talented as Rhaenys. Yet… I want to. I wanted more than anything to just… sing. The part of me I knew was me had grown used to hearing Visenya’s voice, but the idea of singing with it made me want to die inside of embarrassment, I couldn’t hit the same notes with it in the same way. Another part missed singing, something I’d loved since childhood.

But I needed to do it. It made me happy. I hummed to myself, and murmured lyrics in my mother tongue. In that mongrel tongue of French and Latin and Frisian and Greek and some other kinds of Germanic. “Even when it seems that I feel nothing, you're the only reason that my heart's still beating…” The notes were different, and I could never actually check, but I did the best I could.

I realized I had stopped playing the harp a few minutes before. And I wondered if anyone had somehow heard me from inside the cabin anyway. That sensation of discomfort, the worry that people would know what I said, that they would hear it and never tell me to my face, that the world knew everything and was just humoring me, was letting me think anything was a secret, that they could read my mind. I shoved it away. It’s paranoia. 

Even if people heard me, they could not understand. Nobody knew English. Even the words I spoke sounded wrong, when I spoke in it. I hated it, I hated that her tongue sounded right and good and mine sounded like it was some weird secondary language even stranger than Westerosi common. A mongrel tongue. I barely kept myself from tearing at my hair in response to that thought, and I breathed deeply to calm myself.

I wanted to be happy. I knew that now. More than anything. I want to be safe. I want to be happy. I don’t want… I don’t want him to touch me again. A part of me admitted I wanted power, I wanted to be immortal, I wanted to be young and beautiful forever. I wanted to spend my days without worries walking on beaches and playing games with those I loved. To read everything I ever had on my lists. To learn everything, to never worry. To go home. Wherever that was. Another part of me viewed most of those as the vain wishes of a child and dreamer.

A glance at a silvered-mirror showed the face of a woman I had become intensely familiar with. I could barely remember my old face now. Nor did I want to. I hated it. I hated the masculine features it had. Yet still I missed my blue-brown-grey eyes. This is what you wanted. That thought which had been with me from the day I woke at Driftmark still stabbed at me. “Not like this.” I mumbled.

I sighed, looking away from my reflection.

Part of me knew there were ways to retain youth to some degree, though the knowledge of how to do it was beyond me, and the cost was too high regardless. A human life is not worth me avoiding wrinkles. But part of me thought otherwise, I did not want to know which part.

With a grunt, I rose from my seat and dressed myself for riding. Part of me yearned for the novelty of my first days, when dressing was still somewhat of an affirmation, something exciting and new and different. Even after Aegon had tainted it. Both parts of me were still proud of my appearance. What beast of the earth can compare with we dragonlords? I flexed my arm, enjoying the tensing of muscle. As comfortable in ringmail as in silk, indeed. I smirked.

A need had burned in me for a day, but it had felt like years.

I looked myself over. Dressed not in armor, but in a sturdy linen. Thick enough to keep the cold out if the temperature were to take a dive. Black and red in color. Dark Sister at my belt. I did not need servants to help me with this sort of thing. I even wore earrings, golden and set with rubies.

“G-d, you’re beautiful.” I was vain, but it felt good to see what I did, and so I left for where Vhagar was on deck. Passing by the men who worked the deck, had I my old skin the warmth of the day would have been just right. From barely able to tolerate heat to absolutely craving it. The sun especially felt wonderful. Dragons were creatures of fire, of summer and the sun and warmth. How much dragon blood do I have in me? Was it a craving born of blood, or just something particular to me now?

I almost felt the low rumble as Vhagar lifted her head from the deck. The deep thrum in her powerful chest, the same place from which fire spread inside her. With each step I felt my heart quicken, a warmth born in my own breast filling my limbs with something not unlike the feeling of stepping into a hot bath. I almost did not even see the men who manned the sails and did whatever work sailors did. Why should I care? I am no captain. 

The orders I barked out I did not even hear as I placed my hands upon Vhagar. Even through the gloves I wore the heat of her dark green scales was like hot coals but they did not burn. Her golden eyes were fixed on me, and I wondered just how much she knew. Not ten minutes later I climbed up the saddle, and the voices of those who asked if I should not chain myself to her were little more than buzzings in my ears.

I was a daughter of Valyria. A dragon. It was wrong to chain a dragon. Did they not see? Of course they can not. They are but beasts of the field! It is their fate to be chained to the earth, they could never understand the sky! I laughed when Vhagar took off, when her wings caught the air, when the leathery wings made mighty winds in her wake. I laughed more when I saw the ships below, when they grew smaller and smaller.

I feared the sight of the land from the skies, but I loved the skies even more. Every beat of Vhagar’s powerful wings stirred something inside me that put the rides I had gone on as a child to shame. Even the most vigorous ride on horseback could not compare.

It was like being in love. It was every kiss I had ever had. It was the heat of summer, the touch of the sun upon my cheeks, it was the salt and smoke of Dragonstone, it was the white beaches of Driftmark, it was the muddy river of my home, it was the valley and the bluffs and it was the endless sky streaked by the touch of rosy-fingered dawn and it was freedom.

Is this what you feel, sister? When you fly upon Meraxes? 

There was no Aegon, no worries, no pain, and no loss. There was only the sea and sky and the wind in my hair and the heat of my dragon beneath me and the sound of her roar when I threw my head back and laughed once more.

Author's Note: Figured I'd release this to y'all since honestly, I like putting out content. A regular size chapter is up next!

Chapter Text

“Niece, are you certain?” Daemon said, his voice clear as always. My eyes were drawn to his hands, strong hands with well-maintained nails, and to the fine rings adorning them, set with sapphires and emeralds and even a gold ring, shaped such that the ruby was set in the mouth of a serpent. Father had given it to him, I remembered.

“I am your Queen, Lord Velaryon,” though he meant no harm, it was not his place to ask, I had called this meeting of what few lords and lordlings Aegon had sent with me to tell them what would be done. Not to be prodded and asked needless questions. “We will meet again in three days hence, at Claw Isle. Be ready for my arrival, and be prepared to provide extra provisions shortly after.”

Daemon bowed his head, “As you will, Your Grace,” He smiled, “How many extra mouths must I be prepared for? A thousand? Two?” His tone was respectful, calm and even. But still it made me bristle. The man’s smile did not touch his eyes. He is not your friend.

“Two-thousand, I suppose. I should like to bring as many men as possible, but we must also do this with haste so I will not wait for the farthest from Claw Isle to arrive.” We needed more men for the Vale. Visenya took the Eyrie with but a single child on her lap. That little voice stabbed at me again.

“You are certain they will follow you, Your Grace?” The voice of Triston Massey made me feel a flash of annoyance. I breathed slightly, in and out, and barely kept my hand from my braid. Massey’s fingers stroked the ends of his long honey-blond mustache. His brown eyes looked into my purple, and I fought the urge to look away. Queens do not show weakness. I only wished eye contact were not so uncomfortable, though it had become less so of late.

“You had best pray to your gods that they do, Lord Massey. Elsewise we will be in the Vale for far longer.” I needed men. The Clawmen became the most staunchly loyal to the Targaryens originally, and all that Visenya needed to do then was say they would kneel to none save the King of Westeros himself. What would it take to make them kneel to the Queen alone? 

“You have my prayers, Great Queen,” the boisterous voice of Aron Celtigar chimed in. Bootlicker. Aron was prettier than Vaeron, certainly. At twenty-one years of age, and another inch of height he was more filled out than his younger brother. His cap of red felt was circular, just like Vaeron’s. His cloak was similar, though silver where Vaeron’s trim was white, and his shoes not having the toes exposed. He’d not left me alone since he’d been assigned to me. Aegon had taken Vaeron with him across the Blackwater Rush. “With you in command, we are sure to win the Vale as swift as your dragon flies!”

I smiled at him, my purple eyes meeting his blue, “Would you like a glass of lemon juice, dear cousin?” I let a warmth slip into my voice that I normally reserved for Rhaenys.

“Of course, Your Grace! I shall gladly drink it, and to your health!” His expression had brightened noticeably at the word ‘cousin’, but he still looked confused overall. “B-but why are you offering such here?”

My lips curled upward slightly once more, “With all the boot licking you have been doing, I thought you would like to wash the taste from your mouth.” I said, in as pleased a voice as any Visenya had ever used.

His face reddened at that. I smirked. G-d, that felt good.

“Claw Isle. Three days. I shall see you then.” I walked off, waving my hand dismissively as I did so, and let out a laugh as I made my way to Vhagar. For once, it was good to be Queen.

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Crackclaw Point was lovely in a rustic sort of way, I supposed. Densely forested and dotted with villages and small towns along the coasts. I knew it was filled with valleys further inland, and those valleys had their own lords and customs. It was wilder than the lands near Duskendale and even Massey’s Hook. Vaeron had told me that the Clawmen liked to boast that their harder lands made for harder men, and that was what let the Clawmen throw off the first Andal invaders and the Darklyn kings as well.

The lands were hilly, and from the skies I could just about make out some of the bogs and marshes of the land. Some forts, and even old castles long abandoned or left to ruin.

More likely is that poor lands make for more desperate men. I was counting on that.

I knew not why I had ever feared the skies as I had before. To see the world from dragonback only made me more aware of its beauty, and in some way I felt it let me understand it better. The original Visenya had not experienced the kind of joy I had, I knew that now. Not when riding Vhagar at least. The feeling of absolute freedom and liberation, the desire to break free of the world’s bounds. Keep to the coast.

The lands spread out beneath me like the maps I had pored over a hundred times. Like Aegon’s painted table back at Dragonstone. Do not mess this up. The wind blowing through my hair felt brisk, and though on Vhagar’s back I covered leagues in record time I yearned for the world to slow down. To be able to see the farmlands stretch by a bit less quickly, to perhaps know the names of the fishing villages I passed between towns that were actually on maps we owned.

I wondered if the patience for such tedious travel had come from Visenya or if I had simply adjusted to my life’s new pace. I wanted to go everywhere. To see the Wall, and visit the Arbor again. I wanted to fly around Driftmark and Dragonstone with Rhaenys and her Meraxes. Lord Redwyne would as soon slay me as host me now, and we will be gone from Dragonstone until Aegon’s vanity is achieved. I hoped when we returned I might move my chambers to the Sea-Dragon Tower.

Looking down, I knew we were not far, and in a short time I had taken Vhagar to the grassy, lightly wooded hills and a stout castle overlooking the Bay of Crabs. The world below was illuminated by the mid-day sun. We had passed low enough to see farmers in their fields and men traveling on trodden dirt paths and even a group of armored men in multi-colored cloaks surrounding some few men traveling westward, carrying a banner with some multi-colored sigil on it I could not make out from the distance.

The bags Vhagar had were large enough to carry banners, and I retrieved one. A banner of truce in the style of those used by the Westerosi. Albeit one hastily made, a banner flag of seven colors. As we made to land I raised aloft the banner of truce, and I told the men at the gates that I wished to speak with their lord. I was made to wait before the gates of Dyre Den.

As I looked upon the walls, I was reminded less of the fortress of the Dun Fort, nor even the smaller castles at Stokeworth and along the coast of the Blackwater but instead… Dyre Den was almost built partly into the hill. Certainly it was built upwards, but part of the land seemed like it had been leveled long ago by the hands of laborers. It had three small towers, all in decent repair, which I imagined I could handle with ease if things turned ugly. Vhagar’s flame would melt them like wax. Sandstone formed an entire section of the outer wall. There were fewer men at the battlements than were at Stokeworth, and indeed the place overall just seemed… poorer. All the better.

I took a deep sniff, and the faint scent of pines filled my nostrils. A smile came to my lips, as for a moment I could almost hear the streams and the crackling of the fire in a childhood campground. The smell of crushed pine beneath hiking shoes. The taste of a marshmallow roasted over the fire, gooey and hot and sweet…

Then horns sounded, and drew me out of my reverie. One man was brought out, grey-haired save for a few reddish-brown bits that hadn’t finished greying yet. He bore a peace banner as well, though he was followed by another man carrying a banner with the heraldry of the Brunes of Dyre Den.

“I would have thought a lord would at least come with a sworn sword or ten. Even a maester would be acceptable.” I said, as I climbed down from Vhagar.

The man simply smiled ruefully, “Alas, my lady, my nephew is the lord here and not I. What is it that you want? For us to bend the knee to the knee to you? I w-” I cut him off. As if he were sat before the throne of Dragonstone, an audience of courtiers and lords sworn to Visenya’s father in attendance rather than myself sitting atop Vhagar, the only audience this lord’s uncle and what few men were on the battlements.

“I demand to speak with the Lord of Dyre Den. I have an offer for him.” I felt a twinge of guilt at interrupting him, but I needed to do this now. I did not have time to play around. The lord’s… uncle, frowned but then bowed his head.

“Of course, Lady Targaryen, I will tell him at once.” They never have knelt to anyone bearing a crown, why should I get any more respect than that? I reminded myself as the twitch of bristling pride threatened to break out in some heated remark or another. I rested my hand against Vhagar while I waited, and counted the seconds. After the eight minute mark I started drumming my fingers against Vhagar’s scales.

You can wait a few minutes. Just not hours. I calmed myself, a breath in and out all I needed while the lord of the keep was brought forth. A surprisingly stout man, not very tall, and fairly broad shouldered. He was maybe in his thirties. I did not care more than that. His clothing was less fine than that worn by even Vaeron’s brothers. This is a lord? 

At least his guard was more impressive than his uncle’s. A dozen men, including his uncle from before, and two banner bearers and a horn sounder.

“Hail, Lady Targaryen. You stand before mine seat, held by my father before me and his before him. What business have you here?” His words were amused, though I caught his eyes as they kept glancing at Vhagar, the twitch of nervousness filled me with a small amount of happiness. Let him fear her. 

“An offer for your ears alone, Lord Brune. One from a queen, no mere lady of a castle.” I said as I resisted the urge to touch Dark Sister’s hilt.

I did not expect laughter. My cheeks burned.

“A queen you may be, but not my own. We of Dyre Den and the Claw are free men, not dogs rolling over for whatever man with a crown comes begging our obedience.” The words stung at something I’d always had, but until recently hadn’t always enjoyed. Pride.

“I come not to beg, Lord Brune. I should like to speak with you in private. Ride with me for a time and I shall find us some clearing to discuss the finer points of my offer.” I pointed at Vhagar as I said the words.

“My apologies, Lady Targaryen, but I will not ride with you on your beast. If you wish to speak with me alone, we shall do it in my keep with guardsmen outside the doors. Aye, I should like that far more.” His tone was even.

I bit back harsher words. I did not need to make this more difficult, but I was still displeased.

“Alone in your keep? Surrounded by your guards?” At that, Elmar Brune glared.

“You come without warning, and you have the gall to insult my hospitality once I allow you within my home? Girl, were you my daughter I would tan your hide.” The words were as heated as they were irreverent.

“Robert Darklyn had crossbowmen ready to loose their bolts at me under banner of truce. I know not how you Westerosi do things, so I am merely cautious.” I said the words quickly and with a precision that I would have been shocked by normally. No stammering.

“Crispin Darklyn’s boy? Tell it true, Lady Targaryen.” He seemed eager, and so I climbed down from Vhagar, the chains at my feet undone. Offering my hand, and he clasped it with his own. I still did not like the feeling of skin touching.

“We will speak more inside, Lord Brune.” I smiled, and he returned it, the previous accidental insult seemingly forgotten.

As we walked into the Dyre Den I could not help but compare it to the Dun Fort. Where the Dun Fort was clearly the seat of old kings and rich lords fat off the bounty of the Narrow Sea and blessed with fertile lands, the Dyre Den… was significantly plainer.

There were tapestries, well-made ones, but not the masterpieces at the Dun Fort. Sure, a few had some touches of the Narrow Sea style to them, but there was a distinctly alien feel that I could not recognize even from what time Aegon and I had spent at the Arbor or Lannisport. As if the men of the Claw were a breed apart, but enough was familiar that it seemed uncanny. Did they once have their own tongue? A part of me wondered. The common folk might have their own dialects, as far as I knew. I could not recall really speaking to many people not of some noble status or above the lower class outside of rare occasions at ports.

It was still the seat of a lord, though, so servants scurried about and men-at-arms went about their business and overall it just… felt normal. Whether Dragonstone, Driftmark, the Arbor, or anywhere else it seemed that seats of power had some commonality to them. Would what I have in mind truly be so different? 

Every second I had to resist the urge to reach for Dark Sister’s hilt or glance behind me. At every hallway and doorway I felt my heart race, half-terrified of men emerging from the shadows and gutting me. I had placed myself in his power, and was worried it might have been a mistake.

I crushed that feeling of paranoia with some effort.

At last we reached Lord Brune’s solar, and I refused the offer of wine, as tempting as it was at the moment. I did not want to start drinking, and then to not stop until I could not even move from my seat. Rhaenys had told me a little of what had happened the last time after all.

Seated and with my back stiffly against a chair, I spoke first.

“I want you to kneel to me, when my family has conquered Westeros, there will be but one crown and one throne. Kneel to me, and you will be equal to houses like the Lannisters and Gardeners. Knowing no lord save for the King of All Westeros himself.” I resisted the urge to drum my fingers.

“No kings? All I have to do is kneel, you say?” He stroked at his beard, and smiled.

“No king save for Aegon.” I nodded slightly. The sooner I was done with this the better.

“I believe not. I pay no tribute nor taxes now, what you offer is the yoke of service. Is that all?” I had expected this. Harrenhal yet stood, unbroken by dragonfire. I refused to make an example of Duskendale either.

“Is that so, Lord Brune? Think of what you are rejecting.” I did not want to waste what I had gained if it was unnecessary.

Elmar Brune swirled his wine around, relaxing in his chair as if this were a summer time meal date as opposed to negotiation over the future of his people.

Frowning, I continued, “When my brother comes with twenty-thousand men and a dragon as big as your castle, what then? He broke the back of Volantis, what resistance can you offer?” Aegon had burned the fleet at Lys and a single fort, then rode with the rest of the coalition until it was over.

“If you come we will hide where you shall not find us, as we always have against outsiders. Fire does not burn good strong earth, and we have our places you cannot touch us. Your lords will not want to waste years fighting us, and you will leave. The Andals did not conquer us, the Durrandons could not, and the Hoares never could try.”

“Are threats and might be’s all you have to offer, Lady Targaryen?” His tone had me half-wanting to string him up by a rope woven from his ugly beard.

“No, and in fact I have a better deal.” I felt my heart racing. If this did not work, I still could go to the other men after all. But failure always hurt.

“What is this deal, Lady Targaryen?” His voice was a bit rumbly even when it was calm.

“Kneel to me, and your family will be given lands from the former holdings of the Darklyns. They’ve very little, after what I’ve taken. There is land enough for many second and third sons to prosper. Not vast holdings, but they are good ones regardless. My brother would expect you to kneel without so much as a crumb of spoils.” I rubbed my finger and thumb together idly, it still felt odd to tower over most men, honestly. It would have been worse if we’d been standing, “I will reward you, so long as you serve me loyally.”

“Why? What do you want?” He said. The previous calmness to his voice was gone, replaced with curiosity.

“I am going to the Vale, and I want more men. I could probably take it with the few thousands of foot I have, but more swords are always better. In fact, should any Valemen refuse to kneel, you and yours will be placed high to receive the lands taken from them. Join me, and you can gain much.” I said.

He seemed to doze off slightly, in thought. Did I overplay my hand? Shit, did I fuck this up? 

As if in response to my thoughts his gaze became clear and intense and he nodded his head with a smile.

“You have my swords, my Queen. I am your man, so long as you hold up your end of the bargain.” He offered his hand and I grasped it firmly.

“I want you to call your banners, call for all your horsemen to go to Claw Isle. Crab Isle, I think your people call it. The fleet is there, and we’ll be setting off for the Vale from there. Your footmen can march there as well, and they can be part of the second group. We want to do this quickly, and get a foothold before the Valemen can respond.” I nodded to myself, “Now, I believe I told you I’d finish telling you about Darklyn?”

Elmar Brune laughed, and food was brought in by servants while we spoke. Some was familiar, and I found myself rather hungry. I could not remember enjoying cabbage before now anyway. I wound up being fairly picky, and ate just a couple of things.

So I was surprised to find the cabbage rolls stuffed with a crumbly cheese were… fairly good. Washed down with tea with a touch of brandy added, and I wondered how much liquor needed to be watered down in order to remain effective-ish, but not awful.

“The bastard tried to violate banner of truce, and was not man enough to fall on his own sword? I wish I had been there to see it, your brother sounds a man with a fine sense of humor. Leaving him alive with naught but a pittance to his name. It near as makes up for his father rejecting my offer to have my sister wed the spoiled lordling. Said she was a girl with no teats not worthy of the Dun Fort. Mayhap I shall unhorse Ser Robert at a tourney again.”

The bearded lord laughed more, and regaled me with a story of a tourney at Rook’s Rest eight years before. How he had brought down Darklyn in the lists.

“The Darklyns were becoming too big for their own good. Near enough acted as though they were our kings when the Hoares let the yoke fall from them, I will wager the only reason they had not taken up a crown again was fear of Black Harren. Now they are gone, and we men of the Claw still prosper!”

As nice as the meal and conversation was, I left Dyre Den a couple hours later. Sated and actually somewhat eager for my next stop on the way to Claw Isle. 

From there I visited Brownhollow and Hunter’s Den and Crabb Hill and so on, making the same offer to each lord in turn. Thankfully, most of them were more amenable than Elmar Brune had been, although they required other concessions. Dennis Crabb wanted his grandson to be made Aegon’s page, Nestor Boggs wanted his second son to squire for my cousin and to be granted a place in my entourage, Dick Brune had tried to offer his niece’s hand in marriage to my brother.

“Ask Dark Sister firstly.” I had said to that. No girl deserved to be subjected to Aegon, after all, and if they thought I was being a faithful protective wife all the better. No doubt they thought I was a degenerate brother-fucking whore anyway. And what is wrong with brother wedding sister, anyway? A small part of me thought, and I wanted to strangle it.

And so on. It was a lot more back and forth than I had been expecting, but ultimately the trips had been a success.

--------------------------------------------------

In the last years of the reign of Tristifer of the glorious line of the Mudds, the middle son of Tristifer the Hammer and the forty-third in line from Triston, three years before the last invasion of the people of the Andals into the River and the Hills, when the wolves of the North came down from the Neck and ravaged all the lands north of the Blue Fork… 

The images of fierce fur-clad Northmen riding down the Neck on horses to claim the bounty of the Riverlands as Winter set in was shattered by the sound of a youngish girl’s voice.

“Kinswoman! Aunt Laena has said she wishes to speak with you!” I resisted the urge to tell her to go away, and breathed in and out. I turned to face her, the youngest child and only daughter of Lord Crispian Celtigar and his Crabb wife. At eleven years of age, she had been born several months before my wedding to Aegon. Aerion had snorted when he mentioned the girl’s name, and how Crispian had told him in a letter that she’d been named in honor of me… of Visenya.

Her long hair was the brown of her mother, but she had Crispian’s eyes. Her red tunic went down to her knees, aside from the geometric designs at the hem, it was fairly plain in design compared with even the clothes of her parents. The tunic was held together at the waist with a belt of white leather, and her feet were covered with ashen-grey shoes.

“Tell my aunt that I will be there shortly, Viserra.” I wanted to finish reading this section, after all. As well, the voices of children grated at me, and I needed time to calm myself.

She walked off without so much as asking to be dismissed, or thanking me. Thank fucking G-d.

My eyes just wandered over the text again and again. Glazing over. Seeing the words but not actually reading. All I could think of was that I had said I would be there soon. Even the seat became uncomfortable as I shifted in it.

As I remembered why I hated giving committal answers, I wanted to throw the book at the wall of the rooms I had been granted while I stayed at Claw Isle, and I calmed myself enough to avoid it and to leave the room in a facsimile of a good mood.

Far from being like Driftmark with its blue skies and bluer waters and white sands, Claw Isle was more akin to Dragonstone. Dreary at times, and fairly poor compared with the richer island. Though where Dragonstone had coves and darker sands, Claw Isle was more ordinary, and even lightly forested on the western end. Though with many cliffs.

The “Crab Keep” as some called the castle of the Celtigars, was not so rich as described later on. Part of me wondered if that was Ardrian’s own wealth shrewdly built up, or if it happened at some point after the Conquest but before then. Did Claw Isle gain more sea traffic and trade as a result of the Conquest? 

Still, the Valyrian style architecture was familiar to me, and felt closer to home than the Dun Fort or Dyre Den or Brownhollow ever could.

Finding a servant, I let myself be guided to my aunt who currently resided in the west tower of the castle. It was… a lot less populated than the main tower, and what few people were there tended to be women, though I honestly preferred the relative peace and quiet. Oddly, it was decorated more nicely than the main castle, and I wondered how much of it was my aunt’s doing.

“You are late, niece.” Were the first words I’d heard from Laena Velaryon in five years. She sounded strained, and tired as she spoke glancing out from the tower balcony.

“I did not expect to be summoned like some common servant, aunt. In fact, I had thought you might not wish to speak at all, given Daemon being here.” Honestly, I felt tired just speaking with her.

“I liked your mother, niece. I do not love her brother.” She beckoned me over to her side, and I stepped over to where she stood. Her long silvery hair in a single braid. A few strands of straw-yellow mixed in. Meeting her eyes, I saw she was pretty, though not a stunner like Rhaenys or myself. I could not help but notice the crow’s feet and weary look to her that had not been there when last I saw her. As well, she was fairly short, or maybe average height for a woman. I felt like a gangly giant next to her as I placed my hands on the balustrade.

“Your husband, Lady Velaryon?” I said.

She snorted.

“In name only, now. The sooner he is gone from Claw Isle, the happier I will be. No doubt you understand.” She said.

“Please explain, I do not understand. Is this about your husband?” The conversation made absolutely no sense to me thus far. Does she just want to complain about her husband to me? Daemon was infuriating, and I did not pretend that our alliance was anything but mutual convenience, and he was so self-assured that I hated it. But I could at least find some good parts about him, and I felt bad speaking ill of a man behind his back.

“As well as yours, Visenya.” It clicked into place.

“This is about Aegon?” I glanced away. “Did Daemon tell you?”

“Every word that makes its way from Dragonstone to Claw Isle is more than enough, even as far back as when I still lived at Driftmark.” I wracked my brain trying to remember when I said anything publicly negative about Aegon.

“Servants talk, niece.” The words were casual, but with a bite to them.

“Uncle said something similar. That I am not very… skilled at concealing my feelings.” I forced a laugh.

“A blind man could not fail to see them.” She said, and I felt my cheeks burn.

“Why then, do you choose to do as he has commanded?” She asked, tilting her head to the side. The question stung. Because it is my best chance. I barely knew this woman, but the excuse to let out some of my thoughts and feelings was welcome.

“I could fly away on Vhagar, I suppose. But what then? The Free Cities slew their dragonlords in their beds, and killed their dragons.” It may not have been the life I wanted, but it was my life now. I did not want to die before the age of thirty, my corpse thrown to wild dogs outside the walls of a city and Vhagar killed for no reason other than the fear of some upjumped wretches. My grip tightened on the stone balustrade at that thought.

“Stay at Dragonstone, or even here at Claw Isle. I am sure my brother would house you if you asked. At the least, I would allow you to stay here in my tower.”  I felt uncomfortable at how plainly this stranger was speaking with me. Or, rather, near stranger. What does she want?

“You are being very generous, aunt Laena.” I kept myself from just walking off, I did not want to be too rude. She was Vaeron’s aunt too after all. What if she’s just saying what I want to hear? 

“Your mother was dear to me, and I would be remiss if I did not at least offer my aid.”  She said.

“Still, I think I will take my chances. If I just sit around, I will miss every chance to gain something from this… vanity of Aegon’s.” Admitting that made me feel like scum. Taking advantage of this conflict to gain power for myself. People would fight and die in my name just so I could maybe be less miserable in the future. At the same time, it felt right. I deserved to be happy, didn’t I? I wasn’t hurting people, and unlike Aegon I had a reason for what I did other than sheer ego.

“Tell me more about Valaena.” I did not want to call her ‘mother’. Because it felt almost like theft. Valaena had been the real Visenya’s mother. Even if I had her feelings now, and her memories. Yet I wanted to know more. I needed it, to know more about a mother that I had little but positive memories of.

Part of me was disgusted at it, at clinging to memories of a mother that had actually loved me. In one thought you mourn your father that you rarely visited, and in the next you spit on the woman that gave you life. I shoved the feelings away.

Laena pursed her lips, and then smiled. “When I was four-and-ten and she three-and-ten, my father took me to Driftmark to visit with the man… boy at the time, that I had been promised to. Your grandfather brought your uncle and mother out to meet us, and I saw them for the first time. Your uncle was already much taller than Lord Laenor, and Valaena already was near his height. By six-and-ten she would be as tall as her mother. She was striking. Your grandfather paraded her about, bragging about how she was to be wed to the future Archon of Dragonstone and that through his children the Narrow Sea would be bound to House Velaryon by blood,” Laena paused, “Your mother interrupted him, and said that all her father had done was ensure he and her brother would have to obey her and that she’d come back from Dragonstone riding her own dragon one day.”

That surprised me. “A dragon? Did she really think… Daemion or even my father would allow it?” Spouses were spouses, after all, and allowing dragons to get out of the family’s control would have been stupid.

“Your grandfather thought himself near to a dragonlord as could be, with his Targaryen wife. Mayhap he planted the seed of that desire. As well, to a girl of three-and-ten everything is possible.” She smiled. At three-and-t.. Thirteen, Visenya thought her marriage to Aegon would actually be good.

“I can see it.” I said. “Valaena was a proud woman, but I had no idea she had wanted a dragon for her own.” A part of me wanted to say that she did end up riding a dragon, but I was in no mood to be crass with someone I barely knew.

“Why did you send Viserra to fetch me?” I asked, wanting to change the subject.

“She was here, and you were not.” Laena gave me a cheeky grin, for a moment it seemed like the weariness dropped from her. “I find that these days I miss family dearly. I last saw Corlys eight moons ago.”

“I could visit you more.” I said, feeling more than a little uncomfortable, “After Aegon’s war is over, mayhap. Vhagar makes that easy enough.” Calling it Aegon’s war felt better.

“Mayhap.” She said.

After a time of silence, as I made to leave she touched my shoulder. I barely kept myself from tensing up at that, and turned back to face her.

“You look like her, you know.” Laena said, simply.

“Like…” I realized she probably did not mean Viserra. “Valaena? Daemon said that too.”

She smiled wryly. “Of course he did.” I wanted to kick myself for bringing him up like this. I wanted to hit myself for enjoying what I assumed was a compliment. Visenya had loved her mother dearly.

I left with little more than a few half-spoken goodbyes, hoping to be able to focus on my book when I got back to it. I had to leave anyway, and I refused to bring it where it might become damaged, it was not my property after all even if Crispian Celtigar would give me the rings off his own fingers if it meant gaining favor with my family.

My family. G-d, they really are, at this point.

I still hated to admit it.

----

Looking out from the battlements of the Celtigars’ keep, the wind today particularly unfortunate as it whipped my braid about, and I hoped I wasn’t looking too undignified when it slapped my cheek.

Both the late-morning sun and the place where I stood gave me a good view of the men who had arrived. The men who I had delayed our departure to the Vale by three days to wait for.   

The horsemen of the Clawmen were not particularly impressive. They were without barding, and save for the lords with their household retinues the men were not particularly well-armored either. But they were here, and that was what mattered.

Iron caps and good mail they wore, and even the least armored still had some. Sturdy shields and keen lances and axes. From the bear paw of Brownhollow to the piled heads of Crabb and the two men bearing axe and hammer of Dyre Den, and a dozen other banners all carried by lords and knights of the central and eastern Crackclaw. Houses I had promised rewards, and others who only followed their lords. And the freeriders with them who just want the chance to loot. I wanted to turn those last away, but every sword mattered and I could not be picky yet.

Maybe once things had settled, and I had a better position to bargain from. Fear of dragonflame would have to serve to keep them behaving, and if any raping happened I’d just have them strung up.

Part of me hoped Rhaenys was doing something similar with her own soldiers. Another part knew she would not bother so long as they did as they were told, and didn’t do anything in front of her. Or worse, it was not as though she had any qualms burning castles after all.

I adjusted my cloak and fidgeted with my armor and gloves as I made my way to the assembled group, flanked by guards and swords sworn to the Targaryens. Men that were a mix of those I had seen since early childhood and others who were only recently recruited into our service.

What I would not have done to have Vaeron and Quenton beside me. But they were with Aegon, and I had to do without.

It felt like moments later when I arrived, though it had to have been closer to ten minutes, and the lords who were before the gates of the Crab Keep seemed a lot taller in person, when they were ahorse and I on foot.

Were we all on the ground I would tower over the lot of you.

And so the business of telling which men were going onto what ships began, and it was more a bargaining process than anything, with some thinking I was trying to divide them into mixed and smaller groups for some nefarious purpose.

As if there was anything nefarious about not wanting to risk these men deciding to steal ships if they weren’t kept properly mixed.

“Does it matter? You will have your lands, and all I want is to ensure some of the less savory freeriders don’t try to convince your newer household men to make any hasty decisions.” I would have felt bad soothing egos by blaming common men, but I was beyond done dealing with the argumentative nature of the Clawmen.

“As well, if you want to leave you can. But that just means more rewards to go to the men that go with us, and you will forfeit any reward you have been promised. After all, the lands were for men who would fight for me, not children who leave at the touch of the gentlest breeze.” I got grumbling for that, but most of them stayed and let themselves be led to the ships, and by noon we were ready to go.

With the northeasterly winds we set sail for Gulltown, seven-thousand men strong.

Chapter Text

I sneezed as my braid slapped against my face, and part of me recoiled internally at that. I had my hair washed only a few hours ago! Sure, I sweat most every day, and the daily practice made sure of it, but sweat that would be cleaned is one thing. It is quite another to deal with the idea of phlegm and mucus caught in one’s hair. Priss. I brushed the thought away as I squinted at the harbor once more. Certainly, the men of Gulltown could see me if they looked correctly, and their ships were ready to face our own fleet.

The winds, dark clouds and rain were making it difficult to see much. G-d, what I would not give for a pair of goggles right now. What I could see was enough to let me groan: A great chain was laid across the harbor entrance, blocking access to all ships that might try to pass and allowing the Valemen to man the outer defenses of the port.

It was sensible, and one would have to be absolutely stupid not to have done so. Gulltown’s walls were thick and tall, made of a whitewashed stone that had shone in the sun when I scouted the previous day, and no doubt the city had defenders of its own enough to make seizing the sea wall towers difficult in itself, let alone the rest. I counted more than a few hundred the day before.

We would have to cut the chains if we couldn’t seize the towers, and that was assuming the battle with the fleet went without a hitch.

I wished my hood would not have kept being blown off my head. I yearned for a hot bath and the dry warmth of my home at Dragonstone. If it were not for the swelling waves, and the stormy skies, I might have taken the chance to burn part of the Arryn fleet right then and there. Or perhaps the Braavosi ships. Neither part of me trusted the men aboard the purple-sailed ships.

Twelve. Twelve of their war ships. I only remembered there being ten. Maybe I misremembered. 

I was aware of how cold and wet my riding clothes had become. Sodden with rain, and clinging and uncomfortable. Even as the wind, mercifully, died down for a moment. Just a quiet and heavy rain, fat droplets smacking against my hands and face and… everything, it felt like.

Then the flash of lightning pierced the darkness and the thunder shattered the quiet. I had to restrain my fear at the idea of being struck by lightning.

Vhagar’s whines had become more and more insistent. Where once they were a slow keening hiss, now they were a rumbling whine that had me wanting to cry. I should not be forcing you out in this, girl.

My face slick and dripping droplets of cold rain, we flew off back to the ships.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rains had not let up for more than a day now, the lightning fell, forked and in white-blue shafts and the sound of thunder rumbled like the pounding of some great drum, and despite them the fleet continued its approach to Gulltown, slow and ever certain.

Every day they drilled, and with luck our rowers would be better drilled than the Gulltowners and Braavosi. I hope that will be enough.

While nothing even remotely approaching the fleet of the Redwynes, what I saw was still respectable, more than a dozen heavy dromonds ready for battle, four on each of the flanks and four at the head. Arranged in crescent formation alongside the twenty smaller galleys.

Then the flagship of this expedition, Daemon Velaryon’s Lord Laenor was at the head. With her sea-green paint, sails of a pristine white, and proudly flying the banner of the Velaryons atop her masts and her towers at the bow and stern, she could be mistaken for no other ship.

The smaller, though no less proud Sweet Sister was beside her. Black paint touched up at Claw Isle, and her scarlet sails furled as she was propelled by the work of the rowers below her deck. Flying the banner of Aegon’s own devising. At his order, of course.

In addition, the various transports and ships for supply in the rear not in the battle line. The Clawmen had been scattered across every ship in the fleet, the same as the men of Duskendale, save for in the ship which served as Vhagar’s primary home at sea.

Giving the command, we made for the deck of my uncle’s ship. And I, absolutely drenched, could not help but laugh at the image I no doubt would present when I met with him. More drowned cat than dragoness.

The wind had not stopped, though mercifully it was at my back as we landed. A bit more roughly than I might have intended, but the ship was more or less unharmed, and no men were in the way. They knew better than to obstruct the path of a dragonlord, after all.

I removed the chains keeping me in the saddle, and climbed down from the back of the great green monster, her wings moved to cover her head as she whined more, though with less intensity than when we were in the skies, and I hugged her as best I could. “I will be back soon.” I said as I kissed her scales nearest her golden eyes.

I wanted to be done as soon as possible, and get dry and warm. My stomach rumbling reminded me of another thing I had forgotten.

Blessedly, it did not take long to find the new Navarch, as he rested in his own cabin reading a book. Dressed in a dark blue silk tunic, gold scrollwork at the collar, going well with his black trousers, and his silver-buckled shoes. Something metallic at the ends of his sleeves glinted in the candlelight. Mail? I filed that away for later.

His hair as loose as always, the look he gave me was not one of surprise, but the mild amusement I had come to associate with him. As though he was in on a joke nobody else knew. A part of me felt satisfaction when that mask slipped for just a moment, as water dripped onto the floor of his cabin in a steady rhythm.

“Stand, uncle.” I said, and I felt some of the tension leave my muscles as he did what I told him. Closing his book, he set it down like he was handling a newborn kitten, and rose with a grace I more associated with Rhaenys than anyone else.

“They raised the boom.” I wanted to peel my wet clothing off. Not much longer, then you can relax. 

“Is that all, niece?” Daemon said, somehow managing to sound bored and attentive at the same time. I felt a pang as I met his lilac eyes. I miss you, Rhaenys.

“You said you wished to be told of every development. The boom was not raised yesterday, nor the day before, but it has been raised today.” I felt water trickle down my hand as I tugged my braid.

“But is it one worth flying out in a storm, I wonder? Your Vhagar is small, mayhap I would trust Rhaenys upon Meraxes to do so, but you place yourself at risk.” He said, it felt like an admonishment, and he was not wrong, but I felt the muscle in my thigh tense. With a breath I relaxed.

“I am touched by your concern, uncle.” I forced a smile, aware of the wet strands of hair stuck to my forehead. Part of me cared little, but another part just wanted to look presentable again.

“Think little of it, my queen.” He bowed his head politely, “As navarch I must think of the good of the royal fleet, and the fleet of a dragonlord without a dragon would be an embarrassing thing indeed.” The words sounded almost as if they were rote.

“Of course, lord Velaryon. I am certain my husband will be pleased to know you care so deeply for the well-being of his wife. Though, I must say it seems early indeed for you to be wearing mail, and in your own cabin no less.” I smiled genuinely, “Are you hoping to fight on the decks alongside your own mariners? Surely you could wait?” The image of him dashing about on the decks, sword in hand seemed almost ludicrous for a man that seemed to prefer a safer command.

Have I misjudged you, uncle? Mayhap the man who became the Lord-Commander inherited more from you than your height and good looks. Part of me wondered how Corlys was doing under Aegon’s command.

An amused, wry smile graced his features, “A man who waits for battle to come to him will find it has come upon him unawares.”

“Is that some saying you men of Driftmark have? Or did you read it in some book?” I tilted my head, my wet braid touching my covered elbow.

“Simple experience, sweet niece.” His smile touched his eyes, this time. I felt a hunger, a want, in me at the mystery, and nodded.

“I sense there is a story behind this. Tell me.” Were I not so damp I would have gladly taken a seat, as it was, the promise of learning more at least made the unpleasantness more bearable.

“When I was a boy of seven-and-ten, shortly after my sister, your mother, was wed to the heir to Dragonstone, I sailed my lord father’s ships as he commanded. He felt I needed more time away from Driftmark, to sail more than just the Gullet or to Duskendale. I was given a true command to hunt a band of pirates that had been causing mischief near Claw Isle, and put them all to the sword for my own bride’s father had little success in doing so.” My uncle shook his head, smiling. “I searched the coasts, and the coves of every inch of land from Claw Isle to Rook’s Rest for three month-”

“Why did you not ask my father for aid? Surely a dragon would be of use, and the experience would have been useful.” I felt a pang of embarrassment as I realized I had interrupted.

Half his lip curled upward, though even I could tell he was more annoyed than amused. “Do you truly believe your grandfather would have allowed him to do so? To place his only child at risk? Your father’s unplanned visits to Driftmark strained your grandfather’s patience enough.”

I nodded at him, and he continued.

“I did not need to find them. They had found me, and had kept themselves hidden whilst I blundered from port to port asking about their whereabouts. So in the dead of night they came aboard my ship, and before the alarm could be raised, half the men aboard my own ship were slain and I was captured.” He smirked, “The ransom they asked for was substantial, and my father duly sent what they demanded. I returned home in shame.”

“Is that all, uncle?” I frowned.

He laughed, “Were you expecting a tale where I fought every man in my night clothes, sailed to their wretched hideout and stuck the head of every last one of those rogues to pikes?” The light of the candles seemed to flicker in his eyes.

“It feels a story without a point, uncle.” I honestly felt bored, now that my interest had been sated.

“I was brash, and young. Oh, I did not lack for fire in my belly, Visenya. I slew one of them, but I was one against four, and all it earned me was a sword pointed at my neck and a lashing from their chief.”

He gave a faint smile, and tugged his sleeve until the mail was showing over his forearm. “I might have done better in armor, and had I told my men not to sleep that night. I had grown complacent and lazy over my search. I had not even given thought to the possibility of having become the prey in my own hunt.” He nodded, “It is better to be prepared for danger, and not to need it. Than to blunder into it convinced of your immortality.” For a moment, I thought of Rhaenys, of Meraxes dead in Dorne. Of the real Visenya, who had been wounded.. Who would have been wounded at the Field of Fire. How close was it, I wonder? If she had been slightly slower, or flying ever so… I did not want to think about it.

A moment paused in silence before the Lord of the Tides spoke up.

“I should like to know if you have reconsidered. Gulltown will not be so easy a conquest as Duskendale. You speak of having too few men to conquer the Valemen. Is it then prudent to waste the fighting men you do possess? I am not asking you to turn Vhagar’s fire upon every ship in their fleet, only to thin them out, that we might handle the remainder with ease.” I had to restrain myself from screaming.

“You have asked me every day, and I have told you the same answer every day. No. Unless your ship, or the dragon ship, or the Sweet Sister are in danger, I will not burn them. If we look like we are losing the battle, I will intervene. Why do you persist in asking?” I slowed my breathing, and relaxed.

“I ask because I do not believe my sister’s daughter could ever be so foolish and craven. You have a dragon, girl, but you lack the will to use it. You threaten, you posture, you say you will turn the dragon on your own uncle over a trifling matter, but when we come to battle you flinch and do not follow through. Your will is weak and soon everyone will know it.” A part of me had sharp words and a sharper blade for him. Instead I balled my hands into fists, and then let go of what had flared up.

“Good day, navarch.”

I did not bother listening to whatever farewell he spoke as I stormed off to Vhagar.

I needed a bath, a dry bed, and time to think.

Chapter Text

The sun shone down on me from a cloudless blue sky. I stood on a stone bridge, beneath which a gentle blue river rushed. Stone towers and whitewashed houses with red tile roofs clustered on the far side of the bridge.  Where was I? What was the name of this place?

Strangest of all were the roads. Jet black and straight as a ruler, one going directly through the center of the town on the other side of the river, the other crossing with it to head off somewhere far away. There was something familiar about the place I could not put my finger on, and as I looked behind I realized I could see Dragonstone. Dragonstone of the dark sands and gloomy mountain.

The scents of both pine and birch, as well as sulfur and salt filled my nostrils.

“Isn’t it beautiful, love?” A familiar voice spoke up, and I looked to see my love smiling at me. His dark hair short, and his dark eyes looking at me. But his lips were full, and kissable.

“Where are we, Ioannes?” I asked, nuzzling into his chest and giggling as he stroked my hair.

“Arta, my aunt has a house here. Don’t tell me you forgot already!” He made an exasperated sigh, smiling all the while.

I felt something at my ankle and looked down to see a tabby cat with blue eyes rubbing against my leg.

Without bending down, I grabbed her and held her in my arms. “Hmm… do you know this cat? You’ve been here before.”

Ioannes smiled wider, and laughed. For a moment his hair flickered silver. “No, she is not mine.”

“How do you know she’s a she, then?” How did I know, either?

“You checked, remember?” My love hugged me, and I felt my cheeks flush. It was embarrassing, and I still wasn’t entirely sure, but as far as I had been able to see, the cat was a female.

“Oh, yeah.” I stroked the cat’s fur, and was rewarded with a purr. “Can we keep her, love?”

“Of course, we just have to tell my aunt.” I felt a pang of worry at that. I knew his mother had been hesitant about keeping animals, and he’d never mentioned pets other than birds before anyway.

“What if she says no, Ioannes?” 

“Why would she? This kitty is so cute, and she’ll be fussing over her new niece so much that I doubt she will even bother worrying about a single cat.” He kissed me on the lips and I looked down.

“Her new niece?” I asked, tilting my head, and looking down at my hand I saw a ring on my left ring finger. Set with an amethyst, and in the shape of a golden serpent eating its own tail.

“Yes, my silly wife. My silly blushing one.” He stroked my hair and I felt my face burning up.

I glanced back to Dragonstone, and saw that Rhaenys had come to the bridge as well. My cheeks were surely crimson, but the wind only accentuated Rhaenys’ perfect hair, and the light of the sun shone off it. For a moment her lilac eyes flickered brown.

“Is this who my sister has been hiding?” She asked, sounding amused. “I have to say, I would have thought the man my sister pined for would be more impressive.” She laughed, looking my Ioannes up and down.

I looked away, and saw Vhagar was eating a pile of fish she’d caught in the river.

“He is handsome enough for me, and tall.” I said defensively, blushing all the while.

“You do like them tall, don’t you?” Rhaenys’ smirk had become a full blown grin as we sat down on the side of the bridge, the sound of rushing water in our ears the whole time. But I could hear her just fine, thankfully.

Ioannes stroked the cat, I must have handed her over at some point, and he held his hand out to Rhaenys. “So you are my Alexandra’s sister?”

“Alexandra? What does that mean?” Rhaenys asked, confused. I felt my heart pound in my chest as her look of confusion changed to anger. Her finger pointed at me.

“You aren’t my sister at all, are you? You…” I looked down at my ponytail, the hair was dark. “Imposter!” The word rang in my ear. Ioannes had disappeared.

“No, Rhaenys, please! I am, part of me! I remember everything! Don’t leave me too!” Rhaenys had disappeared as well, and when I looked back the bridge was crumbling beneath me and I fell into the rushing waters below, swept under by the current... 

My heart was racing as I woke to the sound of knocking. A boy, he could not be more than seventeen, had the door to my cabin open, and I reached for Dark Sister, not caring that I was dressed in little more than a thin sleeping dress.

“You had better have a good reason for waking me, boy.” Was it his knocking that broke the dream? Or was the timing a coincidence. I did not want to remember it. Faker. Fraud. Freak. Leech. 

“T-the Navarch has called a meeting of all the lords.. And yourself. It is of the u-utmost i-importance!” He was pale, and I slowly sheathed Dark Sister. The smoky rippled steel once more covered.

“Leave, I shall meet him soon.” I did not want to deal with this, but it needed doing. What could be going on? 

If there had been a battle, he would not have bothered calling us to a meeting. Was there an attempted boarding at night? I would not put it past the Braavosi to attack in the night. Their bravos killed over the perceived insult to their non-existent honor, after all.

I shook my head. No, that makes no sense. The Braavosi honored contracts, they honored traditions, and even they would not have been fool enough to try and attack by night, outnumbered and at risk of being burned by a dragon. Unless they wished to avoid a battle at sea? 

Wondering did no good, and yet all I had were more questions as I had my hair brushed and a perfume applied. I would not go out without first being presentable, and if Daemon had any problem with that he could talk to Vhagar.

I left the cabin armored as I had been. Silvered scale, and with a purple cloak trimmed with gold. Wearing black leather boots and my hair braided, bearing a silver circlet upon my head, and Dark Sister at my belt.

A gentle breeze tickled my cheeks , and the light of the pre-dawn had come. Rosy, tinging the sky gold amidst the dark blue.

Did you dream of me too, my love? I hoped my absence had not hurt him overly much. If I never returned home, I hoped he would find another to make him happy. Yet the thought hurt. Part of me wondered if Rhaenys had that dream too, if she had truly been there. If Ioannes had too. It was just a dream, they could not have shared it. It was not them in it.

Vhagar’s head was raised as soon as I had stepped onto the open deck, and she looked about as awake as I felt when I made my way to her, whip in hand, ignoring the men on deck.

Climbing up onto the saddle, I did not even bother with the chains as I cracked the whip near to Vhagar’s head and she took off. Her powerful leathery wings beating, my braid was whipped in the wind and we made our way over to the Lord Laenor to meet with my uncle and whoever else was in attendance at his ad hoc assembly.

I hope whatever it is won’t be too bad.

------------------------------

“At last, we all are here. Save for King Crab himself.”

As prim and finely clothed as always, Daemon Velaryon looked as close to upset as I had ever seen him. Yet there was not even a hint of tiredness in his features. Lucky man. I was tired, what sleep I had gotten was not remotely restful after the initial burst of energy had worn off.

“What is this about, Lord Velaryon? I swore to follow your lot into battle for gold and glory, not for a morning piss at sea.” Elmar Brune spat. His dark hair touching his shoulders, and untamed as though he had not taken a brush to it after a long night of tossing and turning.

“The navarch has called this meeting, and you shall remain silent until he calls upon you, Brune.” Triston Massey’s honey-colored mustache bristled with every word he spoke.

“Bugger your navarch, I demand answers. I am not some dog you can order around. I see no enemy on the horizon, and the skies are peaceful as any I have seen. If we’re to fight a battle today, I do not see why you wake us before the cock has crowed.” Brune snarled.

“I agree with Elmar," said red-haired Nestor Boggs. Every word seemed as though it was a labor in itself for him to speak, half a whisper. "This had best be an important matter if you see fit to wake us before we are rested. I knew no good would come of working with val-” The powerful, commanding voice of my uncle interrupted.

“SILENCE!” With one hand raised, this was the first time I had ever heard him shout in anger at… anyone. It sent a shiver down my spine, as for a moment I recalled Aerion’s own fury, the one time I.. that Visenya had witnessed it.

It was sufficient to cow everyone on deck, and he began to speak.

“Betrayal is of dire importance, lords.” Daemon pointed westward, and I looked in that direction to see a large grouping of men at the beach. The banners of the Crabbs and their servants planted in the sand.

Why? Why now? 

“What of it? If Crabb feels your queen is not worth following, let him go. I don’t blame him either, with what I have heard of her plans. Though some of my men seem to have followed, I think there must needs be words between us.” Elmar grumbled.

How many men have spoken so about me behind my back? I felt a nervousness forming that I tried to quash. What plans do they even think I have? 

I gently toyed with a ring to try and calm myself as my uncle spoke again.

“It is of dire importance, my lords, because they have sworn to follow. They partook in supplies meant solely for the men who should be fighting for our side. They seized two ships of the fleet, and that is a betrayal that can not be allowed to stand. King Crab and his band of turncloaks must be put to the sword.” He scowled.

“Piss on that, Velaryon. Mayhap they would not have stolen the ships had your queen not asked us to take part in this mummer’s farce of a battle. She can slay the Valemen aboard their ships, what is floating wood against a dragon? Why does she ask that we die without need? I will stay because she promises land, and men of the Dyre Den do not turn from hardship so easily.” He had a pride to his voice I recognized from our talks before.

“Nor men of Brownhollow, kinsman.” Yet I saw Dick Brune’s gaze resting more and more on the beach, as though he were giving it serious thought.

Every man that left was another man not supporting. It was another chance things could get worse.

“My uncle is right, lords.” I spoke up, with a calmness I was surprised by. “There must be a demonstration, and there must be consequences for betrayal.” I laughed softly.

It all made sense now.

Elmar looked at me, they all did. But Elmar spoke first. “Now the girl speaks up, you were bolder in my castle than you are aboard your own ships, Lady Targaryen.” Lady. Not queen? It was slipping, my heart was pounding in my ears. I needed them. They had to follow. They had sworn their swords.

Words are wind. All these savages. All they respected was power.

“I offer lands, I offer power, I offer opportunity and what do they do? They throw it away for the sake of some child’s tantrum.” I murmured, laughing more to myself. I wanted to strangle Brune, I wanted to do worse to Crabb.

I mumbled and muttered to myself as I left the men behind.

Weak willed. Soon everyone will know it. I squeezed the handle of the whip tightly and set off for Vhagar. A fire had kindled in me, a burning need pulsing with every beat of my heart. Craven. I had to do this. A part of me felt that an example had to be made, to show what happened to traitors.

I did not even bother looking back, and after climbing up to Vhagar’s saddle, I took off for the beaches. The beat of her wings almost in time with my heart.

If all they respected was power, then I would show them more than they would ever need.

------------------------------

What is one-thousand men against the rest? One demonstration. If I lost them, then more would leave, my dream would grow farther from me, and Aegon…

I shuddered to imagine what he would do if this got out. Take away my command? If no men supported me, I would just be another sad woman with a dragon, just someone to throw away, at his mercy.

For a moment, as the wind blew through my hair, I looked toward the horizon. East, toward where the rising sun met the sea. Golden and beautiful, like the sun had not been for days.

Dany toppled the Ghiscari with baby dragons and the worst advisers in the world. A child. I could…

Images of men clashing filled my mind. The fantasy of swooping and unleashing jade fire upon those who would dare oppose me, with a dragon I did not need so many men, only some few loyal ones.

Fear will make them obey. The martial prowess of a thousand knights could not stand against the dragonfire, and Aegon would prove that the greatest of castles were but the most expensive of cages.

Part of me was right, I needed to crush them, and force them to kneel. As much as I screamed against it, broken word must be punished, and if I let them go they would never respect me. They would trod over me. Mercy was not weakness, but these dogs thought it was.

With every beat of her wings, we were fast moving through the skies, circling the land around the beaches, I would give them until the third pass to scatter. Low campfires, and torches in the dark marked where the most men were.

Mercy enough for them. Time too. More than they deserve.

Visenya, the real Visenya, was right. She destroyed an entire fleet and she was remembered. She was strong. I want to be strong too. On Dragonstone people listened to her, they obeyed her, and I wanted that.

We flew down lower, close enough to unleash Vhagar’s might upon them, and I raised my whip as Vhagar’s wings beat, and though resting in the saddle even I could feel the fire ready to build up.

I saw shapes in the pre-dawn moving about in blobs. Groups of men on the sands and past that in the grasses, shouts from below, I would not get all of them in one pass, no. But enough would die so that the rest knew the price.

Let them know what they defied. The power with which Valyria had ruled the world for a thousand years.

Fire and Blood.

Dracarys The word was on my lips, the word that would burn them all, but I did not say it. My hands shook.

They are not your enemy.

My blood ran cold. How had I… How had I even allowed myself to consider it?

I had wept for the dead men of Stokeworth, and yet now I cried for the blood of those who had never truly taken up arms against me. Men whose only crime… was not wanting to die. Not wanting to die for me, because I was too “pure” to bloody my hands, but content to let them die in my name all so I would not have to fight those who did mean me harm.

I had been ready to murder people. To reduce men to burnt meat fit only for the carrion birds. In a fit of anger. What would it have accomplished? If I just killed them then and there. Every man on every ship would have been terrified of me. Not for the first time I wondered how much of it was her, and not me.

Does it even matter? I could never silence that voice.

Once more I looked out to sea, and saw the light of the early morning sun sparkling off the otherwise dark waters.

I had given the command, almost. What did it matter that I could not tell entirely who felt what? The words came from my mouth. I had implied, loudly, that thousands of men did not matter so long as I did not have to deal the killing blow or stain my hands.

Of course they did not want to stay around. I came to them with words promising them one thing, and then all they hear is how I gladly would throw them away. Every life was precious, and yet I acted as though the lives of those who wanted us dead were more precious than those who had promised us aid.

I had rewarded loyalty with contempt.

You are a coward. 

------------------------------

Bearing the truce banner, we landed where the grasses met the sands, and I steeled myself. I wore her like armor, and let her strength be my own. A shield against the world, and a shield against my own weakness. Is it strength to hide behind her? 

Vhagar was beneath me, ready to fly at a moment’s notice, ready to let loose her fire if the men should prove hostile. More even than my silvered-scale armor, far more than Dark Sister, my dragon was my defense against men such as these.

With her, I felt safer, and breathed more easily as a group coalesced from those on the beach and beyond it. Also bearing their own banner, that of the severed heads of House Crabb, several hundred strong, and as they approached I could feel the tension in the air.

Girl, were you my daughter I would tan your hide. Elmar Brune’s words rang in my head even now. It felt months ago that he had said them. I knew what I needed to do.

Sighing, I undid the chains keeping me in place, and climbed down from Vhagar’s back. Her molten gold eyes focused on me, and a low rumble mixed with a hiss emerged from her as she looked upon the Clawmen.

Not only Clawmen. I realized, as I saw men who bore tokens of service from Duskendale, from Driftmark, and one man even from Dragonstone. I felt my heart hurting at the last man. How wretched must I have seemed, to make a man of Dragonstone join with this rabble? 

How wretched must he be? Another part of me asked.

I rubbed Vhagar’s scales with a gloved hand, near to her eyes, and that seemed enough to calm her. It would not do to have men be unsettled enough to decide that I was pulling a trick on them.

Walking forward, I planted the banner in the grass between Vhagar and the traitors. What is a greater betrayal, yours or theirs? I silenced the voice for a moment as I looked at Dennis Crabb at the head of the assembled group. His flax-colored hair went down to his neck and despite his features not being particularly noteworthy, even I would admit he had a good smile. Though said smile was not directed at me, at this moment.

“Lord Crabb, I have come to hear why you and the rest decided to turn cloak.” I said. As calmly as Visenya had ever spoken, though loudly enough to be heard.

Crabb smiled, though it was without much warmth, and he gestured for some among his followers to attend him as he marched forward to where I had planted the banner. I kept myself from reaching for Dark Sister, though I kept in mind her familiar weight. Do not show fear.

“You know why, Lady Targaryen. I pledged my sword, as did every other man here, to the service of you and your family. I tell it true , I was glad to join in for what you promised. Yet when time comes, we hear tell you have been saying you’ll give our blood to save yourself the worry of it.” I wanted to bristle at the insult, despite the truth of it. “Well I say piss on that. I won’t serve someone who sticks a sword in my back just so she can say she didn’t stick one in her foes.” He finished, with a small roar of cheer from the men behind him.

I kept my breathing even, not sighing, as I replied, “And that is why you stole the ships? Do you wish me to turn Vhagar on the fleet at Gulltown? I will do so, then. Just go back to the ships as you were.”

Crabb shook his head, a wry smile on his face, “Afraid that won’t be good enough, lady. Those are empty words.”

“What do you want, then?” I asked. Bothersome wretches. For a moment I thought of leaving, and burning the ships they stole, as well as the supplies. Let us see how well you fare then? I smiled.

“You have to swear before the gods, not just yours, but ours. You have to swear you will let us go back to the ships, no more separation, and you will be in the battle. You will not leave us to die.”

I felt myself tense slightly. The nerve! I wanted to beat him to a pulp.

“I will swear before your gods, but you will not be allowed to go back without being separated. I will, however, allow you to assemble in larger groups than before.”

“Not good enough.” Crabb said loudly, and the men grumbled, annoyed glances directed at me.

“One ship, you may have one ship, that one of yours will captain, and that you may assemble on. On all others you may not have more than a fifth of the crew made up of the Clawmen.” I would leave the actual organizing to Daemon.

“Two ships, and you will swear this before the gods. Ours and your own.” He said with not a small amount of insistence. 

“I have one G-d, but I will swear by yours if it please you.” I hoped it did not count as blasphemous. It was not as though I held theirs as equal to Him.

With one hand raised, I spoke up, “I swear, by all the gods, and by the L-rd who is the greatest, to abide by the promise which I make. I swear to fight on the front, to not allow harm to come to those who have sworn to fight for me if I can prevent it, I swear this so long as their service is loyal and true, knowing that I was wrong to expect them to die to keep the stain of blood off my hands. If I should fail to uphold my promise, may all the gods curse me and my line as oathbreakers.” A part of me screamed, that I had done nothing wrong, that their demands had treated me as a servant. I ignored it.

“May they bring ruin upon my house should I break my oath, and in keeping it may they bring prosperity for us all.”

The rest of the meeting was simply working out minor details, and bringing things to an end. The men were dispersed evenly among two ships, and rowers were given so that they would not have to row. By the end of it, it was late morning when we were finally able to sail for Gulltown.

It was mid-day when the harbor, and the whitewashed walls could be seen. The enemy fleet on its way to meet us, and with some trepidation I mounted Vhagar.

With a whip crack she took off, and the battle had begun.

Chapter Text

Safely chained to the saddle, I resisted the urge to toy with my helm, the helm I had requested from Elmar Brune.

I must have been quite a sight: Clawman helm, fit for one of their lords, silvered-scale normally worn by the Driftmarker knights in my uncle’s service, my own purple cloak with its gold trim, and red boots.

Grandfather would have been livid.

Vhagar soared with an eagerness I had not seen from her since Driftmark and we easily outpaced anything on land and sea. It was almost thrilling, now that I felt little fear when looking down.

There were over seventy ships in total on the enemy’s side in battle formation. From the modest pressed merchant ships, to the full fledged warships of the Arryn fleet and Braavosi allies.

Be brave, be strong. For G-d is with you. I held the words close, as if they could ward away the nervousness.

We had gathered most of our ships and left our home islands vulnerable and even with those pressed into service at Duskendale we had merely forty-five. Only fourteen of which were heavy ships, true war ships as my uncle would see them.

The Braavosi alone had brought twelve. The Arryns had brought ten. Twenty-two to our fourteen.

My uncle had arrayed the fleet in a loose formation, neither willing nor planning to face the more formidable armada on its own terms.

Burn the left wing, and let them panic. If they scatter or retreat, we have won. That had been my uncle’s recommendation. The heavier warships were concentrated on that end as well. Heavy ships with their rams, and their scorpions and their experienced crews every bit the match of our own.

If I had left them alone, how many would have died? It would have been a slaughter. I shoved the thought away. It did not matter, for I would not let them die.

Still, I held close to Vhagar as we flew over the waters of Gulltown, with the mid-day sun sparkling off the normally dull grey waters. The scent of salt was invigorating as I guided Vhagar down to the edge of the enemy formation, toward one of the Braavosi ships at the left wing. Remove the most dangerous first. A part of me had insisted.

You need to do this. The morning’s talk lingered. I had to protect them, I had promised. I clamped down on the guilt.

A calm had come over me, and the movements through the sky felt almost like walking. A skill that once learned, you could never truly forget, even if you were clumsy.

I cracked my whip, and shouted as the shadow of Vhagar’s wings were near to touching the masts of the ship.

“Dracarys!” The command had jumped to my lips, and I felt my heart rush as the flame built in Vhagar, I could almost feel it swell within her. I did not know whether it was imagined or not, but the fire came, green as grass, as vivid as jade, and more beautiful than either.

It came in a gout, spilling from her maw and to the sails of the purple ship. A second burning was for the decks of the ship, a flame from which every man who could, every man who was not engulfed in dragonfire, tried to flee, some jumping over into the waters below, and with that we soared off and away. A heat rising, and only the faintest hints of screams on the wind.

I need to do this. I promised I would not throw away their lives.

Another ship felt the fire, and then another, though not as intense as the first. For I did not stay in place, I spread it across a good part of the left wing of the Arryn fleet, perhaps twelve ships in total. Dragonfire darted from masts and the sides of smaller galleys and war ships alike. I could not be hit if I was moving, and I gave them no chance to train their crossbowmen or the scorpions set on their decks, and after fire had been unleashed upon them, we simply flew off toward the port itself before circling back.

This was a mercy. With the masts and sails burned, and the decks ablaze, just a little, and the example of the other ships, they would be forced to abandon ship if they did not wish to die.

With the fires released, the fleet would have this well in hand, and all I would have to do was force Grafton to surrender the city.

How grand it would be, to have Grafton see his fleet burn, for the upjumped penny-counters to see how little a forest upon the waters matters to the fire of a dragon! I laughed to myself as we soared past the battle line, now surely disrupted.

My heart dropped to my stomach, as I saw that though it was disrupted, the left wing of the fleet’s battle line was mostly intact. How? A myriad of possibilities came to mind. Some kind of concoction? Some special way of treating the wood? Sorcery? 

On Vhagar’s back I flew toward the ships, I needed to see what had gone wrong. Was Vhagar’s flame not hot enough? One of the ships was destroyed, and another heavily damaged, but the ones I merely strafed… only slightly singed.

Wet hides. My blood felt near to boiling. I had been humiliated by.. By trickery. By ox hides!

The sails were burning, the fire spreading along the cloth, but the masts and decks were untouched by the dragonfire. Men would be aboard, and they had oarsmen to move the ship regardless of the condition the sails were in.

The fire hadn’t even spread past the sails. It seemed the wetted wood and hides had prevented that.

We darted from ship to ship, and despite the men at the ready, I went for the head. Where the commander of the fleet would surely be. Cut the head, and watch the body give up. There would be fewer deaths this way, if they gave up.

A single arrow glanced off my armor as I commanded Vhagar to burn the largest ship at the center. The men on deck stood little chance against the power of my dragon, and her fire consumed men and cloth and wood. From the banners of Grafton and Arryn, to the sails, to aft towers and the masts wholesale.

Now, to finish what I started. I took Vhagar around once again, strafing over the right wing and merely burning masts and sails. If they could not sail, they would have to rely on rowers, and our men would be fresher than theirs, if it came to boarding.

Hearing the screaming of men in the crow’s nests, and seeing the death of those from the few times my hasty approach resulted in dragonfire hitting the decks rather than the masts, I felt… I felt..

Do not think. 

Turning back around to hit the left wing, I felt my heart pounding in my head, I could almost hear it as Vhagar continued the steady beat of her leathery wings.

My stomach lurched as we dove close to the water, a dozen javelins were thrown our way, and one narrowly missed me, sinking itself in the saddle as I had Vhagar burn the sides of the ships. The unprotected lower decks where the rowers would be. Men who were not even fight-

They chose to fight. 

I wanted to enjoy it. I felt sickened by it. I felt disgusted that I was sickened by it. The green flames, touched with gold, were the most beautiful thing I had seen in that moment. The flames were almost a thing alive as they spread, and as we darted and wove our way from ship to ship. Burning the lower decks, circling round, leaving, and picking a target at random to hit so I would not leave a pattern for them to predict. All while the royal fleet sailed close enough to engage the ships that had not already managed to sail away.

As I burned another ship, half the enemy fleeing back toward the harbor, I watched another ship as it sank. One of... I did not know how many now. Surely more than ten? The sun was into the afternoon now. Even the glare of it could not dampen the rush I felt at every dive, every maneuver in the air, every near brush with danger.

This was power. Nothing could hurt me.

I felt a temptation to go straight to the city’s keep, and force Grafton’s submission here and now, only to catch something I had overlooked.

The Valemen were sailing three smaller ships toward the tightly packed ships of the royal fleet, now that they were boarding the mastless vessels, and the remainder of the Valemen-Braavosi fleet was in retreat.

Are they trying to slow the fleet down? They wouldn’t have enough men to turn the tide, but if I did not do something, they could be an annoyance.

But no, there was smoke starting to emerge from the lower decks...

I narrowed my eyes. Where are the crewm-... It clicked in my head and whatever thoughts of merciful treatment I had went out the window. They’d set those ships on fire, and our ships would not be able to get out of the way before they reached them.

Fast as the winds, Vhagar’s wings carried us to the fireships, my heart rushing all the while. Both with excitement at the speed, and the realization of just what had nearly happened.

“DRACARYS!” The command was given, and thrice we circled the ships. Lighting the sails and decks both, where once the tongues of red and yellow were flickering through the ship, now green and gold consumed both. If there were any men on the ship at that point, I did not care.

On Vhagar, I burned the ships, I did not stop until they were little more than wrecks on the waves, and the ships of the enemy my uncle had engaged were defeated. I felt relief wash over me, and I laughed.

Flying behind the main battle line of the royal fleet, we landed on the dragon ship and I hastily removed the saddle chains with shaking hands. Trying to ignore the few javelins which stuck in the saddle. How close had they come to.. I thought instead of what I’d succeeded at.

I’d kept my promise. Our fleet could handle things from here, and Gulltown was a skip and a jump away from being conquered. I’d have the treasury of it, and with luck… I do not need so many men to face them in battle. 

From here all we had to do was wait. Let them go back to port. Then I would burn the remaining ships, and we could seize the sea towers, or cut the harbor chain, and force Grafton to submit. If he didn’t…

He will.

Already I was thinking of how many men I would need to garrison the city, of how many might be needed to hold castles and towers and how many I could afford to keep fighting in the field the entire time. What I could do with the coffers of Gulltown, who I could bribe, and so many other things.

Looking to the men working on the decks, I grinned, and raised my voice in a shout, “This battle’s as good as won, boys! Double pay for everyone on the ship this year!”

The whoops and cheers that rose up in response were worth a little gold.

“Our Queen! Our Queen the conqueror! Glory to our queen! VISENYA!”

Chapter Text

I frowned at my reflection in the shining steel of the Clawman helm I held in my hands, idly turning the helmet this way and that. Squinting when the afternoon sun glinted off it.

It is a pity we had to destroy the ships at port. A waste, really, though my uncle had been right. It would not do to allow them any means to pull any trickery at sea when they had somewhere to retreat to and we did not have any, as long as they had somewhere to retreat and we did not, beyond the fortified stony isle of the harbor we could not afford them any means to control the sea.

At least the men of the isle had surrendered quickly. The sight of twenty ships filled with armed men sailing toward them had been enough. Or perhaps I had crushed their spirits when I burned their fleet, burned their friends and allies. A familiar pain settled in my chest at the thought.

I’ll compensate them for losses, at some point. That made the nagging discomfort stop.

Calm waters below and stiff wind at my back accompanied me as I looked from the ship’s bow. Seven hours had passed since the surrender terms had been sent to the men of Gulltown, tied to arrows and landing into the quay.

And nearly seven hours since men had been seen scurrying off in the direction of the main citadel with the letters in hand.

What is taking so long? I tried to calm myself. I had waited longer at Duskendale.

This is not Duskendale. Thoughts of reinforcements nagged at me. They could not stop me from taking the city, but they could waste lives and time. Even worse if the rainbow cloaked men sworn to the main Gulltown sept were to be stubborn and joined the defense.

Vhagar’s fire could handle them, but it would spread if I had to burn them out. You don’t have to. It was a nasty thing, fighting in city streets, but we could pull it off. Remember your promise. As well, the thought of children torn from their mothers’ arms, a city burned, and thousands of lives ruined mingled with the words I had spoken. I had given my promise to those who needed me, I had to keep them safe.

I bit at my lip as I looked back, the whitewashed city walls only slightly scorched where I had burned the sea towers the day before. We had taken those at least, and cut the harbor chain.

My gaze turned to rest on Vhagar, her green scales shining, her golden eyes closed as she basked in the sun of this cloudless day. She had been fed quite well after the battle. You spoil her. Part of me chided.

I looked out to the city once more, from what I could see near the port, and my eye kept being drawn toward the main keep on its hill. The Arryn falcon on the full moon flying alongside the banner of the Graftons. Though that was only a guess based on the smidges of color I could see from my position.

I looked back to Vhagar and took brisk steps toward her, as her eyes seemed to open with my approach. As though she knew what I was thinking. With little effort I climbed up into the saddle and chained myself to it, placing my feathered-helm in her saddle bags on the way up even as I retrieved my whip. I need no helmet today. 

With whip in hand, I spoke softly the words of command, and then cracked the whip.

Know the terrain. Know your enemy.

I needed to clear my head, and get information.

Flying was the best way to do both at once.

------------------------------

Flying past the stone quays I could see a few scorch marks here and there. What cargo had been on the docks had been either ruined or removed..

Flying as low as I was, I could see individual people on the ground, scurrying like ants. So many of them! Most weren’t worth counting. he men and towers on the walls were of more consequence. Not that many men remained on the wall when they caught sight of Vhagar.

From the skies, out of reach of their bowmen, and even when I dared to soar lower, I could see the city itself. Neither as large, nor as well-planned as Oldtown, but the streets were paved and rich farmlands stretched outside the walls for miles. I could even make out paved roads cutting through the farmland, leading north and west. To Runestone, and the High Road? 

Compared to Duskendale, Gulltown was rich and wide and pristine. Short, thick walls washed white and built with carved stone. Duskendale had been far poorer, and their walls had borne the scars of recent battle. Gulltown had not feared any foe for centuries.

Why should it fear anyone? All those who would face the Arryns have no great fleets to contest them and the clans of the foothills, the highlands, cannot hope to take the city itself even if they all were to unite under one leader. It had been like that with Essaria too, at first, before the Doom. Any who even mounted an assault failed at her sturdy walls, for the grassland barbarians were no siege engineers.

Still, if anything showed the weakness of the Vale, it was this city and the seat of the Arryns. Their vaunted Eyrie was little more than a gilded cage to a dragon. A vanity. I had to admit Gulltown was pretty, however. If not so grand as Oldtown or even Lannisport, its beauty was colder. Like you. I shoved the voice aside.

Outside the walls we flew over the townlands surrounding the city, the farms and the fishing villages near it. Pastureland further out filled with sheep and oxen tended to by herdsmen, and all about there were fair flowers in bloom and wagons going down the dirt roads toward the paved ones leading from Gulltown. Seeming almost pristine. How can it be so peaceful after what happened?

Stokeworth knelt. Yet Grafton suffered worse, and delays? Is that what I need to do, to make Grafton realize his situation? Part of me worried, we’d destroyed seventy ships, some of which had been Braavosi…

The Arryn fleet is supposed to be more than one hundred ships strong. I wondered if he was waiting for reinforcements from Witch Isle, if there were ships to spare, or men from Runestone. I touched at my braid with a gloved hand.

I frowned as I turned my gaze in the direction of the keep from where the Graftons ruled Gulltown. I did not need to, but I cracked my whip and Vhagar’s mighty wings beat, carrying us with the winds at our back toward the sturdy fortress, its high walls and the men within and atop it might have kept out other attackers, but not us.

Banners emblazoned with the burning tower of Grafton, fluttered in the breeze atop the battlements and at the gates, just as they had at the main gate of Gulltown.

Men in shining steel looked out from the battlements, but they stood little chance against Vhagar’s flame. A part of me was saddened, but another part felt a soaring joy at showing them I was not to be denied. If they are delaying, waiting for reinforcements, all that will happen is more people will die. The sadness lingered, though the thought helped.

Circling the keep, we torched the roofs and whatever men were fool enough to show themselves. Once, twice, and thrice we made the circuit of the keep. Green flames danced, spreading from the flammable straw, the cloth, the banners atop the castle, and I could not help but find it beautiful. The screams were almost rhythmic, repeating with similar tones again and again. It hurt, at first, but I shoved the pain away as I realized something was amiss.

With errant strands of hair being blown across my forehead, I turned to look back and felt my heart sink to my stomach.

The screams were not coming from the charred men who lied still upon the roofs of the lower battlements, but instead from the banner bearers on the central tower. A rainbow banner  alongside one of white, held by two boys who could not have been older than thirteen that accompanied a man in his early thirties at the front, and multiple armored men surrounding them.

We flew lower, the shadow of Vhagar’s wings covering those below, until Vhagar was low enough and closely that I could hear their words clearly.

“PEACE! WE BEG FOR PEACE! PLEASE! WE SURRENDER!” The man’s baritone was loud enough to carry on the wind.

“The ships! You will meet us for peace on the ships!” I pointed toward the fleet, keeping my hand from shaking.

He scarpered off at that. Boys following behind him.

Despite my discomfort, I clung to the feeling of success.

I had forced Grafton to submit.

------------------------------

On the ships, on board the main deck standing before my lords and myself, Mathos Grafton cut an impressive figure. Clean shaven, he was tall, as tall as my uncle perhaps, and well-proportioned. His limbs were even, and he stood tall and proud. His hair was fair as the sun, and his eyes were blue as the Arryn banner.

His clothing was finely made. A sea-blue silk outer tunic stretching down to his knees, cut at the sides, the sleeves fitted close to his arm and at the wrists a fine stitching of red thread in ornamental shapes. His nails were well-trimmed and his hands looked strong.

I could see a shirt underneath the tunic, made of green fabric, and his leggings were closely fitted to his legs. On his broad shoulders a yellow linen cloak was worn, held in place at the neck with a brooch in the shape of a seven-pointed star, each point a different color of the rainbow and at the center a crystal that seemed to glitter in the light of the afternoon sun.

Every movement of his was graceful. I wondered if his chest was as hairless as his face.

It took all I had to force the words from my mouth without stumbling over them.

“Kneel, Lord Grafton. I would accept your surrender, and your fealty, formally.” I smiled, gently squeezing the hilt of Dark Sister at my hip.

With a flat expression, he got on his knees, and knelt before me. His cloak touched the ground, and his knees pressed against the wood of the deck of the Lord Laenor. The small crowd which had assembled at the quays could see it, we’d made sure of that.

“I… swear my life, and my sword to you.”

“To House Targaryen. My brother is your king, not I.” It would not do to have word getting out I was having folk directly sworn to me after all.

“Until my last breath, I swear to follow House Targaryen. Gulltown is yours, Your Grace.” His head was dipped, and his face looking down at the deck.

For a moment I glanced at the grey-robed man who’d been brought with him. He’d better write this down. 

“Rise, Lord Grafton. We accept your sword, and your loyalty.” A part of me felt terrible, but most of me knew it was necessary. Not in front of the crowds, wait until you are secure within the keep. 

“I swear to uphold the rights and privileges given to the city of Gulltown of old, and indeed to not allow harm to come upon the city at my command. To deliver justice, and to grant clemency to all men who surrender.” The words were not what I cared for, but I said them anyway.

“As well, I grant you and your son the honor of providing us with room and board in your keep until such a time as we leave. That is not so much to ask from my loyal vassal, is it?” It was a ridiculous question. He was not loyal, not to me, and I was not asking.

Still, it felt good to say. He had no chance against us, if he took up arms, and no choice but to surrender if he wanted to keep his head.

I took Grafton’s hand, and helped him to his feet. “You will ride with us.” Part of me wished I wasn’t wearing gloves, that I could feel his hands with my own, and another part found it embarrassing that I was even thinking about it. G-d, girl, get a hold of yourself. You’re twenty-six, not six-and-ten! The thought of it felt like a betrayal besides. Even if I never saw my love again.

I reminded myself, and tried not to look at his fair face as the next hour was spent gathering the horses properly. Those among the Narrow Sea lords and knights were assigned white coursers, though mine was a palfrey. The horses were caparisoned in relatively simple linens decorated with patterns ranging from stars, to the sea and even flame.

In the train there followed a thousand men, from Clawmen with their axes to the heavy horse of Driftmark, my uncle rode at my left, his helm a polished silvery steel, reflecting the late day sun off it. Elmar Brune was allowed to ride at my right, his armor not so fine as Daemon’s, though certainly better than that of most who followed him. His horse a chestnut destrier that stood taller than most of the horses in the company.

We rode through the city, onward to the keep. Through paved streets which though not as bustling as they might have been on some days, were still packed compared with the streets of Duskendale when I arrived in the city.

We rode past lay septons preaching in the streets, we rode past men hawking wares and even some few Ghiscari men dressed in dyed cotton tunics that went to their knees, their wrists adorned with gold bracelets, and their legs covered by trousers. There could be no mistaking them, with that dark, almost black hair, highlighted with red. Mongrels, yet despite all of it, they retain that hair.

Even their clothing was a far cry from that which the few histories we had said the Ghiscari bore. No man of Old Ghis would have been seen wearing trousers. It is colder here. And their blood is not that of dragons.

Part of me realized just how disgusting it was, that I viewed them through the lens of a dragonlord. And just how pure is your blood, Visenya? 

Yet throughout all of the ride, always there were eyes on me, and many looked less than pleased. You are foreign conquerors. Kindly or no, they will dislike you for that. I clamped on the feeling that had been building up, and forced it aside.

So I held my head up high, and we arrived at the seat of the Graftons in what felt like no time at all.

Chapter Text

Standing tall, looking over from the high table wherein I had sat for some time, in the seat of the lord of the city, I let my gaze sweep across the room, even as men trickled in.

Looking at the richly decorated great hall of the keep of the Graftons, the walls adorned with tapestries woven in the Reach, and from as far as Saath, carved whalebone trinkets from Ibb, and figures carved from jade brought all the way from Leng, I felt a sense of wonder come to me. Looking upon it all. I did not know how much of it was what part of me, and I did not care. It was a joy I treasured, and I would not let it be marred by that.

I felt almost above it all, dressed as I was in all the finery I had brought from Dragonstone. Jeweled bracelets, golden and set with rubies, a gold ring with two dragons intertwined on my right index finger, and on my left index a gold band set with a fine ruby.

Silks of black and red and gold covered my body from neck to foot, even reaching the floor. The cut of the dress was a crew cut, the sleeves were long and at the wide ends decorated with patterns of flame and the dress was belted at my waist. Giving a natural definition without emphasizing anything. Earrings of gold, that I had worn at formal occasions since Dragonstone, had naturally helped to complete my outfit.

The only parts of my body that showed were my hands and my head, my silver hair done up in a braid reached my waist though I could not really feel it, given the covering the mantle and the other layers provided.

Certainly, my body had a pleasing shape to it, if I had to be frank, but that did not mean it had to be shown to the world like that of some common whore. A part of me felt bad at that, knowing to some extent how poorly prostitutes were treated, and the circumstances that led to that kind of thing. But another part was proud, proud and dismissive, I felt almost like a queen at court, in fact.

Almost a queen? I wanted to laugh as I waved, having serving men carry out all that I had ordered brought to this meeting. You are a queen.

My only real complaint would have to be the layering. Layers of silk brocade helped show wealth, and I did like the combinations one could do, but the clothing almost felt heavy at times. Not nearly so heavy as a coat of mail or scale, yet you do not care about that.

Banners of the red dragon, my brother’s dragon, hung from the halls alongside my own singular banner. A part of me feared what would happen if word got out, another part wanted him to hear. I needed to strangle that part of me.

As the servants set the high table of the hall, filling it with containers of gold and silver, silks and incense, and even jewelry from the treasury of the city, I did not take my eyes off the lords who continued to make their way into the hall. From my uncle, garbed in dark velvets and silver, flanked by his shining silvery-scaled knights and bearing the banner of Driftmark with as much pride as I’d ever seen, to Lord Crabb and his rabble rousers who held themselves as proudly, though to my eyes it seemed a grand jape.

Let them have their moment. I graced them with a smile that I did not even have to force.

My gaze kept flitting toward Mathos Grafton, guarded by my men, and with his own sons beside him. I did not trust him, and so I kept glancing until all the lords and more notable knights, including local men, had arrived in the hall, and all the treasure had been brought to the tables, for this would be the opening act in tonight’s performance. A part of me felt it wasteful and childish to indulge in the theater that Aegon so loved, another part loved it and craved it even more as I stood.

“My lords, I have promised you rich reward for following me, and I am not one to break my word.” With a raised hand I pointed at my uncle.

“Come forth, Lord Velaryon. My loyal Navarch, sworn to my brother-husband and to my house. Kneel and receive your reward.” I saw for a moment the flicker of an amused smile on his face. Does he think this humorous? I bristled, but kept my composure as best I could and gestured at two men dressed in the livery of Dragonstone, and they retrieved two large velvet bags and two more men carried four silk robes between them and four finely wrought censers of silver, ornamented with gold patterns along the center, the censers filled with incense.

When he knelt before me, his knees touching the lowest step leading up to the high table, his movements were graceful and without waste and the bags were placed before him by the servants.

“Claim your reward.” I told him.

I relished at the look of surprise that passed for a moment before he took the bags into his arms with only some discomfort.

He was not expecting to be carrying thirty pounds of gold, I imagine. It was only somewhere a tad over two-thousand gold coins, but it was a substantial sum anyway. The silver in equal weight was a bonus. One day I will make gifts like that seem like paltry things.

“I am honored, your grace. By your generosity.” His tone was respectful enough. Even if his eyes had that hint of boredom that made one part of me feel insulted.

“For loyal service, generous reward is given.” The words felt weaker than I had wanted, but the Clawmen looked at the table and the remaining rewards, no doubt wondering how I would divide it among them.

I gestured for the servants to carry Daemon’s reward back to where he and his party sat, and with a wave of my hand he rose and left to sit, practically gliding across the floor on his way to the table set aside for his party.

“Lord Elmar Brune, come forth.” The stout, broad-shouldered Clawman did so. A red circular felt cap adorning his head on this occasion, horsehair tassels dangling from the side of the cap.

He knelt, though it seemed only grudgingly.

To him was given a bag containing twenty-four pounds of gold, in addition to a bag with twenty pounds of silver. As well, he was gifted two silk robes, and two censers, there was a hunger in his eyes as he looked upon the rewards being piled in front of him. Including necklaces and lastly a ring, all wrought of gold.

“Many thanks to you, my queen.”

“I have promised reward, Lord Brune, and rich reward you have been given. Serve as you have, and you may win more.”

Part of me felt as though handing this much wealth away was a waste. You could hire mercenaries aplenty with what you give so freely to these fickle noblemen. 

I shoved that thought away.

Next came Lord Dick Brune of Brownhollow and to him was given what had been granted to Elmar Brune. Then to Lord Nestor Boggs and Triston Massey and Lord Dennis Crabb only slightly less, for the host they brought was lesser.

Then came Aron Celtigar, dressed in a white tunic trimmed with red thread at the hem and neck and cuffs, his cloak red and edged with silver thread, his steps surprisingly light as he stepped across the floors wearing dark shoes. He was given two pounds of gold and three of silver. Rewarding him should make his father happy at least.

Smaller rewards were given to each knight in the personal retinues of each lord, and by the time I was through, my stomach felt like it was eating itself. I imagined those in attendance were hardly faring better, if I were feeling that way.

“We had little chance yesterday, but this night we shall feast, my lords! ” That got more of a cheer than anything I had said in the past… two hours, it felt like. Part of me wanted to roll my eyes at that.

My uncle sat at my right hand, he was my strongest supporter, even if I did not trust him wholly. So he was accorded that honor.

My throat was dry, though somehow finding a way to salivate over the smell of food that was brought to the halls and set on the tables. Trays of cut pork, of roast duck seasoned and spiced, of fresh bread and lightly seasoned grilled fish of several varieties, glazed ham stuffed with onions and cabbage and seasoning and spices, roast mutton with both mustard and pepper sauces, stewed pears, roasted rabbit, and salads of greens mixed with nuts and fruits, bacon, lobster and honeycakes, spit roasted boar glazed in mustard, pickled cucumbers, kippered eels, capons roasted with figs... it only made the pain in my stomach worse. A part of me wanted to kick myself for forgetting to eat. I tried to remember the last time I had eaten. Did I eat last night? I drank iced milk and a small amount of pear brandy, I knew that much.

For a brief moment, I picked at my food, and lost myself in the performance of the musicians. Hunger pain dulled as I listened, even as dessert came.

“Your sister can not always ensure you eat, niece.” The amused voice of Daemon Velaryon had my cheeks burning as he spoke in the Valyrian of the Narrow Sea. How many people know about that? The thought of people laughing at me about it had me wanting to strangle someone, but I kept my breathing even.

I forced a smile that I was sure looked as false as it felt and avoided looking at him. “Is my hunger so plain to see, uncle?” I only hoped it wasn’t heard.

“I have seen sailors at portside brothels looking less hungry than you.” I could almost hear the hint of a smirk, and it made the anger boil. I did not know whether it was myself, or the original Visenya and I did not care.

“Compare me to one of your peons again and your title won’t keep me from throwing you off Vhagar after a flight to the Mountains of the Moon.” I growled.

“Peons, dear niece?” He asked, his tone almost disinterested.

I wanted to kick myself. I’d used a word that didn’t exist.

“Servants, underlings, galley slaves and other people of low social rank.” Like you were? I tried to ignore that voice again, and met my uncle’s lilac eyes with my own purple.

“For all that you put on airs, try to play the benevolent ruler, you have your grandfather’s temper. I should hope you do not strive to imitate him in other ways.” Despite the way his face paled slightly as he spoke, I knew it was not a fear of me that struck him so.

He fears the shadow of a man dead for over twenty years more than he does you. It almost grated. He gave his opinion freely, for that is what I asked of him so often. Yet he used those opportunities to chastise me as though I were his child, rather than his queen. Part of me enjoyed that honesty, another part only wanted obedience and the respect I was owed.

“It is not his temper, it is my own. I shall strive to control it better than I have. A child can behave that way, a Queen can not.” I sipped at the wine, this variety made in the lowlands of the Vale. A purplish, thick, and somewhat sour vintage.

How much more will I have to change to fit the role I want to play?

Despite the cheery atmosphere, the music and the food, and all the people within the hall. I felt lonely as I ate and drank until I had my fill.

Author's Note: Merry Christmas to all you people who celebrate it, this chapter actually snuck up on me, having not been in the outline, but it slots SO WELL into things that I figured I'd throw it in. I hope this tides you over until I'm finished with the proper one.

Chapter Text

G-d. It feels good to do this again. I was getting excited even before we had stepped into the yard. I had spent too long exercising alone since Dragonstone.

There was nothing quite like sparring with partners, after all.

Aron Celtigar and I walked into the practice yard, wooden practice weapons in hand and clad in gambesons. I felt almost embarrassed for a moment when I noticed he came up to my chin in height. I often forgot my height relative to others, despite constant reminders. I had so often been around Daemon, or Aegon that I too often forgot what it was like to be the tallest in a room.

One part of me felt embarrassed. Another part reveled in it. A dragon should be grander than her servants. 

I caught him glancing at my hair, bound in a ponytail rather than my usual braid. His own hair was tied back as well, and I shook my head as I slowed my pace so he did not have to work so hard to keep up with my stride.

Even in the early hours of the day there were a fair number of men practicing in the yard, but we found a good place to practice regardless.

Starting off easy, I struck. . .

. . . “Wipe both cheeks, not just the one, ser.” I huffed as I watched Aron Celtigar drag himself to his feet again, his gambeson was dirty where he had fallen onto multiple times. The half-Clawman protested, his eyes avoiding my own. His cheeks reddened. He was tiring. My own breathing was a bit heavier as well, but his made me look fresh by comparison.

“I.. I am, your grace. Forgive me, but I am. I am not nearly your match with sword in hand, I prefer my axe, and even then you ar-”

I cut him off.

“That is not what I meant, Celtigar. I know I am better than you, but even so, you seemed less than enthused. I wanted to practice, how am I supposed to do that if my partner plays about with half-measures?” I wished I could take back how I said it, it was harsher than I wanted to be.

And Aron looked as though I had struck him.

He dipped his head, and I sighed, “Ser, if you have anything you wish to say, I grant you permission.” I hated that people were afraid of me, afraid of saying the wrong thing, as though if they did I would have them whipped.

I wasn’t that mean.

It is not about cruelty, girl. 

“Arch-.. My queen, you are my queen, my king’s wife. I do not feel comfortable striking you. If something happened, your brother would have my head.” He let out a breath as though he had been holding it in for a long time. “I swore I would not harm a woman, as well, and I intend to keep my vows.” A part of me felt more than merely insulted, but another part felt sympathy.

He bowed his head again. It made me think of a sad puppy.

“I will find another to practice with then, ser.” I missed Orys and Rhaenys. Even Aegon was a better partner, as much as I hated to admit it. He at least is not afraid to strike at me with practice blades. 

A feeling like a cold stone in my stomach at the thought. I cut my exercise short from there, as much as all of my being screamed at me, I just was not in the mood to continue after that.

And the group of other folk going about their own practice made me feel as though every eye was on me, I did not need an audience for that. I am not some curiosity to be gawked at! 

I had things to do anyway.

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Visenya Targaryen, honored by the only living god El Elyon, Mistress and Queen of All Westeros, descendant of the great Torgas, rider of the dragon Vhagar, to Our wayward vassal, the Andal Lord Royce

Your little king can not protect you, and soon the Sistermen will raid the shores of the Mountain and Vale. 

Prepare for me a feast at Runestone, for I come with one-thousand of my men to accept you and yours into the kingdom that my family even now forges from the kingdoms of the Sunset Lands. When I arrive at Runestone, I shall send my men to safekeep your castle, and we shall march against the Arryns together. 

Gulltown has sworn fealty to me. Redfort swears fealty to me. You will swear fealty to me. 

If you do not, you will be lord of ashes and charred meat only. 

I sighed as I looked at the letter I had written. I needed someone else’s thoughts on it. Is it provocative enough? I frowned at the drying ink. I’ll ask Daemon to look it over. 

As much as I hated his constant attitude of distance, hated how he acted as though he were above all mortal concerns,, he was intelligent, loyal, and capable. He even willingly bore with my… moods. Trust was not quite the right word for it, but I relied on his advice and his help.

I only wondered if perhaps I was relying too much on him at times.

That’s a part of ruling, isn’t it? Finding capable people, and putting them in the right place. Relying on them. Covering your weaknesses. 

As I looked it over again, I felt my heart beating faster. I wrote one of His names. I was not using it frivolously, so surely it would not be wrong. L-rd, please forgive me, if I have done wrong or used your name in a way that displeases you. I spoke it not. I wished the woman I considered a sister were around, she had a better grasp than I did, on that.

It hurt less than it used to, but there was still a twinge of pain when I thought of them. I shoved that feeling away as I diverted my attention to something else.

Reading the roll of arms for the Vale by candlelight, I continued my attempts to commit them to memory, with luck some of it would stick. Only one of them matters, anyway. The falcon and full moon of Arryn was foremost in my mind.

Fly up to the Eyrie, threaten them… the original Visenya had managed it. But the original Visenya had luck on her side in that meeting. Perhaps to make up for the loss of however many thousand men, the entire fleet, and her uncle… If I were to fly up there, there was every chance my only reward would be an early grave courtesy of scorpions.

A grave if I am lucky.

Like Rhaenys in Dorne. I clamped down on that, the image of Vhagar dead was somehow more vivid than anything. The thought of Rhaenys suffering was less pleasant still.

Blinking, I sighed as I looked at the page. I had not managed to read a single page in the roll of arms since I sat down.

“Fuck it.” I needed to stretch my legs again, and I had planned on asking my uncle what he thought of the letters. When I got back, then I would try to remember the heraldry of the houses. I just had to clear my head.

Didn’t you have plenty of time to do that when you soaked in the bath? 

Getting up from the seat in the solar I had commandeered, I began to look around at the rooms themselves, until I shook my head, silvery hair swinging with the wild movement. No distractions. No second thoughts. I reminded myself, there was no looking back.

The Lord of Tides had taken rooms for himself in the keep, comfortable chambers with a view of the sea. Tonight I found him in his office, reading over a stack of missives and sipping wine.

After the customary pleasantries, I gave him the letter intended for the Lord Jon Royce of Runestone. Daemon’s expression remained smooth as stone as he examined the letter. The only sound was that of my foot, idly tapping.

At last he finished,  the only clue to his feelings a slight raising of his eyebrows. Was this deliberate on his part? No, I could not let myself see manipulations in every word and expression. If I let that part of me run free I would never leave my room.

“Your intent is to insult him.” It did not sound like a question, but it felt like one.

“Provoke him. There is a difference.” I could not keep a slight smile from forming. “I want him to fight us, uncle. I want him to fight us and lose.”

“I suspected as much. Your letter to Redfort is sweet as honey, when compared to this.” He smiled, one of his genuine smiles. “But no matter, I am curious about something you wrote.”

I schooled my features, “Was it difficult to understand?”

“What of this god you mentioned? This El Elyon.” He asked, somehow he could look relaxed while maintaining his otherwise straight posture and not changing his expression even a little. For a moment I remembered Aerion, Visenya’s father.

Am I just using him as a surrogate? G-d, I hoped not. The very idea made me ill. Another part was incensed. No amount of dragon’s blood can make a sea-horse into one.

Aerion had said those words.

You have lost two fathers, girl, you do not need a third.

I blinked. Realizing I had gotten lost in my own mind again, I stopped my finger rubbing against my thumb. Taking in the room once more, the wall behind Daemon had the Grafton sigil on it embossed on stone, I noticed.

“I apologize, Lord Velaryon. Please repeat what you said.” 

Daemon’s expression flickered for a moment, annoyance clear on his face, and that stabbed at me. Even as he repeated what he had said, it still stung.

Him saying that name made me squirm. Even the other part of me seemed uncomfortable with it. “I should not have even written it down. That name is… you shouldn’t say it. It is immensely disrespectful to Him.” My heart was pounding. I had not spoken of Him to anyone.

If I ever spoke of that subject to anyone, I had felt it would be Rhaenys, if I were to ever feel comfortable enough to speak of Him. This was not a comfortable conversation, I had not even planned it.

That had his head tilting ever so slightly, “I neither took you for a pious woman, nor have I heard of this god you speak of.”

“There are many gods in the world, uncle. We can not hope to hear of them all. If you would like, I could tell you of Him.”

“I have enough gods as it is, perhaps another time.” He bowed his head, “As it is, there is something I should like to bring to your attention.”

I frowned, “What is it?”

“An item of interest, taken from this city as part of the plunder. It belonged to your family, wrought in old Valyria if my guess is not wrong.” A self-satisfied smile graced his features.

“One of the swords? Or perhaps the dia-” He shook his head.

“Neither. It is still a valuable artifact, though only to certain collectors, and very few of those collectors can be found here in the Sunset Lands. Would you like to see it?”

Temptation gnawed at me, and I grimaced.

“Yes, but do not delay me overlong. I was planning on going flying after this, and I need to watch over the Clawmen as well.”

I only hoped my Clawmen were keeping themselves out of trouble. I had not commandeered manses in the city and board for their fighting men just to have them driven out by locals, or worse, have the locals hating me for it.

Daemon bowed, the hem of his new shorter cloak not even touching the ground, “Of course, your grace. I promise, it will not take any longer than you wish it to.”

----------------------------------

It was not the most pleasant of things and looking at it made my eyes feel tired, but I had to admit the workmanship and the quality was great indeed. It was twice the size of a large man, a grotesque chimera with the body of a lion, a tail that ended with a serpent’s head, eagle talons made sharp enough to cut, and huge draconic wings spread out behind.

The statue looked alive. All the parts lifelike, hideous, and yet beautiful in their own way.

Placing a hand on the wings revealed grooves in the stonework, feeling almost like the wings of a real dragon, despite being made of stone, for a moment as my skin touched it I could have sworn there was a warmth to it. Another touch reassured me it was cold stone and not flesh. Stone of the same kind of which my home was made. The tiredness grew. Was I homesick?

In the candlelight, the jade eyes of the dragon head seemed intent, almost focused, and I felt a sudden shiver rush down my spine. For a moment, I remembered the eyes of Daemion Targaryen. Unbidden, my mind’s eye saw his face, his always too-young face. Grandfather. A feeling of approval went through me, though I knew not why I felt it. The chill from before turned to warmth, and the lethargy faded.

“Unsettling, is it not?” Daemon Velaryon’s voice snapped me back to reality, “I was four years of age when last I saw this.”

“You are certain that this is the same?” The words came out more quiet than I wanted, but my uncle smiled and chuckled, rubbing his knuckles against the silver dragon’s head cloak clasp.

“Do you believe you could ever forget this?” He did not even bother to wait for me to reply, as we both knew the answer, and he walked behind the statue. Every step made me envious of the grace he possessed in spades. The same kind Rhaenys had. My heart ached at remembering her.

I might as well be a statue myself, compared to them. 

“The proof is here, your grace. Come and see.” His tone was back to the calm, reserved sort of voice he seemed to enjoy. Distant and commanding.

I walked over to where he was, him on one knee as he pointed toward something near the base of the statue’s back.

“Here is your proof.” My uncle said.

I knelt and squinted, and was just able to make out the glyphs of gold in the dim lighting.

“Property of the Heirs of Torkas. Commissioned by Aerea Tarkaryen, daughter and heir of Maekon Far-Sighted. Beloved of the Gods.”

I turned my head to face the Lord of the Tides.

“You remembered this, uncle?”

He laughed, “When last I saw this statue, I could not even read. But I remembered that there were glyphs, and similar writings on other statues made in the old Freehold. As well, I examined it myself before telling you.”

“You said you last saw it when you were.. Four? That would have been over forty years ago. During my grandfather’s time… he must have sold this.”

“Shortly after I saw it, I think. My uncle, your grandfather, sold so much of our heritage in those days.” For a moment, I caught something in Daemon’s expression, something almost wistful.

“I think it is time it returned to its rightful owners.” A part of me yearned for it. It was my heritage. Visenya’s at least. I idly stroked at my braid. “Mayhap Aegon shall accept it as a gift.”

“A plundered treasury is one thing, niece. An irreplaceable artifact is quite another, are you certain Grafton will accept that?” My uncle asked.

“Mathos Grafton will be in no position to object, uncle. Starting tonight, his home is aboard the Sweet Sister.” I met my uncle’s lilac eyes with my own darker shade of purple.

“He surrendered, is that not enough?” Daemon asked, his tone fairly neutral.

I shook my head, “Gulltown is too important to leave in the hands of the Graftons. I would rather not return to find the gates barred and a fresh fleet somehow in its port ready to fight against us. If Grafton is ruling from Gulltown, he can call on swords, he can betray us in the field. I refuse to allow him the opportunity. Or worse, for him to somehow turn on us while we are in the city.” With Grafton imprisoned, I could at least sleep soundly.

“His Grace ordered that a lord who surrenders is to be treated courteously, and not punished.” Daemon sounded amused.

“My brother is not here, and I care not for how he would have handled this. Besides, Grafton did not surrender until I forced his hand. Why should I treat him like a lord who surrendered immediately and without hesitation?” I sighed. If I had my way, all of these lords would be stripped of their lands or sent far away.

If I had my way, I would be back home.

I shoved the feeling of longing back into the hole where it belonged.

“Besides, it is not as though I will just pack him on a ship and leave him to die. I am hoping he can be given some other land, somewhere he will have no attachment or particular base of support. He is a lord, and that sort of experience at ruling is not easily gained. I merely think it could be put to better use elsewhere. In a few generations no Grafton will remember Gulltown, save for in whatever grudge they might nurse over their cups, and if they raise Cain they can be gotten rid of entirely.”

“Raise Cain?” There was a faint interest in his tone.

I was sure my cheeks were tinged pinkish as I kept my voice even, “An idiom I once heard from a sailor at Dragonstone, I did not bother learning where he was from.”

“You hear much and more from sailors, dearest niece.” Daemon’s voice had slipped into that damnable amused tone.

“Is that so?” I wondered what else I might have said, involving sailors and could not think of anything off the top of my head.

“Much indeed.” I could practically see the smile I heard. “I was curious, dearest niece. I asked men who had been to Gulltown, you know, just having left it with their ships carried by good winds. Men at Driftmark. Then when we arrived here… Do you know what I heard?” His voice sounded as though he were a father that had caught his child with their hand in a cookie jar.

Who were these sailors who knew so much? The memory of his voice, of the day I had tried to blot out of my memory, Hopefully a child, nephew. After all, you are without an heir of your body

I clamped down on it as the ghost sensation of lips touching my own was all I could feel, as my vision narrowed. My hand gripped my braid for a moment as I breathed in and out.

The statue’s eyes judged me.

“There was no alliance between the Valemen and Braavosi, only a hasty agreement between the Lord of Gulltown and those Braavosi ships which were here. In fact, I heard from several men regarding the timing of this agreement, which only happened after your brother’s coronation.” I wanted to kick myself, for Dark Sister was not at my waist, and I felt bare without her.

“Where did you learn what you did, niece? Did you devise some elaborate lie and it only turned out to be truth by mere chance? I doubt that.” He laughed, the sound almost stung, “Was it by means of sorcery, that gift of your father and grandfather, and of your blood? How much did Aerion teach you, girl?” I balled my hands into fists, my nails pressing against my palms. I was a day from being seven-and-twenty, I was not a girl. I was his Queen.

I let out a breath, and relaxed my hands, “Can not the heir of Daenys dream as well? I saw your death here, you know. The whole fleet destroyed, I saw that in my dreams on Driftmark. Had I not taken the Clawmen, you would have died for certain. For in my dreams they sailed not with us at all. Harren’s castle’s high towers melting in the black flames of Balerion, the stone flowing like heated wax. I saw Rhaenys and Orys facing Argilac Durrandon, of a great storm that would ground even Meraxes. Gardener and Lannister making alliance, and a great host burning in a field of golden wheat. A throne, a throne made of every sword from every lord who surrendered to my family, forged in dragonflame and beaten into shape by many men. I know all this from my dreams.” My life was no dream. 

It might as well be one, weak girl. Came the voice I knew so well now, the voice that was mine.

I was no dreamer in truth, to know the future from dreams and portents. Nor did I wish to play with prophecy. A sword born of death and my dragon were enough magic for me. The magic of Old Valyria was best left dead.

Daemon’s face when I met it was difficult at best to make out, the shadows cast by one of the statue’s wings made sure of that.

For a moment, all was silent.

“Dreams? You claim to dream of what is to come?” His face was as serious as I had ever seen it, gone was the amusement, there was a hardness to his lilac eyes that the gentle waving of candlelight only served to highlight, for a moment it sent chills down my spine. “You swear this is…” He cleared his throat before continuing, “Swear to me, that this is no lie, this is not something to be spoken of lightly, and if you lie I promise you that there will be no partnership between us. Swear to me that you dream truly.” There was a frantic note to his voice.

I nodded. “I swear.”

Liar. It was just one more, on top of all the others after all. But I wanted his support more than I cared for strict honesty. Do not bear false witness. I had not directly sworn an oath to tell him truth, in some ways, I could say that it came from a dream, I did wake up with the knowledge. You woke up as his niece, the knowledge was already yours. I shoved the voice aside.

“You are not telling me the whole truth, I am not so blind as to not see it.” The accusation stung all the more because it was more than slightly true.

“Nor will I ever, uncle. Some things we will not speak of, and carry into the grave. Surely you have a few yourself.”

It was silent for a moment. A moment that lasted too long.

“We should leave, I hear the gardens of this place are splendid.” I offered.

He smiled, one that touched his eyes only slightly, and did nothing else as we made to leave the room. Our shoe-clad feet treading across the stone of the floor, him almost seeming to glide as the light of the candles reflected ever so slightly in the silver thread of his silken teal cloak.

I kept glancing back at the statue as we left the room, the glint of jade eyes the last thing I saw before I and the Lord of the Tides were back in the halls of the keep proper.

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As I walked to the gardens, tales I had heard as a girl played through my mind. Of what was said to lurk in the Doom. Perhaps that statue was still hanging over my thoughts. In another life, my real life, I had read of creatures with the faces of men and the bodies of serpents of fire. Or worms, I could not remember which.

You got what you deserved. Tales of the dragonlords told of their unconscionable deeds, of horrors beyond the ken of man. Twisting any who were not of the blood of the gods, of dragons, to hell-shapes in the flesh-pits of Gogossos. I felt a bile rise in my throat, as I realized there was that hint of pride. Judgement and disgust, but pride as well. Family histories recalling the glories of the old days, of heroic ancestors of myth and legend, of gods and demons, of the shattering of entire peoples who dared to face the children of flame and a part of me exulted in those old stories as well.

A part of me held them close, for many gentler, kinder, grander tales were told by my… my mother. Her mother was just as much a dragon as her father. 

I would burn the world, and use my soul for the kindling to hold her again. My fath-, Aerion, had once said, deep in his cups, shortly before his own passing.

“Are you well, niece?” For once, Daemon’s voice was neither neutral nor amused nor even harsh. It was a concern I remembered only from Rhaenys. After I had told her I dreamed of what was to come.

For the children of Valyria, to receive visions was both gift and curse. One the real Visenya had never borne the burden of. Small blessings. A part of me still felt terrible for lying. How many lies will I tell before they all come crashing down?

“It is nothing, uncle.” I tried to keep my tone even, but the words felt tiring. I barely noted the coming and going of servants and others in the halls as we were guided toward the gardens.

I just did not feel enthused.

“You remind me of the shadow of the Dragonmont itself. Heavy, gloomy, and hanging over all around you as though a cloud. You are troubled.” His words were measured, even, and calm.

“I said it is nothing, Lord Velaryon.” I stressed the title. I did not want to talk to anyone, I just wanted to think. I do not need your false sympathy. “I want an hour where I am not thinking about wars, or alliances, or anything else. Give me that, or I shall expel you from my presence.” The words came out louder, harsher than I wanted, and I caught the glances of servants.

I wanted to strangle something. The thought that others were looking and judging felt like someone was squeezing my head with some over-large hand. I wanted to hide in some corner until it stopped.

For a moment I felt my heart stop, at the realization that when this was over, this war done, I would be dealing with far more than a few nobles here and there or in my immediate entourage. I was not Aegon, but I would be a center to something much larger than I had known as a wife to the Archon of Dragonstone.

Archontissa, not merely the Archon’s wife. Part of me corrected.

I approached the gardens themselves, the light of the late afternoon bathing the greenery in a dull gold. Light reflecting off the waters of a plain fountain near the garden’s center. Calmly, I breathed, in and out, softly, and played with my largest ring. The gold band set with a ruby. Squinting slightly when a bit of light glinted right into my eye.

I hadn’t taken the chance to see any gardens since I’d left Dragonstone. So the rows of green, the flowers of many colors, the fragrance of it all, was a surprise I actually found pleasant as my feet carried me across the garden paths.

Lilies, snapdragons, sunflowers and roses. Flowers with red petals, white petals, blue and purple, orchids and lavender and many others I did not know the name of, for a moment I felt a twinge of something at the sight of a peculiar flower. One with pink petals, there was something about it that tugged at my memory, but I could not quite place it.

Shaking my head, I continued my walk, passing by trees and flowers and fragrant plants I had passed before. For a moment I caught sight of a flower, and the scent reminded me of my grandmother’s place. The hazy images of two different women mingled in my mind as I fought the urge to pluck a flower.

Passing the fountain, I dipped my hand into it with a smile, then shook it, as a part of me realized that drying it on clothing would just not be done. It was not even a particularly fancy fountain, no water flowing from statues, it was plain though well-cut and polished marble. When I build my city… the thought of grand fountains and plazas made me smile, until another thought intruded.

Why does Aegon rule and not I? It was not the first time I had asked the question, nor the first time the woman I had been had asked it of herself. Yes, the firstborn had been me. If I am wearing your face and answering to your name like a trained dog, I might as well accept that properly. I still wanted to reject it, every time, it felt like I was losing a part of myself to even give an inch to the thought that I was in any way her.

Why can I not bear crown and scepter? A part of me felt it was wrong, but I yearned for it.

Aegon rules because, if anyone tried to take his place, he would kill them. With Balerion, Aegon could challenge any man, any woman, and break any army or dragon that would face him. The only one who could challenge him would be Rhaenys, and she would never do it. Rhaenys was the best rider, the most talented, and if she wanted she could make a good shot of it. And Aegon would never hurt her, even if she had a knife to his throat. If she asked for the moon on a necklace, he would set the stars on it as gemstones, and get on his knees to give it to her.

A part of me was disgusted by it, how moonstruck he was, that same part hated both of them for it. Why does she deserve to experience love like that and not I? Worse, I had experienced love, and was sundered from it. I shoved the feeling down. A queen must be strong, if she is to do what needs doing. A weak woman could not achieve what.

I let out a breath I did not even know I had been holding as I made another pass through the gardens. Wait… Where there had been the late afternoon sun, now the sunset had passed, the first stars now mingled with the last fragile evening glow.

Whipping my head around, I noticed my uncle was gone. I could not even hear the footsteps of another person in the gardens. How long has he been gone? How long was I… I sighed, and then let out a laugh, folding my arms under my chest.

“Some things never change, I suppose.” Even if one side so dominated, in so many ways, I was glad to know that some parts of me had remained… me.

Us. It was almost a whisper in my head.

“Yes, us.” I could not help but agree.

Beneath the darkling skies, I walked with a pride I could almost call my own. I was clad only in the silk dress of a noblewoman, and in that moment I felt as safe as I ever had with Dark Sister at my side.

Chapter Text

Gulltown only surprised me by how unsurprising and normal it was.  A foreign army occupied it, yet as I rode through the city with my currently smaller retinue, all I saw were the same sorts of sights that I would see on Driftmark: Folk going from street to street on their business, native fishmongers and dye merchants from Tyrosh, Lyseni men selling perfumes, Myrmen and their carpets and wine, Pentoshi traders selling exotic spices, and I had even seen men from as far away as Slaver’s B- The Bay of Ghis. They were selling fine red stamped pottery, plates with images of Grazdan the Great at the head of his lockstep legions, or the Harpy in flight or amphorae of olive oil and wine.

Not that the wine would be worth purchasing. A part of me noted. This far out from Ghis, the wine would either be spoiled or else some cheap vintner’s product from Braavos with a fancy label.

Battle had occurred so close and yet life went on. It felt almost wrong. I held my head high as I passed the people who made way for my group in the streets. Most craned their necks to get a better look at those who had conquered them. Others led their mules or mule-drawn carts away as quickly as they could.

I felt nervousness growing and quickly tried to quash it. You cannot be a recluse. You cannot hide forever.

Stroking at my braid, I wondered if perhaps my city would be so peaceful. So prosperous and clean. How much of it will you live to see completed? I shoved that thought away, shaking my head.

I will make Oldtown and Braavos seem like wretched hives by comparison.

Three days had passed since the capture of Gulltown, and part of me did not want to leave. Another part grew agitated from being delayed from for so long. I did not want my lords to become so comfortable in the manses they had taken that I would have to deal with grumbling when I gave the order to march.

Inaction makes men soft. A part of me wanted to take Vhagar now, and force the submission of every lord I could. To be done with this. Stick to the plan, I reminded myself, it is safer. I let out a breath, almost in time with the clop of horse hooves against the cobbled stone main streets.

Wide enough for a procession. But one look at the sides leading to the significantly more arterial lanes and alleys of the city reminded me that this wasn’t a city as a part of me was used to. Not even like Oldtown. It was nicer than what I remembered of Lannisport, but I wondered how much of that was simply having fewer people than that city.

The city would serve for now, I supposed. But I would need to do far better than merely more than adequate when I built my own city. Mediocrity would not breed immortality.

All things in their time, I reminded myself. Our party made its way to the town manse where lord Boggs had chosen to set himself up during our stay here. With two storeys it was the property of some lord or rich merchant or another that had been ousted at swordpoint.

I’ll make it up to them later. That quieted the niggling bit of discomfort I had been feeling.

The Clawmen at the gate with their long-handled axes kept their eyes on us as I brought my mount to a stop before the gate of the residence. The only way in as it was otherwise surrounded by whitewashed walls taller than I was from horseback.

With little more than a few words from me, they opened the gate.

I carefully dismounted from the dappled palfrey, the men of my coterie also dismounting, then following behind me as the stable hands led the horses off and we were brought through the fairly large main doors into the manse.

A man dressed in a rather garish yellow tunic, with an elaborately decorated leather belt, met us at the door. His forest green overtunic was clasped with a heavy bronze pendant, he wore a round cap of green cloth atop his head, and he wore brown shoes embroidered with geometric designs. I thought the designs might have gone from the ankle to the heel but at first glance I could not tell.

“What brings you here at this hour? My lord of Boggs is occupied with important business.” As he spoke I could not help but notice the way his mustache, almost walrus-like in its shape, moved with every word and smack of his lips. I had to exercise my will to keep my face straight.

Idly, I noted the servants who were at work. Most of them seeming a bit nervous, particularly a girl who could not have been older than four-and-ten gawked at me for a moment before being pulled away by a woman who looked maybe a decade older. I kept myself from glaring at either, and kept myself from blushing as I realized I had lost track of things again.

Turning my attention back to the presumed head servant, I laughed. It was only half-forced.

“You said something about your master being busy?” He moved to reply but I waved him off.“He has little business here, and what business is important is only important insofar as I am involved. He will speak with me.” I was not going to be kept waiting by some no-name servant. A part of me felt bad about it, but mostly Ijust wanted to do what I came here for.

I could swear I caught the slightest bit of a scowl, but he simply nodded and muttered his apologies.

“As well, see to the needs of my guardsmen whilst I and your lord speak privately.”

He bowed his head, “Of course, follow me, your grace.”

We walked through the entrance area, past tapestries and paintings both. Then through several fairly well decorated rooms, before the servant stopped outside of one.

I did not bother waiting for him to announce my presence, as I walked past him into the room itself. It was well lit by the sunlight streaming in from the windows, and contained several works of fine art, including a mosaic of a fair-haired man kneeling on a green hill before seven figures. The.. visitation? I did not remember the term, if there was one. Visenya herself barely had more of an idea of the religion than I.

Frankly, in some areas she knows even less. 

At one corner, I saw him. Sitting at a table with another man, his… nephew, if I recalled correctly.

“You had better have a good reason for interr-” He nearly jumped in his seat as he met my gaze. I had to keep myself from grinning at that. It was nice to still know I could figuratively sneak up on someone.

You just have to barrel in unannounced, I suppose. 

I raised my hand to silence whatever he was going to say.

Nestor Boggs was plain, with plainly cut hair, and right now wearing clothing fit more for a household servant than a lord. I would have confused him for another man, were it not for his red hair. His relative was similar, though his hair was more brown with some red strands in it, and curly rather than straight.

If anything, the most notable thing about Lord Boggs was his frail voice. He was not truly old, but he sounded it.

Glancing at the table, I realized that what they were looking at was a board. Eight squares by eight squares, of alternating colors. With wooden tokens on the board. Half red, and half green. Off the board, nearest to Nestor, was three red tokens.

Near to his nephew, one green token.

“Is that… checkers?” Nestor’s expression made me want to hide under a rock. The feeling I’d made some kind of misstep, that I’d mess something up or… stop worrying so much, it helps no one. Not every mistake is a catastrophe. 

“Crowns, but your sort would have a different name for it, I suppose.” Nestor’s nephew piped up, and I could not keep myself from glaring. Despite my best attempts to keep my temper in check.

“My sort?” I tried to relax. I was more annoyed at him talking when I was here for his uncle, than anything else.

“Valyrians, your grace.” He said.

“I see. Please, leave us, I should like to speak with Lord Boggs alone.” I said, waving him off. I glanced at his hands, gripping at the table, his fingernails half chewed off in places. I resisted the urge to frown at that.

Only for him to relax his grip on the table, his knuckles no longer white, he left the room, his footsteps oddly heavy sounding, as part of me felt frustrated. Wondering how much of a misstep I had made. Oh well. I stifled a snort.

After a short time, the room was mostly quiet, uncomfortably so.

I sat down at the chair that Boggs’ nephew had vacated, deciding to not wait this time. Boggs himself was clearing the board.

“I will be here a while, lord. I find it easier to talk over an activity, a game. I do not know the rules of this variant of… Crowns, your nephew called it?” Boggs seemed to smile in amusement, but he quickly went to work on resetting the board. I rested my cheek against the back of my hand, one knuckle near to the upper cheekbone, and my elbow on the table as I listened to him explain the basic rules of the game.

Even sitting, he’s still shorter than me. Months now, and how tall I was still had not ceased to be a novelty. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. It was less novel than before, more accurate would be to say that it was something I still noticed. I wasn’t short, before. But I wasn’t as tall relative to others as I was now.

I felt something touch my leg, and without thinking I was looking around. Only to catch a flicker of movement to my left, just beyond the table edge.

“The cat bothering you, your grace? Damned thing spends half the day sleeping at my feet.” He made the first move, moving one of his green tokens. Of course, leave me with red. I wanted to roll my eyes, but just smiled slightly.

I barely kept myself from trying to reach for the cat. Quite the sight it would be. A queen on her knees looking for a cat under a table. 

“I did not know you owned a cat.”

You barely know anything about those you command and rule. That was part of why I decided to make this visit, after all. There would be no connection, no loyalty, if all I did was give orders from on high, and never bother with those I claimed to rule.

“Neither did I, until the little goblin decided I did.” Boggs grinned as the cat left its spot under the table, and I could see it. An orange and white cat, with a white tuft on the tail, and missing a bit of its left ear. The cat was very thin. Nestor petted it and continued as I moved one of my own pieces.

“Climbed over the wall, followed me halfway through the city after I visited the market, and if he was willing to go so far I might as well bring him into my service. Mayhap when I return home he will entertain my little grandson. Not a hunting dog, but it will do, I wager.” I felt my muscles tense up when the cat bit Boggs’ hand.

He dismissed it as a ‘love bite’, and laughed it off. Part of me felt genuinely… happy. It had been some time since I’d enjoyed sitting down with someone, and talking about things that weren’t related to war.

We never did get to finish our game, however. The damned cat knocked the board over, though Boggs, with a smile and a strained laugh claimed he had me beaten.

I told him we were going to play again after we took Runestone.

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The coinery’s quietness seemed almost eerie for a building that would have normally have been filled with the sounds of hammers against anvils. It wasn’t odd, really, given some dragon-riding barbarian had apparently seized the city.

Minting coins with the falcon and moon on them could be viewed by some as a sign of disloyalty, after all. Part of me was just glad I had been informed. Perhaps the men who normally would have been here could get back to work soon.

“Y-your orders?” Came the voice of one of those men that had told me of the presence of the Gulltown mints. He was fairly short, with close-cropped hair that was graying, and clad in a long tunic with embroidered trim. His legs covered in reddish linen trousers, and his feet in leather shoes.

A twinge of annoyance went through me at the words, and the man was quick to hand over a set of coins. Pressing them into my palm.

“Give me a moment.” I did not bother concealing my joy as I raised the gold coin for examination. It glinted in the light.

On the obverse was a bust of a short-haired figure. The detail was not fine enough to really judge the age. But the name on the coin made it fairly obvious I was looking at a representation of Ronnel Arryn. He was crowned, and held a scepter in his right hand.

While the coin’s reverse was, in keeping with Mountain and Vale tradition, the falcon and full moon of Arryn. With the words High As Honor written in Common. Idly, I moved the coin from one hand to my other, then picked up the largest silver coin. Similar in design, though with a full moon on the reverse.

Next came the smaller silver. It was similar to the previous coins, only beside Ronnel was a taller bust, with longer hair. His mother? I could not think of anyone else who it could be. On the coin’s reverse was a sword. Turning my attention back to the man, I tried not to seem too impatient. Barely keeping myself from tapping my feet.

“How pure?” I forced the words out. Feeling another twinge of annoyance as the man did not respond right away, resting my hand on Dark Sister’s handle while letting the coins rest in the other hand.

“P-pure?” I wanted to smack him.

I breathed in slightly, in an attempt to calm myself. “How much gold is used in making these? It is a gold coin. But is it pure gold like that of the Kings of the Rock?”

The manager of the coinery took a moment before clearing his throat softly, and replying. “No, some copper and some silver are mixed in. Our silver coins are pure, however.”

I smiled, “Melt them down, you are going to make pure gold for the highest value coin starting from today. With my..” I decided to rephrase it, swallowing my pride, “Brother’s face on them. Or at least his name, and some old design of a previous king on it can be used to represent him until something better can be made.”

He nodded, “As you command. And the other side of the coin, your grace?”

I thought for a moment.

“A star with seven points.”

Chapter Text

I had been spending almost every hour of the day hearing petitions. A part of me hated it, but Aegon was right to an extent. If I am to rule them, they must see me. Another part of me missed Dragonstone, where property disputes were most often handled by one of the men who had served since fath-, Aerion’s, day. Aerion had been a distant figure, always looming, but rarely seen. Even by the men he appointed.

Aegon had reminded the lords of the Narrow Sea, and to an extent the men of the Free Cities when he showed up atop Balerion. He was not a faceless figure, but a reality of the lives of those around him. Separate, and above them, but also constant in presence.

I felt pride in that, and I hated that I did.

Hearing fishermen wanting justice for lost property did not fit my idea of a matter that required the attention of a queen. It is your fault for announcing that all would have their cases heard. A part of me was still proud of it. Riding into the market, and announcing I would hear all petitions any would put before me.That taxes for the year would not be collected, for the men of the city were being granted an exemption. I liked how powerful, how virtuous it made me feel.

From the meanest beggar to the richest lord in the city, all men would have justice and fairness and generosity. Aside from the one you have stowed away on the Sweet Sister. A part of me said. I tried my best to ignore it.

I looked down from the carved stone seat of the lords of Gulltown at the assembled merchants in their myriad-colored clothes. They were sending one of their number up to speak for them. He was tall by most standards, thought not so tall as myself. Not as tall as Rhaenys either I noted, though that was not unusual. A lot of men were shorter than my sister.

Clad in multicolored silks, the skin I could see was pale, and his build seemed thin but broad-shouldered, unlike the others he wore no tall hat and so I could see that his hair was cropped short. He had no facial hair save for an ugly little wisp of a mustache above prominent lips.

A part of me shuddered with disgust as he knelt before the dais. Is this what passed for fashion?

Waving my hand, I spoke up, “You may rise, goodman… Patrek.” I thought that was his name at least, all the names given during their introduction had somewhat bled into each other. A part of me felt little but disdain for merchants.

“Thank you, your grace. My good fellows among the guild of grain merchants have been trying for many a moon now to bring this to the attention of one who would grant us justice.” He stopped, gripping one of his hands with the other.

A moment passed, and then another before I realized he probably wanted me to say something. I breathed in and out to keep my cheeks from burning up, calming myself, and letting the embarrassment flow outward with my breath.

I rested my cheek against the back of my bare hand and nodded slightly for him to continue. My silver braid shifted with the movement of my head.

“The lady Grafton has been participating in fraudulent grain speculation, and forcing the sale of guild grain under duress for prices much lower than are fair or even legal.” Patrek rolled his hands ever so slightly as he spoke, and glanced past me for a moment to the other side of the room.

I imagined he was looking at Mathos Grafton’s wife, who despite her husband’s isolation was allowed to retain some honors and attend court. I had even promised her a stipend.

Patrek balled his hands, pressing them to his sides as if trying to keep from sweeping them as he continued speaking.

“Her husband had prevented our petition from receiving the justice it is due. Shielding her even as she piled our grain onto ships meant to sail for White Harbor and Duskendale. Some even would have made it to your grace’s home of Dragonstone.” With every word his lips pressed together, and his disgusting little mustache moved like a worm wriggling from the wet morning dirt.

“Of course, and you wish for me to… what? Reimburse you for lost profits? Imprison lady Grafton? Restore your grain to you?” I tried to keep the boredom I felt from slipping into my tone.

His expression seemed to brighten, a sliver of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips, “We would request grain in recompense from whatever store of it the lady Grafton has. In addition to repaying us for the grain she so obtained with our merchants at swordpoint, at current market prices. We would ask for more, but it would be unf-”

“How dare you accuse me now, while my husband languishes in chains aboard this woman’s ships! I purchased that grain from you at the price our good Queen Sharra had fixed it at!”

Reflexively I turned my head toward the source of the noise.

Lady Grafton stood beside her younger son, rigid and as though she were barely restraining herself in her high-necked green dress. Raven-dark waist-length curls cascading down her back.

Her face was flushed as her dark eyes met my purple, but my attention was pulled back once more as the merchant spoke again.

“Our Queen Sharra?” Patrek sounded as though he were a cat that had just caught a mouse, “Lady Grafton, our oaths are to a new king now, and to his queen that fairly governs our city.” He bowed deeply, the hem of his cloak touching the floor.

A part of me imagined half a hundred deceptions that might have been going on, in the space of a heartbeat, another part was wondering how much the slip-up, outburst, whatever it was on lady Grafton’s part had been deliberate, or a genuine slip out of habit and I took a breath in an attempt to let out the sudden burst of anxiety. I was overthinking things.

Or perhaps not thinking them through enough.

I wished I could shut that voice up. I wished I could shut all of them up. Grafton and Patrek and the mutterings that I could just barely hear coming from the corners. There were supposed to be courtesies, there should have been etiquette that was respected. Order, rules.

But it felt more like I was being used to settle some score. The thought made my blood boil. I was not some tool for them to throw around, not a cudgel or a rabid animal to be redirected.

Just one more reason to leave this city as soon as possible. I was growing too used to it all, it had been only a few days, but already I felt myself wanting to set down roots. If you don’t leave, you won’t leave. A part of me mocked. I could almost imagine I felt hot breath against my ear, with the words. A little girl, with her little play pen.

“Shut up.” I murmured, and shook my head to try and clear the voice out. It normally helped, when thoughts like that happened.

After a few moments, I blinked, and realized that all had gone strangely quiet. Everyone was looking my way. From Daemon in his velvet finery, and his Myrish lace, to Patrek standing before the throne.

Did they hear?

Will they think I am mad, if they did hear? I took a breath, and relaxed myself, resisting the urge to touch at my braid. Let them think I took my time coming to a decision.

The muscle in my right leg tensed, as I gripped the arms of the throne, “I will investigate this myself.” Glaring at Patrek, I continued, “If I find you have deceived me, nobody will be happy with the consequences. I will not hesitate in confiscating all of your property and revoking the rights of the guild in Gulltown.”

Looking at lady Grafton, I could swear I saw a hint of relief, and perhaps something else. Is she trying to use me as well? I shoved the feeling down. It was no use seeing enemies in every shadow.

Rising from the throne, I kept my breathing controlled, before speaking.

“I am done hearing petitions for today.” I did not bother staying around to watch as the various parties left, opting instead to have a servant lead me to my quarters, and change into my riding clothes.

I needed to think.

The web of blood ties and non-blood related interests all converging in Gulltown was fascinating, predictable, and frustrating. I had expected no less, given the nature of blood and kinship in the nobility, but now that I was here I had no idea what to do about it.

I knew nothing if I did not know that Gulltown was a world unto itself, an ecosystem with a thousand layers. Grafton had the swords and loyalty of a number of nearby landed knightly houses, and had been over all the others in the city at the time. But many minor families claimed interests in Gulltown, and some which claimed residency. Ser Shett held sway in the city watch and had ties with the Gulltown Arryns, who themselves had ties with the influential and wealthy men of the city as well as the Arryns of the Eyrie, with the Queen-Regent being one of them. Shett’s brother and Grafton’s uncle were both in the Warriors’ Sons, and Grafton’s brother was a clubfooted septon who had left some time ago to serve at Runestone. Grafton’s wife was a Corbray by birth, and had been a companion of Sharra in her youth.

Can nothing ever be simple?
-----------------

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

I dismounted from Vhagar at the center of the camp, stashed my helmet in her saddlebag, and took in a deep breath of the fresh evening air. I rested against her warm scales. It felt good against my sore muscles. I had been baking in mail and cloth and helmet all day, and the breeze cooled and caressed me.

It had been oddly hot today, and the heat had only let up recently. Is the heat worse because of the valley we’re in? It reminded me of home, almost. A wetter heat, and a completely different landscape. The valley lay long and narrow, almost straight north and south while the east and west were hemmed in by green and healthy trees.

I wore red velvet boots, part of me wanted to take them off and feel the cool green grass between my toes. The grass would not be here tomorrow. It would be trampled into dirt and mud by man and beast alike. Men who were at work raising the palisades of the camp nearby and horses who were being watered at the nearby river.

Raising them as they had day, after day. Never let your fighting men become lazy, always put them to work and keep an orderly camp. That had been the advice of one of the frontier commanders from the colonies. She had been dead for many centuries now, but her words had been forever preserved in ink and parchment, though.

Will people quote me, a thousand years from now? I shook my head, feeling my hair pressing against Vhagar’s scales.

The day was uneventful, and a part of me was disappointed by it. The gentle plains and farmlands surrounding Gulltown gave way to rolling, low hills, and even valleys as we marched northward. They were small things, compared with the steep hills, bogs, and dark thickets and jagged coastline and forest of the less tamed parts of Crackclaw Point.

There had been a market town and villages and farms. There had been a few watchtowers built of wood and stone and thatch. We came across few signs of the enemy, and all we met were eager to bend the knee to my banner and the banner of the Warrior’s Sons.

What few men aside from them I had seen were shepherds in the heights of the valleys. Men who’d said they hadn’t seen hide nor hair of any force marching this way other than my own.

I had spent the first day scouting ahead, and yet… nothing. Then the second was the same. Some pasturelands and herds of horses and travelers along the roads. Was my letter not inflammatory enough? I wondered if I should have said more. A mild rumbling of my stomach reminded me of why I had chosen to land when I did after flying for an hour.

A part of me was annoyed at my body demanding food when it did. A part of me remembered overly thin arms, and hunger pains. Never again. Adopting Visenya’s eating schedule would do me a world of good.

I took her exercise one, after all. One I was having a difficult time keeping up with, of late. You aren’t eating enough. Without food, I did not have enough energy to keep going all day. Without food I could not maintain muscle. Without food I would wither away.

How can I hope to plan years ahead, if I keep forgetting to plan my own dinner? 

I resolved to do better.

The scent of cook-fires and pots filled with stews only made my stomach grumble more. I patted Vhagar’s scales nearest her eye, and gave orders to camp servants to slaughter an ox for her, before going off to my own tent. Its scarlet silk, and sheer size made it stand out from the rest.

Outside of the tent owned by the Knight-Captain of the Warrior’s Sons, it was probably the most well-guarded tent in the whole camp. Stout Dragonstone men guarded it, and there was nowhere safer I could be. Except in the skies on Vhagar. I ignored that thought.

With little more than a gesture, servants scurried off to prepare a light evening meal as I entered the tent, my hand already on the clasp of my cloak before I was inside. The itch to reach for my waist, and to Dark Sister, ignored for now.

In my tent at least, it felt almost like a home away from home. Fine Myrish rugs covering the ground, a stand on which several books rested, some well-worn and others barely touched, the silken walls of the tent felt as good as stone, for my privacy. Hangings of myriad colors covered the “walls” of the tent, and ornaments of gold and silver beside. A part of me felt that was wasteful, as there was no need to carry that at war. Another felt it right, to display wealth was to show status. Right or wrong, what does it matter?

On another stand, set upon a copper tray was some unleavened bread, a pat of butter, two pears, three stalks of celery and a silver pitcher of water beside a Myrish goblet of carved crystal. Idly, I realized I was licking my lips, my mouth watering as my stomach growled even more.

The thought of food was on my mind as I removed my armor and threw off my cloak and when I did have dinner it was as fine as any I could remember, despite its plainness. Roasted quail and buttered corn on the cob, bread and red wine.

Prepared for bed a time later, my hair brushed and my body clean, all I could think of as my head rested on soft pillows, was how much I wanted lamb, and sausages. Fluffy white bread slathered with butter, but always the thought of meat over anything else. Perhaps, in the morning.... 

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It took me a moment to realize where I was, as I looked down to see the lands far below. Vaguely, I remembered flying there the day before. But here there were no winds, and beneath me no dragon. It was as if the very air was a platform, but a part of me was afraid.

Terrified to stay still. If I stayed still, I felt as though I would fall. I had to keep going. The moon was like a silvery sickle, ready to reap its harvest if I dared to stop moving. Looming over the world.

In a moment, that feeling was gone, and I was at one of the courtyards at Dragonstone. Clad in a pristine white tunic, my feet bare as they touched the hard stone. Then in the gardens, empty gardens, and Lord Redwyne was there. Lord Lymond Redwyne who had hosted Aegon and I years ago, who had crinkled his nose when Aegon had addressed me as his wife.

A part of me wanted to heave, as I felt something touch my shoulder, and I turned around. For a brief moment I swore I saw a woman clad in ashen grey. A woman wearing my face, her eyes piercing and pale and blue.

Liar. Fraud. Thief. I shoved the feeling away, and I was atop the Dragonmont lit only by the moon, and a giant upon the mountain top looked down at me and then pointed somewhere I could not see, and I felt too frightened to look at its face. A giant of storm clouds, and wild winds.

The giant had the shape of a man, and there was an insistence to his gestures, as I felt a hand reach out for me, a hand that could have reached down into the depths of the seas and yet was gentle, firm like a father’s comforting hand.

I looked toward where the man of storm and wind had pointed and saw fires rising ahead of me, even greater in size and intensity than the fires that blocked my passage backward. The man looked me in the eye, and I only then beheld his face which was of onyx, and eyes of amber and molten bronze, a gaze in which I felt pinned. Fire in his right hand, and lightning flashing from his left. A man of bronze was ahead of me where the figure pointed, a giant in whose shadow thousands were sheltered and suddenly that shadow covered the way behind me as well and the world beneath me shook…

Smoke, I smelled… smoke. As I woke up with a start, my heart pounding, the faces of the man of onyx and the woman with pale blue eyes both vivid as ever as a buzzing filled my ears, and I threw the covers off and climbed out of bed. Shakily, I stood and realized that it wasn’t a buzzing… it was yelling, muffled by the thickness of the tent walls, but I could hear yelling.

“What’s going on…” It felt almost like a dream as I began dressing myself. I’ll brush my hair later. I did not want to waste time.

My mouth was dry, I realized. Smoke, smoke and yelling… We were under attack.

My thoughts were interrupted by the muffled sound of the banging of drums. My hand was at my waist, reaching for Dark Sister, coming up empty. I cursed myself for leaving her on the other side of the tent. I snatched it up and slipped into shoes.

I felt naked without my armor, but a helmet and cloak would have to be enough covering in a hurry. At night and on dragonback, I can escape, if it comes to it. I scurried out of the tent, and a shiver ran down my spine. Fire, palisades burning, and smoke filling my nostrils. The cool of the night was gone, and for a moment a part of me reveled in the feeling of warmth, of the smoke and flame. This is what I get for complaining of boredom.

“-issa”

There were banners, banners aloft, including that of my own and the Warrior’s Sons, the rainbow-thread of their banner reflecting the light as it fluttered, as men gathered to defend the camp, an-

“A-archontissa!” A part of me wanted to strangle whatever cur had the temerity to yell at me, but it was one of the men of Dragonstone. Clad in scale, and his face hidden by a veil of mail.

I took a breath, and held myself to my full height, “Guardsman Adarys, who is attacking us?” It had to have been an attack, or some fool had let a fire get out of control. No, the walls are too… that has to be deliberate.

“Royce!” The guardsman yelled, struggling to be heard over the din. I cursed, and walked as fast as I could to Vhagar., five of the other guardsmen falling in behind me. Five. I wished for a hundred, a thousand. My grip on Dark Sister did not loosen even a bit. 

As long as I can make it to Vhagar, five will be enough. 

The guardsman informed me as to what had happened as we walked. Rather, he told me what he thought had happened.

Only half an hour before, the banging of shields had been heard from around the camps, and horns and drums coming closer as smoke began to rise from the palisades, and fire. The only part of the camps that seemed fine was the southern exit, until fifty men had gone out to reach the encampment nearest to our own, only for screams to be heard, and the sound of metal parting flesh.

“We are surrounded,” he said at last as he finished his story. “Somehow, they’ve surrounded us.” In all his years serving, I had never heard him sound like this.

Coward. A part of me wanted to sneer at him, another part felt it was unfair. I was afraid too, I could feel my hands almost shaking.

“How many of them are there?”

“More than us, I believe. I do not know!” He sounded strained as we approached Vhagar, her gaze having been fixed on us for some time, as the guardsmen met with a few of their fellows, and with a cringe I realized I had stepped in the remains of the ox she had eaten.

A part of me wanted to stop, stop for a minute to think, but there was no time. With whip in hand, I clambered up to the saddle and we flew.

In the dark of the night, I could not see. The moon and stars provided so littlelight  as to be nearly useless, and so I picked out torches, or what I hoped were torches, outside of where I roughly knew the camps to be, and when I gave the command, the darkness was pierced and broken by the jade-green fire of my Vhagar.

The flashes of flame spreading, and the screams of the dying and their horses were more than enough to tell me I’d struck true.

Fire along the ridges, fire in the greenery, fire in the valley, fire green and gold and red was all I knew until dawn.

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I drank deeply from the crystal goblet, not caring about the water that dripped off my chin. Or how my hair, hanging loosely, stuck to my sweat-slick skin. I shuddered, feeling filthy.

I wanted to gag.

“Four hundred men dead. Four hundred.” Royce had lost far more in his attack, but that was little comfort.

That more than a hundred of our own dead had died of burning was not something I could forget easily.

It was night. You could not see. The thought did little to help.

Would it have been better if they’d fallen by Royce spear instead? A part of me thought so, and that only made me feel worse.

“More than half the fallen were not even your men, your grace.” Aron Celtigar chirped, an easy smile on his lips. He had somehow managed to sleep through the entire battle. I wanted to flog him for that. I wanted to strangle him for acting as though this were some grand game. I wanted to drive Dark Sister into his chest and see how long that smile lasted then.

A part of me felt guilty about that.

“Every man who marches with us is my man, Celtigar. From the meanest follower in the train to the highest lord and his retinue.” The knight-captain had died, and fifty of the Warrior’s Sons with him. Ten of whom had died carrying their knight-captain’s corpse to safety.

Will his father blame me, or Royce? I hoped Royce. I needed Elys’ support.

“With what you took you can more than afford to replace them.” I did not need to meet his gaze to know what he was looking at. Lamentation, which a soldier had tried to desert with after prying it from the burnt corpse of Lord Royce. Burnt, his iron helm melded to his head, alongside his gauntlets, but his bronze armor had been untouched, it seemed.

I wondered how long Royce had lasted before death had claimed him. I hoped it was quick. Green flame turning to yellow and red and orange was an image I could not shake. The thickets and forest I had burned, the horsemen, whatever men I could see in the dark. Men drowned in the stream, presumably trying to put the flames out.

Others had died trying to reach the hidden side-passes of the valley, burned alive in dragonfire as green as the lush foliage that had hidden them.

Vhagar’s flame was all that allowed me to somewhat keep track of the enemy. And her flame melded the metal of men to their flesh.

I blinked.

A part of me was tempted to keep it, another part wanted to sell it, but it was probably the best reward I could give out. My lords will fall over themselves for a chance to get their hands on it. A part of me had scoffed at the sword compared with my own Dark Sister.

Lamentation was plain, the most distinct thing about it being a bastard mix of glyphs from Valyrian Script, and runes of the First Men running along the blade’s fuller, somehow blending in with the smoky rippled steel. Rippled steel born of fire and blood. Steel that had felt warm when I had touched it.

I did not want to see it again after today, if I could help it.

“I will make a prize of it to whatever man serves best, I think. And that will not be some child that considers the deaths of our followers something he can smile while speaking of.” I drained my goblet dry, and slammed it against the table. “Be ready to march on my order, Ser Celtigar. And do be awake.” I excused myself from the tent, and made my way back to my own.

We would have to march later, men needed time to bury the dead, and clear the road and scout ahead.

G-d, I need a bath. 

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The walls surrounding the town of Bronzedoor were old, and strong from what I could see of them. Though perhaps not so great from where I sat, atop Vhagar.

Despite the quiet, despite the clear blue skies and the morning sun, all I could think of was Lord Royce’s attack. For men who so strove for chivalry, it felt wrong for them not to have met me in the open field.

In the open field, where they would have been slaughtered? I wondered if that was what had driven the men of Dorne to do as they did against my f-... Aegon’s family. Fighting openly in pitched battle is for great powers or peers, not for underdogs.

Defensive warfare is key to success against greater numbers, and quality. Ambush tactics were a part of it. I would have done the same. 

Again, and again, that thought had played out in my mind as we rode to Runestone. Royce had no ace up their sleeve, he had wasted most of his men in that attempt, and had died with them. He had thrown the dice, and he had lost.

The ride to Runestone had been uneventful. Save for the angry murmuring of men whose blood was up, and who wanted ‘vengeance’ for the night attack, and for men they’d lost. Friends, or kin. Or lovers among the train.

A part of me wondered how many spoke of that, and instead only wanted loot from Runestone. The chance to sack a town and castle that I’d denied them at every opportunity.

Soldiers are dangerous. A part of me always thought.

The few men who did ride, or run, to meet us on the way to Runestone were stragglers from the battle at the valley, and other landed knights sworn to House Royce, now they swore their swords to me. Or, rather, to the royal house Targaryen.

Within two days, a host of fewer than two-thousand had swollen to three by the time it finally arrived outside the walls of the town below Runestone. Waiting for the regent of Runestone to arrive to meet us.

Our banners were flying proudly, Aegon’s red dragon and my green the most prominent among them. That of the Warrior’s Sons only slightly less so. Idly, I touched at my braid with a gloved hand as I looked around.

Every man with me was ahorse, armored as I had ordered. I could not trust our enemy to not attempt some trick. Even under a banner of truce. 

The farmlands around Runestone reminded me of those of Gulltown, fine orchards and well-paved roads leading to the town and castle themselves. The Royces were not minor lords, they were still rich and proud.

For a moment I thought back to Lamentation, hidden in a chest, carried on a white palfrey. Poor men could not afford Valyrian steel, even before the Doom. A part of me remembered that in ten days it will have been a century, to the day, since the homeland of the dragonlords went up in flame and ash and poisonous air.

A part of me felt sorrow at that. Another felt only sorrow for the lowborn caught in it.

We did not have to wait long before the gates of the town were opened, and the regent of Runestone rode out alongside several hundred people. I was able to pick out a Septon, and his bodyguards at a glance. A man in grey robes, old and bowed over even ahorse, wearing a chain the length of a man’s arm.

The Regent of Runestone himself was a tall man, taller than me, built like an ox. Brown hair streaked with gray, and his dour face creased with the lines of age. Armored in bronze scale that glinted in the sun.

Heralds announced titles, both my own and those of Royce, and I gave the order to have the chest opened and its contents displayed. Lamentation was carried around by a boy, barely twelve, whose father had marched to war with Lord Royce.

On a whim I had made him a squire to Aron Celtigar.

“Lord Royce was given a burial, and rites as according to the customs of your people.” The words sounded hollow in my ears, and I was aware of my heart beating.

Royce’s dour expression changed to one of resignation. I had thought I caught a flicker of anger cross his features, but ultimately negotiations for surrender had not taken long after that. Lamentation indeed.

The Septon of Runestone’s support had only sealed the deal. With profuse apologies for the death of Knight-Captain Arnold, and promises of any aid they could give. Slowly, carefully, my men were allowed into the town.

Runestone was beautiful. To me at least, with how the sun reflected off the bronze-capped dome of the castle’s central keep as we approached, crossing the bridge leading from the town to the castle grounds.

Upon reaching the castle, more a fortified palace, we were hosted and treated to a banquet. They had prepared it ahead of time, I guessed. For us, or for the Lord Royce upon his victorious return?

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Perhaps it had been the drink, the choicest wine from the cellars of Runestone, or the sight of its treasure being carted off, but I was… happy. Genuinely happy. It was a strange sensation.

There had been no sneak attacks, no betrayals, no real complaints as I had men brought in and sent out. No complaints as I spoke with the Septon Martyn over dinner, no real animosity from Elton Royce.

“You took up arms against me, so I will punish you. But you surrendered, so I shall leave you your family lands.” I had told Elton Royce, regent of Runestone, bypassing the deceased Lord Royce’s second son, a small child, in favor of naming Elton as Lord of Runestone.

A child could not have worn the armor I had given back, after all.

Part of me tried to think of what could go wrong, of how danger could pop out at any point.

I could not keep the smile away for long, as I looked out from the balcony toward the sea below. Something had stirred in me.

It had been only a few days, but… I had missed it. A part of me felt more at home beside the sea, to be far from it felt wrong. I had missed the cries of gulls, the scent of the salty spray, the rush of the waves lapping against the land or crashing against rocks.

A river, or at least the rivers I had seen thus far, had been a poor substitute for the wide waters and the glittering of the sea in the light of the summer sun. And even the sea here felt an inadequate substitute for the waters of the Gullet and my home upon the Narrow Sea.

Another part was still unsettled by it, the sea was too open, too vast, and a body of water I could not see the other side of was not one I trusted.

It was with a light heart that I went to bed. A part of me reveled in the feeling that the past days had brought.

Life is good. 

Chapter Text

For a moment, I saw a city. My city. Massive walls and a hundred towers, paved boulevards on which the feet of a million men would tread, statues of dragons and myself and spiral columns, a palace by the sea to match the grand one atop the highest hill, domes of gold and silver shining in the sun as people from every nation spoke in every language in its streets. Towers of glass and silvery metal touching the skies themselves, set with glass of a thousand colors. The envy of the world, a wonder to make the Hightowers weep, to rival old Valyria at her height.

It brought a smile to my face.

“Is the state of my fortifications to your satisfaction, my ruler?” Snapping me from my daydreaming was the voice of Lord Kyle Redfort, speaking in a rough Valyrian. It sounded off. Almost too slow, halting, and with words I didn’t even recognize complicated by the fact that yet other sounds were clipped.

I wanted to tell him to shut up and speak the language of his own people. I spoke far better Andalic than he spoke Valyrian, and I had no time to humor his desire to show off. It’s not his fault. 

Instead I turned my attention from the keep’s battlements and to Lord Redfort himself. He was tall, taller even than myself, and though he wore fine green robes now, I remembered his shoulders looking broader under less flowing clothes. The robe was marvelous, silk and worked with golden thread that shimmered slightly in the summer sun.

Forcing a smile, I replied, “It is… fine enough.”

He chuckled, it was a warm sound that had me feeling almost relaxed for a brief moment, “I see. You command a vibrant force indeed, Claw Men and men from Duskendale and from the Narrow Sea. Some few Valemen as well.”

A part of me felt a puff of pride, and I smiled, “Royce men now, too. As well as Gulltown men, and I work with the Septon of Gulltown.”

“My Septon would not let me hear the end of that. He advised that I open my gates to you just hours before a raven arrived from the Eyrie from Sharra. She commanded I take my men and move to meet with her own forces.” He touched at the ends of his beard as he spoke.

I felt a sudden chill run down my spine. Was this a trap? The image of lords being cut down as they sat in guest chambers came to my mind’s eye.

Shaking my head, I shook the feeling off as well, if not fully.

“Are you certain you will not mind my sending your men to reinforce the passes?” I had to force myself to keep eye contact, and even that grated at me.

Redfort only smiled, in a way that seemed to make him look younger than a man of forty years should. Despite his face remaining lined. He was green-eyed, beak-nosed, fair-skinned and long-faced, and had a natural friendliness to him that reminded me of Rhaenys.

And she is more than willing to burn men alive. If they are not kin.

“Not at all, the Bleeding Gate will not hold itself and you say your…” I caught something cross his face for the briefest of moments, “Husband, marches with the lords of the rivermen behind him to lift the yoke of Black Harren. I would suggest, if it is not impertinent of me, that you bring Lady Arryn to heel, and march your army to join him. That is what I would do.” Said Redfort, as he rolled bits of his beard between his fingers.

I frowned, “Aegon could break Harren by himself. Balerion’s fire is enough to turn Harren’s grand castle’s towers to molten stone, and Balerion could be mistaken for a hill if he were to lie down.” It was an exaggeration, though not by much.

Touching at Dark Sister’s hilt, I looked down to the courtyard in which Vhagar slept, my own men surrounding every entrance and exit to it. Just as my men manned the walls.

“Is your dragon a child, then? It seems so much smaller than what you say of your husband’s dragon.” Redfort said, his tone curious.

I bristled at that, and replied, “She is large enough to swallow you whole without any problem, Redfort. I am certain Royce thought the same before I ended his life and his army. Do remember that if you have any thoughts of turning cloak on me.”

That Vhagar was the smallest did not matter. Not unless Redfort had ten times the men Royce did.

“Of course, your grace.” He said in his Andalic, “My wife will need my aid in organizing the feast, I beg your leave.” It was a lame excuse. For a moment my gaze drifted to his hands on the balustrade, practically covered in rings. Rings of silver and of gold, simple bands as well as ornate ones set with fine stones.

I waved him off, watching him until he was out of sight.

My gaze drifted toward the walls once more, and I breathed softly as I looked out from the balcony.

I’d flown about the place several times, and I could well see where its reputation had come from. Built on a spur at the foot of the Mountains of the Moon, on one side of the approach it was merely steep, on the others long-eroded gullies and cliffs surrounded it, and while the defenses were the most concentrated on the eastern side, all wrought of a pale red stone, even outside of the high walls ringing the central fortifications, a massive bastion dwarfed even those in height.

If I had had to march men up to take the castle conventionally, I would sooner have given up than tried. They would have had to march up the slope, all while dealing with ballistae batteries from seven separate openings along the fortress’ ridge, dealing with men safe from counter-fire in their scarp galleries, and then the garrison itself. All while men hurled spears, or loosed arrows, or threw stones from the arrowslits and the battlements.

And that assumed one wasn’t attacked from the rear by reinforcements from within the Vale while besieging the castle, the slow grind of every day waiting for the defenders to lose their nerve. As your men died from illness or poor weather or just of random causes. Maintaining an encirclement with thousands of men and supplying them. It could take years, but if one tried to ignore the castle, then the valley and plains under Redfort dominion could not be held safely.

Thank G-d they surrendered. And I had meant it, Runestone did not compare, and I would not have wanted to try and take that either. It would have been messy. The memory of men jumping from sea-walls came back to me.

It felt less painful than it had before.

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It had been dawn when we left Redfort to hunt lions in the mountains and foothills nearest to it, the rosy light of the early morning had washed over the lands in a way that had left me near breathless. Even in spite of the large party with which I had left.

“Have you ever been hunting, your grace?” Rowena Redfort asked, dressed in a dark linen tunic long enough to reach her knees, woven bands of green going down the sleeves and sides, and a sash of red at her waist, securing the loose tunic she wore. Her trousers were similarly fine, and her reddish hair was done in a braid not unlike my own.

The day before she had worn it in a different style entirely. Is she flattering me, or is this merely practicality?

“I hunted and hawked with Lymond Redwyne and his sons.” He had boasted that in the old days a nobleman was not allowed to sit at meals until they had slain a boar.

A part of me felt the need to add, “In Old Valyria, some of my ancestors loved to hunt.” Faded paintings and tapestries depicting men and women chasing and slaying exotic beasts, many of which I knew not the names of, were all that remained of those days.

Dressed in the style of these people, I felt some discomfort. The closest thing that came to fitting me were hunting clothes that had been used by Lord Redfort’s brother. A part of me wished I was shorter. It is not my fault that others are so small. 

“What was the Arbor like, your grace?” Came the voice of Morgan Redfort, not dissimilarly dressed to his younger sister, but with blues where she had green and a short sword sheathed in his sash.

I remembered it, vaguely. “Warm. Lush with greenery, and more wild boar than you could hope to hunt in a year with five-thousand men at your back.” That last part was an exaggeration, but I did not care, “Vhagar feasted well when Redwyne hosted my brother and I.” Aegon and I had left laden with gifts and well-wishes. And Aegon with more than a few admirers… A part of me felt disgust.

“I will wager they have not shadowcats nor lions to hunt.” Morgan laughed, hefting a three-cornered mace, its head was sharp. “I need no spear nor arrow to slay any beast that stands before me.” He pointed to the shadowcat pelt he wore over his shoulder like a cape.

“One good throw of a mace. I slew my first shadowcat at six-and-ten.” He flexed his arm, lifting the short mace again. Idly, I glanced at lords Brune and Crabb. Both with boar spears, both looking more at home here than they had anywhere else.

Rowena groaned. “Every time he tells the story it is different. To hear him tell it, he was some hero out of song. Who wandered into danger, and slew a dozen shadowcats on his own.”

By mid-morning we had arrived, and by noon I was regretting agreeing to any of this at all as Morgan relayed yet another story about his grandfather and great-grandfather and some deeds they did when Halleck Hoare invaded nearly half a century ago. The lands are beautiful, though. A part of me wanted to smile, it reminded me of some wildlife parks I had seen as a child.

“Are you well, your grace?” The annoyingly cheerful tone of Morgan Redfort grated, “I have a Maester to tend to you, if you n-”

“I can tend to myself, Ser. I merely need some time alone.” I tried to make my tone gentler, as I forced a smile. Morgan’s sister, and half the nobles at Redfort had joined in the hunt. My own as well.

I did not like hunting. I did not like the strangers I was with, I did not trust them. The riding, however, was something I could never enjoy enough of. Riding even with others, racing them on horseback.

The wind rushing through my hair, that was a joy. But having to interact with a bunch of men I barely knew, and what few women joined in? I did not care for it. It was exhausting. Even if I could enjoy it for a time, it left me feeling worn out.

As a rustling sound from behind me set my heart racing, my gloved hand went to Dark Sister even as I pressed my knees together, ready to force my mount to run.

In every aspen tree I was expecting to see a man in hiding, ready with a nocked arrow or loaded crossbow.

Slowly, predictably, I guided the black courser to a slow gallop. Bringing my fingers to my lips, I gave a sharp whistle to Morgan Redfort, and we rode off to a nearby clearing. The Redfort heir’s shadowcat pelt shifted as he rode my way.

He was twenty-one, but he seemed young to me. His thick, brown curly hair, ruddy skin, and his stocky build and large arms, made him look almost nothing like his father. If it weren’t for the nose and those green eyes, I’d call him a bastard. 

“Is it the hospitality of my home that is lacking, your grace? We have not hosted a queen at Redfort in many years, so if it is not to your liking then I beg your forgiveness.” He seemed nervous, and I felt my eye being drawn to every shadow cast by the trees.

I shook my head, “The hospitality of Redfort is superb, but I do not wish to stay. You shall not see my spear lie idle while there is war in the Vale. Until Arryn submits, there will be no peace.” I wondered if I sounded as false as I felt.

Morgan laughed, a full laugh that shook his body, and the richly decorated hunting horn at his belt, “You have won at Runestone and Gulltown, the highest Septon in the land is on your side, and my father has sworn to you. The king is but a child. Who can hope to challenge you, my queen?”

I glared at him, and gripped Dark Sister’s hilt tighter as I looked around. Once I have Ironoaks, all I will have to do is wait. A weight lifted from my shoulders.

Letting out a deep breath I hadn’t known I was holding, I laughed. “You are not wrong, Ser Morgan. Mayhap I worry too much.” Glancing around, I wondered why I had thought I saw danger. Not every man is out to gut you. 

Taking another breath, and letting it out, I rode back to the others.

When we did find our quarry, the lion was dead at the bottom of a ravine behind a fawn it had been hunting. A part of me had felt heartbroken at the sight. In the end, we returned to Redfort with a boar that Crabb had speared.

Vhagar ate well, before I was through with Redfort. When the time came, I bade Lord Redfort to seize the passes that he could, and to have his brother turn over the command of the Bloody Gate, to make common cause with the hill clansmen in the foothills of the mountains, more amenable to service than their wild mountain kin, especially with promises of grain come Winter.

I left with high hopes.

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Even from dragonback the sight was breathtaking to behold.

Ironoaks was… beautiful. An island barely connected to the lakeshore by an isthmus on which the adjoining town rested, and jetties on the island itself which no doubt were meant for other destinations along the lake.

Or perhaps for the sea? Or Redfort? I knew that several rivers were connected to the lake, two rivers flowed into the lake, and one flowed out. Most of the water came from the mountains of the moon around the Eyrie itself, flowing through the lake and out to sea after joining with another river that came out of Redfort lands.

The sun sparkled off the pristine blue lake where fishermen plied their trade. The eastern edge ran up against  white cliffs and high hills, with the western shore being more flat and sandy. The lake is larger than Dragonstone I realized with a start.

If I did not know better, I would have thought Ironoaks to be a simple seaside town with only light fortifications. But it was a natural stronghold if one looked around even just a little, the castle itself was on top of a plateau, over two hundred feet in the air, and the even smaller town below it hugged the cliffs of that plateau and overlooked the lake, walled, the place itself surrounded on three sides by water with only one approach from the shore. Lord Redfort had said that half the time the isthmus flooded and made the town a true island.

The shoreside town’s grey walls were only barely less formidable than those of the castle.

They matter little. With Daemon sailing most of the fleet upriver, and ships from Runestone carrying what few Royce men could be spared alongside some of the Warrior’s Sons, and with Vhagar beneath me, they could not hope to hold out.

And as soon as ships were seen over the horizon, they did not even try. It was late afternoon when Lord Waynwood came to make his formal submission before the gates of Ironoaks, after we had ridden in through the town beside it. I had heard more than one Septon preaching submission to my family. River barges made their way, laden with grain, down the river east. To Runestone? Or perhaps to some of the watchtowers and forts along the coast and the river.

Round-faced, with thick wavy dark hair down to his chin in length, blue eyes and a handlebar mustache, Lord Waymar Waynwood cut a less than impressive figure as he knelt before me. I promised to uphold his rights, and that of his heirs, for as long as they served loyally, and he in turn promised to swear his loyalty to my kin. Is this what a grand conquest feels like? I wondered if Nymeria had felt similarly blank when men surrendered, after a while. It felt like boredom and impatience.

A boredom that almost seemed to drown the feeling of victory in a malaise. One that was only slightly lifted as I saw gold and silver and other treasure being hauled back onto the ships.

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“Victory after victory, won by our most glorious Queen.” Even I could pick out the amusement in the voice of the Lord of the Tides, he then glanced at something at the other side of the room, only for an ‘eep’ to be its response, and without thinking I looked as well.

Oh. 

Jon Royce, “The Two Day Lord” as I had heard him called, was hastily fetching a pitcher and bringing wine over. I had felt it best to keep the boy close, and so made him a page in service to my family.

If Elton were to raise a stink, I would have a ‘legitimate’ lord in my pocket. A part of me felt it was callous, but another part wanted to ensure I held Runestone and Gulltown at all costs. As long as I hold them, I can not lose the Vale.

If I could hold the Bloody Gate and Ironoaks, all the better.

Food had been brought out, and I was immensely thankful for that. My mouth watered at the sight of the buttered peas, and the green beans. With grilled and seasoned river fish, a cut of roast beef, lamb coated with a greenish sauce and herbs that gave it an almost overpowering aroma.

I ate my fill, almost forgetting that I was dining with someone else, until that someone broke the silence.

“Are you certain, your grace?” His voice had lost the amused tone, and was now clear, composed, as he spoke, Jon filling his goblet with wine, He is Lord Velaryon, now. “Even with every castle between Old Anchor and the Bloody Gate there are still many lords to force under your heel. Corbray, Lynderly, and Hunter chief amongst them.”

I refrained from drinking the wine in my own goblet, save for a small sip here and there. It had a tangy taste to it, mixed with some sort of spice and I nearly gagged.

“We do not need to. So long as I hold the lowlands, and the south, the Eyrie is cut off from aid. Any force that wishes to drive us out has to cross rivers, and bypass forts and castles under our control. We control the grain, and if it comes to it… we can wait. The Arryns can not.”

I had seen the maps many times, securing the rivers, and the forts and the castles had been my priority from the start. I do not have to fight them, I just have to wait for them to surrender. Sistermen raiding the northern coasts, undefended by the Arryn navy I had destroyed. If I could take the Gates of the Moon… well…

“A boy king can not lead armies, and will inspire little devotion.” Daemon simply nodded at my statement, and I drank deeply, for once, “Any army assembled will not have a unified command, no great lord to control it all, and if all goes well they will send them piece-meal regardless. But if it comes down to it… I command the largest force by far, now.”  

He laughed, “Truly, a cat among mice.”

I tilted my head, “I do not… understand.”

Daemon simply smiled, “All of your enemies you sweep aside, terrifying them with overwhelming force. As if a cat swiping its paw at a mouse.” That smile turned into a smirk, “Mayhap it would be more accurate to say that your dragon is the cat.”

A part of me felt stung by that last bit. As if my pride had been hurt.

Reclining, trying to rest in the chair, I said, “Vhagar or no, I have spread my men too thin, I feel. We need time to strengthen our hold, and I feel this is the best that can be done. With the Bloody Gate and Ironoaks taken, the Arryns are hemmed in. The Eyrie is simply a gilded cage for our little falcons.” A part of me felt I could continue, I could march and march and march into the mountains. Castle by castle.

But the prospect of it filled me a bleakness. If Royce could ambush in the lowlands… A part of me shuddered at the idea of an attack in mountain passes. I was not Basil, steadily conquering the Bulgars year after year, fort by fort, pass by pass, until his work was complete. No, I would hold the south, and dare them to try and take it back.

“I will be going to meet with Aegon to report on our success. And if G-d favors us, I shall return with enough men to finish what we have started.” A part of me just wanted to hide under a rock, rather than see him again. Another part felt my pride being torn at the very idea of asking for help.

Yet another part felt tired, at the idea of further campaigning into the Vale. Even with fresh reinforcements. A tiredness that persisted even as the evening turned into morning, and I mounted Vhagar.

There will be peace, one day.

I could not wait to discard my armor in favor of robes and dresses and riding clothes. Jewelry and the fineries of a queen. Perfumes of orchid and fruit rather than the clinging scent of leather and steel, and the footsteps of thousands of men and women serving in a palace whose floors were polished marble rather than the cries of rowdy men in camps eager for their next chance to plunder.

But for now, I simply enjoyed the feel of a silken scarf on my neck, and the rush of the wind blowing through my hair as we flew, beginning our journey to Dragonstone.

Chapter Text

I felt my lips tug upward in a smile as my destination came into view over the horizon.

Dragonstone. 

Even from here the Dragonmont could be seen, albeit faintly. I knew the smoke of the mountain, the grey wisps rising from the volcano.

The ships of the summer filled the seas around Dragonstone. Spice merchants from afar, men from Driftmark and Duskendale and even longships of the Iron Islands. Vessels carrying men across the Gullet from Dragonstone to Driftmark.

Abruptly, the steady feel of the rush of air through my hair and at my face ended. And from what I felt, what I saw, we were flying downward. My heart began to race, my vision narrowed, and I could hear my pulse pounding as the waters came ever closer. But so too was the shore of the island.

A keen whining noise came from below, a hissing, and I noticed that Vhagar had begun to slow her pace. I had not commanded her to do so. What? I did not have Rhaenys’ powers of command, but Vhagar had not misbehaved like this since... Since I was a child first learning to ride under my father’s tutelage.

“No! Fly! Fly!” I cracked the whip, and gave the commands and Vhagar flew. Correctly, this time, toward the place I felt like calling home.

Vhagar would need a day to sleep, I felt. Have I overworked her? Is she hungry? Perhaps she had not been ready for battle, maybe something had happened to her, Aerion had never mentioned this in his lessons.

I filed that away for later research.

A weight lifted from me as I dismounted from Vhagar in the courtyard. The green of Vhagar’s scales complimented the greenery of the small terraced garden. I had felt lighter already from when I had first seen Dragonstone beneath the cloudy early morning skies. I was home. A part of me felt like it had been an eternity since I had left.

But beneath the shadow of the Dragonmont the former final outpost of the Valyrian Freehold seemed unchanged. Frozen as if a fly caught in amber.

“Your Lady and Mistress has returned!” The traditional announcement, one my father had said began in the palaces of our family in the homeland. In the old days, before the Freehold. When the Families slew each other freely.

“Hail, Archontissa! Our mother, Visenya!” Came the voices of mail-clad guardsmen surrounding the courtyard. A part of me exulted in the title, the spoken Valyrian, the dialect of the Narrow Sea and Dragonstone. I did not bother schooling my features, smiling freely at the men clad in mail and helms and bearing spears.

Mother indeed. More than half the men were my uncle’s age or older, as Aegon had taken the younger guards with him. A part of me wondered how I looked, armored as I was. More a lady of war than a mother.

A flicker of an image crossed my mind, a dark-haired girl with purple eyes. A cat in her arms, the girl smiling. Not for the first time I cursed what my situation had made impossible. It is a grand jape. To be one of a pair, without the other. 

With a breath in and out, I dispelled those feelings. Putting them somewhere else for now.

I made my way into the keep proper, entering through a doorway taller than any three men and framed by coiled dragons, and walked through the candle-lit corridors of Dragonstone. A part of me was unnerved by how few servants seemed to be about their business. Where once the patter of over a thousand sets of feet echoed through the linked corridors connecting the various parts of Dragonstone as a whole, now there was near-silence.

Home. Dragonlore. The Painted Table. Inspection. I reminded myself, I was not here for pleasure.

I could hear only the soft sound of my velvet-clad feet against carpet and ancient black stone that maintained a polish despite the centuries. Looking almost as good as new, my eyes were drawn for only the briefest of moments to the friezes and murals of dragonlords surrounded by dancing girls and musicians and closely packed rows of foreigner men bringing tribute in gold and shackled men, slaves under the yoke as the masters of the world looked on and feasted, commemorating conquests long past.

It unsettled me in a way that it never did Visenya. It only reminded me of what must have gone into the making of the seamless black stone my home had been wrought from.

Fire and blood. 

----------------------------------------------------

The turnpike stairs of the tower were far less daunting now than they had been for a child of three-and-ten, wrought of blackstone and shaped by dragonflame and sorcery. Sorcery you know only the barest hints of.

I shook my head, and merely continued to climb the stairs, passing what servants there were as if they were little more than furniture as I made my way to my destination. A key in my hand as I arrived before a doorway shaped like a dragon’s maw, and a door painted white as fresh snow.

A click was what I heard as the door was unlocked, and I entered through a doorway that was nearly eight feet tall if I had to guess.

Stepping into the high chambers of the Sea Dragon Tower felt almost like I was entering a tomb. Is it any worse than the rest of Dragonstone with how many Aegon has taken with him? Everything was darkened, with every tall window covered by curtains of a rich purple color. A part of me wanted nothing to do with it, but I had to see it with my own eyes. Have I not? For a moment I remembered a girl who had to be dragged from them when last she had been here.

She… I had been here once, and only briefly, since Aerion had died. But I was a dutiful daughter, and ensured that her old chambers remained as pristine as possible.  

Everything had been preserved. From the wall hangings, the paintings of Driftmark and of the western lands of Old Valyria, to the vanity mirror hanging from the wall, framed in mother-of-pearl. A bed large enough for five people to rest comfortably was made from poplar wood, white as snow, with a mattress stuffed full of feathers. All of the furniture, from the guest hall to that of her old bedchamber had been left intact, and it was to the bedchamber that I found myself going.

I felt my heart nearly leap from my chest as I passed the mirror. Ghosts are not real. A part of me said. Another part felt them as real as Vhagar herself, as real as Dark Sister at my side. I could not tell which felt what, in that moment.

The woman in the mirror had purple eyes, not blue. A part of me remembered what Aerion had said as soon as I.. as Visenya.. Had been old enough to wed. What Daemon had said at Duskendale. You have her look. I shook my head.

Pacing about the room, my footsteps almost silent on the rugs and carpets, carpets of blue and green and covered in fine vine-like patterns of gold scrollwork that covered the blackstone floor, I ran my hand along the furnishings. The chairs of smooth, exotic wood carved with waves and various shapes that I could almost make out just by touch. A part of me remembered touching them when I was younger. Trying to find patterns in the gilding of the chairs, and counting the precious stones set into them. Of the rich blue curtains embroidered with dragons of thread-of-gold, for just a moment I remembered the scent of the sea as the curtains fluttered in the breeze.

The scent of Driftmark, almost. Valaena had said. Her hands gently, oh so gently, braiding my hair.

A table wrought of marble, white and black marble with gold flecks and veins greeted me as I turned my gaze toward the window. The marble was cool to the touch. Almost every flat surface in the room held delicate porcelain that looked as thin as paper.

Golden lamps hung from golden chains along the walls, any candles long since removed.

Would she have supported me? I liked to think she would have. She was a proud woman, girl. Daemon had said. Another part of me felt it was silly, childish, to speculate on what Valaena might have thought. The dead lie with their kin and the gods, was what she had been taught.  

It was to her jewelry that I looked. Mere adornments. But I wanted to see, and so I retrieved the first one I saw.

The bracelet was a rough thing, and thick, almost ungainly. Set with sapphires and pearls, and scuffed several times over. It fit awkwardly as I put it on, the silver feeling cool against my wrist. How did you come to be so broken? Why did Valaena keep you? A part of me wished I had asked her while she was alive.

How was a girl who had not even flowered to know that her mother would be gone so quickly?

“Will you be taking your meal in these chambers, Archontissa?” A feminine voice asked, pulling me from my thoughts, and I turned around to see who it was, my hand reaching for Dark Sister at my waist, my heart pounding in my chest. Heat rushed to my face as my vision narrowed.

Standing in the doorway to the guest chambers was a young woman.

Alarra, if I remembered her name properly. A slip of a girl dressed in a long silk tunic with a silk gown worn over that, all of it fitted for her, though not tightly so, ankle-high green shoes embroidered with yellow thread covered her feet. The silk would have been too much for her to afford. A gift from Rhaenys? She was maybe a year younger than Rhaenys. Rhaenys’ favorite. I remembered.

That explained the clothing. Let her dress her dolls. A hint of contempt bubbled to the surface, and I quashed it.

From where I stood, the flaxen-haired young woman seemed tiny. She was as much shorter than Rhaenys as Rhaenys was shorter than me, if I had to guess. Her large eyes, dark in color, made her seem almost like a doll.

“Alarra.” The tone was harsher than I meant, and I wanted to kick myself.

The girl stiffened, and turned her head toward me, not meeting my eyes, her gaze fixed on my feet.

“I know my sister is fond of you.” I missed her, but I breathed softly. In and out. “Rhaenys is well, and I imagine she will be eager to see you when her task is complete.” I frowned, trying to think of something, “Do you wish for me to tell her something, when I see her again?” I am no messenger. A part of me hated it, but Rhaenys valued her, so I could bend my pride this once.

“As well, if any man has treated you poorly, whether he be the lowest servant or even a lord, please tell me.” Six times you may beat your wife with a wooden rod as thick as a man’s thumb. If that passed for justice, even among women, I wanted to do better. A part of me hoped that the Rhaenys there had wished to do more, that an early death had stopped her from doing more.

“N-no, A-archontissa!” She shook her head nervously. Is it fear? 

“No? You have nothing you wish me to tell your mistress? I will not give you this chance again, Alarra, and Rhaenys will be gone for quite some time.” I wanted to do something. A message from her favorite would make my sister happy.

“I.. no, yes, that…” The quavering half-quiet tone made me want to hit someone, “I wish to… that is…”

“Speak plainly!” I snapped, and immediately regretted it as she recoiled, and I tugged at my braid in frustration, “Do not test my patience.” I sighed, turning the gold band on my finger, and felt some measure of calm return.

“I am merely in a foul mood, Alarra. But you are my sister’s favorite, and so I wish to ensure you are well taken care of in her absence.” It was a lie, but it sounded right to my ears, I could not understand why Rhaenys would like such a cowardly wretch.

Does Alarra sing her praises like a trained parrot? I felt a chill, realizing what I had just thought. Of course the woman was afraid, I knew what was said about me.. About Visenya. And without Rhaenys here, she probably felt even worse. I could have her beaten, or even exiled from Dragonstone without a single coin. You could drive Dark Sister into her, and the guards would simply ask how you wished the body disposed of. It felt disgusting.

“-rooms? I-” I blinked. I had gotten lost in my thoughts again.

“Would you repeat what you said? I am afraid I was deep in thought.” I tried to sound as polite as I could, breathing in and out to try and let out my tension.

My stomach reminded me that I needed to feed it, and looking toward the windows I realized that the late morning had given way to afternoon.

With a nod, and a forced smile I was sure did not touch my eyes, I replied, “I think I will eat in the great hall, but otherwise I will take my meals in my own chambers in the Stone Drum.”

She nodded almost stiffly, and turned to leave, but I felt a discomfort, a squeezing in my chest, and I spoke up.

“Wait.”

She stopped stock-still.

“Thank you.” I did not know what else to say, “You may leave.”

----------------------------------------------------

The Chamber of the Painted Table was understated for someone of Aegon’s tastes. It had been unused since the days of Aegon the husband of Elaena until my brother had taken it for his own use, or at least that had been what he told me.

I wondered how much that had played into his desire to use it. It was good enough for one Aegon, why not another? But Aegon had never expressed much interest in his namesake. Why would he have? The portraits showed him as almost gaunt-looking, but smiling. A man who had preferred the ceremonies of court and sought to outdo his own father, outdo him without ever once leaving Dragonstone.

Even Gaemon had gone East for a season.

The red-gold afternoon sun helped illuminate the room and the table which gave it its name despite the narrowness of the windows. Though most of it was still lit by candles and lanterns changed twice-daily. A part of me cringed at that. Cost cutting would not be so bad, would it? Some habits were hard to shake.

Still, the room was a good place to have a quick chat.

“What has brought our most radiant Archontissa home so soon? Your husband said we should not have expected to see any dragons for quite some time.” Aemond Velaryon was of middling height, though I supposed he might have been tall for some. His hair was close-cropped, white-gold in color, and he was garbed in fine linens more fitting a lord than some landless third cousin of my uncle. “Your beauty has surely been sorely missed from these halls.”

The man was as much a flatterer as he was handsome. His eyes a vivid, intense blue, matching the stones set into the rings he wore as well as his tunic.

I wondered if that flattery had been what convinced Aegon to name him to the position of castellan.

For a moment I glanced at the threadwork on the cuff of my sleeves, then replied “If there was any beauty that is missed, it is that of my sister.” I felt a warmth there, at calling her that, and felt a tug at my lips. I was probably smiling.

“You are too humble, Archontissa.” He said with a smile. Something about it rang false. And that falseness made the warmth I’d felt turn to anger.

Nodding, I gestured for him to allow me to whisper something into his ear.

“And you are too brazen.” I almost spat the words out, drawing back from him and then flashing a smile I did not feel, “I should like to know what has gone on since we left. Everything of note. Not to sit here exchanging pointless words with a man whose sole talent appears to be flattery.” My stomach rumbled, and I laughed nervously feeling heat come to my cheeks, “I suppose we could speak in the Great Hall, or along the way.” I could not let myself be distracted, I had to make the most of every moment I was at Dragonstone. 

You don’t have to leave.

Aemond’s expression flashed between something I couldn’t quite catch and then to a flat smile before he bowed his head, “Of course, Archontissa. I live to serve.”I kept my hand on Dark Sister, glancing backward as we passed through the corridors and the stairs, narrow and winding downwards, and out from a door to a colonnaded walkway whose railing was covered in chimeras and gargoyles every two steps, and on we went, speaking mostly of what I already knew: little had happened at Dragonstone.

Half of the keep seemed abandoned, it was lonely in a way I could not ever remember it being, nowhere was that more apparent than in the great hall. I could have fit those in attendance into Duskendale’s rookery comfortably.

There could not have been more than thirty people, even including the guardsmen at the doors, and the servants still bringing food from the kitchens.

The loneliness lingered even as I ate my fill.

---------------

Moving a pear around in my hand, I drummed my fingers on the edge of the dark wood table. Faintly feeling my long silver hair, unburdened by either braid or ponytail, move with my head.

It is good to be home.

Brushing a few hairs out of my eyes, the scent of rosewater wafting into my nostrils, I felt a slight upward curl to my lip as my gaze kept being drawn toward the open window, and the skies that for the most part were sunny. The scent of the salty seas and the smoke and brimstone was fainter today, but it was always there. A part of me wanted to strip down to my skin and go swimming somewhere private, though I quashed that desire.

We are not here for pleasure. I did not know whether I was referring to myself and Vhagar or myself or ‘Visenya’, and I did not care.

A quick look at my reflection in a nearby mirror reminded me of the pear in my hand. Eat. A part of me almost screamed, but laughter bubbled up in me and burst out in a giggle.

Bringing the pear up to my lips, I began to eat. Biting into the pear was perhaps the finest feeling I had experienced in some time. It was grainy, the flesh softer than any apple, more juicy than a peach, and sweeter than honey. Almost creamy in feel.

The pear, along with the rest of my meal, had been left by Rhaenys’ favorite maidservant. A meal prepared while I had been busy with my bath.

G-d, the baths at Dragonstone. I had not known I could miss them as much as I had. The servants knew exactly how hot I wanted my water, they did not look askance when I demanded it be so hot it would be nearly intolerable for most people.

No questions of me, they did as they were told and did so with a practiced efficiency. Some of them were old enough to have been preparing my baths since I was barely more than a babe. For a moment I remembered a girl who had been all too willing to wallow in her filth and grime after her mother’s death.

My heart constricted at the memory. Time had not healed that wound for that part of me.

In what seemed no time at all, all three pears were gone and though the other two were not as delicious as the first had been I still found myself craving more. Instead I satisfied my cravings by eating the rest of my meal slowly, working to clear the ornate golden tray of the meal set upon it. Digging into the red mullet fish and the bass, pickled tuna seasoned and though cooled a bit, still warm enough to enjoy alongside the fresh bread.

Interrupted mid-bite, I was more than slightly annoyed by the knock at the door.

“I told you, I do not wish to be disturbed! If you do not have a good reason then I will have you flogged, I do not care if you were sent by my brother himself!” A part of me hoped it was news from Rhaenys. Perhaps she had managed to send a letter by way of raven.

The man who entered the chambers was pale-haired, not quite silver, and dressed as befit a lord of Driftmark. Though less richly than one of my cousins or my uncle. I imagined the violet-eyed man was one of my more distant kin. Did Aegon leave him here? He was not the same kinsman who had been left as castellan.

He looked nervous, fidgeting with a silver band on his hand, and I reached for Dark Sister by instinct.

What he said next chilled my blood.

“The dragon Vhagar, d-during the night… she seems to have gone missing. Flown away!”

---------------

Chapter Text

Once tamed, a dragon is bound to the rider, such is the wisdom of the ages. All who have written on this subject know it to be truth, from the writings of Lord Freeholder Olysos in the days of the Harpy Rebellion and even as near to our times as those of High Priest Anaera one-hundred years before the Doom which took our homeland. The sorceries for the theft of another’s dragon would have died in those days, and with my death such a thing is assured. You may curse me for it ,  my children, but some secrets are best left swept away in the inexorable flow of time, forever concealed in the darkness of the ages…  

Staring at the codex written in High Valyrian with scarlet ink on vellum and sealed in gold-embossed leather had revealed no new answers. I read everything I could. Everything from how a dragon was to be fed from its hatching to their training, Vhagar had not displayed symptoms of any sickness I had skimmed through.

I felt a warmth of pride in my chest, knowing that I was a faster reader than Visenya had been, but she could focus better. G-d, I wished the theories about Visenya being a powerful sorceress had actually been true.

Aerion Targaryen had organized things by category, and for that I was forever thankful. Each page had its upper corner marked with a symbol denoting what it was for. How much had died with him? What magic might have been able to fix this? Perhaps the problem might have been found in the scrolls that my father had destroyed.

Would there be anything in there? I doubted that those lost scrolls contained anything on a… whatever I was. 

I could feel my heart thump in my chest, almost. My breathing strained as I read once more, trying to find some clue. Candle light casting shadows against the wall of the cramped room I had sought solitude in. The scarlet ink of this section detailing the training of young dragons, of how eggs were to be handled in order to hatch them.  

I need a dragon, if Vhagar has abandoned me.

Any eggs on Dragonstone that had survived my grandfather’s time were as alive as stone. I doubted I could accomplish what Daenerys had done, not with those eggs. And it would cost the lives of three people. A voice seemed to whisper.  Even if it could be done, I did not have decades to wait to replace Vhagar.

I wiped my eyes. I could not tarnish this book with my tears.. Aerion had written several books like this, but they had been of no help. Perhaps Vhagar flew off for her own reasons? I hoped she had gone hunting. The prospect of having to see Aegon again without her had my heart constricting. I felt tiny, I felt small, and something like panic was beginning to set in.

If I could get Aegon alone. Rhaenys is in the Stormlands… perhaps if Vhagar has rejected me I could... My chances were not particularly high, but with the element of surprise and Dark Sister in hand I could handle him. Then Balerion would be riderless. The men of Dragonstone would fall in line, they and their fathers and grandfathers had served a kinslayer before. 

We would have to consolidate our hold on the Vale and the Riverlands. A treaty with the King of Winter perhaps, an arrangement for grain in exchange for some of his excess men to come join the fighting in the south. Even with Balerion, the Vale might be an issue if they got it into their heads to revolt and rejoin their former liege. 

Septon Elys might support me if I told him I had tried to convince Aegon to have our marriage annulled. To live together as brother and sister only. It would be a good sop to the Faith, a virtuous heroine who was forced to slay a brother whose incestuous polygamy had enraged the gods.

The thought of remarriage kindled something akin to joy in me for a moment. With Aegon out of the way, I would need to find support and I had the luxury of choice. One of my kinsmen. Aron Celtigar was grown enough, and his marriage could be dissolved quickly if I brought it up to Crispian. He did not have the guts nor ambition to cross me. Corlys was fine enough, but Daemon had too much influence as it was. Quenton, perhaps? He was only a few years my senior, his wife was gone, and he had no powerful family to threaten me.

Orys was not an option. He was too ambitious, and would suspect. He had the blood for it, if Vhagar had rejected me he could possibly steal her. Is it theft to claim what is without owner? You stole her first. Worse still, Rhaenys might wed him. And the thought of marrying another brother, even half, made bile rise in my throat.

Then.. Rhaenys. She would know quickly if I slew Aegon, and if it came to a fight between me and her, I was not a particularly talented rider even on Vhagar who I had ridden for twenty years. On Balerion there was a good chance she could kill me. Maybe if I convince Daemon, or have her invited to Dragonstone. Say we need to have a meeting. Then, I c- I felt sick to my stomach as I realized just what I had been thinking.

I wanted to cry. It wasn’t fair. I had burned people, I had been ambushed, I had killed and seen men die because of me. I had hardened myself, I had done it all… for what? So I could be set aside and forgotten? So I could lose Vhagar? So I can be sold off for some alliance the moment Aegon realizes I don’t have a dragon anymore? I felt my whole body shaking, my vision blurring and a fat teardrop splattered on one of the pages. 

“WHY? G-d, why?” Without thinking I threw the book against a nearby wall, its pages fluttering as it flew, before hitting the wall with a thud. A thud that had my heart constricting as it hit the floor, echoing in the silence of the room. Gulping, I shakily got up to retrieve the book, my legs feeling stiff as I walked toward it and only hoped I had not damaged it. With my hand hovering over the gold-embossed cover, ready to pick it up, I halted.

Heat filled me, a heat of anger. Why did I care? Why should I care? The book did not help me, had not helped me find what was wrong. If it came down to it, I knew enough to write another.

I hoped Rhaenys would help, if it came down to it. What will you be then? The older sister, dragonless, bereft of right to the gold, forgotten, powerless. The thought of Rhaenys’ eyes filled with pity had me seeing red, and before I could think I had kicked the chair I had sat in hard enough that I had kicked clean through part of the back.

“Fuck.” I wiped my eyes, and paced about the small, sparsely furnished room. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled, then repeated that until I could feel some measure of control. It would not do to be wandering the keep looking like I was half-mad.

Breathing deeply, I shook my head, and my hair shifted slightly in its ponytail over my shoulder. Anxiously, I checked for Dark Sister at my waist, donned my cloak, and placed the leather-bound tome with its sisters in a linen bag.

I was stuck. Grounded in a literal sense. My mood grew darker every moment I spent cooped up in the blasted tower. How long before Dark Sister’s embrace will seem tempting once more? I was doing nothing, accomplishing nothing reading old tomes and thinking on my doom. I needed to get away from the keep for a time. Let the guards find Vhagar, if they could.

---------------

“I will have your Roatril brought out, A-archontissa.” Said the stablehand, a boy hardly more than seventeen by the look of him. He had skin that was a dark tan from the sun, with silver hair that was streaked with dark brown. Dressed in the working clothes of a horse groom of Dragonstone.

I frowned, “Rochiril. Her name is Rochiril.” A made up name in a made up language. A part of me jeered, and I tried to shove the embarrassment away. 

The stableboy paled and began apologizing profusely. I frowned. Am I truly so frightening? I had not meant… My hand dug into the side of my tunic, pressing hard enough to bruise if I kept it there for much longer. I had to stay calm, I had to keep my temper in check, I could not afford to lose it, not now, not with Vhagar missing. I took a deep breath, and schooled my features.

“G-d alive, just fetch my horse. I do not care about such a small mistake, only make sure it does not happen again.” Any annoyance was soon gone like the morning mist as he returned with the grey palfrey, the mare whinnied as she approached and rested her head on my shoulder. 

For a moment, I laughed and found myself smiling slightly. 

“Easy there, girl. I was not gone that long, was I?” I did not know how long a horse’s memory was, anyway. If you have forgotten me, then I suppose we will have to start from scratch. But the grey palfrey did not seem to have forgotten me.

Mounting up on Rochiril again felt strange. While I was fond of her it had been some time since I had ridden her. But the feeling of off-ness was quickly dispelled once I had my feet securely in the stirrups, with her reins in hand, and rode out from the shadow of the Dragonmont onward toward the port of Dragonstone, Rochiril’s hooves left marks in the damp ground, distant waves glittering in the afternoon sun.

I laughed as I remembered I had left my guard behind without so much as waiting for him to mount up.

Riding a horse felt like second nature in a way that flying on Vhagar did not. The feel of the wind rushing, the bounce and sway in the saddle tightly controlled, the scent of the sea mixing with brimstone was strong and I loved it. 

Another part worried. But I stowed that away for now, it did no good to panic. Not here. So I breathed. Faint memories of childhood flowed in, of pretending to be a valiant hero or reenacting scenes from Lord of the Rings. 

I make for a poor Éowyn, and an even poorer Aragorn. I felt a tinge of embarrassment. Those were thoughts unbecoming of who I was, but I wanted to cling to them. So I did, and I simply allowed myself to enjoy the feeling of the breeze against my face, a smile as I took in the sensation of the clothes I wore. Dressed in a silk tunic that went down to my knees, my pale blue cloak was trimmed with a gold that shimmered in the sun, and held in place with a golden clasp at my neck. My shoes were well-made and comfortable, and the rest of my clothing even more so.

Tension had drained from my muscles, and despite the break she needed, Rochiril kept a good pace as we passed several smaller villages beneath the Dragonmont as well as farmland on the way toward the port where the annual celebrations were being held. In other places they might have been held in the autumn, but on Dragonstone the howling winds of the autumn storms and unpredictable weather ensured that summer was the best season for this festival. But even then, I knew everyone here in a sense, if not literally, it was not like riding with Redfort or any lord, nobody would think of looking at me in a way that could offend, let alone want to harm me. 

It was not long before the guard I had left in the literal dust caught up to me, a grizzled man well past his prime of life, but he complained not a whit once he did catch up. Good. 

The sight of a half-burnt ox carcass met us as we rode past one village. Where is she? Looking up at the Dragonmont, the gentle rising of grey smoke was all the answer I got. Will she even remember me? What if… I shoved that thought into a box. 

What people we passed on our way to the port made way, and though a part of me felt guilty, my grip tightening on the reins as the smallfolk bowed and scraped while we passed, but the pleasure of riding drowned out the unease before the farmland gave way to the port town proper and the familiar sights made themselves known. Along with unfamiliar ones.

Cats, cats were everywhere. Whether being fed by fishermen, basking in the warm sun beside any of the older stone buildings, or the ones with plastered walls. I was still amazed at how they seemed a natural part of life here, despite knowing on some level that it was normal.

Every building seemed to be accompanied by some gaudy statue or another. Whether of gorgon or gargoyle or manticore, crude idols and some which were fine in quality. A close look revealed that one building had even seemingly used a statue-pillar for support.

Passing through the packed streets, barely able to tune out the majority of the noises, and focusing on the imagined sounds of my own breath, I saw brothels, smelled the stench of cheap perfumes, overpowering even from outside. They were clearly full at the moment. 

In the back of my mind I filed those away. Once the war was over, I would issue a decree whether Aegon liked it or not. I had once read that brothel owners went far afield to find girls, buying them from poor families. If that were even remotely the same here, I would strangle every brothel owner I saw. Perhaps not strangle. I imagined confiscating property would work just as well.

At least the smell of perfumes covered up the smell of fish rotting in the summer heat, a smell that made me think of the home I had lost.

The roads, built at my father’s order, and maintained by the Limenarch, looked to be in good repair.

Why should they not be? I was not gone for very long. My guard and I passed by taverns and inns, and the smell of fish being cooked on open-air fires alongside other meats for some local celebration or another drifted through the air as I caught bits of Tyroshi-accented Valyrian and Common alongside smatterings of other accents I could not quite make out. It seemed more lively than when last I had visited, a liveliness that was lacking in the keep.

A feeling that was only enhanced at the town square. From among the throng I picked out two Lengii merchants, women who made even me feel tiny, and who dwarfed the people who had come either to gawk or to purchase wares. 

It is still nothing compared with Gulltown, let alone Oldtown. It did not even match Duskendale. There was a burning feeling in me, at that admission. Yet there was no doubt, even here, that merchants would beg me to look at what they had.

Unlike Rhaenys, I lacked the patience to deal with them. Especially not on foot as I was, with Rochiril stabled away.

“Keep them away, will you?” The guard only nodded, and gave a half-smile. I did not have to explain who I was speaking of. Passing time taking in the sights, and hearing complaints from a number of townsmen who had recognized me, I merely directed most to bring their issues to the Limenarch. It was not my concern whether some local fisherman was cheated by a man from Myr.

It was not quite night, late in the evening with the stars twinkling and the moon rising and the sky tinged dark blue, when we came across a large white cloth the size of a cart on display, illuminated by oil lamps and candles, and set up as though with a little stage. I wanted to go closer, but a crowd had gathered, and so I made do with what my height allowed from the middle. A quick look at me had others making way.

How many do so for recognition? I threw some silver the way of those who had moved from the front to give me a closer look. 

When the show began, the crowd had fallen into a hushed silence as the puppets. Though puppets may have been the wrong word for these figures, I could not see their puppeteers, though I knew there had to have been someone. More than one, most likely. 

A puppet appeared, in the shape of a winged serpent colored in green and striped with gold. Was it deliberate? Unease filled me and I began to toy at my silken hair in its ponytail, tied back with a silk ribbon, as I remembered just why I was here and not out west at the moment. She will b- I closed that line of thought as hard as I could and watched the puppet. The shadow it cast as it seemed to move across the “stage” was colored green as well.

A voice spoke loudly from behind the cloth, one that spoke common with a Pentoshi accent. “Long ago, there was a dragon that guarded the waters that provide the city of Duskendale with life. Every year, the dragon would feast upon a girl from the city, and the Lord Darklyn would tearfully give the dragon its sacrifice. Chosen by lottery, a name every year plucked from a hat by the Lord Darklyn.” Another puppet moved across, the light of the lamps showing it to be dressed more akin to a man from Myr than Duskendale, robed in green and decorated in bright swirling patterns and his feet clad in slippers. 

The puppet led girl after girl puppet toward the dragon’s maw, and the puppeteers worked the jaws and the girls seemed to almost vanish into it. “Until one year, the girl chosen was his daughter.” 

A number of voices around me gasped, others snickered. I wanted to roll my eyes. I’d heard this sort of story before, like with Theseus and the Minotaur. 

Idly, I noticed that the dragon puppet had faded and seemingly gone from the scene. But the Lord in his fine robes and tall hat placed his hands over his mustachioed face, and there was a faint sound of sobbing, “Oh my daughter, my light, you who are most precious to me! Woe that fate has so cruelly taken you!” 

He stood before the puppet of the girl, who looked similar to the others save for having pale hair, and her dress being like that of the Lord though her slippers were blue and her eyes green where the Lord’s eyes were brown “I will not allow this, I will put out a bounty. Nay, a reward. Any man who slays the dragon shall have your hand in marriage! He shall be my son!” 

The two puppets, Lord and Daughter both disappeared, as another puppet made its appearance. A man, reddish in color and with eyes as black as pitch, and clothed in worn low-class garments, moved across from the right toward the left where a hut had appeared and a walled… town? A town on the right.

From the right came yet another puppet, and a part of me was impressed by how the puppets on the left kept moving around and seeming to dance like they had jointed limbs. The red puppet named himself as Duncan the Dark-Eyed, and the audience seemed to require little introduction, or at least they might have been as intrigued as I felt. 

They proceeded to argue over why the crier, apparently his friend by the name of Harys the Fair, was speaking so loudly, and he was the butt of more than one joke by the red puppet. I found one of the jokes genuinely funny, or perhaps I was simply laughing with the crowd by that point.

So the show went on, the crier telling of the lord’s reward for slaying the dragon, Duncan rubbing his puppet hands together and “quietly” talking about how this will give him just what he needs to pull himself from the dirt and I wondered how he was going to pull this off. 

The background gave way to the dragon’s cave, with the dragon seemingly sleeping. Don’t think about her. By the time I got back into the mood of things, I was laughing as the ostensible main character ran off with his rear set ablaze.

Then a procession of other characters, from Jon the Baker to Podrick the Dornishman, Podrick not even being able to name anywhere from Dorne aside from Sunspear and being pale as snow, all of them trying and failing to slay the dragon at the urging of Duncan who convinced them they would share in the wealth once the deed was done, but after their failures he returned home only for a man with a clear shield and dressed like a knight with a blue cloak to meet him . . .

. . . By the time the play was over I had shared more than a few smiles with my guardsman, laughing with him and the crowd as Duncan’s antics grew more over the top and yet petty. After meeting with the blue-cloaked knight, there was a series of misunderstandings and food puns in both Valyrian and Common, and Serwyn of the Mirror Shield had decided to let him take credit for the dragonslaying merely to see what would happen. Ultimately, the closing line of the play had been from the main character himself. Boasting that while Duncan had been kicked out of the palace after his fraudulent claim to a prize, he had eaten much while in the palace.

I had been able to lose myself in a puppet show for a time, something I never had been able to do with the harpists or the singers. A part of me wanted to snub it, as a low form of entertainment, but I shut it out, and hummed when one of the players came out to collect payment from the audience. 

I was thankful I had been able to close out the noise of the others. Too many people making too much noise from too many directions was something I could not handle.

With the curtains drawn back, and the moon shining down and a starlit sky overhead, I felt a slight upward tug of my lip when the thin and almost reedy man wanted to collect coin from me, and his broad smile only grew when he took a look at my cloak’s clasp and the bracelet I wore as well as my guardsman.

“I knew not that we had a wealthy woman in our audience tonight! From where do you hail, to attend such a humble show as ours?” His voice had hints of a Pentoshi accent, a stress on s sounds, and half-silent h’s, and I realized he had been the narrator.

“Not far, I am the Archontissa of Dragonstone. Rider of the dragon Vhagar.” Those last words were forced, and hurt to say though I kept as even a tone as I could. I hoped she would be found soon. I needed her to be found soon. “Come with me to the keep. You will be my honored guests tonight.”

The man’s skin lost color, face paling in the lamplight even as some few others around us muttered or grumbled. “P-please forgive us, this show was not meant to offend!” 

Sighing, I raised a hand to silence him, “I do not wish to harm you, I enjoyed the show you put on. Now, you and your fellows will come with me. Horses will be provided, and if you do not know how to ride then that is no issue. I will have it handled.”

And that was that.

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The ride back to the castle was quiet, though I found a way to pass time by counting stars and trying to make out shapes in the distance under the moon and starlight only rarely marred by errant clouds. Blinking away the tiredness whenever it tried to creep up on me. Rochiril’s gait was gentle, stable, predictable, unlike the clumsier movements of those behind me.

Not that I blamed them, most of the horses had two riders. A guardsman and horse commandeered from the Limenarch, and the member of the puppeteer troupe being hauled along.

When we were at last at the castle I considered home, Rochiril and the other horses being led off to stalls in the stables, I could not help but feel the enormity of Dragonstone weigh down on my tired shoulders in that moment. Three layers of blackstone walls and hundreds of grotesque statues worked into the very stone of the battlements and the keep three hundred years before.

Towers shaped like dragons, defying logic in their longevity and sturdiness. They had never needed repair, and with luck would never need it. Dragonstone was wrought by magic. How many lives went into it? In my mind were images of dragonriders, silver-haired and clad in scale and cracking whips and sounding horns as stone was melted and reshaped and slaves bled. I wondered how Dragonstone could have become so poor and pathetic by the War of the Five Kings. Was it the Dance? Centuries of mismanagement? King’s Landing’s existence? I felt that Dragonstone was, on some level, my home, and it was hard to believe it could go from this to that. It was the center of my world.

Would my city meet the same fate? Mismanaged by fools and hit by the vagaries of fate? Will Aegon even allow you your city, without Vh- I clamped on that, gritting my teeth to ward away the thought.

I needed to make water soon, I realized. I had hoped I would be able to hold it until this was ov-

“-ommand.” I blinked, the faint buzzing now just a snip of audible words, and I realized I must have lost focus again. I wanted to curse myself for it, but instead turned to the guardsmen at the gatehouse and spoke, my eye lingering for a moment on the olive-skinned woman of the puppeteer troupe, her eyes even in lamplight were like black agates and she met my own gaze unflinchingly.

“Escort our guests to rooms in Windwyrm Tower, Carys.” I said to the grizzled man, probably one of the oldest of the guards still serving at Dragonstone, if his face was anything to go by. I vaguely remembered him from my earliest memories, when my grandfather had been alive. His good son is with Aegon’s army, I think. Aegon had mentioned something about Nymerian’s bravery in battle against Mooton’s routing forces. 

Flint-eyed Carys did not so much as speak, instead bowing his head and doing as he was told while I made my way through half-lit halls trailed by two maidservants ready to ensure everything went well. I gave orders to the household, what members were awake at present at least, to treat the puppeteers with the utmost respect and courtesy owed to guests. 

Soon enough we passed through a hall leading to our destination, entering through the Stone Drum to my own apartments. My own apartments which had been prepared twice over, the lamps kept lit, silver candelabra with tri-colored candles from the southern Vale, fine rugs and carpets that only became nicer as one went from the room where guests were entertained and to the living space which I had called my own for weeks, ones I had called my own since Aerion had died. Does the difference matter? You remember both. 

Two windows a yard wide each and uncovered by curtains let in moonlight, and on one end of the room was a balcony, doors of ebony wood carved with exotic beasts keeping the night winds from entering through. 

“Archontissa?” One of the maids spoke up, “W-”

“Ready me for bed.” I was in no mood to bother with it myself, and it was easier to let them handle it anyway. That is their job, after all. 

As they went about their work my eyes were drawn to my bed, looking more and more like a sanctuary. Scarlet silk sheets and soft pillows, and as soon as my hair was brushed and my body bared for sleep I crawled under the sheets. Blackness greeted me as soon as my head hit the pillows.

I dreamed of a dark river running red with blood, the same blood that stained my hands, the smoky rippled steel of Dark Sister covered in viscera even as I screamed for everything to stop. Green flame and white fireballs turning rushing water to steam. A thousand men, perhaps a thousand times a thousand beneath countless banners consumed in fire and water both.

A fist clenched tightly around the blade of a sword as it was consumed by jade flame on water. A fierce dragon, golden eyed, tore at a mound of treasure with fang and claw.

Looking over the events underneath starlight at daytime, dressed in armor, I wanted things to stop. Just for a minute, I wanted to see my city if it was to be found.

“You think you can build, girl? The dragon does not build. We are destroyers, you and I.” Came the voice of a woman, one that sounded like my own voice, I turned to see her only to meet empty air. Falling from the skies, my heart feeling like it would leave through my throat, I wanted to scream.

I wanted to cry, I wanted Vhagar to save me. I needed her to save me. But as the ground grew ever closer she never came.

Weep for us, girl. For you have stolen from me the eyes that would shed tears. The voice was harsh and laced with judgement as it echoed through my head just before I hit the ground.

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It was more a cavern than a hall filled with light. No windows, for it was in the heart of the Stone Drum. 

Large, long tables, six of them in rows, wrought of the same stone as most of the keep, save for the high table which had been made for Aegon son of Gaemon. In the old days, the dragonlords and the nobility reclined. 

But I sat even above those. Letting out a deep breath, I idly tapped my fingers against the arm of the throne I sat within the Great Hall of Dragonstone. 

The seat of my father and his fathers before him was... not the most beautiful. It was ornate, elaborate, but it was an eyesore. Made in the Freehold itself, the chair was tall as two men, resting on the backs of a pair of carven-stone dragons, with two closed dragon's maws for arms, and twin dragons at the top. All with eyes of topaz and precious red stones, the chair was gilded and glittering with red enamel.

Sitting in it, at least the seat was comfortable. Made of red leather from some beast of Old Valyria presumably gone since the Doom. Father had said it came from a young firewyrm, but he had been fond of telling tales when we were young. 

Looking down from the throne that rested on the dais, my guests were of course standing before me, from the weedy man with the Pentoshi accent to the stout older one robed in the Myrish style and the Dornishwoman. Or at least I imagined she was Dornish. Perhaps she might even be Myrish? She reminded me of one of the Rhoynar, at least. She was as tall as me, perhaps even taller. Guards flanked them, armed with spears and dressed in the livery that Aegon had devised. I bristled at that, and barely resisted the urge to toy with my braid. 

Breathing softly, I ignored whatever nervousness had crept in and wore Visenya’s strength as my own, like armor, feeling a confidence fill me. The only sound in the hall being the steady tap of my foot against the blackstone floor.

“I trust that you found the lodgings to your liking,” I wanted to kick myself for that, it sounded stiff and awkward, “I will cut to the quick. I wish to hire you on as part of my household.” Dragonstone had been quiet, half-lifeless, and the children of the servants as well as the servants themselves could use the entertainment.

To bring life back to the keep. And perhaps distract me from my own problems if V- Don’t think about that.

“You will be paid handsomely. Each member of your troupe receiving three gold coins per month, and the leader seven.” I resisted the urge to stroke the end of my braid, “All you need do is perform for the people of the keep once per week, and twice yearly go down to the port to do the same.” 

The Pentoshi spoke up, “Three gold coins is a handsome sum, but food and lodgings cost money and as ruler of the island surely it would all go back to you?”

I breathed in through my nose, and then out again.

“Worry not, you will be given free lodgings here at the keep. Your meals will be prepared by the cooks and your needs taken care of. Surely that is better than traveling from port to port for uncertain reward.” I felt as though the payment would be excessive, but it was better to spend a little more than necessary to secure service. It is not as if I am giving them thirty pounds of gold for a week’s work. I kept the scowl off my face, if only barely, at that memory.

“If we should wish to leave, then what?” The Dornish woman spoke up, her drawl giving away her origin.

Resting my cheek against the back of my hand, I replied, “Your oath of service will be renewed every year, so if you find service intolerable you will be allowed to leave. I guarantee you will not find so generous an employer anywhere else.”

After that it was merely a matter of having contracts written up and formal oaths sworn and accepted. 

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The sweat that trickled down my back from the day’s exertions was nothing next to that that was born of the heat of the tunnels we had made our way through. Will she be there when we arrive? Dragonglass purple and green and red covered the walls of the caves, the first had been exciting, up beyond the rocky paths leading up from the southern slopes of the Dragonmont, but then we had passed through a second, and a third…

“You are sure this is the way?” I coughed out, as dust kicked up from the caves, filling my throat and nostrils, even as the heat made the air feel cloying. It was not so hot as one of my baths, but something about it felt less comfortable.

One of my companions, a shepherd who had claimed to know the way, nodded his head. His dirty dishwater blond hair, not quite light brown, not quite blond and streaked with white and gray, in its ponytail and moved as he nodded, “Yes Archontissa, in my youth I walked the paths of the mountain to give thanks to the gods.” 

“You have a shrine, do you not?” 

“A shrine does not match with the high places, the open air, the flames beneath the skies.” 

It clicked.

“You speak of Valyrian rites.” I had not read of them, these were lessons ingrained from childhood, “You are not even Valyrian, what do you care?” 

He scoffed, “Pale hair and eyes might be lost with time, but my family have not forgotten our blood.” His lack of reverence had me suspicious.

“You speak well for a shepherd.” I frowned. Is this a trap? Glancing around, my guards, sweating, seem to have thought the same, their hands at their sides or gripping spears ready to fight at a moment’s notice. The three-headed dragon badge on their breasts glinted in the light of the sun as we left this tunnel, and saw another rocky trail. 

I will have to pay them a bonus for this. They had carried Vhagar’s saddle and saddlebags without complaint, no matter that it took a dozen men to do so, no matter that it must have strained them.

“Were not all dragonlords shepherds in ancient times?” I glared at that. My hand on Dark Sister’s hilt. What if… The thought that he had claimed her sent chills down my spine. I shook it away. If he had, he would not be doing this, surely. 

“Some shepherds are better than others, and blessed to rule and ride dragons.” I replied coldly, a sudden gust of wind whipping my blue cloak as we marched up the path, past burnt trees and even a half eaten corpse. I felt my breathing quicken, and my vision narrow as I saw the stump of an arm.

Breathing in, and then out, I was able to relax enough to focus again.

“Rest assured, if your words are truth I will reward you handsomely.” The half scorched clearing on the path gave way to a narrow passage through another cave. This one humid, and hot. The stink of brimstone was stronger here than anywhere I had ever been. The tunnel was long enough to require lanterns to make our way through.

Then, at last, the golden rays of the late afternoon sun pierced the darkness, and I caught the glint of green. 

“She is here.” I spoke up, not once taking my eyes off the green. Idly, I noticed that she had shed a few of her scales in the clearing. A clearing filled with springs, water heated by the Dragonmont.

“Carys, give the shepherd his reward.” The old guard bowed his head respectfully and reached for the satchel at his waist, handing the entire thing over to the shepherd, “Do not allow him to leave just yet, however.” I tried to ignore the pang of guilt that stabbed at my heart as the shepherd’s face paled, as if expecting the worst. Why should I feel guilty? I crushed the feeling, forcing the warmth of anger to fill me.

If you stole my dragon I will make you wish for a quick death. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes, and then opening them as I exhaled. 

My boots kicked up dusty gravel and bits of dragonglass as I left the cave, Vhagar raising her head, golden eyes opening, and fixed right on me. I felt like a mouse, weak and small, pinned in place by the mere gaze of the cat that was Vhagar, my legs like lead weights.

She was massive, from where I stood. Larger than a house.

I heard muttering from the caves, nothing distinct, just the faint buzz that was then drowned out by a wind. Reaching for my whip, I drew on what strength I had and cracked it in front of Vhagar’s muzzle, and pointed toward the other side of the clearing. Giving the command to move, it felt like more than words, but something in me echoed.

She whined, a keening whine, and for a moment I worried that the next and last thing I would see would be jade flame.

But I didn’t. She did as she was commanded, and seemed expectant. I felt my lips tug upward as the weight and worry of the past days melted away. Relief washing over me.

“Men! Come, Vhagar is ready to be saddled! And give that shepherd more silver. I will not have it be said that I am lacking in generosity to loyal subjects!” I shouted, and Vhagar lowered herself as she usually did when she was being saddled, and as the guardsmen ran out of the caves to handle her saddling, I walked around the clearing, looking at hot springs, and something caught my eye. Two somethings, right next to each other.

It… it can’t...

Eggs. Dragon eggs. Two of them, and almost immediately it all clicked into place. I had overlooked the possibility, and I felt my eyes begin to water as I ran over to the eggs. My braid bouncing as I laughed and lifted one of the eggs up with both hands. The warmth felt like it was flowing through me from it.

I looked at it, really looked at it. It was brown, mud brown and dappled green. It was not a coloring that I imagined many would consider beautiful. But to me, to me it was the most beautiful thing I had seen since I had woken on Driftmark. 

Inspecting the brownish egg, turning it carefully in my hands, its scales shimmered in the light of the afternoon sun. Men moved just at the corner of my vision, but I paid them no mind as I lifted the other egg, a reddish purple, like the purple dye from Tyrosh.

The eggs were a promise. My child, if I had one, would ride a dragon, not Aegon’s Balerion nor even Vhagar. But a dragon born of Vhagar, just as they would be of my blood.

Chapter Text

I savored the texture of the beef tongue, holding it carefully in my gloved hands so that the juice wouldn’t drip on my clothes. The taste mingled in a pleasant way with the white wine I had in a skin by my hip.

I looked from the steep hill which Vhagar had landed on, keeping my breathing slow and measured. From here I could see the river, and the land beyond the Blackwater Rush as the sun began its slow climb in the east behind the grey clouds.

From the sky the Blackwater had looked like a ribbon cutting across the land, but now it was more akin to a long road going north and south and east. The dark waters had been made so by the silt, I assumed. If it is anything like the Muddy River. The swift current seemed not to discourage the river barges plying their way down, at least I assumed the shapes were barges, it was hard to make them out in the dense fog of the early morning.

Though it seemed odd that there was so little in the way of traffic, so few people. A rotting smell wafted from the direction of the river, and I crinkled my nose at it. I imagined the summer heat must have gotten to some of the fish. Perhaps a bloom of algae?

The smell is different from Dragonstone, th-

A dull but insistent whining noise from behind had me rolling my eyes. Vhagar, you big baby. I only smiled as the heat from her maw tickled against my skin, managing to dry it despite the humidity being so bad it coated my flesh like sweat.

Another whine and I threw one of the meat cuts I had packed to her open mouth. “Brat. You just ate a whole ox last night!” I said, laughing as she made a noise like a tea kettle, clearly happy. She remained happy as I walked up to her and swatted her on the side of the head playfully, kissing the scales after.

Relaxing against her, the fog had dissipated with the slow rise of the sun, the golden disc which had been hidden behind light grey clouds now starting to radiate in all its beauty, the clouds pierced, and sending a cold lump down my throat as I saw what waited across the river.

A ruined tower. Melted I realized, and scorched land around it, and the wreckage of several ships along the west bank of the river. Bloated, half-eaten bodies lined the banks, answering where the stench had come from. Not rotted fish bu-

Unbidden, the image of black wings and black flame came to mind, and with a shake of my head I cleared it, mounting up on Vhagar as fast as my gloved hands and black boot covered feet would allow. I took a deep breath, and with words and a whip crack, Vhagar had taken flight, and we crossed the Blackwater.

------------

Thank G-d for Vhagar 

Without the breeze, enhanced by the rush of the winds in the skies as Vhagar’s wings beat steadily, the day’s humidity would have been beyond bearing, with what I was wearing. I could handle heat, but the wetness bordering on stickiness was something else entirely. Why Aegon set up camp along the river and near to marshes was beyond me.

It reminded me of home, my real home, and not in a good way. Memories of summer swarms of mosquitoes, of heat sensitivity and the scorching heat of the sun mixing with the humidity to leave me sick. That I was no longer so vulnerable to heat was more than a small blessing, but the question of Aegon’s choice remained.

Is it the hills? The cliffs? The rocky bluffs, covered in thickets of red cedar trees and white pines and white ash, were as good as castle walls in a pinch, and provided shade to the northmost regions of the camps. Box elder trees grew beneath the shade of the cliffs themselves, from what I had seen of the region, along with what more fresh memories knew as soldier pine and a variety of oak trees.

It provided a decent cover, and plenty of natural resources to exploit. Which explained why there were so many villages clustered along the river near here. Trees of paper birch and bur oak and rock elm gave shade to those beneath their boughs. Whether fishermen off their skiffs or men fresh from the pole boats or barges or two-decked river boats, all were painted colorfully from the hulls to vibrant sails. Ships carried grain that docked at river jetties and docks along the river.

It was a far cry from the Vale, even the lowlands and places beside rivers and streams and the sea did not compare. Lords of yellow mud Harren had called them, I remembered. But that was not a tenth of it. Singers sang ballads to the beauty of the Vale of Arryn, but this… this was...

A part of me, at heart, was a river girl, and I could not keep the sight and smell from paining me. Like a fist clenching my heart as I felt the edges of my eyes watering despite every attempt to shove the feelings away.

This whole camp was a mistake. “Damn you, Aegon.” I wished he had picked any other place and was glad for the gale drying my eyes, as I managed to get my feelings wrestled under control. An ache lingering all the while, pulsing in time to the strands of my hair that had blown free of their loose binding

The camps had come into view, even from above, they eclipsed that which had rested along the mouth of the Blackwater upon the three hills. If that had been a ramshackle town, this was practically a city, a sea of tents and a forest of banners rippling in the day’s gale that even now whipped my braid and set my gold-trimmed purple cloak to rippling as much as any banner.

No fortifications. I frowned, and the sight of Balerion resting that I had recognized before anything else came to my mind. The late afternoon sun cast a red-gold glow over the camps, camps with thousands upon thousands, and dozens of different high banners all fluttering in the same breeze that touched my cheeks.

Vhagar’s size would no doubt be less impressive than Balerion. A fact that gnawed at me as I brought Vhagar in for a landing.The familiar scent of men in camps on the march, the cook fires, the horses and the pits that no doubt were dug out all over the place, that is what hit my nose as I landed on the outskirts of Aegon’s camp. Men would no doubt be gambling with each other, haggling with folk from the villages that lay on the outskirts of the war camp as though it were a city and the villages and those farmlands its vast hinterland. .

Even if I felt it was folly, I could understand why Aegon might have felt no need to fortify his camps with a host the size that he was leading, geography on his side, and a dragon near as large as a small hill.

Still, in a camp and surrounded by banners I did not know, I would have wanted a thousand loyal men, swords sworn to me. I wanted a high place and a strong castle. How can he stand this? Was it arrogance, or bravery that convinced him he was safe?

Both? 

I had not waited long in the saddle before a party had ridden out to greet me, I had to keep from frowning as I saw how meager the party was from where I sat in Vhagar’s saddle. The men who had rode out to meet me consisted of only one man that I recognized, and that particular one made me smile to see again.

“Ser Vaeron!” He looked almost the same as when I had last seen him, his clothing a bit more scuffed, and bearing a new cloak trimmed with silver threading and made of scarlet silk as well as dark blue, his cloak held together at his shoulder with a golden crab clasp. His hair was tied back, but the youngest Celtigar boy was nothing if not distinctive.

“Welcome, Queen Visenya!” He shouted in common, and the men with him, clad in mail and scale, echoed what he said, their accents strange to me, and a nervousness crept in as I glanced toward Balerion again. The great black beast flexing his wings for a moment, casting a vast shadow even for his size. Is this a mistake? 

I climbed down from Vhagar’s saddle quickly enough, feeling my hair shift with my movement, and gloved hands touching her warm scales.

“You are here for the King, then? Have the A-” Vaeron asked, sounding as friendly as if he had never left my side, and so I felt a twinge of guilt as I raised a hand to silence him, and met his eyes with my own directly.

I frowned slightly, “Where is he?” My tone even, I breathed softly as a weight pressed on me again, Vaeron tugged at his left sleeve as soon as the words were out of my mouth.

“At his tent, supping with lords Goodbrook and Deddings and Piper and Blackwood.” He sounded almost like he was near to stumbling over his own words, and was nervous besides. I could not help the bit of annoyance mixed with guilt at the tone.

“Have a sheep slaughtered for Vhagar, and one of those buffalo. She deserves the meal.” Sometimes I wondered if I was spoiling her. Maybe I should try buffalo meat. I’d never had the chance back home, and the thought of it had my mouth watering.

“Buffalo, Your Grace?” Vaeron looked puzzled, brow furrowed, and I felt a flash of heat hit my face, not from the sun.

“Bison, the… big cattle, with the hump. I have seen them further south near the Blackwater, surely there are some here?” I frowned, and Vaeron looked fairly deep in thought, eyes half-rolled back into his head as if he were trying to remember something.

Aware of the idlers, I spoke in Valyrian, “We should speak on the way to my brother. I have missed you, and your brother has been poor company by comparison. Now, could you lead the way to Aegon’s tent?” I tried to smile as I spoke, and I kept my gaze on Vaeron’s face rather than glancing toward the veritable town of tents and trenches and pits, my darker purple eyes meeting his warm grey, and his earnest smile seeming to make his features far more pleasant than his older brother’s.

I had missed smiles like that.

He nodded, his silvery hair touched with strands of gold swishing slightly, and with a few commands we soon were making our way on horseback through the disorganized mess of the camps. The small party grew as men came to see Vhagar, or myself as one of the rivermen was given the honor of bearing my banner and another to bear the banner of House Targaryen and Vaeron himself had called for heralds to announce my own coming.

What has Aegon had him doing, that this is what he leaps to doing as soon as I arrive? I wondered if perhaps Aegon had been adopting more of the practices of the Sunset Men. Trumpets ringing and high banners thrust skyward, with the red dragon highest of all.

It burned at me that the silver star and green dragon was below the red. What has he done? Scattered a few garrisons while Harren hides in his casket?  The faint yet intense impression of an image of bloated men came to mind, half-pecked apart, rotting along the bank of the Blackwater.

No matter that my war was cleaner, the thralls of the rivers would hail him as a hero, while I had to handle everything with caution and care, and still worried about the potential of betrayal. I crushed the pride I felt, and shoved it away. Letting my anger flow out with my breath.

I could not afford to lose my temper. I was not some scared and nervous girl, far from home, I was t-

“-Queen of All Westeros!” Everything snapped into focus again, and I thanked G-d that I had not slumped in the saddle. There was a clenching of something, like a hand gripping my heart as we marched through the camps.

Cheers from more men with strange accents came back, roaring over the cries of my own heralds with their own thunderous cheers of “Queen of the Trident! Queen of the Rivers and the Hills!” I had to keep from looking askance at that, and instead put on a smile at the cheering men with the reins in my hand, guiding the chestnut destrier as though I had been born in the saddle.

The small parade passed through rows of tents of linen and leather and sailcloth and hide, tents of silk and velvet in myriad colors all with their own banners and men guarding them. We passed from the outer camps, and the tents of freeriders or men-at-arms to the inner camps with their broader spacing and pavilions of silk in a myriad of colors and cloth-of-gold. With hordes of lesser tents surrounding the finer ones no doubt belonging to Aegon’s men.

Could some be made my men? The thought made me nervous, even more than that, the thought of him seeing it if I did flip one.

A sea of colorful tents made it feel more a tourney ground than a camp of men at war. There was an atmosphere of celebration, a palpable sense of something joyous that made my skin crawl for reasons I could not put a finger on. I barely kept from touching the scarf at my neck, despite wanting to dab at my moistened face with the purple-dyed silk.

I breathed, bringing myself to my full height ahorse, and said, “Remind them to clear space for Vhagar, Ser Vaeron. I will not have her so far from me, not now.” The thought of her flying away in the night came for a brief moment, but I breathed in and out as if banishing it.

With the following already beginning to disperse, I dismounted from the horse and left it to a groom in attendance to handle, touching at the thick silver bracelet I wore on my left arm, Valaena’s bracelet. Mine. I asserted, despite how false it felt to claim.

Before us was Aegon’s tent, the ungainly large pavilion of purple and gold and scarlet silks which was larger than mine and Rhaenys’ put together. Flying the banner of the three-headed dragon on black. No matter that I was taller than most men, I felt small beneath it, as the rays of the afternoon sun seemed to be consumed by the blackness of the banner, and the three heads seemed to stare at me. Red as Balerion’s eyes.

I did not bother to say even two words to the guardsmen at the tent entrance, they knew who I was after all, and through the walls of the tent I heard a muffled music, harpers playing some song I did not know.

Putting the banners, the crowds, and even Balerion out of mind, I entered the dragon’s den.

Chapter Text

Aegon’s tent made my own back in the Vale look a pauper’s by comparison. Filled with music and wealth in equal measure, Decorated with expensive carpets of golden and silver and purple thread from Tyrosh. Half of what was in the tent I did not even recognize from the last time I had been inside it. A pair of sphinxes wrought of blackstone, one male and the other female, judged any man who entered with shining eyes of garnet. The flickering light of the golden lamps made the sphinxes seem possessed, almost alive.

My brother sat in a high-backed chair at the head of his table and looked straight at me with a smile, meeting my eyes with ones of the same shade of purple. The intensity of his gaze caused a flash of nervousness that I quashed. Do not show weakness. The eyes of the men on the other ends of the table felt like nothing, compared with his gaze. Candlelight danced in his eyes like it did in the eyes of the sphinxes, and I felt something like a snarl in my chest.

More than anything else, the clothing I wore felt a layer too thin.

“An uninvited guest, but not an unwelcome one! I told you, my lords, and now you see. My queens are fairer than any daughter born to any man of the sunset.” Aegon said, gesturing at a seat beside him, one of two chairs which remained empty. “Come, you must be famished after your journeys.”

The sweet scent of burning incense mingled with spiced and roasted meats and the other foods prepared at the table filled my nostrils, and set my mouth to watering. He was not wrong, though I was more a mite peckish than famished.

“Of course, husband.” I said, not taking my eyes from his. I took off my cloak and handed it to one of the servants in attendance, a woman old enough to be my mother, garbed in black and red livery, the red-dragon sewn into her breast, and did not pay her any mind after that. 

Striding across the tent’s carpeted floor I took a seat at his left. Aware of every shift and movement of my braid, and the all too present feeling of the humid summer day, even in this tent. Despite my heart racing, my breathing did not even catch, and I thanked G-d for that. My heart felt like it was being squeezed and I felt my shoulders tense as Aegon tucked an errant strand of hair behind my ear.

It was worse than his gaze.

After a few courtesies between Aegon’s lords and myself, I tried to lose myself in the soft-sounding music of the harpists, drinking from a crystal glass after a serving man filled it with a red-purple wine from a silver pitcher. The taste of the sweet, cool drink in my mouth almost distracted me from the company. Chasing it down with seasoned river fish did not hurt either, especially when it had been drizzled with a sauce that tasted faintly of something sour as well as a hint of honey flavor. The assortment of cut vegetables that went with it was fine as well, but next to the rest it hardly compared.

I recognized the familiar notes of the March of Summer, a melody that the harpists played well enough, I supposed.

I play it better. I felt my lips crook upward.

“-muse you?” The sound of Aegon’s voice broke me from my thoughts, I blinked, my hands barely kept from shaking as the room came back into focus. 

I could hear the smile on his face even in just the last words.

“Did you say something?” I looked past him, hoping that it would look convincing enough. Near enough to meeting his eyes, but instead focused on the ‘wall’ of the tent, the patterning on the silk in various shapes. Worked with the skill of masters, almost like a tapestry or mural of dyed and painted silk depicting hunting scenes.

“Does something amuse you, dearest?” The last word almost made me ill, Aegon’s voice was enough to have me look at him for a moment, and was as smooth and rich as the tunic he wore, gold-threading along the neck and hem and cuffs. Twin golden dragons at the collar, studded with garnets as red as summerwine.

I tried to place where I had seen the clothes before, but I could not. It seemed familiar, but not. They must be new. The cloak that he wore, on the other hand, was utterly unfamiliar to me. A half-cloak, round, and a dragonbone clasp at the mid-height down from his neck held it together.

“I am merely thinking of the Mountain and Vale, husband. The Eyrie should soon bend knee, Gulltown is ours and so are all the lowlands south of the northern mountains.” It took all my self-control to keep my voice even as I forced myself to look him nearly in the eye, letting my vision glaze slightly, looking without seeing, that had been a trick which had been hard to relearn, with these eyes. I only hoped it was enough to fool the lords in attendance.

You are a poor liar. It burned at me, Rhaenys and Aegon had both said it.

“I would not let my wife ride to war, Your Grace,” one of the lords urged, “Not unless there was dire need.” Something in me burned at that, and I exhaled through my nose, focusing on the feel of the silver two-pronged fork in my right hand and the fine purple silk of my tunic sleeve.

Aegon laughed, I knew this laughter, could almost see the mocking smirk in my mind’s eye, “Your own ancestress rode to war against Harwyn Hardhand, but she was skewered on the end of a cold iron sword. My wives ride dragons, Lord Blackwood. Do not mistake them for the tender daughters of the West. Was it not Nymeria that conquered Dorne? And she was no daughter of Old Valyria.”

Blackwood bowed his head, “Forgive me, Your Grace.”

Lord Blackwood looked plain and solid. His chest was thick and he had a lined face that made me want to trust him. Short hair cut down to the nape of his neck, hair that had once been dark-brown, almost black, judging by the few bits that remained of that color, though it was almost all now gray. He reminded me of my father. What would he think of me now? Garbed in the same style of half-cloak that Aegon wore, gold thread on his black cloak sewn in a way that resembled ivy climbing some old stone wall, worn over a red tunic patterned with black ravens along the neck.

Aegon’s new clothes are meant to match their style. A part of me found it vile, repugnant, a disgrace and rejection of our blood. Another part for how I simply did not like the way it looked, preferring our own style.

“You are dismissed, Lord Blackwood. I should like to speak with you again, mayhap in private.” Aegon’s voice was clear, “I insist you attend after tomorrow’s games.”

Games? 

“I would be honored, Your Grace.” Lord Blackwood spoke the words stiffly, rose from his seat, and bowed again, striding out of the tent. A part of me felt satisfaction at his departure, satisfaction and relief.

Only for that to turn to discomfort as a familiar hand touched my arm, it was an effort to meet his eyes and force a smile onto my face. It was only half of one, I imagined.

“That tunic brings out the color of your eyes, wife.” I could not keep myself from looking away, the warmth of the words could not keep a ball of ice in my stomach from seemingly forming as he spoke, and as the tent itself seemed to stop for the briefest of moments. The soft sounds of the harpists’ playing continued, but they had no weight.

A month, a month away and he still makes me feel like this. Will this ever stop? I could not live like this. Like a bird in a cage the moment I was back in his presence. I missed the freedom of the Vale. I may not have been worshiped or treated with as much deference as I would have liked, but at least then I was able to do things of my own volition. In the Vale I had loyal swords, in the Vale I had the fleet, in Gulltown nobody would dare touch me.

Coming here was a mistake. I should have stayed. Thoughts of how I might have claimed the rest of the Mountain and  Vale in a season came to mind. The Sistermen would have loved having carte blanche to raid the coasts until the Eyrie submitted. I had burned most of their fleet after all, and half the kingdom had bent knee to me.

To Aegon, officially. I wanted to bristle at that. Everything I did was going to be under his banner, every man who wrote the histories would sing his praises even as he did nothing to earn them. The bards and minstrels would sing of Aegon who conquered the Seven Kingdoms, Aegon who founded my city, my beautiful city the work of my life would be said to be the work of stupid short-haired Aegon. Stupid second born Aegon. His Queens? Orys was an accessory to Rhaenys’s work, a trophy for Aegon to wave about to show his magnanimity, and fine dwelling under Aegon’s shadow.

Is not Rhaenys fine with it too? I felt my teeth grind, and blinked.

I thought I had overcome that. Not twenty minutes in his presence, and it boils to the surface. 

I clenched my fist, and then breathed to release the tension as I went back to taking small bites and the table settled back into a rhythm of conversation. Only barely noticing the humidity which had seeped even into the tent, the faces of lords Piper and Goodbrook and Deddings slightly glistened in the candlelight, despite being fanned off by servants that Aegon had no doubt set to the task.

The talking mostly went on about menial things I cared little for, and Aegon seemed happy to listen as his lords talked, only occasionally chiming in. Basking in praise heaped on him every time he did so, even the bootlicking from those who wanted favors from me had been almost tame compared with the open fawning of the riverlords. But I tried my best to listen as well.

I would rather be doing sums and reading receipts. A queen had to be attentive, after all, Gulltown had been only a small taste.

“Those… dragonsworn,” Lord Deddings looked as though he had swallowed something sour as he spoke, “I say we should take their swords, put them to work at the camp and carrying our supplies in the train. Under close watch.”

Dragonsworn? I tilted my head slightly, a twinge of annoyance flaring up as I realized a few strands of hair had come loose, “Who?

Deddings’ white enameled albatross clasp glinted in the light as he seemed to notice I was there for the first time, I felt almost insulted. The loveliest woman in a hundred miles and he seems half in love with my brother. That went for every man at the dinner, I might as well have been furniture.

Aegon’s adornment. I shoved that feeling away.

“Sworn swords, over five-hundred men who took the vows of knighthood. Only half of them have horses fit for more than riding.” Deddings’ mustache bristled as he spoke.

“Over three-thousand men and their numbers swell with each passing day according to Ser Velaryon.” Lord Goodbrook said, and I remembered the letter I had stored away. If things went well, perhaps I could convince Aegon to take up that offer.

Deddings scoffed, “I would consider not even half the five-hundred to be more than upjumped brigands, and the smallfolk below them are worse. Green boys riding old nags and armed with rusted swords they no doubt bought for a handful of coppers, grown men and old farmers with boar spears and wood axes in hand. It is a disgrace. But the Ironborn and freeriders under that twice-bastard, Greyiron, are worse still. Sons of thralls and whores, men with neither oaths nor honor.” 

“Was not Benedict Justman a bastard?”

Aegon’s voice had me almost jumping to attention, it was smooth and clear and commanding.

“I care not for what quarrel you may have with Captain Patrek. His following is only a small portion of the men who have sworn themselves to my service. I should think that any sword would be welcome in ousting Black Harren.” I knew that tone, and Deddings seemed to as well, as he bowed his head.

The rest of the meal passed in relative peace.

----------------------------------

I met with Aegon privately afterwards, in a space that was something like his private chambers. I sat down upon his couch and took a moment to collect myself.  I decided to speak up first.

“Men call you the King of the Trident, and King of the Rivers and the Hills. At least that is what I heard them say  when I arrived.” They had called me Queen of the Trident, after all.

Aegon smiled, looking half a boy and all too pleased. Even as he waved it off. “Let them call me what they will, sister. For now it is a useful title to wield against Harren, and any who would seek to deny me my kingdom.”

I pursed my lips for a moment, the half-cloak that Aegon had discarded coming to mind once more. “Is that why you are dressing like them?” I still did not know why exactly it bothered me as much as it did.

He did not reply immediately, instead taking a drink of the wine he had in hand, spilling a yellow-green drop onto his bare chest. G-d. He had shaved his chest, hadn’t he? Ridiculous. The boy had been practically hairless already. He could not grow a beard even if he had wanted to. The thought of why he might have bothered made my head hurt.

“It puts the Riverlords at ease.” He said, almost flatly.

“If you are to be king of the rabbits, best to wear a pair of floppy ears, is that it?” Would my descendants be as dark as him? Will you have any? I ignored the voice.

My brother grinned and nodded, “That is precisely it, sister. It costs me nothing to parade about in their dress for a season, and gains me much. If I look the part of their King, it will be easier when the time comes to dissolve the thrones of the Sunset Lands.” His purple-eyed gaze wandered up and down my body. I felt my vision begin to narrow, and breathed to release some of the tension.

I wished my purple tunic were a layer thicker. I should not have taken off my cloak.

“I think that will be a fine color for your own dresses.” He said, almost as an afterthought. Nodding to himself.

What is he talking about?

I wanted to speak up, to keep controlling the momentum of the conversation as I had, but he spoke first.

“Enough of titles and the wagging of tongues. What has brought you to me, sweet sister?” Aegon smirked, the last said in the common tongue of the Andals. He had always had a gift for language, in a way I never had. The words flowing from one to another as fluidly and with as much grace as Rhaenys had when dancing.

A part of me envied that gift. Rhaenys’, or Aegon’s? I realized it was likely both.

I met his smile with as neutral an expression as I could give. “I would like more fighting men, or at least men willing to hold towns and castles.”

My brother’s smile quickly gave way. A downward tug of his lip, lips I remembered all too well. Don’t think. I shoved that feeling down.

Resting his cheek on the back of his hand, he looked me straight in the eye in a way that left me feeling pinned despite the distance between us. Maybe eight feet from his seat and my own couch. “I should think that with as much as you have taken you would not be lacking in men. How much land did you say you seized?”

“Everything from the Bloody Gate to the banks of the River Ansen.” I said, smiling faintly. Cheeks burning slightly. I was flush with pride in that accomplishment. Even as my stomach turned with guilt at that.

“It is a heady feeling, is it not?” Aegon laughed, the previous suspicion disappearing as though it had never been there. “Castle after castle and lord after lord dipping their banners to you.”  He was grinning, and rose from his seat on bare feet, striding across the room to refill his empty glass, and filling another.

I accepted when it was offered. Wanting something, anything, to soothe the shaking I was barely staving off. Standing up, while I was seated, his one inch of height over me seemed so much greater.

The glass had been handed over with what felt almost like a gentleness, he spilled not a drop despite the one he offered me being filled near to the brim and I sipped at it before I took it. It would not do to spill all over. I was glad for Visenya’s resolve, for I was sure my hands would have been shaking without it.

He raised his glass, looking more like the boy that had just wed Rhaenys, than the man he was now. “A toast to our past triumphs, and victories to come.” He stopped for a moment, before adding, “To Rhaenys.”

I raised my own glass, the image of our half-brother fresh in my mind, “And to Orys.”

Aegon smiled at that, warmly and genuinely.

He laughed, and clinked his glass against my own with an even wider smile, “To our sister-queen, and our Lord of Storm’s End.”

----------------------

Aegon did not look up from the letter that I had brought from Dragonstone. A letter which had borne the seal of House Nymeros-Martell. Its message written on reddish parchment, in golden ink.

“Nymeria’s heir wishes to make alliance with us? I would count it a stroke of luck, and might even have considered it were her kingdom not one of those I must needs conquer. As well, she asks for the Marches as spoils of war, and I will not give her any lands which belong to our Orys, no matter how useful the aid of Dornish spears may be.” His lips curled up slightly, into something like a half-smile, as he rose from his seat, casting a shadow against the silken wall of the tent, and walked toward his bed.

It should be large enough. I would be able to sleep on one end without touching him at all, with luck.

“We could ally with her for a season. She is ancient.” I did not remember precisely when she died. Some time before… I ignored that line of thought. Not that the timing mattered, a fat old woman exceeding eighty was not likely to live much longer. “Every man she throws away fighting the Marchers or Reachmen or Stormlanders is a man we do not have to fight.”

Aegon turned his attention toward me directly, his eyes meeting mine, and I forced myself to stay steady. “I am King of All Westeros. What would it say of me if I were to leave Dorne not only unconquered, but strengthened?” He asked, more curious and amused than anything. An easy smile on display.

I frowned, and reclined slightly on the couch, aware of the feeling of my now bared wrist touching the surface of the couch. Even tugging the sleeve back into place did not help much. I wished I had gloves.

“We could make alliance with her. When she dies…” I wanted to continue, but the words eluded me. You just do not wish to say them. 

My brother smiled more widely, a smile that touched his eyes and sent a shiver down my spine.

“Garin with a quarter-million men and all the might of the Rhoynar could only hope to stand against very few dragons and the city of Volantis before the days of her greatest glory.”  He laughed, “I put an end to half of mighty Volantis’ fleet in a day, and the strength of Dorne is a paltry thing compared with Garin’s great host.”

He opened his hand, dropping the letter onto the open flame of the candle beside his bed, and the letter which I had carried several hundred miles crumpled and burned, the edges blackening and curling, the scent of smoke wafting into my nostrils.

Aegon laughed, “No, sister. I will brook no rivals. There will be no alliance of equals. Meria will kneel, or will be knelt.”

The image of Meraxes dead in Dorne came to my mind, of Rhaenys dead or worse. I could almost see them in the flame that consumed Meria’s offer, and I felt my heart constrict. It was a one in a million shot.

Silence filled the small space between us near to his bed, until he broke it.

“How many swords did you collect?”

“What?” The image of the Iron Throne filled my mind’s eye, and I felt my cheeks burn as my fingertips touched the edge of my braid. “FUCK!”

Aegon simply laughed, clutching at the edge of a chair, “You forgot? Dearest sister, you forgot that?”

“I was occupied with conquering lands for you. Securing the cooperation of the Faith in the kingdom of the Mountain and Vale. I rarely had time to think.” You found time to ride, and play board games. My face burned, I wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

“You look a chastised child. Worry not, Visenya.” He smiled, placing a hand on my shoulder, another on my waist, I could smell the wine on his breath and kept myself from tensing, albeit with effort, “When Harren is dealt with I can send you with some few thousand footmen and horse, and you can return with the swords of those we have defeated.” Backed against the edge of his bed, my vision narrowed, everything going indistinct as I tried to be anywhere but where I was, “Gods, I have missed you.” The words were hungry, and a part of me was almost flattered, another frozen as his lips met my neck.

I did not know what happened, one second a hand was on my breast, and the next I was scrambling for Dark Sister as my heart raced. Aegon face down on the floor as I backed away, my hand on Dark Sister’s hilt, the sword came out of her sheath. The smoky rippled steel reflecting the candlelight of the tent.

All the finery had dropped away, and it felt like I and he were the only things there.

My legs felt like jelly as my bare feet touched the carpeted floor, halfway across the tent from Aegon. My whole body felt like it was shaking as he rose to his feet, striding toward me, yelling something I couldn’t hear, no matter that it rung in my ears as I stood with Dark Sister in hand, pointing the edge of the spellforged steel blade at him.

Somehow, my hands remained steady as I looked at him. A cut on his lip, features contorted into a vicious scowl, ready to scream at me until… He wasn’t.

“Gods,” He sounded like he was choking back a laugh, “You’re afraid of me.” He backed away, hands raised to show me he meant no harm, “What has happened to you? One moment you act as brazen as always and then… this. Please, sister, tell me.” His voice wavered and he sounded ten years old again, like he had when mother had died.

“You have always trusted me. Please, sister. Is it the dresses? Ignore that, you may dress how you wish. Are you still angry over the banner? That I did not like it? I will let you bear it, you can have it.” His lips trembled, and he looked almost rigidly stiff, “Do not be afraid of me.” The tone he used was a mix of pleading and a growled command.

Gone was the easy smile and smirk, the confident bearing. He was a child again, a drunken pleading child.

I hated that it hurt to see him like that. He deserves it. He deserves it and more! 

You are weak. A voice whispered in my ear.

“We will talk later.” I forced the words out. I did not know when later would be. I hoped it would never come.

Never stopping looking back at him, I gathered my cloak and boots and left the tent out into the night.

I did not stop until I had reached Vhagar.

Chapter Text

The early morning air was cool, compared with the heat of the day before. Wet and breezy. I could almost hear the grass and leaves in the trees rustling. The wind carried the scent of the morning dew as well as the scents of the valley and nearby villages and pasturelands. Were it not for the whinnying and neighing of horses and the clinking of mail, I could have closed my eyes and seen only…

I frowned.

I missed home. Will the autumn bring with it the same colors? A part of me hoped not. I did not need the reminder. To see the leaves change would be just close enough to give me pain without yet giving me any comfort. I closed my eyes for a moment, and saw my home beside the muddy river.

But the shifting of the horse, ever so slightly, beneath me. The breeze blowing through my long silver hair, tied back into a ponytail with a red silk ribbon, shattered the illusion just as surely as the scent of steel and leather and pastureland did.

“He comes, the Lord of Riverrun, Edmyn Tully, son of Torwyn Tully! He comes!” A herald announced, trumpets followed and only shortly behind was the party of Lord Tully, and Edmyn himself on a spotted horse, dark with white spots on its haunch and withers. Its mane was white. Without thinking, I tilted my head to get a better look at the tail.

“I believe it is a gelding, Your Grace.” Ser Patrek Bracken spoke up from my left, even as the herald was announcing the arrival of Lord Bennet Mallister and three of his sons. The silver eagle on a vivid purple banner carried by a man old enough to be my grandfather.

“I was looking at the tail to see if it was spotted, Bracken.” I replied, slightly annoyed. Lord Bracken’s son had been given a place beside me for the gift he had given to both myself and my brother. The finest horses in the world, Osmund Bracken had said an hour before when he gave us our pick of the horses he considered his best. Only an hour ago? I liked mine well enough, a white mare, with a mane as soft as silk. Gentle, but not timid. But she was no Rochiril, and I wished I had brought her with me.

How? Would Vhagar have carried her in her talons? The idea was absurd enough to make me want to smirk..

But I had to remain serene. At that very moment another herald announced Lord Frey’s arrival, shortly followed by a company of armored horsemen the equal of any I had seen in the Vale bearing the banner of the white towers bound together by a bridge on a rich field of sea-blue.

One by one the arrivals were adding to our collection of banners, but Aegon’s high banner flew above us all, carried by Quenton Qoherys at Aegon’s command. It spread out, seeming almost to be raised aloft as well as rippling in the breeze. All of one piece, made of silk black as night, more than large enough to be seen across the length of a battlefield, seeming blacker than the ravens on Blackwood’s banner. The three-headed dragon put any banner of my own to shame, the claws were golden, but the dragon itself was scarlet, with flames the same color which glittered in the sun. Each scale of the dragon seemed to have been sewn with rubies, alive with light in the early-morning sun. Each stirring of the banner made the dragon and its flames seem to move. A part of me envied it. Aegon had always had a taste for the finer things, and his banner made my own flying beside and below it seem poor and small. Lesser.

Even compared with that of Tully or Mallister or Frey, my own seemed more like that of a girl showing a sewn garment rather than a queen bedecked in silks and velvets and jewels.I made it in the middle of my conquest, I told myself, I will improve it later.

But even as I thought that I felt a pang of guilt. I did not want to change it nor get rid of it. The very idea seemed abhorrent to me, like I would be betraying my child.. I wanted to hold it close, never let it be taken away. I would keep my own, and let others be finer. Mayhap people would call it humility.

“You come before His Grace, Aegon Targaryen, King of the Rivers and the Hills, King of the Mountain and the Vale, King of All Westeros.” Said Ser Victor Piper, son of Lord Piper, in a booming basso voice. His cornsilk hair was long enough to touch his shoulders, and he had a face I would have considered handsome were it not for the pox marks.

The banners of lords Tully and Mallister and Frey were dipped before us as the men rode forward.

Edmyn Tully’s head was covered by a helm of black steel, and a crest like a fish fin at the top. Scales of polished brass shone in the morning sun, on both the left and right side of his head. His face covered by a steel mask, wrought in the likeness of some hideous beast.

“I have come to swear my sword, and my honor to you. If you would accept it.” He looked straight at Aegon, who was dressed in blackened steel scale, he reminded me of nothing more than how he was dressed when he had sent me to subdue Stokeworth. But where he had borne a leather fillet, now he bore the crown I had placed upon his head beside the Blackwater. I wondered what he would have done, had I not crowned him at that moment. Cast the last of our diadems into the sea. Denied him his little show. Little? It was grander than the parade you had put on not long before. I shoved the voice away.

This did remind me of that, though Aegon had fewer of our kin with him, fewer horsemen from the Narrow Sea. A crowd of Riverlords, and so very few of our closest vassals. How does he feel comfortable? 

“I swear my own, Your Grace.” Lord Mallister said, now beside Tully. His face bare to the world, his dark hair close cropped, a mustache above his lips. The silver scale he wore reminded me of nothing so much as the armor of the knights of Driftmark. Armor I had worn.

Lastly, Lord Frey knelt and spoke oaths of fealty.

“I accept your fealty, liegemen. Give me your swords, and kneel and rise and be confirmed in your rights and privileges. Know that they will stand, and that I and my heirs shall respect and ensure their continuance for as long as you serve with steadfast courage and faithfulness.” Aegon’s voice was clear and commanding, and with the reins held in one gloved hand, he drew and then raised Blackfyre skyward with the other as he looked out at with a smile and his head held high.

“We march to face Black Harren on the morrow, to root him out from his den, and put an end to his bloody reign. To lift the cruel yoke first placed on you not only by the kings of the isles, but the kings from Storm’s End. My dearest friend rides at the head of a host with your other Queen and her dragon to put that castle to the torch. No longer shall myriad kings tear this fair land apart, despoil your wives and daughters, and make you into thralls. For when I am done, no king shall reign in Westeros but I!”

The cheer that erupted was a roar that put any I had heard before to shame.

“LONG LIVE KING AEGON! LONG LIVE KING AEGON!”

------------------------------------------

“What host has that dotard Harren assembled? No doubt he would wish to have the largest army he could to face us.” Ser Corlys asked, pale blue eyes so different from the lilac of his father’s, but his expression reminded me of him. Do I miss Daemon? It was an odd thought. I did not like Daemon, did not truly trust him, but his presence had become familiar.

I was glad that Aegon had not insisted on his rivermen being here.

“I saw little worth worrying over, the western shore looked clear enough. But the walls of Harren’s monstrosity are formidable. If he were to hide in there, I do not think we could root him out easily. Every other town and castle from the Neck to the Blackwater? Certainly, but not that one.” I said, for a moment glancing at the silken walls of the tent, but my mind’s eye was somewhere else entirely.

The scale of Harrenhal was hard for me to comprehend. Even from dragonback, from miles away, it was gargantuan. How much more impressive must it be on foot? The walls were higher than any I had ever seen. The High Tower was taller than Harrenhal, but in sheer scale it could not compare.

A third of the central tower dwarfed my old home. It was a sobering thought. Harren was a monster, but he did not lack architectural vision. Even from afar the highest tower, its top third ivory white even from miles away, with a roof clad in gold and atop that roof was a needle-like spire that glinted in the sun like pearl, was like the crown of some giant.

A part of me wanted to outdo it. He ruled.. Rules.. Two kingdoms, surely we can do better? My city would be grander. Though we would have no need for walls that high, outdoing Hightower’s glory would be possible. I hope.

“What else? What did you see when you were flying?” Vaeron asked, almost sounding eager. His silver hair touched with strands of gold that dimly reflected the candlelight cast from the silver oil lamps of the tent. He had a smile on his face, one that lit up his grey eyes, one that I wanted to return.

“I saw the lake in the light of the afternoon sun. The rays of orange and gold glittering off the blue-green waters of the lake, almost shimmering.” The memory was still vivid in my mind and filled me with something akin to excitement just at the mere thought of it. “From Vhagar’s back, it glittered and shimmered and shone. The Gods Eye is less a lake and more a sea, like the waters off Driftmark. Beautiful… I do not think that word is strong enough to describe what I saw, Ser Vaeron.” I felt my smile broaden, and I idly touched at the end of my ponytail. Bound in a silken ribbon.

Far from the camps in the west, I had felt free.

It was beautiful 

Scouting had just been an excuse to be away for a time. Mayhap I will scout tomorrow. 

I smiled widely. The warmth spread through every inch of my body. I felt like I could dance.

“Something useful. If I wished to hear of the beauty of an over-large pond I could ask a singer.” Aegon was scowling, I could hear it. It took an effort to school my features. I did not want to risk looking angry, not in public. Even if he had not looked at me. Not since… Don’t think about that. I kept myself from shaking my head. Where once had been warmth, now I felt like ice-water had splashed across my face.

“Not a single town along the shore that I saw had walls. They were bare as a newborn babe.” I said, hand still touching the end of my ponytail, my tone kept even.

It was almost hard to believe the stories of Harren’s cruelty with all the towns along the shore. Connected by paved roads buzzing with activity and inns every mile or two. But none of those towns had walls. Not even flimsy palisades. Walls would keep him out. An illusion of prosperity covering Harren’s cruelty.

A part of me did not blame him for it. A town without walls would be less likely to revolt, to rebel. It was a ripe fruit to be plucked, not a thorny rose. Another part of me felt sickened that I agreed with what he was doing.

“The only places with walls were outside of the towns themselves, atop hills. Stone towers and some small holdfasts. I would wager that is where Harren’s men are garrisoned to keep the peace over the towns. Is that useful enough for you, Your Grace?” I scowled, the last almost mocking sounding as I rested my hand on Dark Sister’s hilt. The feeling of my thumb touching the guard was comforting.

Aegon did not meet my eyes, but he spoke up with a voice as clear and sure as ever, “I should have liked to know if you saw Harren himself marching west.” It felt like he was goading me. I had already told him that I saw no host, or was it that I had mentioned no host? Did he think I was leaving details out?

“Harren is no fool, I suspect. He will not meet you like Mooton and Darklyn, nor like whatever Ironborn you fought here before,” I fingered the pommel of the dagger at my belt, and let the bottom of my palm brush against the cotton of the tunic I wore,  “I think he shall hide in Harrenhal, were I in his position, I might do so. Or flee for the isles, but he must know he has few friends and many foes in these lands. Neither east nor west provide safe passage for him, so he must wait.”

My brother snorted, “Mayhap it is better that he stays in place. A suckling pig being made ready for the feast.” I caught a slight smile at the edge of his lips, as though he had some grand secret he had yet to unveil.

Quenton and Corlys and Vaeron all murmured agreements to what he said.

For a moment, I thought of Harrenhal’s burning. Towers melting like candles. Red as hot coals as black flame consumed them, as straw was set aflame. For a moment, I imagined the thousands who no doubt lived in there. How many servants? I felt the words in my throat, but I could not force them out.

I did not want to think about it.

He was my brother, but he would never be my master. A part of me still felt some enjoyment at him having almost cried the mom- I shoved the memory aside. Feeling an icy feeling in my gut mingled with the barest bit of pleasure.

Why should I feel bad? I am not some tame dragon on a gilded leash. A part of me wanted it to end. Yearned for some measure of routine to return. She had managed it, after all. But I was not her, even if I remembered being her, even if sometimes where I ended and she began was hard to tell. Sometimes I wondered if it was a madness in me. I worried so much about where she was… that I cared more about her than myself.

Would it be so bad, to lose yourself? Just do as I was told. Obey, follow what she would have done. No need to worry about anything. If I acted enough like her, maybe then the pretending would stop being that. Was it ever pretending? 

She had little joy in it, either. Duty drove that marriage. I wished I had gone to Rhaenys instead. So you could play pretend? There was fondness, but she had not wanted to be as publicly close as I wanted to be with her. All because of… of.. It all came back to him.

I took a breath, and let my grip loosen. My nails no longer dug into the palms of my callused hands. No. Not all Aegon. It was her too. I remembered a girl who felt the need to play pretend at being a mother, head of the household. Did we fail Rhaenys? 

Rhaenys had been overjoyed when I did the bare minimum, it felt like. A game of Four Corners, talking to her, just… just talking. A part of me could not remember the last time, before all of this, that she had done so. I could almost feel the warmth of her arms around me. She wanted a sister, not an Archontissa, not a woman playing at being their mother. Both parts of me had wanted a sister too. I had one. I missed her. I would play the part, for Rhaenys’s sake.

Liar. A voice that sounded like my own seemed to whisper in my ear.

Shut up. I replied. Shut up! The mocking, nagging feeling still did not leave. But I managed to shove it somewhere else.

“-well?” I blinked, realizing I must have drifted off as every man around me just seemed to be looking at me. From Quenton in his burgundy silks embroidered with gold butterflies on the sleeves, matching the golden butterfly with jade eyes that held his pale yellow cloak in place, all the way to Corlys in sea-green silks mixed with shades of teal.

It felt like a spotlight was on me, and I had no script nor idea of why I was even on the stage. I wished I was in some corner, observing.

“Are you well, Your Grace?” Vaeron asked. I was suddenly aware of how quiet it seemed. Had they been talking? I wanted to kick myself, I had lost track of things again.

“Why would I not be? What sort of fool question is that?” The words came out harsher than I meant. I wanted to take them back as soon as I saw the Celtigar boy almost flinch.

“You commanded silence.” Vaeron said, nervous sounding and looking down at the redwood table.

“I commanded nothing of the sort.” I said, confused as I looked around. Aegon did not meet my eyes, and the rest looked unconvinced, “I must have spoken my thoughts aloud. I merely was worried for Rhaenys in the south, she is dear to me, and a thought came that she might be harmed.” I lied, “Moreover, I slept poorly last night.”

The mere mention of Rhaenys had Aegon looking straight at me. I wanted to look away from his eyes.

“You will be retiring to our chambers early, then?” Aegon asked, almost flatly. There was a tinge of something that I could not catch. Is he trying to hide something? 

“To my tent, husband.” The thought of being alone with him again made my skin crawl. He does not have Blackfyre, if he tries to… I will… I ended that line of thought but for half a heartbeat I saw Dark Sister’s tip dripping red.

“We should fortify our camps as we approach Harrenhal, I think.” I said, something that was at least more comfortable to speak about, “You should have had your men doing so from the start. I had trouble in the Vale, even with my own camps being fortified.”

“Whatever for? I have Balerion and ten thousand men.” Aegon laughed, the topaz on his leather fillet shining in the light of the tent, “We would hear them coming from miles off, and unlike the Vale, the land from here to Harrenhal would be difficult at best to surprise anyone from.”

“I had Vhagar, and Lord Royce still surprised me in the Vale.” That I had grown complacent in scouting was not something I would admit, better to try to convince him that defending the camps at all times was prudent. “Had I not woken when I did, had I just slightly worse luck, I could have been captured or slain.”

He looked as though he wished to say something, but merely waved his hand after I caught an expression I could not quite place. “You are dismissed, wife. Go, have your rest.”

I wanted to say something back. To tell him I needed no permission, no dismissal from him, but I bit my tongue and left to the tent that had been prepared for me. Just wait for this to be done, take the men, and go back to the Vale. 

That night I dreamed of black towers, and one which crumbled.

Chapter Text

I rode beside my few companions, looking out from the western shore toward the east and north. The afternoon sun glittered off the blue-green waters of the lake in all its glory, a cool breeze off the lake despite the summer heat elsewhere. Not that I would have minded the heat. Visenya was a daughter of summer, and the touch of the sun was a caress, its heat a welcome companion. 

The breeze would be good for the morale of the men, though. 

Hot or cold, my white mare seemed not to care. Bracken wasn’t lying, his horses are as hardy as he claimed. I wondered what my sister would have thought. From what little I remembered, horses of these types no longer existed. Maybe she and Bracken would have talked about them.

I was distracted from these thoughts as I crested the hill and looked again about Harrenhal.

Is this it? No hosts had issued forth from Harrenhal that I could see. No relief had come from north of the Trident when I had scouted the day before. All that I had seen was what I had seen every other time. Dozens upon dozens of brightly painted boats packed with fishermen or others about their business on the lake, gulls flying, black swans and the odd heron here or there. Looking at the castle, you would never know there was an attacking army just over the next hill. Was Harren so despondent that he simply would not leave his castle? Or did he see no other way out?

Had he given up? Harren had enslaved people, if he somehow decided to step down and rule the Iron Islands… The thought bothered me, and I touched the pommel of Dark Sister.I hoped if Harren did surrender that Aegon threw him to the riverlords instead. That thought bothered me too, for an entirely different reason. When had I become so bloodthirsty? Harren is a monster. He deserves it. I hated that it felt hollow. I wanted that feeling of strength, of certainty. I wished I could burn with righteous anger instead.

The castle looked so grand and peaceful from up here. Does it have to burn? All of it? 

Our host had met no resistance on our eastern advance. All the ironborn had fled before us, or else offered only a token resistance.  What few that had not resisted or fled had instead joined their forces to our own. Swearing their swords and spears, and their horses to Aegon’s cause.

It all felt too easy.

“Nothing.” I blew at my forehead, moving a strand of hair that had gotten in my eye, and feeling some of the built up tension leave my body. “No host of the enemy and no envoys. I like it not.” It felt too much like Runestone. 

We had questioned fishermen who had come ashore from one of their brightly-painted boats, and all they had told us was that Harren’s men had sailed southward, boasting of some grand raid they were to go upon. Some attack on the Narrow Sea lordships. On Dragonstone.

If they had been right, if they were not only rumor, then I would have missed them by a day when I was flying from Dragonstone to seek out Aegon. I had missed them by a day along the Blackwater.

It sent a chill up my spine. It all felt wrong. But if they were right… our home is in danger. I shook my head. Dragonstone was an old fortress, wrought of black stone and guarded by enough men. It could withstand an attack.

But the people can not. It bothered me. Gnawed at me.

What have I missed? It was too much like the Vale.

The image of men dead from dragonfire came to my mind’s eye unbidden. The tattered banner of Lord Royce, what survived of it at least. But there were no narrow defiles here, no valleys to be caught in, but I did not like it at all. 

“There is little hope of glory in battle if things keep on as they are.” Ser Edmure Smallwood said, breaking my brooding. The Oak of Acorn Hall was seven feet tall, or near enough as made no difference. A man well into his middle years by the look of him, and a half-foot taller than his tallest son. He had joined five days before, claiming to represent his absent brother. 

If I were being unkind, I would have accused Lord Smallwood of double dealing. It would be easy to deny a brother if things failed, after all. Better that than a grisly death. But it would have been unreasonable of me to expect more of him. Besides, I liked his brother. Despite him being a nobleman. 

Merely a knight. I told myself. He’d complained that he owned a mile of land in total for his years of service to his brother. I wondered if he thought I would give him more.

Our following had seemed to more than double with the arrival of Lord Blanetree, Lord Vypren, the Lords Vance, and Sers Smallwood and Nutt and Shawney and Grell and the myriad freeriders and fighting men not sworn to any lord that swore themselves to Aegon. 

I frowned. The host had been split into three columns, just to keep the lumbering beast from devouring the entire countryside as it moved. Even with our supplies, it was difficult to feed the fighting men as well as the servants and camp followers even if they bought from us or the surrounding towns and villages.

Few lords had brought enough supplies to last. At this point, all we had keeping us topped off was that we had taken foodstuffs from every town and castle which threw open their gates before we marched on our way. Sending messages to every nearby castle to bring more supplies.

But with more supplies came more fighting men, and with more fighting men came the need for more supplies. Fodder for horses and pack animals, food for the men, potential replacements for broken wagons and carts, bundles of rope, picks and shovels, shoes, oils for cooking and lighting fuel, and myriad other things.

If our host keeps growing and our pace slows even a little more… I did not like the idea of what might happen if men got hungry. Either they would ransack every unwalled town and farm near Harrenhal, or they would revolt and then do so. Mayhap they would even fight each other again. Blackwood and Mallister’s men had already nearly come to blows more than once. It was bad enough that our host had slowed with the increasing heat, as men preferred to make camp in the shade after only a few hours on the march. 

I will have to bring this up to Aegon. The thought of talking to him more than I needed to was a little frustrating. He had kept me at arm’s length at best, had found things for me to do that kept me away from him and many of his followers. Does he believe I am somehow plotting against him?  I did not know, but I schooled my features as the breeze off the lake cooled cheeks that were burning from my mood.

“I should hope things keep on as they are, as should you. Balerion’s flames are not kind to towns nor castles.” I glanced beside Ser Smallwood the Elder, to his youngest son. 

Brynden Smallwood was as tall as Corlys, he looked more or less like his father, but without the lines or creases he actually was fairly handsome. Long, flowing brown hair that touched his shoulders matched a pair of warm brown eyes. Clean-shaven where his father had a forked, dark beard peppered with grey. With fair skin where the Oak’s was tanned by the sun, and leathery looking at that. I hoped my skin would not be damaged like that, when this was over. 

“So that our Archontissa can play Four Corners as she has for the past two days?” I could almost see the smile on Vaeron’s face just from his tone of voice, and I was barely able to stifle a laugh.

“Teasing your queen, Ser Vaeron? She could have your tongue for that.” Ser Smallwood said, his tone dry as a cat’s tongue. He was a good-natured man, from what I could tell, so I assumed it was a jape. 

My lips tugged upward in a smile and I could not keep from laughing as my purple eyes met Vaeron’s grey. “I shall pardon you this time, for you are kin.” That got a grin out of him. But I could not shake the feeling I was missing something, “But for our next game I think you shall play not for my side, but in opposition.”

The old Oak laughed, “I know not much of that game save for what you taught, but I believe that may be a punishment in itself for the boy. With the hammer in hand you rode and played as though the Warrior himself guided your hand!” I did not know whether Smallwood was being a lickspittle, but I chose to believe it was genuine.

“Mayhap the king will join, I should like to see his skill. I have heard he is unmatched in arms.” I wondered who had been saying that. Aegon was good, very good, but I was better with blade in hand and on horseback and even I would not claim to be unmatched.

Our old instructor had made sure that thought never took root with V-.. me. He was a gnarled old Tyroshi man, and he fought like a demon. I almost wished he were still around. Quenton was fine, but hardly a replacement for the old man with a forked green beard. 

“My husband will be too busy to join in our games, Ser Brynden.” I said, trying to sound regretful yet disinterested as we began the ride back to the main encampment.

The ride back to the main camp, and my return to my tent was uneventful despite my worries.

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“To do as you have asked, make ointments and tinctures for that many soldiers and to find sufficient assistants to aid us in our efforts we will need more coin, Your Grace.” The grey-robed man said, the light of the silver lamps reflecting off a face covered by a sheen of moisture. Whether from running about the camps all day tending to lords and knights, or from finding men to go out and retrieve what he needed. What he and what the few other Maesters that were with us needed.

I distrusted their presence here. They were sworn to seats, not men. But I found them useful anyway. Without them, finding needed ingredients for creams would have been difficult at best. The names used at Dragonstone for even a number of common herbs were radically different from those known to men of the southern and central Riverlands.

I felt a pang of guilt at having asked for aid in something so slight as creams and pastes to help in removing body hair, and keeping my skin smooth. It felt almost decadent. A waste, especially while on campaign. 

But I had done similar on Driftmark and Dragonstone and Gulltown. Though there I had my own supplies, and was not somehow possibly taking time and effort away from men who might have needed the service of maesters more at that moment. 

That is why you have taken to ordering them about, is it not? I frowned. At least with soreness and cramps I had an excuse to ask for herbs and mixtures for teas.

“You shall have it, worry not. Maester… Vypren?” I knew he was a Vypren by birth, Smallwood had said that much, but his name.. I wished I were better at remembering those. Rhaenys would have remembered. 

The man smiled without missing a beat, for several moments his gaze lingering on my body, not meeting my face, though clearly trying to seem as though he weren’t looking. My chin rested on the back of my hand as I listened. I wished I had chosen something looser to wear, the cotton tunic felt too snug compared with one of my dresses. But everything felt snug in the past two days. Snug and rubbing the wrong way.

I felt a tinge of anger as he spoke calmly, slowly as though to a child, “Eddard.” A youngish, perhaps around Quenton’s age, straw-haired man with watery blue eyes seemed not to fit that name very well, “Your Grace should know that we set aside our loyalties, not unlike those men of the Night’s Watch. Though I maintain that our order is much the nobler, for we cast aside our family names as well, that we may better serve.” 

Could I peel them away? They were masters of poisons and the healing arts, teachers of noble children, but not sworn to the Crown. I did not like it. What if they decide that you are a threat, or that perhaps your heir might be better disposed to them? I tried to ignore that feeling of paranoia, and found comfort in the knowledge that Visenya, I, was likely as learned in healing and poisons as any of them. 

It was not as though they were any more biased than any other lord or servant. 

Moving my braid from my front to the back of my shoulder, I adjusted my position in the foldable chair, the soft cushions providing a little comfort as I sat, “Has my husband requested your service of late?” I had to keep track of these things. I will not be some… tagalong. Another part of me felt the need to be of use, to always be doing something. Our family needs us. 

That Aegon had given me busywork in the camps when I was not out scouting felt like an insult. Though managing men left me feeling less listless. It reminded me of business at Dragonstone or Gulltown. 

Managing men and activities felt like home. Like I was meant for it. I wish father had let me do more. Aerion had groomed us for rule, but that had been for Dragonstone and its people and our sworn servants from the Narrow Sea fiefdoms. 

Dragonstone had fewer people on it than were marching in Aegon’s host. Fewer people than Gulltown and its hinterlands. 

“His Grace sought our expertise in meting out justice to the sons of Lords Blackwood and Bracken whilst you were scouting.” Maester Eddard said, with not a small amount of pride.

“A wise king should always know the people he rules, and His Grace is wise indeed. A youth, but so was Garth Goldenhand when he became King, and Justin the Just.” Said the stouter of the three Maesters. 

What has he done to be called wise? I wondered how much of it was just men trying to tell me what they think I want to hear. Or at least what Aegon wanted to hear.

“Justin the Just?” I almost regretted asking when I saw the face of the Maester seem to light up with a manic enthusiasm, and my hand drifted toward the dagger hanging from my belt. The man’s chains clinked together as he nodded vigorously, looking almost boyish despite the snow-white hair and wrinkled face.

“A Teague king, Your Grace. His great-great-grandsire was Torrence Teague, and he ruled ably and well for fifty-two years. He repulsed a great raid by the Marshall of the Northmarch and smashed the army of King Tywald at Stoney Sept when he was little more than a beardless youth, and established courts of law throughout his lands. It was said that a maid could walk clad in naught but her own skin, carrying gold coin and remain untouched in his day.” His smile reminded me of Vaeron’s. It was earnest and kind.

“You deceive our Queen by what you leave out, Goren.” Maester Eddard almost spat, rounding on Maester Goren as though he had been struck, “He was naught but an imitator of Benedict Justman, and you can hardly trust Septon Calder’s glowing words on him. He was in service to the Teagues, and his History of the River Kings was little more than flattery meant to gain him favor from Munkun Teague. Further, that was rhetoric which shares suspicious parallels with the depictions of King Munkun’s own father by Septon Calder’s own writings. It was clearly meant to show his immediate successors as unfit for the throne, justifying the usurpation of the Teague throne by Torrence the Third!”  

“Only if you believe the calumnies of the Fool of Barrowton!” The old man practically shouted, bringing himself to his full height reminded me of a cat bristling its tail. 

“Archmaester Alaric is one of the brightest minds at the Citadel, he has written twelve volumes of a history of the River Kings since the coming of the Andals, mayhap he knows better than some two-copper failure who has written not a word of his own, but imitates the lines of his betters!”

“And what are you, boy, but some young pup trailing after the arguments of the man that all but raised you!” 

The two men argued as if I were not even there, and I felt my heart begin to beat faster as my face heated up. What fondness I had for the old man shriveled up. I had enough of that from Aegon’s lords, I did not need it from their servants too. With a breath, I let the heat drain from me, felt some measure of calm return.

Perhaps it was unfair to think of them as mere servants, but I did not care.

“Mayhap you should take this argument to another place, my friends.” I interrupted, and the two men seemed to snap to attention. Idly, I noticed Eddard’s hand retreat into his voluminous robe sleeve.

One after the other, two of the three men left and the third man, a man with hair like wool in color, and olive skin creased with lines spoke up, “I must offer my apologies, Your Grace. Forgive us, some of our number take positions on the mysteries of the past as a king’s army might at war. Knights of the mind we may be, but like any knight it is often violence to which we turn when soft words fail.” The man spoke without even a hint of the drawl I would have associated without the Dornish.

As I rose to my feet, I forced a smile, and ensured my cloak was secured in place. The gold thread shining in the candlelight, the purple complementing it almost perfectly. My mood was hot, and I felt the beginnings of a twinge of pain in my right temple.

“They are men of learning, there is little agreement when it comes to them. Only arguments, fought over many years to try and form consensus. But never full agreement.” I almost wanted to laugh. No matter where one was, that was a constant. Academics would fight over anything and everything. 

Better that they fight over dead history, than build a heap of carrion in the present forging new history. I buried the bit of discomfort as best I could as I met the grey-robed Maester’s face. He was the shortest of the three, and old, but I had not noticed him leaving lingering glances on me like Maester Eddard. 

I almost wanted to tell Aegon that I had caught him doing so. But the thought of what he might do or say just made me feel ill and guilty. Just because I am hurting does not mean I should make others hurt. I was a grown woman, not a child.

“You wish to ensure your voice and beliefs are heard over everyone else’s. Arguing your position in a particular area of learning feels good as well, the knowledge that you have won is wonderful.” I grinned, a warmth in my chest as I spoke, “If others do not agree, then they are wrong and simply do not know it.” 

The maester chuckled, “‘Tis sad you are a woman, I should think you would make a fine Maester.”

Standing in the ‘doorway’ of the tent, I did not know whether to take that as an insult or not. Was it some slight against my perceived ability to fill the role of Queen? Against my sex? That I was somehow better fit to serve than to rule? You already serve. I hoped it was a simple compliment.

I forced a smile, “Thank you, Maester…” 

“Garin, Your Grace.” He said, as he left the tent.

It was a Rhoynish name. How about that?

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“What then, Your Grace? I and my men and those like me have heard more than mere whispers. Your lords mean to drive us from our homes, all for being blood kin to the conquerors led by Harwyn, or Harwyn’s rivals. Tully’s grandfather was as Volmark as mine, but none speak of taking Tully’s lands or wealth.” Pate Greyiron was fairly decent as far as appearances went. Albeit more of it was from how well he groomed, than from his actual body. He had a nasty scar on the bridge of his nose, and was missing the fourth finger of his left hand, but his eyes were a warm brown to match his hair. And he was near as tan as a Dornishman. 

Clean-shaven, his clothing was more fit for a lord than a mercenary captain. Silks and gold rings and armbands, and shoes studded with pearls and a velvet cloak held together with a clasp of gold in the shape of a bull’s head.

The black silk sash at his waist bore the image of a crowned man’s head, with green hair and beard and a white whale below that, and silver thread in a pattern of waves at the border’s bottom.

It had been another dinner with Aegon and some few of his lords, and even Greyiron. The mercenary captain had been almost surprisingly polite, I had thought he would have been vulgar, crude and common. And people think you are glad bedding your brother, just from being a dragonlord.

But Greyiron had wanted to speak after the others had left.

“Worry not, when you swore yourself to me, I promised to uphold all of your rights and property and privileges.” Aegon said, standing at his full height he dwarfed the man, “I give justice to all my subjects. If any issue should arise, inform me and I shall be there as swift as the wind itself atop Balerion.”

For a moment it felt as though I were looking at a different man entirely. I could tell he meant what he said even as Greyiron thanked him profusely.

“Tully has Volmark blood?” I asked, it seemed strange, almost wrong. But the name of his father had been Torwyn, and that was an Ironborn name. 

Pate nodded, taking a drink of the Arbor Red that still was in a half-empty silver chalice, “Aye, Your Grace. His grandmother was Ironborn. Daughter to the Volmark who conquered Stoney Sept as a rival to Harwyn Hardhand. Lord Volmark who was king for a season, who sacked the House of the Gods in Stoney Sept. Who took a royal banner from King Arrec’s own host, and made it into sailcloth, or so the story goes.” He finished with a flourish, sitting straighter now than he had before.

I laughed, my back against the chair I sat in,  “You sound proud.” 

The captain grinned, “Lord Volmark was my grandsire’s sire.” 

“Then, you and Tully are kin?” I asked.

“Half the men of the lands along the Trident are kin to me, if you believe some tales. Every bandit has claimed to be some bastard son or grandson of the hardy men who pried the rich plum of the Trident from the Durrandon kings.” Greyiron let a servant fill his chalice as he spoke, not missing a beat, he seemed a seasoned storyteller as he launched into tale after tale. Of this man or that deed, of his own valor, even Aegon seemed entranced by the stories, stories that only stopped as one candle had burned halfway through.

“You have the tongue of Sraech the Speaker.” Aegon said, emphasizing the roll of the r’s in that god’s name, the guttural ch, and sent Greyiron on his way, before turning to me with a smile.

“We need to talk.”

I narrowed my eyes in suspicion and he simply laughed it off. Dismissing servants as well.

“Come, unless you wish for me to send you back to the Vale with nothing.” I stood there, watching as he shrugged with all the enthusiasm of a showman. Like I was missing some great act by not following him the moment he parted the curtains leading to his tent’s “bedchamber”. 

“You promised that I would have men, Aegon.” I all but shouted, feeling all too aware of how empty the tent was.

Nothing.

Minutes passed, the only sounds being those of a light rustling, and the men outside the tent, in their camps. I breathed, and touched the hilt of Dark Sister again. He wishes me to come as a supplicant. 

It burned at my pride. He could not ignore me. Was this some childish game to get me to obey? Dangle something I wanted like it was string before a cat? Or a banquet before a starving man?

I could not take it any longer, and with a breath I strode in, ready to cut him if he tried to touch me once we were alone.  

My blood ran cold at the first thing I saw on the table near Aegon’s own bed; Two eggs resting on hot coals. Eggs brown and purple. What cold I had felt turned to heat, as fear turned into rage. In Aegon’s hands was a silver circlet, my silver circlet, one that he turned in his hands like he was inspecting something. Always with an easy smile, like a cat that had caught a mouse.

“Where did you get those?” I asked, my voice seeming almost distant to me. This isn’t happening.

“You left them in Vhagar’s saddlebags, my servants brought them to me.” Aegon’s gaze went toward the eggs, Vhagar’s eggs, my eggs, resting on their bed of red-hot coals, “Two, and I do not recall seeing these ones before. Could they be new?”  I did not know when my hand had gone to Dark Sister’s hilt, but I now felt my thumb rubbing against the pommel.

“Is that why you called me here? To tell me you pilfered my saddlebags?” I said, my tone laced with as much scorn as I felt, I did not care to try and hide it. Breathe.

Breathing carefully did help a little.

Aegon chuckled softly as his right hand touched the miniscule scales of the purple egg’s shell, “I am the head of our house, how is it pilfering to claim what belongs to me by right?” For a moment I hoped his hand would slip into the coals, the left hand held on to the circlet with his index finger and thumb curled and pressed together. For half-a-heartbeat I thought I saw tongues of flame lick his right hand in the brazier.

We are dragons, but we are not immune to the blessed touch of flame. I remembered Rhaenys, so full of bravery after taming Meraxes, touching an open fire on a dare, the blisters on her hands that she cried about to our mother. Father had struck us himself for it. We deserved it. 

“Those are Vhagar’s eggs, return them immediately. I will not have them turn to stone in your keeping, they belong with their mother.” I was looking him in the eye, I realized. That heat, that anger from before had not faded and if anything grew as he waved his hand dismissively.

“Worry not, they will be well. So long as they are kept warm they will not go cold.” He frowned, but then his expression turned thoughtful, “Our first new clutch in nearly a quarter-of-a-century and you did not tell me.” I could almost feel the sigh he let out.

“A small clutch, and as yet unhatched. I saw no need to inform you unless they were already hatchlings.” I said, “I would have told you immediately once they hatched.” I added, then bit my lip, and he scowled.

“You are a poor liar, sister.” He said, rolling his eyes in clear annoyance, and I felt my heart pounding, my blood rushing in my ears as he took the purple egg from the brazier with only a slight wince, the flames seemed to dance, and to lick his cuffs and palms, “Like our eyes, and the cloaks of our forebears.” He turned the egg in his hands, and I did all I could to keep my hands steady, one gripping Dark Sister’s hilt tightly.

My mouth felt dry, “Like father’s eyes. Or the purple dye of Tyrosh.” I added.

Aegon paced about, and it made me feel nervous as he circled with the egg in hand. “Like the rubies in our old diadem, if father spoke the truth.” The diadem worn by the first-wife or spouse of the head of the house.

I frowned, looking at his hands, for a moment being distracted by the sway of his cloak, with its double-bordered decorations of flame and various symbols, and sinewy dragon shapes.

“It is a fine color, but I would have preferred amethyst.” One of my favorite stones, perhaps my favorite. Emerald would be up there as well, and sapphire. 

My husband simply smiled, almost like a boy. Looking closer to fifteen than thirty, for a moment before he winced, “Do you believe it is an omen?” He sounded hopeful, I remembered years of that following our wedding and I felt the sudden desire to leave.

“I do not believe I am with child, no. Nor do I believe you should try to bed me tonight.” Or ever. A part of me whispered, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up when he set the egg back into the brazier, and his hand thumbed the pommel of the dagger at his belt.

“After Harren is dealt with, mayhap.” He offered, tapping his thumb against the hilt of his dagger.

Despite donning another layer, albeit thin, I felt as though I had not dressed myself enough as his eyes roamed down my sleeve, I could almost feel his gaze on my hand. The hand that gripped Dark Sister’s hilt like a vise.

I gathered my courage, and forced a laugh I did not feel. “When you are king of seven kingdoms, not a day sooner.” I hope you die in Dorne. A part of me hoped, wished for it. Rhaenys would grieve, but I would be blameless. 

“I will go hunting for Hoare’s men come morning. Dragonstone needs to be defended if what is said was true, that they are sailing along the Blackwater to attack our home.” I could not stand it anymore. 

Maybe I could convince the Sistermen to fight for me. I could not handle being around him. What if he does not even follow through? He could just decide to go back on his promise at any time. 

“Do I have your permission, Your Grace?” The words were stiff and stilted.

All he did was smile, and dismiss me with a wave. 

As I made my way back to my tent, the night air still warm, but cooled beneath the moon and clouds, all I could think of was the two eggs, kept far from their mother, sheltered under Aegon’s tent, beneath his high banner.

I dreamed of them, of dragons hatched beneath him, swaddled in his own banner. A three-headed dragon painted on black with my blood.

------------

I woke with a start. For a few moments I stared at the ceiling of my tent, I could not see it all that well in the dark. Slowly, I slid off my bed, not even bothering with my fine linen covers. The barest shift in temperature as it pooled at my feet, my feet that were touching the carpet.

A familiar buzzing I almost wanted to brush off filled my ears. Wait. I realized exactly what that noise was. The clamor and shouting of men fighting. Yelling and shouting muffled by the tent’s walls. 

It felt like a dream. But the touch of my hair, the ends tickling my hip, the fast-fading mental grogginess, those were all too real. I was not given much time with my thoughts before the door to my tent was drawn open, and without thinking I went for Dark Sister.

“Wake, Your Grace! Wake!” Came the voice of one of the men who had been assigned to my guard. 

It was no dream. We were under attack, and I was bare as the day I was born. A nervous sort of energy filled me, my limbs felt just a bit shaky, my body like there was a buzz. Fear? How far into the camps have they gotten. Who attacked?

What if it were one of the Riverlords. Any of them had enough men to make the attempt. With how few of our own we had with us. 

“I am awake, wait just a moment. I am dressing!” I replied, wasting no time as I threw on my clothing, and clad myself in armor. Silver scale, and mail gloves. It felt almost like a second skin, it had my blood rushing, my hand anticipating the familiar weight of Dark Sister, the desire to cut and cut and cut. 

As I left the tent, my purple cloak swaying with my long strides, I knew only one thing. I could barely see, the fog was so thick and dense you could cut it with a knife. I could barely see ten feet in front of me. I could smell the wetness, I could smell the tang of fire and smoke and blood mixing with it.

“To me! Men, to me!” I shouted, “Raise the green dragon! Raise the star!” Nymerian and the rest followed those orders without questioning, my banner retrieved from my tent, hoisted by him as fifty men formed a square of sorts around me, spears in hand and shields ready. 

My legs trembled, but I barked the order to move out. To get to Vhagar, to find Aegon if possible. I felt my pulse pounding, the rush of blood in my ears as the clamor had only grown in intensity. Faintly, I could hear some screams. 

“The moment I am atop Vhagar this battle will be over, each and every one of those bastards will die in dragonflame!” I shouted, and a chorus of affirmatives and small cheers was my answer.

Men who had seemingly stayed at their posts nervously joined with my own, the group seeming to grow with every moment that passed. 

“FORWARD THE GREEN DRAGON!” 

Another chorus of cheers and affirmatives erupted, of men repeating what I had shouted so loudly that my throat was strained a little from it.  

I have to get to Vhagar. The image of men burning again, of green flame killing not only foe but friend without any distinction. Of Royce dead in his armor. Of the groaning and moaning and screams of those who were burned but had not the luck to die instantly. Men blackened and scorched but somehow alive.

Let Aegon do the butcher’s work. On Vhagar I would flee until morning, when the light of day pierced the fog and friend and foe could be told apart once more. 

But I thought of Vaeron. He was only eight-and-ten. Find him, and get him to Vhagar with me. He was a friend, and I could not let him die. That thought soothed the feeling of guilt, at least, even as the fog was beginning to thin somewhat.

Through the fog, piercing its thick veil were snatches of green and black flame. Jets of flame going skyward, jets of flame going forward, smoke, and the screams of the dying, the men who were damned alive. Burnt, or gutted but not dead. 

The pleasant warmth of the previous mornings was gone, in its place was a wet humid chill. A wind carried the scent of death, of blood and shit and carrion. 

In the trampled grasses, it was not long before the great bulk of Vhagar, and the far far grander hill that was Balerion, even marching with dozens, I was not prepared for Vhagar’s roar from the ground. Loud, one that I felt. She sounded distressed, I thought.

But just after, with Balerion’s head raised, so large it seemed that of some great demon or primordial monster in the thinning fog, red eyes glowing like hot iron from the forge, wisps of smoke trailing from his maw. I was not prepared for the roar of my father’s… my brother’s dragon.

A sound that felt like thunder in my bones, a sound that was almost deafening even with my mailed hands clapped against my ears. 

The fog had parted enough that I could see Vhagar clearly, and Balerion nearby. Dozens upon dozens of the dead beside them, and even more in flight. 

Two men were cut down by my guards, then three, then five. One of my own had died before we reached Vhagar herself. Before her, I saw half a body on… laying on what remained of its front. I looked up at Vhagar’s teeth, and saw red blood dripping.

The golden rays of the morning did not make the sight prettier.

This was not the Vale again.

No matter how much I wanted it to be so.

Chapter Text

The stench of the dead and the dying filled the air even as the late mid-day sun shone over the blue-green waters of the lake. The waters were cool and serene and natural, but that only served to contrast with the wreckage of dozens of boats on the lakeshore, the last remains of the force which had come with the heavy fogs of the late night.

The boats had been brightly painted, many were fishing barges, and I felt the heat of shame once more. I should have... I ignored that feeling. I could not have known they were anything but what they had appeared to be. 

I almost admired the cunning of the sons of Harren Hoare. Spreading misinformation, not announcing themselves, attacking when we were at our most vulnerable... after days of men treating this as though victory had come already.

The ships’ wreckage still smoldered with black flame, flame as black as the great walls of Harrenhal. Flames black and red. Vhagar’s fire would have lost its color by now. 

All that remained were the few men who had been taken alive. Those that hadn’t been put to the sword at least. 

“Tell me. What should I do with you?” Aegon spoke, straight-backed in his chair, the sunlight caught in the rubies of his valyrian steel crown. Red as the inner silk of his black velvet cloak, and blazing like fire. ”I am not without mercy, Hoare.” My brother was smiling, I could hear it. 

“My father will ransom me. My elder brothers are dead, and their sons are beardless children. Or perhaps return me to the isles, I could rally them to your cause.” Qhorwyn Hoare said, to the jeers of Aegon’s lords and knights. A thrown stone nearly struck him, only narrowly missing him.

Aegon nodded, and spoke, “What was your intent in this folly? Had you succeeded, what would you have done? You and your brothers. Consider this as part of your trial. I will know if you lie.” Aegon sounded almost like a cat toying with its prey.

Boos came from the crowd. I did not know why Aegon allowed it. This should have been done privately.

Qhorwyn Hoare likely was baking in the armor he wore. Caked in sweat and blood. How much of it belonged to Dragonstone men? He had been one of the only men to get close enough to make an attempt on Aegon’s life.

The man raised his voice, responding more steadily than I would have in his situation. “I... I would have taken you back to my father in chains, and I would have given you to the Stranger in the waters before the heart tree, and taken your queen to wife. I would have sent messengers to Dragonstone and demanded your kin submit to us.” I felt bile rise in my throat as he spoke every word with what sounded like a forced flatness.

“I and my brothers would have reclaimed every traitorous keep from every turncloak lord and knight from Duskendale to Seagard, and given the rebels to the Stranger’s mercy.” There was a pride in what he said, and for a moment his shoulders seemed to have slumped less. 

“KILL HIM! END THE HOARES!” Shouted Ser Hallis. Lord Blackwood now, I remembered. His father slain by one of Hoare’s brothers. A chorus of voices joined in. All calling for the death of the man who was in chains before us. 

The last of Hoare’s sons paled, and I felt a twinge of something. He is pathetic. A part of me was angry, he had gladly charged into our camps beside his brothers with the intent to kill us. Or worse, I felt a shiver even beneath my cloak and the two layers of fine cotton I wore underneath it.

“DEATH TO THE IRONBORN!” Came another group of voices. They cheer near as loudly for death to a foe as for long life to their king. 

“I will have order.” Aegon said in a firm and powerful voice, and Balerion, everpresent Balerion, his head beside him and dwarfing him even where he sat made a low rumbling noise that vibrated through me. Tendrils of smoke from his nostrils and maw nearly made me cough, but the mere noise of him had been enough to quiet the audience.

A glance at him revealed he had kept a stern countenance, but I caught the hint of something there. A hint of the playful boy he had once been, a twitch of his lip as he caught me looking at him. 

I looked at the man closely, for a moment, his eyes stood out. Black as sin, for one of the black blood, as some had said. One eye, at least. The other was puckered shut under heavy swelling and bruising. Flanked by four Dragonstone men-at-arms, all holding wicked looking axes, their steel axe heads coated in dried blood. I wondered how much of that was for show. 

In mail that had clearly once shone now bloody and grimy, and a cloak that was bloodied and torn. Grimy and sweat-covered. Qhorwyn Hoare looked a poor excuse for a prince. All that looked royal were the gold bells between the plaits in his beard.

“I shall take counsel with my lords, I think. But fear not, all will be given justice as they deserve.” Aegon said, loudly enough for many to hear, and to many cheers and hoots and hollers for blood as he rose from his sea, the rubies studding his boots glittering in the sunlight, and beckoned me.

The easy smile on his face sent a shiver down my spine, and I felt not a small amount of suspicion as I followed beside him. For a moment, the distant top tower and golden roof of Harrenhal caught the sunlight, and reflected it like the crown of some ancient god. The distant, black walls shimmering in the summer heat.

“The Volantenes were worthier foes, I think. But worthy or no, the ships of the Ironborn burn just the same.” He laughed, and touched my shoulder. A gentle squeeze felt like the harshest vise, from him. Looking at the lake did not help. Most were fishing ships. Why boast?

For a moment, I remembered the docks at Gulltown, and the salty tang of air, mingled with smoke and fire. It was more like home.. Dragonstone, than the scent Aegon had wrought with the butchery he had done here. Was your butchery any less than his? 

I only nodded along and gave affirmatives as he talked and talked, coming to the tent that was so familiar to me now. Its sphinxes, its finery, and rugs and furniture. I just wanted five minutes alone.

Once this is over, ten-thousand men will march through the Bloody Gate and nothing the Arryns do will be able to stop us. Take the campaign slowly. A year there, away from Aegon while he waged his wars.

It would all be worth it after Harrenhal. 

My heart wracked with guilt at the thought of the towers melting, of thousands roasting alive, their last moments a hell on earth.

“I think I may give Hoare to the mercy of Balerion’s maw. Prince or no, I care not for what bribe he may offer. As well, it will give Harren something to know before he meets his end. No father would love to hear of their son’s demise.” There was a jovial note to his tone that made me feel ill.

I remembered the man who had died. I did not know his name. But the sight of a body torn in half by a dragon was still as vivid as it had been hours before.  

“I do not believe Qhorwyn should be slain.” I said, meeting Aegon’s eyes, eyes the same color as our father’s, and my throat felt raw. I needed water. 

Aegon smiled, squeezing my hands in his own for a moment, a moment that felt too long, “I knew beneath that steel was a soft, woman’s heart. You have never been so harsh as you might wish others to think. Despite your temper.”

Not wishing to murder prisoners is not some sign of softness. I knew a part of me disagreed, but that made me care all the more.

I scowled, and restrained myself from striking him, “You are a fool if you would kill a king that is in your pocket and ready to be placed upon a throne with your support.” I said, glaring, “Say you murder Harren and his household, and his knights in his keep, Balerion’s flame melting the towers and walls as all within die cooked like suckling pigs. All you have done, with Harren’s sons dead and his grandchildren slain within those walls is make it harder to force the Ironborn into submission. Rather than one king to make a lord, you have dozens to subdue.”

My brother frowned, “Who told you what I intended for Harrenhal?”

It felt like a hook had been attached to my stomach, and only now was being yanked. I wanted to kick myself. Stupid girl! 

There was no Rhaenys to cover for me. To pass this off to. 

“I-it is obvious, to even the most dull man, I should think.” My words felt like weights, dragging down my tongue, my heart pounding with each of my thoughts swimming like a school of scattered minnows, “Harrenhal is the largest castle built by man in these lands, why not set it ablaze, t-to prove their castles are no defense against you. Why assemble so many men, yet lack the provisions for a long siege? You have treated this like it is some grand secret you are waiting to unveil. I know you, Aegon. Were Rhaenys here, she would have said the same, I imagine. Perhaps seen it even faster than I have.” He smiled at that, a boyish grin lighting up his features in a way that made me reach for Dark Sister’s hilt.

He shook his head, and laughed, “Ah, sister. You are not telling me everything, I can tell. But you must have learned this on your own, for I have told no one.” His smile widened as he brought me into a quick embrace and I tried all I could to keep calm as he continued, his breath hot against my neck, “Do not tell anyone else, I do not want this example to be expected.” 

He’s smiling, as if this is some game to him. I wanted to kill him. It would have been the right thing, he was a monster... he was my brother, he was not, he was a boy who I had known my entire life, a boy that had cried when his mother died.

How many mothers will die because of him? 

How many will die because of your cravenness? 

----------------------------

I smiled down at Vaeron from my seat. He looked a mess; A cut on his jaw, blood staining his gold-streaked silver hair which would have to be washed and cleaned, and a broken arm from where a thrown mace had struck. I had checked to ensure the grey-robed men had done an adequate job at helping him, and tended to him myself. Doped up on milk of the poppy, he seemed only half aware, and spoke with what seemed like a leaden tongue.

Bereft his cloak, without his armor or tunic. His pale chest bruised with nasty purple and yellow splotches near his abdomen and along his right shoulder…He looked so young. 

“Thank you, Ser Vaeron.” I squeezed the boy’s hands with my own, and he did not even meet my eyes, instead shaking his head with a smile. His cheeks reddened from what I could see in the candlelight.

“It is no trouble, A-archont-.. Your Grace.” He seemed to be looking everywhere but at me.

“You showed bravery,” I wished he had not, “Without you, my husband may have been slain. Name your boon, and I shall grant it if I am able.” I wished Aegon had died, but Vaeron had been brave. Eight-and-ten, and he had gone with few men to defend his king. I did not like Aegon, but it was a deed worth a song. I imagined people would sing more of Aegon slaying a half dozen men with Blackfyre in hand before mounting Balerion.

He had not a single scratch on him after the ambush. He deserved the broken arm, the bruises, the cuts. 

Vaeron spoke slowly, “Lord Qoherys did more...” I frowned at that. Quenton had been given the public glory of a reward from Aegon for slaying Harren the Younger. An ornate helm set with white dragonscales in the crest, scales from Thaelys herself. Largest dragon in the world before her death had left Balerion with that honor.

“Quenton is a man grown, and has known battle before this war.” I said, “Name a boon, Ser Vaeron. I am not so… blessed as my brother in authority, but I can ensure you receive something.” 

“When I am recovered, I wish to…” He bit his lip, “I..”

“Do you want a castle? I could make you a lord.” A lord who would owe his prosperity to you. A voice whispered, and I felt a stab of guilt. “Tell me. I will give you whatever you ask for.” I almost stammered out.

Vaeron breathed slowly, the tent almost silent for a minute before he replied.

“I want to see the world from the skies, just once.” I squeezed his hands again.

“You will, I promise. When the war is over I shall fly you to Claw Isle myself.” He smiled at that.

“Little Viserra will be jealous.” He said, and he laughed, and I could not help but laugh with him.

-----------------------------

The hooves of three-hundred horses all with men, Dragonstone men for the most part, riding sent up clouds of dust as we made our way to our destination along the lakeshore. A jetty built a league from Harrentown. Heralds with their horns announced our coming.

Quenton Qoherys, bearing the gilded helm my brother gave him, set with the white scales of Thaelys, carried his banner, that banner which shamed my own with its fineness. It was larger, richer, and I would have wagered that more men recognized it. 

Harren had called for talks, for a meeting between kings, as his messenger had called it. To speak of how affairs might be resolved. 

I hoped it would be resolved peacefully. Unlikely at best. 

“I will have his submission, whether he be alive to give it or not.” My brother said, atop his black warhorse, that gift from Lord Bracken. The horse in bejeweled caparison, and Aegon himself dressed in his finest silks and velvets, his crown resting on his head, Blackfyre belted in such a way that it only added to his visage. 

He looked, in that moment, like a conquering king. In a way that made my heart leap. His eyes set forward, looking only at our destination, reins to his horse’s fine gilded bridle in his gloved hands. I wished I had his confidence. I hated that he had it and I did not.

“The dead can not object.” Aegon lost that all-conquering look, and turned his head to me and smiled that easy smile which belonged on a mischievous boy, not a man who had burned thousands and was ready to burn thousands more. 

I envied his ability to sleep well. I had been kept up with nightmares. Of a storm breaking one tower away from others. Four black towers, one burned to ash, but Harrenhal had five. Like the dream I’d had days before the ambush. Third son of Harren, and we have him. I wondered if perhaps my lie to Daemon, about dreams... had made my brain conjure these. 

There was the one before Royce’s attack. The storm of flame, a giant I could never forget. It could have been the sound of panic making its way in, and giving me a vivid dream while the camp was attacked. To wake me. 

Can not the heir of Daenys dream as well? It had been a lie to my uncle, and I knew it. Stress made for strange dreams. I was no prophetess, no diviner, to be given dreams by G-d. Or her gods. The thought made my skin crawl. If I dreamed of things to come, or were happening.. then it was clearly a warning against immediate dangers. Or madness. 

“We have his son, that may have been enough to ensure his surrender, Your Grace.” Quenton spoke in Common. It was strange to hear that from him. 

Harren’s messenger had mentioned nothing of the sort. Does he assume the three which came simply died? It could not have been, there were men sent carrying news of Qhorwyn’s capture to him.

“He may believe we are bluffing.” I spoke, my own voice sounding strange to my ears for a moment. I tried to let my nervousness flow out with my breathing, the white horse I rode was an easy horse to guide and her mane was soft. I wished I could take my gloves off and touch it.

“Mayhap.” Quenton’s sounded unsure.

“What he believes is of no matter, he will kneel or he will burn.” Aegon said, the sun glinting off the golden heads of his double-headed clasp. Rubies shining as well.

Why go to this, if all you intend to do is burn the castle regardless? I hoped Harren would kneel, he might have caused trouble... but it would be better to kill him and men under arms, than the thousands who no doubt had never touched the hilt of a sword of spear’s haft.

The jetty from where we were looked more a small festival, colorful pavilions a respectful distance from the structure. Banners of several houses I could not place, variations of some Ironborn sigils I had seen, one was the plowman of Darry, with its colors inverted.

Our men met Harren’s, and led our horses away. All the while I touched at Dark Sister’s hilt, looking out of the corner of my eye, and comforted more by the weight of the mail I wore under my riding clothes than I was by Dark Sister’s presence.

All the men of Harren’s seemed calm and almost jovial. Like this was all some cheery celebration. Girls carried pitchers of wine, and food from one man to another. No matter that most were clearly not of noble blood, men cheered, and some glared as we passed through.

Taller than all others, mounted on a long glittering golden spear, was the rustling banner of Harren Hoare. Black on its top, with gold thread and glinting topaz on the longship that served as its topmost sigil, divided into quarters by silver chains, green fir trees on white, rubies arranged into a cluster of grapes on a field of gold, and a black raven clutching a golden spear in its talons on a field of blue.

The banner was planted before a tent that put even Aegon’s to shame in its size. Black cloth and gold, with an entrance large enough for one man on top of another man’s shoulders to pass through.

Who in the hell would need a tent that large... let alone for this.

The man who stepped from that entrance, to a bombastic fanfare of horns, more than fit that need. Flanked by grey-robed men with familiar chains clinking, and armored men in black scale, black as Aegon’s own armor, both shorter than the man they guarded by a large margin. Following with a jeweled horn at his belt was a boy who could not have been older than six-and-ten, but a good six inches shorter than Harren himself. 

Still too tall, for my liking.

I wondered how many giants I was going to meet. 

Too many, of late.

The first words out of his mouth were in High Valyrian, in an accent I did not recognize. It sounded almost foreign to my ears. 

“I am glad you could make it, my brother.” He was taller than the Oak of Smallwood by at least two inches, and he was big. His hands like great mitts, covered in gold rings set with precious stones, fingers more like sausages in size than fingers, and his voice was powerful. Booming even.

Flinty-eyed, like Qhorwyn, but Qhorwyn would have looked like a grimy beggar beside this man. He was old, I knew that much, but he had aged about as well as one could hope for. Laugh lines and creases from age. His black hair, touched with gray, was banded in gold in several places, his well-groomed beard was the same. A patch of gray below his mouth was the only real sign of age I could see there. His face had a bit of fat to it. He is not as fit as he once had been. 

He was not a handsome man, perhaps above average at best. I had been better looking, before. It made me uncomfortable to think about that. But a crown could make any man seem greater, and his was finely worked gold set with countless gemstones, I would have called it gaudy.

His boots had gold stitching, and were clearly new and of high quality. Finer than Aegon’s own, even. A match for the rich cloak he wore, cloth-of-gold with motifs of crawling ivy and longships on the waves, the gold of the cloak shimmering in the sun and clearly heavy. The trousers he wore, red in color, made of some silk-like fabric. The same red as the large ruby set in the guard of his sword’s hilt, a sword in a weirwood sheath decorated with gold scrollwork in a bastard mix of Valyrian glyphs and some runic script. 

When men spoke of Black Harren I had never thought he would be so... colorful. Black and bleak, perhaps, when I thought of Ironborn kings it was not of men covered in wealth, but wretches who gained all they had from stealing from their betters. Betters? 

The tall boy near him carried a cushion in his hands, on which rested a scepter of ivory, banded with gold and scrollwork in an unfamiliar script and near as many gemstones as his crown.

Aegon laughed, looking the monster of a man in the eye without any hesitation, “Brother? I have not a one.” 

“It is a custom of my people, as old as the days when each island had a king to call its own. All kings are brother in royalty and rule.” Harren smiled in a way that did not touch his eyes, and I felt his eye wander from Aegon and to me. Lingering for a moment. I felt my fingers crave for the feel of Dark Sister’s hilt.

I did my best to keep a neutral expression as Harren gestured for another man to come, with a fanfare that made me want to scream. A boy who could not be more than ten held a box of ebonywood, and presented it to Aegon.

The thought of a manticore had me reaching for Dark Sister, and looking for any means of escape as Aegon opened the offered box without hesitation, and inside was something I had not expected.

“A fine gift.” Aegon said, lifting a golden chain, at the end of which was set a ruby the size of a fruit. Larger than any ruby I had ever seen. I bit my lip.

“Indeed, one fit for a king. Let us speak, one king to another.” Harren said, his voice had a gentleness to it I would not have expected from a man like him. A monster. He had the same supreme confidence I had heard only from Aegon, or my uncle at his most insufferable.

 His cloak rustled with the breeze, and the movement of his thumb, which he pointed in the direction of the jetty, a white structure. Weirwood? 

The same wood as used, presumably, for the large ship with blood red sails that even now gently sat in place on the lake. The gargantuan thing, larger even than the ships which could carry Vhagar or Meraxes. 

“It is about time.” Aegon smiled, and we followed, hands on our sword hilts all the while. Only Aegon was not touching at Blackfyre. The kings walked beside each other, both cloaks whipped by a sudden gust, which set my own purple cloak to rustling as we made our way to the jetty and a large ornate table made of goldenheart, its chairs of carved ebony and plush cushions

For a moment, I felt my muscles relax, the scent of the lake carried by the breeze. In the distance I knew the Isle of Faces was there. With its forest of red-leaved trees, and rumors of man-eaters that were said to reside there. At that, I felt less than comfortable.

Harren clapped and said some words in a tongue I did not know, and a gaggle of olive-skinned girls and women set the table. Women with silver threaded rope tied into bands at their necks and ankles. 

A chill ran down my spine. I tried my best to keep my expression neutral, but the king of the ironborn smiled.

“Comely, are they not? I bought their service contracts off a captain from the Stepstones, the girls are from Garin’s Fingers.” He said, as though speaking of a prized horse, a girl pouring wine into a golden chalice studded with gemstones for him and nervously looking from Harren to us and then back to Harren.

Do they still fear us? 

“Slaves, then. I have seen Garin’s Fingers but once, and I have never forgotten the people of the delta. Striking, of Rhoynish blood.” Aegon said, his interest clearly piqued as he accepted a chalice of his own and sipped at wine the same color as his eyes, “Some have said the Myrish are of that stock.”

I felt sick to my stomach. He is fine letting them pour his wine. A part of me wondered what things happened to those women outside of meals. It only made me feel worse.

“Maester Doran’s theory is one I find most convincing, but I did not ask you to be here to discuss matters of the Free Cities.” Harren chuckled, “Not yet, at least.”

“Not yet?” I blurted out, and felt the need to hide under a rock as both men fixed their gaze on me, Aegon with a smile, and Harren with a larger one while stroking at the ends of his beard. I glanced at the blue stone set into the rough silver bracelet I wore.

“The men of the riverlands cannot be trusted. They look to you now Targaryen, but the moment your back is turned, the instant they believe you will not give them all they desire? Then they shall return to their quarrels, and then they shall start to seek your downfall. The histories show this, every ruler has had more to fear from these lords of yellow mud than their foes from far afield. Loren swears friendship and service to Mern. That meddler Argilac chomps at the bit to take the lands north of the Blackwater. Just as his cripple father did. The walls of my grand palace are strong, the strongest and greatest walls in the world. You have seen them.” He spoke with confidence, and as though anticipation ran through him.

“I propose that we join together, two kings against the rest. With my home at last finished, my men hunger for blood and treasure. I will cede all the lands east of the Gods Eye to you, and north of the Trident and east of the Crossing.” He spoke with a voice that grew ever more forceful, and his eyes seemed to not be seeing what was in front of him, as if he were somewhere else, “With my men from the Isles, and your dragons we could cut a swathe through the Rock and Reach and pluck every ripe plum from the Golden Tooth to Oldtown itself. Aid me in punishing the rebellious rivermen, and no truer ally shall you find.” 

“Argilac offered me his daughter’s hand.” Aegon said, his expression not one I could read, “How would such an alliance be sealed with you?” 

Harren’s lip crooked upward, “I have no daughters, none born to any wife I have wed, but my third wife passed not a moon’s turn ago. And no son of mine has sired daughters, I propose a marriage between I and a sister of yours. Make me your brother, in blood as well as kingship.” 

Aegon’s eyes narrowed, and I caught a flash of anger before he schooled his features into a smile that did not touch his eyes, “Both are wed, and I am their husband.”

Harren continued, undeterred, speaking again, this time in the tongue of the Andals, “No man of these lands will recognize a marriage between brother and sister, it is an abomination to them. Loren, Mern, Argilac... they would speak ill of you. The Arryns would plot your downfall, and the Faith would never give you their blessing. Only I would give you friendship, and all I ask is the hand of one sister.”  His black eyes lingered on me for a moment, and I felt almost ill. The salty taste of bile filled my mouth, “It would not be the first time a dragonlord gave a daughter or sister to a mighty foreign king. As part of the bride price I give you not only those lands, but ten-thousand laborers ready to work, seven-thousand women, twelve-thousand children and half the gold within my treasury. The sails of men from the Isles would let us sack beautiful Lys and humbled Volantis and mighty Tyrosh. The Braavosi have a greater fleet, but my mariners put theirs to shame. The Titan would fall. Take the east, and I the west. Surely that is worth one daughter of Valyria.” 

He truly is desperate. I realized, mildly amused. I could almost taste it in his words. His confidence, this entire show of strength... it was a mummer’s farce. And if I could see it...

“You speak of an alliance... now? Hoare, I have near to twenty-thousand men ready to besiege your castle and more than half the Riverlands fly my banner. I have sacked every fort of yours from the Blackwater to Acorn Hall and that desperate attempt at murdering me did not leave so much as a stain on my clothes.” Aegon laughed, without reservation, squeezing the ruby of the heavy golden chain that had been Harren’s gift to him, “I have your eldest living son in chains, and I think he shall make a better lord than you.”

Harren recoiled as if struck, but quickly managed to school his features as he turned to smile and spoke words in a language I did not understand to the women with their chains of silver-rope who even now carried trays and pitchers of wine, and the dozen with instruments.

The music of lyres was filling the air, and a song joined it. Likely in the same language Harren had spoken. It sounded like a sad song. But it set the hairs on the back of my neck on edge.

“There will be no compact, Harren. You will kneel, or you will die.” Aegon sounded genuinely agitated, and rose from his seat. 

“My castle’s walls are thick, stronger than any fortress your people have fought against. It is a pity you choose war when cooperation would have seen both of us much richer.” Harren loomed over us both as he stood at his full height. 

“Is... is that language Old Rhoynic?” I asked, I had my suspicions. There were words, here and there, which sounded vaguely like they had the touch of the Rhoynar to them. The lilt of it was not Valyrian.

And I would have understood Valyrian, even the old priestly Valyrian. 

Harren grinned, “Alas, Summer Flower, ‘tis not. But these women speak not a word of the Common Tongue of the Andals. But they can be taught to sing the words, and I speak to them in the Rhoynic of the Volantene Rhoynar.” He sounded almost pleased with himself. 

“That song is an old one, first sung by slaves taken by the Freehold after the Second Spice War.” My heart was racing as he continued, “It is called Garin’s Lament.” He twisted the ends of his beard between his ringed-fingers as he said it, “A song of farewells, and a hope for a brighter future.”

My blood went cold, that sense of wrongness only growing as I took Aegon’s hand and squeezed it tightly.

“We need to leave. Now.” I whispered to him in the Valyrian of Dragonstone, and cared not if it was unseemly as I walked at a brisk pace, my hand gripping Dark Sister’s hilt. Dragonstone men moved to cover us as we left the jetty.

Aegon did not even get a chance to respond before the first arrows flew.

--------

Rubbing Dark Sister’s smoky steel blade with a cloth, my hands were the steadiest they had been since we had returned to the camps on horseback, one step ahead of our pursuers.

One breath in. One breath out.

“Thank you, sister.” Aegon said, sitting beside me as he had since we got back, hand on my shoulder, “You were valiant, gods, you were beautiful with Dark Sister in hand. I felt almost as though we were children again, playing at being the old heroes. The whole host will be speaking of it, I should think.” 

I rubbed Dark Sister’s blade more, my reflection somewhat unclear in the smoky rippled steel. I looked well enough, but I felt terrible. My body was fine, but I felt tired.

A hero would have let you die. 

“I am tired.” I murmured, glancing at his face, I felt very little at the sight of him so close. His smile, so earnest and genuine turned to a frown. 

“Do not fall asleep just yet, sister. Harren shall not like what happens next, and I do not wish you to miss him receiving justice for his vile perfidy.” Aegon said with an energetic confidence. You were going to burn it all anyway. “Sunset is soon, and so too comes the end of Harren’s vanity.” 

He raised me to my feet, and I glanced at the eggs which even now sat in the braziers. I wondered if I could take them with me to the Vale, when this was done. Aegon kissed me on the cheek, his hand on my waist and I felt nothing.

“Come, we should retrieve Qhorwyn. Let him see what happens to those who face the dragon. I think that shall make him a better lord than most. He will know where true power lays.” My brother’s tone shifted to something less jovial, and more grim. It is all an act. I could see how a man like him would have inspired a son like Maegor. He enjoys war. 

I hated that a part of me felt some pride in it. Pride in my sword arm, pride that I had escaped danger, pride in a son that would never exist if G-d was just.

I took a deep breath, and nodded. “Fine, but after this I think I shall sleep and wake again in the spring.” Despite the jape, I felt dull inside, and followed him out of his tent. The men were in high spirits as we did so, lords and knights and men who had only picked up an old spear a week ago all reveled at our appearance. 

The sun was sinking low, but I could still see the top half of the orange orb. The sounds of merriment filling the humid air just as stars filled the darkling skies. The breeze carried the stench of stale death, of bodies given to flame, or hasty burial. 

Will the dead of Harrenhal stink? The image of the olive-skinned women, those slaves of Harren, little more than burnt corpses, flashed in my mind’s eye.

Aegon basked in the adulation and cheers of men as he made the rounds of the camps, as we made our way to Balerion as every second the sun sank lower. I felt like little more than a doll. You killed for him. I wished I had left him. You threw him on your horse. 

Harrenhal’s black walls filled me with dread. The dread of foreknowledge. You could stop him. But are too craven to do it. The mocking voice whispered, it felt like knives stabbing at my skull.

Wetness pricked at the corners of my eyes. I did not care that I was crying, I would cry for the damned. 

“Sister?” Aegon said, sounding to my ears more curious than confused as his gloved hand touched Balerion’s scaly head. The great black beast dozing like a cat beneath a windowsill.

“We have men, we could get supplies, do we have to do this?” I spoke the words I had been too afraid to say. Tears flowing from my eyes, dripping from my cheeks, I barely kept my words steady, “Can you not just burn Harren’s own tower?” I pointed to the tallest tower, with its golden roof.

Aegon frowned, “One tower would not be a sufficient demonstration, besides,” He gripped my shoulder, “A man who attempted to murder me.. murder you, why should we not destroy his vanity?” His words made me feel a flash of anger, a kernel of heat.

“It would be a waste, and cruel besides.” I looked away from him, and the sound of him laughing for a moment stabbed at me like a dagger to the heart.

“Truly? You, who spoke of showing the Arryns that their Eyrie was but a gilded cage, that you would take Vhagar up to the mountains to show them? You speak of it as cruel? Harren is a man grown, while you spoke of burning a boy king. Sister, do not preach to me of cruelty and kindness. The lie does not suit you.” 

I had said no such thing. No such thing to him. “Rhaenys told you.” I felt cold, the kernel of heat, that anger dying like the last embers in a hearth. 

“We are husband and wife, why should we not speak to each other? It is not as though your strategies are some private matter.” Every word out of his mouth had me wanting to scream. She had told him. 

What conversations has she told him of? I wanted to kick myself. It had not been a private conversation, I had not asked her to keep that secret. How could I have boasted of such a thing? I had been the one, not Visenya. Even if it had been in jest, it would have been in poor taste.

I had not seen men burn, then. 

“You boasted that had you been in Volantis you would have done more than burn a fleet. Why do you care? Are you so moved by the fate of the people?” Hand at the bottom of Balerion’s saddle, he sounded like he wanted to laugh, as though this were some joke.

“B-because I...” I forced the words out, “I want it.” I felt sick, “We deserve more...” I gulped, “Than Dragonstone, and some earthen fort at the Blackwater. Destroying the towers, burning them, would be a waste.”

A flash of annoyance crossed Aegon’s features, and then something else I could not catch with my bleary eyes before he was smiling as if nothing had happened, and then spoke.

“One.” He said, raising a single finger.

The word felt like it was in some language I could not understand.

“One?” My throat felt raw, and the word strained.

“Which one do you wish to spare? You may choose any save for that one.” He pointed at the highest of Harrenhal’s towers, with its golden roof which shimmered in the dimming rays of the late afternoon sun, even from where we stood.

“Why not t-” I started, but he cut me off with a wave of his hand.

“Do not test me. You are fortunate I am allowing this, I wished to make all of the towers a demonstration, but you have done well and so I will reward you. Choose one now, or I will spare none.” His features softened, and he wrapped a hand around my waist.

“Consider this a belated wedding gift.” He planted a kiss on my lips, and I felt my stomach roiling.

When sunset came, four towers were melted by dragonfire, stone glowing red as black flame bathed them, stone flowing like hot wax as the night wore on, as though this were all some giant’s toy castle and all the men along the battlements burned where they did not jump or fall screaming to their deaths, and every man that ran for their lives in the grounds below was dead before sunrise.

Aegon kept his word, and I almost wished he hadn’t..

There was no good decision, but I made the one I could.

----------------

Author's Note: Happy Holidays, all!

Chapter Text

The rays of the morning sun brought some comfort as they broke through the cloud cover. For a moment I could ignore the discomfort and mild fatigue from my lack of sleep. I should have done more. I shoved the feeling away as I glanced at the assembled lords and their sworn knights and entourages to the waters of the Gods Eye. Blue and green and warm. Peaceful, despite what had happened only days before.

For a moment, I caught the scent of wetness, a summer lake, carried on the winds. It reminded me of home.

“The great and most beneficent King of the Rivers and the Hills, King of the Trident, King of the Blackwater, King of All the Sunset Lands, Aegon Targaryen the First of His Name bids you kneel.” Quenton Qoherys said, loudly and clearly in a Common touched with his particular Volantene accent, from beside Aegon on the platform that had been erected. 

I sat on Aegon’s other side in a chair nearly identical to his. My braid smelled of orchids. To my right was the wounded Vaeron, his arm in a sling, but standing as well as he could. I hoped he would be comfortable. To Vaeron’s right was my cousin Ser Corlys Velaryon, dressed in grey and sea-blue silk and past him. was the Lord Bracken.

Qhorwyn Hoare had been washed, dressed in new clothes, and brought out in chains before us.  We had even given him a little crown, just a bare gold circlet without ornamentation.. He looks a pale imitation of his father. It felt almost like a mockery. The least costly regalia that could be assembled, just so Aegon could have his submission.

It was a piece of theater, a formal submission from a defeated dynasty. Mummery, with each actor, self included, dressed to play the part.

“I humbly give myself, and my kingdom unto you, my father king Aegon Targaryen.” The chained prince knelt to my brother. He carefully took the golden circlet from his head and held it out, his expression hard to read as his knees touched the green grass. One guard moved to take the crown from his hands, another to unchain him after that. 

“Rise, Qhorwyn Hoare. You have knelt to me a king, a son of my enemy, but I raise you as a lord. Lord of Orkmont and the Isles. Serve me and my heirs loyally, and you and your children shall reign for ever over the lands of your ancestors.” Aegon said each word easily, and they flowed out clearly and carried well. 

The last remaining son of Harren rose to his feet, and gave his oaths of fealty as well as “his” sword.

I wondered just how long it would take for the habits broken by the Hardhand’s conquests to reemerge. A generation? Three? The Iron Islands were poor, and all we had done was set them back to where they were a century before. Would Qhorwyn even remain loyal? 

Will his vassals accept Aegon’s creature? 

------------------------------------

“Look at them, Visenya.” Aegon’s voice had all the excitement of a boy that had gotten the gift he wanted. I did not blame him. The sight of the little dragons astounded me. The last hatchling I had seen was... none I could remember. Vhagar had been the youngest, until now, and I had no memories of her as a hatchling.

Two dragons coiled together, the size of young cats. Large kittens. 

Was the burning... I shoved the thought away. Harrenhal’s melted towers did not leave my mind’s eye, red hot against the dark of the night.

“Touch them. I have and it is like nothing else.” Aegon’s voice, every word and cadence, sounding as though he were on the verge of squealing with delight, made me want to snap at him even as I reached out with a hand I could barely keep from shaking. What if they bite? 

I made myself touch the mud brown one. Its scales glossy, yet somehow dim. Forest-green on its crest, and as the little thing opened its eyes... they were like burning green coals. Not molten gold like Vhagar’s. Cannibal? 

It could not be. Cannibal was black as sin, black as Balerion. And surely would not have had scales like these. They were warm, like a little brazier was just under the surface. But not nearly so warm as Vhagar could be. Scales that were more akin to a snake’s in toughness. The brown hatchling let out a keening whine, and the Tyroshi-purple one flared its wings at me and raised its head, staring at me with golden eyes and breathing smoke out. 

Aegon let out a loud, deep laugh, “Little Araxes thinks himself a warden.”

I could not keep a slight frown from forming, and touched at my braid, “Araxes? You’ve given them a name? How do you know it’s not a girl?” Aegon laughed more.

“Balerion laid the eggs of Meraxes and Vhagar, and we still say he is male. Dragons do as they please, you know that as well as I. Were it only so with mankind.” He dangled a piece of roasted meat in front of the little dragons, and... Araxes, as he called them, stood up and snapped his jaws at it. Its golden eyes reminded me of the gold lamps which illuminated the tent.

“Changeable as flame, male one moment and female the next.” Was it Marwyn who said that? I could not remember. Barth? Maybe it was Aemon. I wished I’d read more. I wished I’d had the chance. 

Aegon nodded with a smile as he made a series of kissing noises and waved meat about, getting both dragons to hop about eagerly, and my heart was pounding as the brown one nearly stumbled off the table.

“Could you imagine being a man for a season? Going from one to another as you wish? Some men would be better off, I think.” I felt the tent contract around me, as though the world itself were pressing down on me.

“I have no interest in being a man.” I spat the words out, my cheeks hot,  “Not for all the gold and wealth in all the world could you convince me to be one even for a season. Were I one I would cut my cock off, I would sooner hang myself.” The thought made me feel sick.

He rolled his eyes, “Gods be good, sister. It was an idle fancy, you needn’t act as though I insulted your honor.” 

“I think some would be better off as what fits them best. I am quite happy as a woman, I do not imagine you would be happy as one.” Feeling like your body is a suit that’s three sizes off, like everything is wrong, is not something I would wish on anyone. “I am sorry, I lost my temper.” He had made an idle observation and question, I should not have yelled at him for that.

My husband just waved his hand and lifted the dragon he called Araxes, “Worry not, I am used to your moods. Do you see the membranes of his wings? Look at them, they are a wondrous shade of purple. Alike to your cloak. A dragon fit for a king, I should think.” 

“I think Rhaenys will like him.” I said, glad for the chance to change the subject, “I can see her spoiling them as though they were her own children. Still, I would like to take them with me to the Vale, they belong with their mother.” I wondered what Daemon’s reaction would be to them. A part of me wanted him nowhere near a dragon without a bonded rider.

Aegon looked surprised, cradling the purple dragon in his arms, “You are leaving so quickly? Surely you can wait a moon’s turn. I can call more men to muster and send you with a host worthy of our banner.” 

“I would have thought you w-” A keening whine came from the brown dragon on the table, and I forgot what I was about to say. 

Aegon grinned, “I think he wishes to be held.”

I rolled my eyes and laughed as I picked the whining hatchling up, the green scales of her belly showing, “Of course she does.” The dragon squirmed in my arms before settling into place, and I laughed again and scritched at her crest, “You whine when I touch you, and now you demand I hold you.” Her only response was a sound like a happy tea kettle. It was hard to believe that she could one day grow to burn castles.

“You sound half a girl, sister. Have you remembered moods other than dour and brooding?” Aegon teased, and I wanted to strike him, but instead merely glanced away from him.

“Harren’s death, the Riverlands ours, and these eggs hatching as you would leave. I think the last an omen, sister.” Those words set me on edge, and I felt the urge to put my hand on Dark Sister’s hilt.

“An omen? Are you a wizard now, to discern truths from chance happenings?” I forced a laugh.

“I would look ridiculous with a long wizard’s beard.” He said lamely, cheeks tinged pink and clearly trying to keep a straight face.

For a moment he reminded me of the boy he had once been. 

I had missed that.

------------------------------------

“Kneel.” The word was as hard as stone. It was a tone of command I could not have forgotten if I had tried. It sent a shiver down my spine, despite having no reason to fear.

I obeyed, despite part of me hating it. Like I was debasing myself in front of others. A dragon is no one’s lesser. But I was no dragon, and my knees touched the carpeted ground.

Looking out, I felt as if the eyes of the entire world were on me, the hot and sticky summer air pressing against me like it had weight. I wanted to crawl into some hole and die as I felt the eyes of the assembled riverlords and Aegon’s sworn knights and their hangers on, a veritable host at the shore of the Gods Eye in view of Harrentown.

Behind Aegon, though in the distance, was the imposing mass of Harrenhal. Four of its five towers ruined, in my mind’s eye I still saw them red and hot and melting. I could almost hear the screams and cries of the slaves, roasting along with their master.

I stamped down on the nervousness I felt as Aegon rose from his seat with a bundle of purple silk in hand, his shoes the same red as my own, shoes that depicted dragons wrought of gold thread. Unfurling the bundle, my suspicions were confirmed. It was a cloak, a great cloak of purple silk trimmed with gold thread, shapes of dragons and flame running along its side, though not so fine in detail as those on his own cloak. The cloak was encrusted with pearls that shone in the sun, it was like his, I realized.

But not so fine 

His cloak had even more pearls and gold thread, and thicker velvet with patterning on both borders.

“I grant to you all that was once Harren Hoare’s in these lands about the Gods Eye. To hold for as long as you live. For your heirs to hold for all time.” There was the briefest smile as he said that, breaking the otherwise impartial almost stony look he had given.

This isn’t real. I felt nervousness, I felt my heart racing, wondering when the other shoe would drop. When he would reveal it was all some plot. Some scheme. That I had done some grave wrong. That it was all some grand jape.

I schooled my features as best I could, “I am honored, Your Grace.” I felt cold, inside. Even more nervous as he snapped his fingers, I could feel my arms wanting to tremble. A boy I did not recognize carried a fine wooden box and brought it over to Aegon. I wondered what was in it.

Did he write out the grant of the land as well? I could imagine it. Written in some expensive ink, on fine parchment rolled up into a scroll. What I saw made me doubt the reality of the situation once more.

The boy handed a silver circlet, studded with amethysts, alike to his own crown, though with smaller stones and silver rather than Valyrian steel, to my brother, and I was suddenly glad that I was already on my knees. They would have likely wobbled had I not already been resting on them.

I was keenly aware of the feeling when with a steady hand Aegon placed the crown upon my head.

“Hail, the Princess of the Gods Eye! Your queen, Visenya Targaryen!” Aegon’s voice was loud, clear, and commanding as he took my hand and raised me up, the new mantle I had been given rustling slightly in a gust of wind. A few cheers became hundreds, then thousands and then what felt like every voice in the world crashing into my ears. 

Chapter Text

It still felt like a dream. I wanted to pinch myself as I looked down from the balcony of the Queen’s Tower, its stone railing and balustrade cool against hands that yearned to do something. The godswood I could see from here partly-scorched from what Aegon had done only a week prior. Scorched, but still filled with lush greenery, and a stream running through it. Two dragons, one black and one green resting in the veritable nature park. The red leaves of the weirwood heart tree were easy to pick out even from where I was.

I wondered what the gods of the First Men and the Children thought. The gods of the first men are lesser divinities at best, and those of the Children... Sometimes I wondered if they knew my thoughts. They were not gods, but they had eyes and ears.

A dragon does not fear trees. A woman’s voice, my voice, whispered. It helped a little, and a slight yawn escaped my throat.

“My mighty princess is surveying her domains, I see.” I felt my heart pound at the teasing voice.

“Warn me before you decide to surprise me.” I spat out, bristling a little, my shoulders felt tense as I adjusted my new cloak and fingered the dragon-head clasp keeping it in place, “Should you not be with your gaggle of lickspittles?” Turning around, I met his eyes directly, and for once I did not feel the need to flinch.

Aegon rolled his own, and then laughed. The warmth of it set me on edge. “Hot-tempered as always, I see. I am glad.” He smiled as he placed his hands on the balcony railing, the early afternoon sun caught in the ruby eyes of his double-headed dragon-clasp. Glinting off the gold, just as it made the gold thread of his thick cloak shine.

Under the cloak was a fine silk tunic. Red in color, and gold. Stitched golden dragons at the cuffs and on the sleeve, flames and geometric shapes along the hem and sides. A knife with a jeweled pommel rested on his belt.

Are you so worried someone might come out that you need a knife with you? Is it just an accessory? I could never tell with him.

The hatchling on his shoulder stared at me intently, golden eyes curious and almost eerily focused. Its reddish-purple scales beautiful in the light. I had to keep myself from reaching out to touch little Araxes.

So instead I looked down again, the lurching feeling I had at the start having dulled some, though replaced with a nervousness now that Aegon was here. As though he would push me over. It is an irrational fear. Knowing that the fear was baseless did not make me less afraid.

At this height we could see the lakeshore and the massive white barge resting there, its sails gold and red and black. From where we were it looked a small thing indeed, even as it dwarfed all the other ships in the harbor.

“I am thankful Black Harren had so much in abundance.” Aegon said. Harren’s ship of weirwood had been filled with treasures, no doubt some of them had been used in the making of gifts and rewards. I wondered if some of the pearls on my new cloak had come from them, “Have you seen the baths? Not the common ones at the bathhouse, but the lordly ones in this tower. Polished marble floors, columns with green marble flecked with gold, mosaics on the walls showing Harwyn Hardhand, Halleck, and even Harren himself.” He snorted, “Even in defeat, the man leaves his mark all around us.”

I wondered if my own legacy would be so easily mocked. Men had remembered her in the annals, but always a footnote, below and beside him. Did it ever bother her, in her last days? 

“I have seen them,” I said. “Though I took little note of the mosaics. I was more interested in the hot water. Nothing helps soreness more after a morning’s practice.” I yawned, and Aegon’s expression flickered between a few things I could not catch, before he spoke up.

“Are you well?” He asked, and it made me want to hide under a rock, “I can have a healer tend to you, one of the maesters mayhap.”

I don’t need a healer. I need you to leave my bed. I wanted to say, but I was not tired enough to slip up there.

“I have not slept well.” Every night had been a nap, then hours of waiting for him to fall asleep, then some sleep, and then going to practice until after dawn. A bath, and then sleep for an hour before I broke my fast and the day began properly, “I shall feel better when I am away from here, I think.” Somewhere I wouldn’t see the Rhoynish women in their silver thread cords. The dead cannot harm you. But I felt their eyes on me.

He took my hand, my heart pounding as he squeezed it gently. “Just a few days longer. I must needs speak with my lords, and find which will be most eager to go to the Vale. You have my word, you will have a host worthy of you.” He spoke softly, and for a moment I remembered the boy who had promised so many things when we were children. It almost made me feel ill.

“I think I shall take Lord Bracken’s offer. Two thousand men will go a long way, even if half are green as grass. All I do is wait.” I wanted to pry his warm hands off my own, “Lord Smallwood’s brother too.”

“Why must you leave right now? We are young, ‘Senya. We have time. You act as though...” He nodded as if to himself, “As though you feel you will not live to see whatever it is you are racing to accomplish.” His words were warm, but they made me feel a guilt I could not understand. I was in a hurry. What was wrong with that? She had lived to seventy-two... Every time I thought about it, it felt as though a clock ticked. A date that came ever nearer. I needed to be away from him. He was acting too familiar, and it made me nervous.

I wondered if I could throw him from the balcony. If it came down to... Don’t think about it. 

“If I am away for too long, the Arryns may somehow assemble a large enough force to retake what I have taken. The Bloody Gate may fly the moon and falcon once more, and then I will be forced to sail to the peninsula and then westward again. As well, the Clawmen may become rowdy, and if our uncle dies due to my absence...” The world had melted away, replaced for a few moments by imaginings of uprising and revolt. Accomplishments turned to ash and undone. A humiliation. I was brought back to reality by the feeling of pressure, and it took me half a heartbeat to realize Aegon had pressed a finger to my lips.

“You worry overmuch. We have more men, and more loyal men now than we did months ago. Loyal enough at least, and ships enough to force a landing if needed. Once news of Harrenhal’s failure to defend against me... against us makes its way to the farthest corners of the Sunset Lands, men will clamor to open their gates and accept their king and queens.” His sheer confidence was almost infectious, and his smile, open and warm, almost made me want to believe him.

A part of me wished I could.

“What was the east like?” I asked, and for half-a-heartbeat Aegon looked confused. Taking his hand off mine, one hand moving to the pommel stone of his knife, the other he ran through his short hair

“The east?” He said, almost laughing. “There is much east, sister.” The teasing smile made me want to strike him.

My hair, bound by a ribbon in a ponytail, moved with me as I nodded and looked down at the grounds I could see from where I was. Harrenhal’s scale still astounded me. I could have fit Aegon’s host twice over on just the parts I could see, I imagined. Let alone my own. “The east, Myr and Tyrosh. Volantis and Lys. The Rhoyne.” I was worried I would have to repeat myself again, but he just smiled wider.

“Have you truly never crossed the Narrow Sea? I would have thought you might have when Rhaenys and I...” He seemed to think better of it, and laughed. I felt my cheeks burn. A part of me felt like I was being mocked.

“No, I have not. And after what you did in Volantis I doubt I will ever be welcome there as a visitor.” Thoughts of flying to Lys and playing liberator crossed my mind, for a moment. But just as quickly thoughts of my throat being slit, or my food or wine being poisoned filled me with worry.

Martyrs build no cities. A city the envy of all the world, maybe. With wide streets and shining walls, gleaming palaces and busy harbors and the tongues of every nation in the world in the markets. A city of marble, not mud brick whose rot was covered by plaster that could not hide the stench of its own decay. Not red as blood and brown as shit, but white as snow and blue as the sea and gold as the sun. Why let it be named King’s Landing? It was my own landing as much as his, and Rhaenys’.

My brother waved his hand dismissively, his left, rather than the side Araxes rested on, “It would not be worth the visit. Volantis is a decaying mess, half a ruin and half a brothel. I should have burned the Old City behind the black walls along with the fleet at Lys and the forts of the Orange Coast.”

Slavers would deserve it. I told myself. But the thought of it still felt repugnant to me. The way Aegon said it, with a satisfaction and almost joy, made me uncomfortable. Nobody deserves to die like that.

“Is that all? I asked about the east. You have seen it, or some of it at least. Tell me.” The words were almost pleading, and he pressed a bit of my hair between his fingers, and I calmed myself as best I could.

“The cities are not worth remembering, but the land... the lands of the east are beautiful, sister. The way the sun plays off the lapping waters of the great river Rhoyne and glitters off the summer sea’s deep blue waters. The crash of water against the rocks of Tyrosh. The white cliffs and white sands of Lys, the warm sun on your skin makes it easy to forget your worries as you soar across the lands on dragonback.” His words had an intensity to them, a passion that almost seemed to put the things he said into my mind’s eye.

Aegon’s hovel only filled me with more embarrassment at the comparison between the images conjured up by his words, and the thing of earth-and-wood he would have been content letting be the seat of power at the city he founded. Not even founded, floundered into being a city. 

Great rulers founded cities, they built things. With what money will you do so? I wondered how much of it was due to a lack of funds on the part of Aegon. He built massive walls easily enough. I knew the incomes of Dragonstone, and they were not what great empires were built on. Did he take loans to build the walls? The thought of it filled me with disgust and dread in equal measure.

I only hoped the revenues of the Gods Eye could help. I should be ashamed. Thousands had died here only days before, and I thought only of benefit to myself. A part of me felt that I should feel worse than I did. Am I a monster? A hero would have killed Aegon, not accept gifts from him.

I was no hero.

I was snapped back to reality by the feeling of a tug on my scalp, “You are in a fine mood again, sister. So quick to turn glum. What is there to be miserable about?” His expression, half-amused and half-exasperated made me think of Rhaenys and that made my heart hurt.

A familiar whine came from the chamber we had slept in, and I failed to keep from smiling as Aegon winced at little Araxes climbing down from Aegon’s shoulder, and him failing to catch the hatchling as he jumped from my brother’s torso.

The sight of the man who had sought to project the image of strength, but for half a heartbeat seemed to pout at a very slight claw cut on his tunic made me giggle, a warmth spreading outward from my chest. “Is my suffering now a thing of amusement to you?” Aegon laughed, his cheeks tinged red.

I wish you suffered like I have. A part of me wanted to say, but I stamped down on it.

“Come, we should make sure they do not burn the sheets or curtains.” I said, and walked briskly over to Vhagar’s hatchlings. More than mildly exasperated. I leave you by the hearth, with your own cushion and you go onto the bed the second I take my eyes off you.

Two dragons curled up together was still a sight that made me smile enough I felt that my lips would hurt.

On the table near to the dragons themselves was the circlet Aegon had placed upon my head. A crown for a queen. Silver, set with amethysts not unlike Aegon’s own crown in style.

“That was my diadem.” I realized. It had nagged at me for several days. He had taken my circlet, along with the eggs, and now..

“You only now realized it, sister?” Came the self-pleased voice of Aegon, his hand on my shoulder in a instant, “That thing of plain silver was fit for some lordling. Not for my own blood, not for a queen.” There was a self-satisfied way he said it, almost expectant, but like he was a second from puffing his chest out. Men. A part of me thought with some disgust.

“Why did you choose amethysts, of all gems? I would have thought...” I bit my lip, looking away from him, glancing back toward the two hatchlings instead, “Rubies would match your own crown better, surely.”

“You said you would like amethysts better.” I felt like I should be waking up as those words left his mouth, anxiety filled me as I wondered when the other boot was going to drop, and then the feeling of suspicion that spurred me to turn to him and narrow my eyes.

“I do not remember saying such. Did I say so in my sleep?” I said, and he only laughed a little.

“When I spoke of the rubies in the old diadem, that of a head consort, the circlet for spouse of the head of our family. You said you would have preferred amethysts.” He was smiling like a boy who had finally revealed a secret he had kept for a long while.

I wracked my brain trying to think of it, and it came to me alongside a feeling of nervousness that I could barely quash.

“I... am touched. Thank you, little brother.”

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Roasted meat, spiced and otherwise, freshly baked bread and stews and soups filled the Great Hall with a fine aroma as I sat beside Aegon at the High Table, Vaeron on my other side and in fine spirits despite his slow-healing injuries.

“It is almost as full as the camps here.” Said my cousin Corlys from Aegon’s other side, though a chair further than the empty chair he left for Rhaenys.

He was not wrong about that. It still astounded me how busy the place could feel. So many people moving and milling about. During the day, in various parts of the castle’s obscenely sprawling grounds there were knights with their grooms and squires and farriers and armorers. Men practicing in the yards, washerwomen about their work, and even laborers helping haul swords from the remains of the armory to the ever growing pile Aegon had near the eastern gate. Even now, cooks in the kitchens, servants at their work carrying trays laden with food and drink with a seeming practiced ease. Dragonstone servants, and camp followers and servants of the various lords all working together. As crowded as a high school lunchroom, from my dim memories of them at least.

It made me want to put my head in sand, with how loud it all was. People talking and chatting, hundreds and thousands of people making noise. Just tonight. I told myself. Whether Aegon wished it or no, I would begin my preparations come the dawn. Five days. He had said I would only need to wait a few more, and it had been five.

“Your Grace’s generosity will be sung of in the Watch for years to come.” The smooth voice of our most recent arrival broke me from my reverie.

Harwin Bolton was a handsome man, for certain. Bearded and tall. In his thirties and clad in all black. His eyes a steely-grey which had looked more bluish when he and his group arrived before Harrenhal requesting lodging as well as the right to recruit men for the Night’s Watch.

Aegon had granted his request without my input.

They were a far cry from the thieves and rapists a part of me had on her mind. All of them were dressed in finely made clothing, velvets and silks and linens that were no doubt imported from afar. Their weapons castle-forged steel, riding black horses worthy of any knight and clad in black mail and scale when they had arrived saying they had expected to see Harren Hoare.

The kingdoms of men change with time, but men remain as ever. He had said with a wry smile when I had told them Aegon had seen to the end of Hoare rule in the Riverlands.

Impressive men. Harwin had an easy smile, and a warmth to him that I wanted to return. There were prestigious names among them. Not only Bolton, but Mallister and Fowler and Corbray and Greyjoy and Peake.

“I am sure Lord-Commander Harmund would give you pride of place at the Wall, Lord Hoare.” Ser Peake, hair as grey as mine was silver, his swarthy face creased with lines from age, piped up from beside Qhorwyn.

“The last Hoare prince, last of his house, serving in the Night’s Watch. Now that is fit for a song.” Said Balon Greyjoy, a name I only remembered because of how shocking the disconnect between what I imagined when I thought of the name, and the very different unrelated man I had seen step down from his horse.

“Join my uncle half-a-thousand leagues in the north and let my family’s name die? I think not.” Qhorwyn’s snarl was clear even from his voice, and the harsh bitter tone.

The man filled me with both pity, and a sense of nervousness. He still bore swollen bruising on his eye and half-healed cuts in places. He had no guards loyal to him, as any armed men who had remained had been moved from the great castle, and most servants dispersed and kept under close watch.

Kept under close guard, and only brought out for the nightly banquets that Aegon had thrown since we had entered Harrenhal itself. Given a place of honor, but it is a hollow honor at best. That he would have had no issue forcing me to wed him if he’d had the chance did not make it much better.

You are weak. But I gripped the fork I held tighter, my knuckles turning white. I stabbed at the cuts of beef roast in what felt like a futile attempt to relieve my stress and anger.

The hall came to an abrupt almost hush as Aegon rose from his seat, crystal goblet in hand with gemstones both clear and blue glittering in the light of countless candles and the dozens of massive hearths the hall had to offer.

Most of all, my eye was drawn to the necklace Harren had given him. Only hours before the man’s death. A ruby the size of a fruit took in light and reflected it dazzlingly. A part of me felt a little jealous at how fine it was. It made my jewelry seem like a two-copper thing by comparison.

“To the men of the Night’s Watch, who even now defend what is the extent of my rightful realm from the foes from beyond the Wall that might seek to threaten it.” Aegon’s voice was loud enough to be heard, the great hall carrying his clear words, “So long as my kingdom stands, ever shall I and mine be friends to the brave men who walk the frozen span of the work of Bran the Builder.”

Harwin rose, his own fine, if less so, goblet of gold raised. Standing a head shorter than my brother, but from where I sat he looked more than tall.

“A toast, to the new King of the Trident and his most generous Queen. The fine mistress of this castle who has provided us with food from her own larders and stores to supplement our own supplies. Without which we might be supping on crab or the flesh of gulls.” The praise made me nervous. Flattered, too, but also nervous.

My legs felt like they ought to be shaking and wobbling like mad as I rose, my own goblet in hand. Drained halfway, but nonetheless I raised it. All too aware of the eyes of every man in the hall, every lord and knight and man-at-arms and servants both man and woman.

For a moment, I felt like the center of the world.

“To all of you who have followed my dear husband and I, who have fought bravely against Black Harren. Men of virtue, honorable knights and lords.” I wondered how many would have been glad to ransack Harrenhal, had it been taken conventionally. Would it have been less brutal, than what Aegon did? Than what you let happen? “Your service is commendable, and when at last we march from this place we shall do so with the flower of knighthood and valor.” It was a forced speech, I knew it. I wished I had better words. That I had Aegon’s gift for it.

What sounded and felt and looked like an entire army raised their own glasses, and drank to my health. I missed the Vale. I even missed the belligerent, cantankerous Clawmen. At least they meant it if they praised me. The falseness reminded me too much of the Gulltowners.

It felt hollow. They do it because I am the king’s wife. I was Aegon’s adornment. A pet. It felt like that at least. A part of me felt nearly as disgusted as it was flattered.

Harrenhal was my castle, but Aegon sat in the highest seat.

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I felt something approaching happiness as the breeze caressed my cheek, and a mild bemusement at the strands of hair it moved across my forehead, strands I quickly tidied up.

If there was one thing I enjoyed about the summer, even well after the solstice, it was the feel of the nights themselves. Almost bright, with the moonlight shining down on the world below. A stark contrast from the winter, where late afternoon might as well have been early night. For half a heartbeat I remembered the feeling of cold air in my throat, crisp and sharp, hot breath steaming, standing atop a snow hill beneath the night sky. Quiet and beautiful.

But she.. I.. remembered no snow, not here. In Westeros, I had seen snow but once. During my time in the Vale. It felt wrong to not have played in the snow as a child. But she had not grown up in the north among snow and ice, she had grown up on a hot island in the south where children played in warm water under a burning sun.

Truly, mine were the memories of ice and fire.

It would be autumn soon, and then winter... or what passed for winter here in the warmer lands.

Visiting the North once may be interesting. I would see how their snows compared with the winter cold of my old home. One day. A part of me worried even the lightest caress of winter’s hand would be too much as I was now.

Is a tolerance for cold even something to take pride in? 

The men were in high spirits, the sounds of merriment faint from the heights, though filling the humid night air just as stars filled the dark and cloudless skies. It reminded me of home, and that hurt more than a little. Like a clenched cold fist in my chest.

I took a drink of wine from the glass in my hand, enjoying the feel of the amber liquid sliding down my throat and filling me with its warmth.

“You look well, cousin.” Corlys’ voice from my right broke the silence between us, his own glass raised and one side of his lips curled upward.

Meeting Corlys’ eyes beside me made me nervous. So like mother’s. Pale blue and piercing. They matched the stone set in the ring on his right index finger.

“I saw your mother at Claw Isle. She... offered her hospitality to me. She has missed you, I think.” I said weakly, my tongue felt leaden. G-d, you are clumsy. I felt like a boor, and my cheeks burned a bit as he smiled warmly at me. It reminded me of Rhaenys, “I.. I told her you are well.” I brushed an errant strand of hair out of my face.

“It has been over ten moons now. I try to see her more often than that since she and my father.. quarreled.” The way he pursed his lips made me wonder, for half a heartbeat, if I had erred, “Is my father well?” He asked, almost flatly.

“Well enough to follow me into the Gulltown Sept with a sword strapped to his belt like he was some youth again. He was... of help, I could not have taken what I did so easily without the ships and expertise he provided.” I felt my heart pounding every second, like my words would outrun my tongue and I would stumble and make a fool of myself.

“My father for all his seriousness can be a warm man, cousin. But I should like to have seen that.” He grinned, and for a moment I could not help but smile back. My cheeks burning and my face half on fire. I wondered if perhaps I had had too much wine.

Being around Aegon made it difficult not to drink. Everything made it difficult not to drink, these days. What happened to only water? 

“You remind me of my aunt, you know.” Corlys looked half-embarrassed, “Your mother, the Archontissa, that is. Not one of my mother’s sisters..” A part of me felt a great amount of pride in that, a warm joy that made me want to not even meet his eyes. The eyes that reminded me of her.

“She was my mother,” Liar. I silenced that voice, “It would be strange indeed, if I were not like her.”

Corlys laughed, and thumbed the blue felt hat in his hand, “I meant to compliment you, cousin. But you make a jape of it. I am wounded, truly.” It was an overwrought, overdone gesture on his part, an exaggerated tone of hurt. It felt strange to see my serious cousin so carefree.

I wanted to laugh, and tried to keep it from bursting out, “It is good you are a knight, for you make a poor mummer.” I teased, gently shoving his arm.

“Hmmph, I captured a pirate captain who was both mummer and knight.” He grinned. Filling his wine glass, and I did the same.

“Was this on the Stepstones?” I received only a nod before he went into it with an enthusiasm I would have expected from Vaeron, rather than the man who sat at Aegon’s war councils and who I had talked to before.

How much do you really know him? 

It was an interesting story, at least. That was the only real encounter with pirates he had, but the way he told it was memorable, and I returned the favor with stories of when I and Aegon had visited Oldtown and the Arbor.

He fired back with stories of his brother Aethon that had me in fits of giggles, and I spoke of my time in the Vale in a detail I had not spoken of even to Vaeron. I did not know how long we stood there telling stories, but I enjoyed it all, feeling a mite tired afterward, looking into his eyes, my head only slightly fuzzy from drink as he spoke.

“I was worried that you would have lacked the strength to do what was needed. You have changed, and only for the better.” The words rolled out, and for a moment I could almost taste his breath, thick with sweet wine. Warmer than the summer air. His hair was gorgeous in the light of the moon.

I remembered Duskendale and its docks, what I had said and felt back then, and my heart sank in my chest. I had grown more comfortable with killing than I would have liked.

Is it not easier? I wondered how much I had changed, truly, as I looked down at my mostly drained wine glass.

“I can fetch the pitcher, cousin.” Corlys offered, friendly and warm, “We can speak of other things.” My love’s face flashed in my mind, and my heart ached even more as I drained the glass of its last drops and set it down.

“It is late, Corlys. With luck I will be leaving for the Vale tomorrow.” I wrapped my arms around my cousin, the man three inches taller than me and broader by far, warm through the silks he wore, if not so warm as I felt as I embraced him. And for a moment I was deeply tempted to do more than that. I wanted, needed to be held, “I am weary.” The words were heavy on my tongue, and I could more than smell the wine on his breath, as close as I was against him.

My heart raced as I broke off the hug, and I looked up at him, my face burning. In the moonlight I could see the clear look of surprise and nervousness, his widened pale blue eyes that sent a sliver of terror down my spine, and adjusting the purple cloak I wore I spun on my heel and walked out as quickly as I could despite my lightheadedness nearly making me stumble in my hurry.

His voice called for me to stop twice before I had left the room, and I did not stop until I reached the wretched bed I shared with my even more wretched husband.

I was in a castle full of people, but I had never felt more alone.

G-d help me.

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Vhagar’s wings beat steadily as we passed the northern shore, and then Harrentown. My hair in its familiar braid whipped in the wind, and though I could not feel the texture of the whip through leather gloves, the weight was comfortingly familiar. All the while, my gaze was fixed on my destination in the distance.

Harrenhal’s burned towers, their tops crooked and barely cooled from their burning, reminded me of nothing so much as the grasping claws of a demon’s hand in the fading light of the red-gold afternoon sun.

I wondered just how much that image had played its part in the sinister reputation of the castle. In a world that might have been, five towers would have made one cruel and wicked hand. A part of me wanted to wash my hands of it, but the pasturelands and farmlands and fishing villages and small towns and the mass of activity along the Gods Eye lake itself made that something I could not do.

How many people are dead because of your greed? You are no dragon, but a crow, feasting on carrion. A hound given scraps from the table.

I wanted to feel worse than I did, and I felt a coiling, twisting guilt that I did not. You can reward men, now. I’d taken enough in the Crownlands and the Vale to more than pay what I had promised. What if they ask for more? I almost missed Lord Brune’s belligerence.

Fortify Ironoaks, keep securing our hold on the southern lowlands. Send a letter to the Arryns and the Sistermen. A few thousand men was all I needed, a fresh host to secure castles and towns with.

Soon it’d be time for the harvest, and with luck I could pay off any men who might be grumbling about the campaigns in the Vale, or not getting enough land. What if he does not let you leave? I tried to put it out of my mind as I landed in the Godswood at the clearing set aside for Vhagar, a goodly distance from the massive, black bulk of Balerion who raised his head almost before we had landed. Smoke rising out from nostrils the size of hounds.

From where I sat atop Vhagar’s saddle I could see a number of small trenches of freshly raked dirt and grass. It looked like he was agitated. Do you want to fly, too?

My limbs felt a bit stiff as I loosened the chains securing me to the saddle, and I clambered down Vhagar’s saddle with a practiced ease, my boot-clad feet touching the ground for the first time in what felt like hours.

“A nice fat sheep for you, I think. A welcome change from the oxen and bison and goats, don’t you think?” I kissed the scales near her golden eye, hugging her head as best I could. The smoke from her nostrils paler than Balerion’s, and less thick as it rose, “Maybe a nice bath in the sea.”

She just lowered her head onto the grass and closed her eyes. I’d have to bring her hatchlings to the next feeding. They have to be around more than just humans. Aegon had been stubborn about the dragon he called Araxes. Have you been any less stubborn? 

Resting against Vhagar’s warm bulk, I felt good despite the mild grumbling of my stomach. Redwoods and beech trees, elm and oak and ash. Even the remnants of the Godswood were something to admire. When the war is over... I can have a garden finer than that of Grafton, at least. 

How many gardeners met their end by fire because of you?

Even from acres away Harrenhal’s heart tree could be seen to be a gnarled and ugly thing, a weirwood with an angry face carved into it. Even if I could not see it as well from this distance, a part of me was afraid of what might happen if I tried to have the tree cut down. I did not know if it was me, or her. It felt like I would be all but asking for negative attention if I did so. Are they watching me, even now? I wondered how much they knew of things.

One man in a million could be made a greenseer, after all. Some old stories told of dragonlords who were so mighty in their sorcery that they could command several dragons without a word spoken. Who could see across vast distances and see the dreams of men without glass candles. Tyrants who were cruel beyond imagining.

I wondered if they were like the greenseers or if was merely the blood-drenched legends of sorcerers, exaggerated over the centuries.

Are you alive, somewhere? Like the seers in their trees beyond the Wall?

“-ace!” I snapped to attention as I realized someone was shouting from a distance and turned around to see what looked like near to fifty armored men, guardsmen led by Quenton Qoherys whose silver-hair was covered by a gilded helm set with white scales from the dragon Thaelys. Clad in steel scale, and every man besides Quenton bore a scarlet cloak and the badge of Dragonstone on their breast. They were approaching quickly, I recognized one of them as Nymerian.

Am I late for a banquet? I did not remember Aegon saying I would be needed.

When they were at last close enough, I said, “What does Aegon want? Can he not wait? I must bathe.” Two baths in one day won’t be too much, I hope. I’d heard that too frequent bathing in hot water could dry your skin out.

Quenton, face like stone and with a tone to match, replied “We are to escort you to the King at once.” He whistled, and one of the horsemen at the back guided the mare that Bracken had given me.

“Why does he require my presence now?” I asked, barely keeping from touching where Dark Sister’s hilt would normally be, and cursing myself for not having her with me, “I can find my way to him on my own if you would tell me where he is.”

“Tell me why he wishes my presence, Qoherys.” I scowled, looking down at him from my full height, my hand on the handle of my whip. A part of me wanted to give the command to Vhagar. We could be at Duskendale soon enough. I was not Aegon’s dog.

What he said more than sent a shiver down my spine.

“His Grace will tell you when you arrive.” He said. Annoyance dripping from his words, as though he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Is this about Corlys? Did he tell? Did someone see me leaving? Servants talk. I was... a little drunk, I remembered. So close to his face, pressed against him... Did I kiss him? I did not remember doing so, and I could not have been drunk enough to not remember something. Not something like that at least. What if he thinks I did? 

“Allow me to fetch Dark Sister first.” I said, as meekly as I could make myself, and felt almost disgusted at it.