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Chapter Text

~~ Prologue ~~

And so it happened, her father, king Viserys I Targaryen, had married the lady Alicent Hightower, his Hand’s beautiful daughter of eighteen namedays, showing that men’s love was as fickle as a candle in the wind. Aemma Arryn was forgotten so quickly, as if she even did not exist, did not hold numerous feasts and balls and tourneys with her kingly husband, as if people did not admire her beauty and kindness, and the sole thing which proved her existence was her only child — Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen.

People say that children grow up faster when faced with difficult circumstances, their naive immaturity replaced with life experience, and so happened with Rhaenyra. It would be a lie to say that she was not loved or was deprived of some material possessions, oh no, she had been a Realm’s Delight, an apple of an eye of her father and a dear little girl of her mother, pampered and loved by nobles and smallfolk alike. Yet, too much time her parents spent on trying to produce a boy — a male heir — and too many times they failed, filling the walls of the Red Keep with phantom cries of stillborn babies and of their mother, agonisingly trying to deliver them to this world. All these hardships taught Rhaenyra that not everything happened according to our plans or will, and stubborn attempts which fail every time bring more harm than good. She had learnt to watch and observe, be cautious and not have too much hope in either Gods or men.

To witness all these tragedies was hard, to lose your own mother even harder. Rhaenyra spent days after her mother’s death curled under the blanket, refusing food and skipping lessons with septa. Her uncle Daemon tried to drag her out of that awful misery by reminding that Syrax was missing little princess in the Dragon Pit and challenged her to fly to Dragonstone, boasting that he would arrive there faster. Rhaenyra thanked Daemon for his kindness, placed a tender kiss on his forehead and asked to leave.

Instead, she counted her fingers, thinking of how many wonderful siblings she could have had: silver-haired and lilac-eyed Targaryen dragon-riding brothers and sisters, playing with her, supporting and making their kingly parents and the whole realm happy.

“Alicent and I will give you siblings you have dreamt about.” her father said cheerfully, as Rhaenyra was pouring wine into his and lady Alicent’s… No, Queen Alicent’s chalice at their wedding feast. Rhaenyra nodded happily, pleasant anticipation warming her heart, and a bittersweet feeling bubbling in her chest. The king and newly made queen laughed merrily, clinking their chalices, while Alicent was quick to reassure both Targaryens that their family would soon become even bigger.

King Viserys, however, surprised his people once again. Shortly after his unexpected choice of a bride (everyone believed that Laena Velaryon would be the future queen, a true Valyrian and a daughter of Princess Rhaenys, thus mending the rift between two family branches which had lasted for years), the king declared to the whole kingdom that Rhaenyra was his chosen heir and the future ruling Queen. Whether it was done out of great love he held for Rhaenyra, or to keep the Rogue Prince away from the throne, Princess did not know. Neither did his councillors, some of whom shouted their protests, while others considered it to be a wise decision. The lords were summoned to the capital and oaths were pledged, securing Rhaenyra’s position, or so her father, the king, thought.

Yet, the whole situation struck Rhaenyra as odd: what if Alicent gave birth to a boy, or two, or three? Would Rhaenyra still be the heir? Westeros had never known a Queen ruling in her own right, moreover, aunt Rhaenys was deprived of that privilege. Neither Velaryon fleet, nor the support of the Lords helped her to take what was hers by the birthright. It all went to her cousin, Rhaenyra’s father.

“Our king got his crown because he has a cock between his legs!” whispered one of the maids, thinking that little princess was asleep. Rhaenyra did not like the words and wanted to have her flogged, but eventually chose to show mercy — this maid was just a stupid woman, what did she know about such things as succession and ruling? Or was she really that stupid?…

Anyway, Rhaenyra would love to have sweet little brothers and sisters, hold them in her arms, smiling and laughing. But something in her new family members’ eyes made the princess tense and worried, for Otto Hightower was known for his ambitions, and Alicent was her father’s daughter. How long would it take for their smiles to fade and them to direct their attention to a boy, if Gods blessed them with such?

With bated breath Rhaenyra waited for the Queen’s first pregnancy, wondering, if it would be a boy or a girl, and if it would make her father finally happy. Would she be happy? She did not know yet, but vowed to herself, whatever outcome would be, make sure that those children would not become her stumbling blocks.

Chapter Text

~~ Aegon ~~

Queen Alicent proved to be as fertile as she was beautiful, and soon the realm welcomed a new prince — a healthy boy named Aegon, after the Conqueror. Yet, for Rhaenyra Prince Aegon Targaryen brought mostly concern, since he was the king’s firstborn son and the whispers that he should succeed king Viserys on the throne started the moment the little baby-boy made his first squeal. 

One year changed the other and it was already Prince Aegon’s second nameday — an occasion, the king decided to celebrate with a Great Hunt. Rhaenyra observed as the lords approached her father, wishing all the best to young prince Aegon, some of them even dared to call the boy “His Grace”, “The Little Conqueror” and “Future of the Realm”. The King nodded gratefully, sipping on his wine, and Rhaenyra was not sure, if he understood correctly the insinuations and dubious comments, until Lord Jason Lannister had the gal to ask the king when Aegon would be named heir. Upon hearing this, her father exploded, in his rage calling Lord Jason a traitor and sending him away with his tail between his legs. On the matter of succession the king’s opinion had never changed — Rhaenyra remained his acknowledged heir.

More years passed, Rhaenyra attending Small Council meetings and learning how to rule, Alicent producing more babies, a daughter, Helaena and then another son, called Aemond. King Viserys did not heed to his wife’s and father-in-law’s wish to make his son the heir, playing ignorant to the growing concerns at court and instead holding feasts and tourneys to entertain his subjects.

As for Prince Aegon, who was already a youth by that time, he could be described as a very lazy and somewhat sulky boy, who possessed more than healthy appetites: a glutton at table, given to swinging strongwine and fondling or pinching any serving girl who was within his reach. Yet, with all that, to Queen Alicent’s delight, the young man was a spitting image of his father — of plump built, golden hair and sporting mustache. These similarities, nonetheless, did not make Aegon even close to his father’s nature, where the latter was amiable, kind, generous and malleable, the former was quick to anger, slow to forgive and stubborn as a mule. And yet Queen Alicent still insisted, that her son deserved the throne and that his birthright was stolen, until hushed by Rhaenyra’s father, who stopped any attempts on changing succession. Once Otto dared to press the king to hard on the matter, and for that was dismissed from his position as the Hand, only to be reinstated years later.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra’s father was drowning in letters, sent from different parts of the kingdom — marriage proposal all. The princess, however, was as stubborn in the choice of future Prince consort as her father was in his choice of heir. King Viserys cut off all the notions, that Aegon should take the crown after him, while Rhaenyra declined each and every proposal to marry by high lords and lords paramount. They could waste time as they liked, for princesse’s choice had already been made, and she had eyes only for her uncle — now a widower, after an unfortunate accident took life of his former wife, lady of Runestone.

Expectedly, the king did not want to hear a word of such a match, calling his own brother second Maegor, Rogue Prince, Lord Flea Bottom — all the epithets which were aimed at hurting prince’s pride, but Rhaenyra loved them all, and thought them to be quite impressive and even enticing. What was so special about him, that he was such a welcomed guest in brothels and everyone was yearning for his company, what special gift he had to be so desired by women?

“Do not even think of it! I prohibit you to mention my brother’s name!” exasperated the king, when Rhaenyra approached him and announced her choice of husband. “No, no, no and now, he is not suited for the role of your king consort!”

But was it possible for words to stop the hearts that were aflame? No rain could put out that fire, no prohibition could keep uncle and his niece away. As Princess of Dragonstone, Rhaenyra used to divide her time between the Red Keep and her ancestral seat, so on one of such visits they agreed with Prince Daemon that no more time should be wasted — while Queen Alicent kept squeezing off a baby after baby, they would get married in Valyrian tradition and start their own family.

To say that King Viserys was furious when he heard the news, would be understatement. The secrecy of this marriage outraged Rhaenyra’s father, while Queen Alicent declared that it was a mere farce, there were no witnesses, and His Grace gave neither his consent, nor blessing. But did was done, Rhaenyra’s maidenhood given to Daemon, and everyone at court had to accept this fact, much to chagrin of the lords who entertained hope to win princess’ favour and hand in marriage.

When Rhaenyra’s mother, late Queen Aemma, struggled through her pregnancies, for the Princess it went smooth and without complications, gifting the realm two robust and handsome silver-haired princes in the course of two years. If there was any displeasure or grudge held by the king for going against his will and marrying without his blessings, it vanished totally when the news of his grandson’s birth reached his ears. 

“My child, my sweet Rhaenyra, not yet a Queen, but already secured her succession!” exclaimed the king, wrapping his daughter in tight embrace. “And you, my brother, come here, let me kiss you too!” a kind word was found even for Prince Daemon. The brothers hugged, Viserys’ eyes watery with tears of happiness and Daemon’s chest swelling with pride. 

However, within all the years, Rhaenyra learnt not to let herself be overwhelmed with happiness, becoming blind and deaf to the surroundings. In the corner of her eye, she could see how strained Queen Alicent’s smiles were, how envious and insincere. It did not take long for her to start spreading vile gossips, that Rhaenyra’s boys were bastards, born out of wedlock, for she and Daemon married without the king’s consent. They did, yes, but since then her father had warmed up to their decision and saw Daemon not only as his brother, but as his son-in-law. Queen Alicent and Ser Otto, had their own stance on that matter, though, as did their supporters, “the Greens”, as they were called at court for the colour they used to don.

This growing devision worried Daemon not less. “The Hightower whelp must be dealt with.” he said glumly one day, playing with the tip of his knife. “Accident, poison, assassination — I can arrange anything, you only have to choose.”

Rhaenyra shook her head in denial, but Daemon drew her closer and whispered, his hot breath tickling her skin, “As long as he leaves, he poses a threat to you, to me, to our children. One life is nothing compared to the lives of four.” 

One life is nothing compared to the lives of four… These words had been ringing in Rhaenyra’s ears all through the night, the brutal truth of them sending shivers down her spine. She hated to admit it, but Daemon was right. The king might pretend, that the problem did not exist as much as he liked, and keep the balance pleasing with gifts, gold and honours his both families — it was a solution which scratched only the surface of the problem. How long would the peace last after his demise was a question which required no answer — Queen Alicent and her tremendously ambitious father would show their teeth and dragons would be spitting flame and fighting the moment Viserys made his last breath.

When the next day Daemon approached Rhaenyra, sharing the same worries and calling for action, she said that she would take care of her half-brother herself. Her words were met with skepticism by Daemon, but years spent together taught him to trust his wife’s wit and intuition. 

“Fine… If you say so.” he said, pressing his forehead against hers, his hand caressing her hair. “But do well to remember what I told you — one life is nothing compared to four.” His eyes traveled to the crib where little Viserys was sleeping, while Aegon was curled on their own bed.

It was late morning when Rhaenyra left her chambers in the Red Keep and made her way to her half-brother’s Aegon, Aegon the Elder, as he was now called. Surprisingly enough, for as of late it had become common for the young prince to spend his nights in brothels, she did find him in his chamber. He was fast asleep, snoring loudly and unaffected by the bright morning sun penetrating through the curtains. 

Rhaenyra sat beside him and clapped her hands, thus waking the prince up from his deep slumber. Aegon stirred on his bed, stretched lazily his limbs, hiccuped and scratched his belly. 

“Should I remind you how angry I get when woken up too early?” he growled with his eyes still closed.

“I did not know that. Apologies.” replied Rhaenyra, while her brother jolted on his bed and stared at her, astounded. 

“Seven Hells! What are you doing here?” he frowned and rubbed his swollen face, chasing off the rest of the sleep. He hiccuped again, still under effect of his nightly indulgences and Rhaenyra poured a cup of water, passing it to him.

“Th-thanks.” he said gruffly. “Speak what is on your mind and leave, I want to sleep.”

“Kings cannot stay in bed all day, they have duties.” Rhaenyra remarked.

“So what? I piss on the king’s duties, they do not concern me. I am not even allowed to attend Small Council meetings. Not that I care much, I will never be a king, anyway.”

“Your mother thinks differently.”

Aegon stiffened for a moment, then barked out a laugh. “Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes, me - a king. Very funny.”

Rhaenyra met his jest with a stone face. “And yet she does think that the crown must be yours.”

He blinked at her and uttered, “But father named you heir! What brother steals his sister’s birthright?” 

“A brother pushed to it by his mother, grandfather, and other traitors who would dare to defy the king’s wish.” Rhaenyra did not spare words, describing all the horrors which can befall him and his family, if he stayed in the Keep and followed his mother’s and grandfather’s bidding. The young prince grew pale and shaken. She poured another glass of water, which he gulped down, and asked, his gaze locked on her, “Would you really harm me?” 

“Me? No, I would not dare to do any harm to my brother, even if we do not share the same mother.” Upon hearing this Aegon’s shoulders sagged in relief, but not for long. “But Daemon might.” continued Rhaenyra. The mentioning of her uncle’s name had even more significant effect, than  further details she did well to describe. 

“Seven Hells,” Aegon mumbled miserably, a hand running through his messy hair. “You are damned right… I heard mother and grandfather talking about succession and that the laws of it are breached. They really mean to put me on this bloody Iron thing.” he looked at Rhaenyra with wild eyes. “What should I do? Mayhap I could take a boat and get to some faraway place, to Pentos or Volantis… To Lys, perhaps?”

“To run away?” Rhaenyra snorted in derision. “First of all, you can be found. Believe me, your mother will go to great length to find her firstborn son. Secondly, you will need means for survival. Well, you can always ask for a job in aunt Saera’s brothel, if you feel inclined to do so.” Aegon wrinkled his nose in disgust, whether because he did not like the mentioning of work in brothels or the notion itself, Rhaenyra could not tell. “And finally, what about your legacy? People do not speak kindly of aunt Saera, I doubt that they will find a nice word for you.”

When Rhaenyra finished, Aegon’s face fell and all the colour left his cheeks. “Is there any better solution?” he lifted his eyes to her, hope gleaming in them like dying fire. “When I am not killed, forced to fight, have to work hard or live in shame and misery?” 

It was a tricky question indeed, which made Rhaenyra fall into silence and think. “Is there anything you like to do? I mean… Apart from drinking wine and coupling?” she asked, startling him with a sudden question.

The young man’s cheeks flushed and he hesitated for a moment before giving his answer. “There is, actually…” He scratched his ridiculous wispy moustache, then, rummaging under the bedsheets, he retrieved a thing Rhaenyra least of all expected to see. It was a small leather-bound book on Valyrian history. “I like reading stories.” 

So it was not only his looks Aegon took after his father…

“Oh, that is nice, our father does as well. Why have you never talked with him about that?” Rhaenyra asked, surprised.

The prince hesitated, his cheeks blushing even more, “I do not think he will be interested. He knows more than I do, so what is the point for him…”

“But you would like to impress him with you knowledge one day, wouldn’t you?” 

He shrugged, as if he did not care, but Rhaenyra could see how his eyes glistened with a desire he tucked deep into the depth of his heart. Once again she studied his face, searching for an answer, but not finding any, then her eyes traveled to his hands, flipping carelessly through the pages of the old book. A book… A splendid idea started to form in her mind, both simple and ingenious. She did not have to search answers in faraway places, what she needed to do, was to look at her own family. Back in 101 when claims for the throne were presented during the Great Council, there was one person who refused to put forward his, referring to his duties and vows. It was none other, than archmaester Vaegon, her father’s uncle and her great uncle. Maesters give vows of celibacy an holding no titles, which was very convenient for Rhaenyra. And although, he was asked to do so, he declined.

“Do you happen to know who Vaegon Targaryen is?” she asked.

“Of course, I do!” he rolled his eyes.

“Well, I think I can help you with your problem. There is a place for you where you will not have to work hard or train with a sword, you will have sufficient food and wine, as well as access to any book you like. You will have everything you need. Well, almost everything.” With that Rhaenyra drew her half-brother closer, probably for the first time in their lives and whispered her plan in his ear, his face first grave, but with each word the Princess uttered he became more relaxed and nodded in consent.

That very day Prince Aegon Targaryen, the son of His Grace King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower declared that he wished to follow the path of maesters and would leave to the Citadel in sennight.

The Queen was shocked, to say the least. She stood in stunned silence, whilst king Viserys’ reaction differed drastically.

“Well done, my boy!” beamed the king, clapping Aegon on the shoulder and then hugging him tightly. The young prince blushed and smiled shyly — it was usually reproaches and criticism for his transgressions he received and, rarely earning his father’s praise, so such open declaration of fatherly love and support of his actions was very much welcomed.

“B-but… How? This cannot be, you are the king’s son!” gasped Alicent.

“So what?” shrugged Viserys. “Uncle Vaegon is King Jaehaerys’ son, and has earned great many links to his chain for his diligent studies and vast knowledge.”

“No! I protest! I will not allow it!” the Queen stepped forward, stretching her arms, as if trying to shield her son. 

It only seemed to anger the king even more. “Alicent!” he exclaimed irritably, a rarest occasion when he lost his temper and turned his rage onto his family. “Stop talking nonsense! The boy has made a wise choice, for once in his life! Do learn to respect it! What mother won’t?!”

“Our Aegon is not created for dusty books and scrolls, for serving other Houses, for spending hours in seclusion, hunched over parchments.” her eyes went even wilder when the next thought occurred to her. “Maesters are celibate, Viserys! He will not be able to have children of his own!”

“Well, that is true.” admitted the king. “But not everyone created for being a parent. Even those who were, are not always blessed with children. Me and my poor Aemma lost so many babies, before Rhaenyra was born.”

Ser Otto tried to express his own concern with his grandson’s choice of path, but was silenced that instant — no Hightower would dictate his wish to Targaryen.

No more words against Aegon’s decision were allowed to be spoken, leaving the Queen to seethe in her rage. Viserys, true to himself, declared that it was a fine occasion for a feast, the Gods blessed him not only with his wonderful daughter and heir, but also with a wise son, who chose to follow the footsteps of his great uncle. Watching all this, Rhaenyra took Daemon’s hand in hers, squeezing it, while a knowing smile was shining all across her face.

Aegon and only that name, not Prince Aegon anymore, swore sacred vows, promised to hold no lands or lordships and to be celibate, making no issue of his own a threat to either Rhaenyra or her children.

In the Citadel he was welcomed by archmaester Vaegon, who instantly took the former prince under his tutelage and showed that not only carnal pleasures, but knowledge could give great satisfaction. Young Aegon plunged into reading books and studying science. Fortunately for him, master’s vows did not prohibit drinking wine or eating heartily — simple pleasures the prince very much enjoyed. As for his sexual desires… Well, people had hands which could be used not only for holding quills or swords… 

Although diligent in his studies, Aegon neither forged great many links to his chain, nor demonstrated mastery in particular subject, but the knowledge he did gain let him heal wounds, set broken bones, and teach  children — skills needed and welcomed by any man high or low. Despite his mother’s, Queen Alicent, burning desire to see her firstborn on the throne, it was not fulfilled, yet, both Aegon and Rhaenyra knew  — that path was much better for him, than the one his mother was pushing him to.

Chapter Text

~~ Aemond ~~

Three years after the birth of Aegon, Alicent bore king Viserys a second son, whom they named Aemond. Though born half size of his elder brother, he was twice as fierce. It was told, that he cried deafeningly until he was given what he wanted and sucked his nurses dry.

While Aegon the Elder, the kings firstborn son, shared a lot of features with his father, such as appearance and more than healthy appetites, Aemond seemed to be nothing like king Viserys at all. Neither like his mother. Nor even Rhaenyra. Aemond could be described as wild and wilful child, hot-tempered and unforgiving. Even at his young age he was proving as talented with sword and lance as Prince Daemon was, but with all his fiery, mercurial and impetuous nature, uncle had never shared malice and anger his nephew displayed. 

Yet, what concerned Rhaenyra the most, was that there was small love between the princes — her own sons and Alicent’s — even smaller than between their mothers. The queen with her self-righteous attitude was resentful of Rhaenyra and her sons for having stolen what she regarded as her sons’ with Viserys birthright. This enmity was transferred to the princes, making them rivals, even though, they practiced together in the yard, studied under the same maesters and attended the same feasts and balls.

King Viserys’ attempts to make peace between his wife and daughter were as futile as they were exasperating — a fox would never befriend a hound, they were enemies and thus was their nature. Rhaenyra would never dare to give such a comparison, but an unfortunate accident which took place during an unfortunate event left her no choice…

***

So it happened, that the Stranger took life of Rhaenyra’s dear friend and cousin Laena Velaryon when she was trying to give birth to her third child. Lady Laena was as beautiful as she was brave, and it was only the Gods cruelty that deprived the world of her graceful presence. Princess Rhaenys was devastated, and so was Lord Corlys and Laena’s husband.

According to Velaryon traditions, coffin with Laena’s body was plunged into water and then all the attendants of the ceremony were invited to the inner yard of Hight Tide to have some refreshments. Mourning and exchange of memories about Laena lasted till evenfall, and after that everyone dispersed to their chambers. 

What happened at night was hard to describe with words.

Unlike his brothers and sisters, prince Aemond remained dragonless at that time, which plagued the boy a lot, making him even more bitter and envious. Their father, the king, meant to rectify that and promised to take court to Dragonstone, so that to allow his son to choose an egg or claim a hatchling, once they paid proper respect to the Velaryons and mourned their loss. As willful and bold as he was, Aemond decided not to wait for the trip or accept some little hatching, much less an egg which might turn to stone. Instead, he set his mind to claim Vhagar — the largest, the oldest and the most terrible dragon, who with the death of Lady Laena became riderless.

He did it secretly, under the cover of darkness, and when his risky endeavour proved successful, on his way back he faced with Rhaenyra’s sons — princes Aegon and Viserys. They were woken up by their cousin, Rhaena, who accidentally learnt about Aemond’s intent and felt slighted — Vhagar was her mother’s dragon and it was her right to be her next rider.

Aemond, however, did not share this stance and opposed his nephews and Laena’s daughter. Although Aegon and Viserys were younger than Aemond, they engaged into fight, defending their beloved cousin — Rhaenyra was a dear friend of Laena and so this friendship was inherited by their children.

To their heated protestations Aemond said that he was a Targaryen, the rightful son of king Viserys and could claim any dragon he liked, without asking for permission of some bastards. The unfair insult to Aegon and Viserys was thrown — Aegon as the older brother took it closer to his heart than Viserys, for he had heard whispers at court, that his parents married secretly and without the king’s permission — and the boys lunged at each other, kicking, punching and screaming.

Unfortunately, as a punishment or just to mock men, the Gods were cruel to Aemond and when he was falling down, pushed by Aegon, he landed on a wooden board with a nail sticking out from it. The sharp tip of the nail cut through his skin, piercing an eye.

… so were Rhaenyra, her father and queen Alicent told by the princelings who shouted incoherently, each trying to speak over another, and Ser Harrold Westerling who found them in the stables, Aemond shaking and yelling in pain. The injured boy was rapidly tended by maesters, his eye socket cleaned, wound stitched, and milk of the poppy given to dull his pain.

Yet, the quarrel did not stop at that.

“There was more to it.” mumbled Aegon, his eyes cast down at his boots. “Aemond called us bastards…”

Upon hearing that, Rhaenyra’s father’s face grew as dark as a stormy cloud. “Where did you hear such calumnies, boy?” he came to Aemond, towering over his son and lifted his chin with fingers to look straight into his one remaining eye. “The marriage between my daughter and your sister Princess Rhaenyra and my brother and your uncle Prince Daemon is legitimate. Anyone who dares to call their children and my grandsons bastards, will have their tongues removed!” the king ruled.

The source of these calumnies was well known to Rhaenyra. Who else, but Queen Alicent and Ser Otto would want to undermine her reputation and taint her son’s birth. Though, it was a foolish attempt, which led only to provoking the king’s ire. She and Daemon did elope and marry in secret, but afterwards, all the official formalities were performed in the presence of His Holiness the High Septon, thus calling her sons “bastards” was ridiculous. A drowning man catches at a straw, and so did Alicent and her father Otto, concocting and spreading any lies, just to spite Rhaenyra. 

The punishment for both sides involved in the argument followed.

“You are not allowed to approach your dragons for the length of two months! Sparring in the yard is also prohibited! You are to stay in your chambers and attend classes — that is all!” king Viserys boomed, measuring his son and grandsons with a glare. All of them cowered and obeyed, casting hostile glances at each other.

After that the king required each of the boys to make an apology to his rival. They did as they were bade to, although, these courtesies did little to appease the grieving mother, whose son lost an eye, or slandered princess, whose son and heir was accused of illegitimacy.

However, Alicent did not insist on harsher punishment for Aegon, apparently, afraid of the king’s wrath which could be fuelled, if it was revealed who was the first to call Rhaenyra’s sons bastards. There was no slightest doubt, that it was the queen herself, Rhaenyra knew it.

Yet, as much as he was in pain and afraid of his lord father, the last word had Aemond. “Do not mourn me, mother.” he said. “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

At once, the heads of everyone present turned to Prince Aemond. His father first appeared surprised, then proud, his mother was a mixture of emotions — as a Hightower, she did not deem an eye worthy of a dragon. But as for Rhaenyra, fear coiled in her belly as it dawned upon her, which dragon in particular her half-brother claimed.

Accident, or not, the boy felt spited and longed for revenge. Father’s lax punishment and reprimand angered him even more. And Rhaenyra’s heart, that of a loving mother, knew that Aemond would have his revenge, whether served hot or cold, it mattered not, only the fact of it. If the king did not give him justice, he would take it himself — such was the prince’s character.

Since then, whatever left from Alicent and Rhaenyra’s familial relationships had deteriorated even further. As for the boys, they grew to be bitter rivals, although, they continued practicing together in the yard, had common classes and sat side by side at feasts and tourneys. 

***

Some time passed after the accident, and one day Rhaenyra’s eldest, Aegon, came to her chambers. First a silver head peeked in, eyes searching for his mother, then the boy slipped into the room.

“How fares my lovely boy?” greeted Rhaenyra, patting at her side and inviting Aegon join her on the settee. “Has your day been good?”

“We played with Viserys in the gardens, then had our classes and sparring in the yard.” Aegon replied.

“Oh? All of you?”

“Yes, Aemond was there. As usual.” Aegon swallowed thickly and hesitated, as if considering whether he should say something or not. “I… I think he dislikes me…”

“Well, sweetest, if he has beaten you in sparring, either because he is more skilled or simply older, it does not mean that he dislikes you as a person.” Rhaenyra tried to explain, but given the circumstances, it was a weak attempt.

“But he does.” whispered Aegon. “It is all because of that… That accident. He thinks it is all my fault, I am the reason for him losing his eye.”

Aegon was not a coward, and Rhaenyra was sure that he would fight Aemond, if there was need to do so, yet her son was a sweet boy, kind and gentle, and these thoughts were plaguing his little head. Aegon was as good with sword as he was with studies, Viserys was more of a scholar than a warrior, but learnt all the lessons taught by the master-at-arms well. Yet, to be fair, none of them was a match to Aemond.

Willing to see everything with her own eyes, Rhaenyra suggested, “You know what? Tomorrow I will come to watch you practice with the master-at-arms and sparring.”

The boy blushed upon hearing this, but nodded. “You won’t laugh, if I lose?” 

“Laugh? Why, dear? This is training, and it is only for the better that you sometimes fail and learn from your mistakes.”

“But Aemond laughs. Calls me chicken. I am not a coward, mama.” Aegon said resentfully.

“Of course, you are not. You are my fearless little dragon.” Rhaenyra chuckled, ruffling his silver hair. “It is not a sign of cowardice to share your worries and be cautions of a person who wishes ill to you. It is called prudence. A necessary feature for any good king, let me tell you.” she looked at him meaningfully, barely keeping herself from smiling, seeing how her son’s chest swelled and shoulders squared at the reminder of the future that lay ahead of him.

Their intimate conversation was interrupted by Daemon, who entered the chambers, gold half-cape over his shoulder, which meant he was fresh from fulfilling his duties as the Commander of the City Watch. Upon seeing him, a smile flickered across Aegon’s face, yet, it was short-lived, as he was still worried and, jolting up, he ran out, leaving his parents alone. 

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Daemon, furrowing his thin silver brows, as soon as the door behind their son closed.

“Aegon is unsettled.” Rhaenyra replied, choosing her words carefully. “He thinks his training in the yard does not go well enough.”

“Oh… Is it so?” Daemon unclasped the scabbard with Dark Sister, put down his helmet and settled himself down beside Rhaenyra.

“It is me who should ask you.” Rhaenyra shrugged. “You spend as much time in the yard as I do beside my father in the Council chamber.”

Daemon thought for a moment. “Well… I can say that I was more skilled and learned faster than Aegon, yet, he is far not as useless as my brother.”

To that Rhaenyra chuckled. “It is not a flattering comparison, may I say. Father has many strengths, but martial skills are not among them.” Daemon chuckled back, taking her hand in his. Good-natured teasing of the king was a sport they both enjoyed. Then her face grew serious again. “Jests aside, how is he?”

“I am telling you, he is fine.” Daemon rolled his eyes. “The boy is trying, not every day goes smooth, but it will get much better with time. Why do you ask?”

“He thinks that my half-brother Aemond is unkind to him.”

“Unkind?!” Daemon barked out a loud laugh. “Is there a person or a thing he is kind to? Even the straw dummy suffers from his viciousness, it has to be repaired after his every practice!”

They left it at that, but soon after there talk, Daemon sauntered into Rhaenyra’s chamber and threw himself on a settee. His face was grim and puzzled.

“He is training. Again.”

“Who?” Rhaenyra diverted her attention from the scrolls she was reading, the ones given to her by Lord Beesbury, on accounting and budgeting. 

“Aemond. And that dog Cole shows him the moves and tactics. You were right. You are always so right, my dear wife.” Daemon knelt beside her, grabbing her hand. His own hand was warm and slightly trembling from deep pent-up anger. 

Mentioning of Cole alarmed the princess. He took her half-brother Aemond under tutelage after the Driftmark accident, and being a capable warrior himself, he shared his expertise with the young prince. And so, despite the loss of his eye, Aemond had become a proficient and dangerous swordsman.

“Now I can feel it right here,” Daemon pressed his other hand against his heart, “this boy is vicious and vindictive little cunt. Look, Rhaenyra, that mess we had at Driftmark was an accident, our boys got their share of punishment, but Alicent’s whelp paid for it with his eye.”

“He gained a dragon, it was a fair exchange change. These are his words.” Rhaenyra tried to find reasonable explanation.

“It will not stop him from taking his revenge on either Aegon or Viserys.”

Rhaenyra gave him a contemplative look. Perhaps, he was right. Like her father, she had a habit of assuming the best in people, believing in their decency and honour. Daemon was not like that. He expected threat and malice from everyone who was not a true Targaryen, and perhaps, he was right — that was the part of the games of thrones.

“He has to be removed.” said Daemon curtly.

Rhaenyra studied her husband’s face for a moment. Once, he had offered her to remove Aegon, for he was a great threat to her and her children. Instead, she chose her own way to deal with her half-brother and curb her step-mother’s ambitions. It had been months since Aegon departed to Oldtown and he was only happy and satisfied, life there proved even better than he expected. He had no desire to return to court, yet Sunfyre allowed him to make short visits to see his family, causing the widest of smiles on king Viserys’ face, immensely proud of his son, and scowls of Queen Alicent, still mourning her son who in her eyes was supposed to be their next king.

“Let me talk to Aemond.”

“Talk?” Daemon snorted, rolling his eyes. “I am not inclined to think that this Hightower whelp is capable of talking decently.”

“But I will try.” insisted Rhaenyra. “Do you trust me?”

To that Daemon sighed heavily and shook his head. Then a sad smile tugged the corners of his lips. “Of course I do, my little dragon. Just mind that the life and wellbeing of our dragonlings are at stake.” Of course she minded that. Little Aegon and Viserys were everything to her, as was Daemon.

***

So, that was how Rhaenyra found herself on the top of one of the towers, overlooking the yard, where swordplay and training took place. It was made a public occasion, with the courtiers, the queen and His Grace king Viserys himself, watching the young princes and other lordlings practice and spar.

King Viserys laughed heartily and applauded, watching the swordplay, as always oblivious to the enmity which hung in the air, only happy to watch his son and grandsons showing prowess with sword and agility — something he himself did not have, but loved to see in others. He made a swing from his goblet, shoved a blueberry tart into his mouth and clapped his hands again. However, what he did not see, or only did not want to, was hidden menace in Aemond’s one eye when he attacked Aegon the Younger, how his jaw tightened and mouth formed a thin line, not letting curses escape his lips. 

“What a wonderful sight!” smiled Viserys. “Lads are learning together, training together, knock each other down, pick each other up. They will certainly form a lifelong bond, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked, turning to his wife and daughter.

“That is the hope, Your Grace.” Rhaenyra was the first to reply, yet, she was sure that neither her, nor Alicent shared the sentiment. The way the boys threw each other to the ground, their glares and orders Cole shouted to them,  evidently, favouring Aemond — all these things were far from familial bonding. There was enmity between the uncle and his nephew, even though, the king was oblivious to it, as he was to many things.

As she was watching the boys fight, a pang of jealousy hit Rhaenyra: these were truly Targaryen features in Aemond, being hot-blooded, quick to anger, unforgiving, they were dragons and were allowed that. Unlike the rest. Unlike the Hightowers, and, as it seemed, Targaryen blood ran thick through Aemond’s veins.

The training was over, and after another round of applause, the king, his courtiers and the queen left, as well as the boys and master-at-arms. Except for one person. Aemond stayed and, as if not exhausted by his previous fight, continued his training, practicing his slashing, slicing and stabbing techniques.

Rhaenyra climbed down the tower and stood behind her half-brother.

“You are training hard.” she said, loud enough to be heard over clink-clanking of metal. 

Aemond stopped abruptly, startled by her presence, then turned to face her. “I am. But it is not business of yours.” he said brusquely. He turned away and went on hitting the straw dummy. Not an appropriate way to talk to your sister, much less to the future queen, but such was Aemond. 

“Why so hard? Has it been not enough for today?” Rhaenyra pressed on. “You look tired and all wet.”

Aemond sighed in exasperation. “Yes, I am tired, and yes, I am fucking wet. What concern is that of yours?”

“None.” The princess shrugged. “Just curious.”

This indifference seemed to touch some of the strings in Aemond’s soul, and he said bitterly, “I have only one eye, as you have well noticed. And with such deficiency I have to be twice as strong and fast as any other man with two eyes.”

That was very smart of him, Rhaenyra thought. So, he was a strong-willed young man, much stronger than his brother, Aegon the Elder. She felt uncomfortable at the mentioning of his injury, but still, breathing deeply, she ventured to touch upon that delicate matter.

“What happened then at Driftmark—” she began.

“You do not know a bloody thing! You were not there!” Aemond lost control of himself and shouted, startling a servant who brought a bucket of clean water for the prince to freshen himself up.

“You know it was an accident.” pressed Rhaenyra. “And all apologies were made, both sides were punished…”

“Not enough!” cried Aemond furiously, he turned to Rhaenyra, panting, and tore of the patch from his eye. Blue sapphire glistened in the sunlight — a pompous thing or just a pathetic attempt to hide his deficiency. His hand ran to his face, finger pointing at his missing eye. “Apologies can never restore this.” he growled.

Rhaenyra sighed, shaking her head. She was right, as well as her Aegon. Aemond’s forgiveness could never be obtained, unless it was an eye for an eye, or an eye for something even more important… Like life, perchance.

One part of her wished to go away, to leave her half-brother be and brew in his anger, but it was the right moment to deal with the matter once and for all. Especially now, when a fine idea formed in her head.

“This is true, nothing in this world can restore your eye. You can feel spited, but you will have to live with it and you can do nothing about it.” she said decisively. “My son Aegon will be king one day, when our father and myself pass. And you will have no other choice, but to serve him and obey. Each day the source of your misery, as you consider him to be, will be above you, sitting the Iron Throne, giving you orders.” Rhaenyra could swear that she heard Aemond’s teeth crack, so hard he clenched his jaw. “Should any harm befall him because of you — you will be accused of highest treason. Won’t it be hard to serve all your life a man you hate so much?”

Aemond inhaled deeply, turned back to the straw dummy and started hitting it with his sword with even more strength, just not to look at Rhaenyra. Anger took better of him, it always did, and this mindless slashing was the only way to give vent to his frustration.

Once his attempts at destroying the straw dummy ceased, Rhaenyra continued. “Yet, there is a place where men serve not king, but the whole kingdom, protecting its people from the greatest threat. Such people like you are golden there. Fierce, strong, capable worries. Add Vhagar to that — and your are a real gem, cherished and respected. Though, this place is not for those who have weak wills or hearts.”

“I am not weak!” Aemond growled, veins pulsing on his temples from sudden fit of anger.”

“No, you are not. And that is why this place will be ideal for you. No kings or queens, no time wasted on elaborate etiquette, no stuffing yourself with excessive food at feasts, no dancing with foolish noble girls at balls. Only swords, armour, strength, bravery and willpower. Knowledge is also appreciated, for you have to be well-learned to survive there and make right decisions.”

Aemond pondered over her words for a moment, understanding reaching him at last. Then a smile cracked across Aemond’s usually solemn lips. No coloured silk, velvet or brocade like peacocks, only black leather and even blacker mail; no queen and king he despised — he would make his own way and would become the lord everyone would have to obey…

***

A feast, one of the many, took place the next day after Rhaenyra’s and Aemon’s conversation. 

Before the desserts were served, Aemond stood up, attracting everyone’s attention. “Father, mother, I have an announcement to make.” The prince took a deep breath, his next words sealing his fate. “I decided to take the black.”

The hall went silent, courtiers exchanging glances. King Viserys was the first to break the silence. “My dear boy, are you sure? Is that you choice? Do you truly want to join the Night’s Watch?” His jovial smile fell and instead a line appeared between his furrowed brows, as he was looking at Aemond in confusion.

“Aye, Your Grace.” Prince Aemond nodded decisively.

Viserys thought for a moment, studying his son’s face. The king was a soft and agreeable man, always inclined to do as he was asked to and support most of ideas proposed by others. This time was no different. “Well, if you want to serve the realm that way, I am not going to stop you.” Viserys said and Rhaenyra’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. “We all know that it is useless, if you have already made up your mind.” he added, laughing and the courtiers joined him obediently. But father was right. Vhagar was a good example of Aemond’s single-mindedness.

Queen Alicent made a loud cry, fainting and nearly falling, were it not for her husband’s arms, catching her. 

“Water!” commanded father, “Fetch some water at once!” 

A servant rushed to pour a glass of water and then back, handing it to the king.

“Here, my love, drink.” said Viserys, pressing the glass to Alicent’s lips.

“What was that, Viserys?” she mumbled, getting back to her senses. “Am I dreaming?”

“Well, not more than any one of us.” replied Viserys, helping the queen to stand up, but still supporting her weight.

“Aemond?” she turned her big brown eyes to her son. His face was calm and resolute, not even a shade of doubt or worry for his mother flickered across his face. “What was that? Tell me it is a joke and let us all forget this nonsense.”

Receiving silence as an answer, Alicent turned to the king.

“Viserys. You are not allowing this.” it was more a plea than a command, yet, it fell on deaf ears. The king remained silent. “Viserys? Are you?…” her voice faded with each word as dying embers.

She opened her mouth to say more, but the king spoke over her. “Be proud, my dear. We have decent and brave sons. They have not chosen the path of idleness, wasting their time uselessly at court, but diverted their energy and talents to serving the realm.”

“B-but… but… Black brothers give their vows…” mumbled Alicent, her voice weak and desperate. 

Everyone knew what these vows were: Night gathers and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post…

I shall wear no crown and father no children. That held the great importance for Rhaenyra. And the fact that Aemond would stay away from her son Aegon, his energy devoted to arduous tasks and duties of the black brothers as well as coping with life in the North…

“Yes, they do take vows.” confirmed Viserys. “And I can be only ever grateful to you, dear Alicent, for giving me such strong-willed and resolute sons, ready to refrain from earthly pleasures.” his eyes glistened with tears, which he blinked away and laughed, patting his round belly. “Unlike me. I cannot stay away from an extra piece of pie when maesters tell me to do so.” 

The courtiers as always laughed at the king’s jest, even Aemond squeezed out a crooked smile. But the happiest of all was Aegon the Younger, who was standing next to his little brother. He wrapped his arm around Viserys’ slim shoulders and brought him closer to his side. The boy looked relieved, as if great danger was avoided. Rhaenyra did not know, what exactly it was, but it warmed her heart that it would not happen and her sons were safe.

In a moonturn Vhagar carried away Aemond to the North, up to the Wall. There, in the Castle Black, he was welcomed by the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, took his vows and became one of the black brothers. Due to his proficiency with sword, strength and stamina, he immediately joined the Order of Rangers. His main duty was to defend and protect the Wall and the castles of the Night’s Watch. Not more than once he ventured beyond the Wall, fought with the Free Folk and patrolled the territory atop his mighty Vhagar. 

Before long, he was made the First Ranger, a senior officer of the Night’s Watch and took command of the Order of Rangers. His dream was to become the Lord Commander and he diligently paved his path to achieve this position, once it was free to occupy. He was feared and respected, the stories of Aemond One Eye the Black Brother, spreading all over the Seven Kingdoms, while the country boys took turns each to role-play him in their games, fighting the imaginary Wildlings and the Others…

Chapter Text

~~ Daeron ~~

A great tourney was held at King’s Landing on the anniversary of the king’s marriage to queen Alicent. Many a knight flocked to the capital from across Westeros, some of them came to compete for their own glory and prestige, while others arrived to honour their king and queen. Surrounded by her family, Rhaenyra was sitting in the royal box situated high above the tourney grounds, watching excitedly the event. 

As the names and titles of the knights were announced, each of them rode forward and bowed his head towards the royal box. One of the knights, however, preferred not to reveal his identity, he flew no banner and his armour was plain, albeit expensive and exquisitely forged. 

“Well, well, it seems we are having a Mystery Knight today.” king Viserys fidgeted on his makeshift throne and rubbed his hands in anticipation. A beaming smile played all across his face and Rhaenyra chuckled, rolling her eyes at such a childish display of excitement. But she knew her father well — for him everything connected with entertainment was much more appealing than the process of ruling itself.

“Who might that be?” a wave of whisper rolled across the royal box, then passed over the seats of other lords and down to the stalls of commons.

“I bet it is Ser Norbert Vance.” someone said.

“This cannot be, he was severely injured at the last tourney and it was held less than a month ago.” someone argued.

While everyone took turns, trying to guess the knight’s name, Rhaenyra observed him curiously: this man was neither tall, nor broad, but there was catlike grace in his movements and his bows were gallant and well-practiced. Even if he was brought up not at the royal court, undoubtedly, it was some high lord’s household. His shield was plain black and so was the horse’s caparison.

The joust began, the knights charged and the crowd cheered. When they crashed against each other, everyone gasped in amusement and then rose to greet the winner. Little Viserys was clapping his hands beside Rhaenyra, while Aegon was pouting, his arms crossed over his chest. He wanted to participate, like his father always did, but that was out of question — the prince was too young and it was not a squire’s tourney, but a real one, with knights in the lists, not boys. 

“Next year, my sweetest,” Rhaenyra soothed him, running her hand down his soft silver hair. “You are an heir and the future king, and should be taken care of accordingly.”

“But father—” Aegon protested, his brows furrowed. 

“—your father is a seasoned warrior.» Rhaenyra insisted. “He has fought pirates at the Stepstones and has participated in so many tourneys I already lost count of.”

“I want to be like him…”

“And you will. In due term and when you are ready. The master-at-arms praised your progress, but these are real knights and steel at the tourney, not straw dummies and wooden swords. We will revisit this conversation in a year. Agreed?” Rhaenyra gently lifted her son’s chin and locked her eyes on his. The young prince blinked two times, sighed and nodded reluctantly. Rhaenyra nodded back and smiled, looking askance at her youngest son. 

Thank the Fourteen, Viserys was less keen on such sports and martial pursuits than his elder brother. Although diligent and disciplined in the training yard, he did not pester her with his wishes to take part in a joust. There was a perfect balance of a scholar and a warrior in this boy, something which his father and grandfather lacked — the former too much drawn to steel and fighting, while the latter was totally into books and feasting. 

The second match began and the cheers of the crowd brought Rhaenyra back from her musings. This time it was between Ser Desmond Mallister and the Mystery Knight. It was more spectacular than the first one, a real show during witch each opponent withstood the other’s lance thrice. The lances clashed and splintered, the tension grew, filling the air with excitement. Despite his best efforts, Ser Desmond was unhorsed, while his unnamed opponent received cheers from the crowd.

To everyone’s amusement, the Mystery Knight was bold enough to approach the royal box and place his lance upon the railing, right in front of Princess Helaena. Her plump cheeks blushed from sudden attention and a wide smile bloomed across her face. She took a neatly made wreath of red roses intertwined with white ones — a favour to be bestowed upon a knight — and, smiling shyly, let it slid down the lance stopping at the vamplate. The knight tilted his head in acknowledgment and reined his horse towards the end of the rail.

Ser Royce Caron rode out to the end of the tilt, holding a yellow painted shield with a field of black nightingales on it. The Mystery Knight and the Ser Royce tilted their lances at each other, charging forth into a brutal clash. Wooden splinters flied off the lances as they snapped under the force of their blows. Each knight strived to stay mounted atop his horse, fighting for control of the situation. Royce Caron was a skilled and seasoned fighter, but the Mystery Knight kept up. Their lances clashed multiple times, neither gaining an advantage over the other. The crowd fell silent as they watched the knights’ moves, desperate to see who would come out on top. The rumble from the hooves of the galloping destriers shook the ground as the knights charged again, this time leading to the Mystery Knight’s victory.

The round of applause grew even louder than before and Rhaenyra was already as curious to know the name of the knight as her father was. As if feeling their anxiety, the Mystery Knight decided not to keep the crowd and the king in the dark anymore and removed his helmet revealing short curly silver hair, disheveled and slightly wet from sweat, a young but attractive face, the face of—

“Daeron?” whispered Rhaenyra and Helaena in unison. 

“Daeron!” the king cried out, putting his goblet on a table with a thud, and stood up. “Daeron, my dear son!” 

Viserys walked down the steps to the ground and wrapped the prince who already dismounted from his horse in a warm hug. Princess Helaena followed  behind skipping steps, and embraced her brother once their father pulled away.

“What a pleasant surprise! It gladdens my heart to see you, my sweet boy!” the king said, looking Daeron from head to toe. “You did not tell me about your plans to visit the capital, neither was I informed that Tessarion was seen in the Dragon Pit.”

“How could I miss my parents wedding anniversary!” Daeron exclaimed, offering a hug to his mother, who also deigned to join the rest of her family on the ground, staining her golden satin slippers with mud. “The word spread that there would be tourney to celebrate it and I thought, that would be the best way to show my skills with lance and sword.” Daeron replied bashfully. 

“Well, son, I am impressed!” praised the king, clapping Daeron on his shoulder. “We will have a feast to welcome you!” he turned and snapped his fingers, calling the servants. “Have someone ride to the Red Keep and tell the cooks to get ready the stoves. I wish to have everything best for my son!”

Not only their father was happy to see his son, Rhaenyra was no less. Prince Daeron was the favourite of her half-brothers and not without reason. Although, there was certain coldness between her own sons, Aegon and Viserys, when they were younger, it was not so poisonous as the enmity which divided them with Aegon the Elder and Aemond. Daeron was the youngest and the most popular of the queen’s sons, as clever as he was courteous and most comely as well, a rider of a beautiful she-dragon named Tessarion. Sadly, however, Rhaenyra’s hopes for better relationships between her boys and their uncle proved to be forlorn — when Daeron turned twelve, he was sent to Oldtown to serve as cupbearer and squire to Lord Hightower and she had not seen him since then except for rare occasions.

Later that evening, as the feast went on, Rhaenyra was observing Daeron carefully. He was all smiles and graces, conversing with their father, jesting with Helaena and sharing the details of the tourney with his young nephews, Rhaenyra’s son. She tried to approach Daeron during the feast, but he was either dancing or engrossed in conversation,  literally unable to take his eyes off his family. Yet, his face darkened each time Oldtown was mentioned, and eyes glistened with treacherous tears, when he was reminded of his inevitable departure from the royal court.  

He does not want to go there, thought Rhaenyra. What a cruel jest it was, to send the most loving of her half-brothers to such faraway place and allow other people foster and guide him. What was the teaching he received from the Hightowers like? About the Faith and the Seven? Or that he was the last of the king’s sons who was free to choose his path? Moreover, he still had a chance to become a king… 

As much as Rhaenyra wanted to talk to Daeron privately that night, it did not happen. Still, there was one more day, and one more chance for the princess to know more of him.

The second part of the tourney was darkened by grim events. It stared with fanfares, cheers and laughter, but as the jousting progressed, an accident happened, changing the lives of many.

The last two men standing on the jousting ground were predictably Prince Daemon and Ser Criston Cole. They had unhorsed all their opponents with such ease and grace, as if they were not knights, but mere squires.

The match began, Daemon and Criston rode at each other, their lances extended in front of them. The tension in the air was palpable, and the crowds watched with anticipation and excitement. As the prince and the White Cloak neared, they lowered their lances and charged at full speed, intent on defeating the other, giving way to the mutual dislike they had been nursing for years, since Criston unhorsed Daemon at the tourney to commemorate king Viserys’ coronation. The horses ran at top speed, and there was a brief but brutal moment when their lances collided head-on, shattering into pieces. Both of men lost control of their horses for a moment, but managed to quickly regain balance and continue riding. 

They charged again, this time Criston Cole was struck in the head by Daemon’s lance, receiving a devastating blow that threw him off his horse. 

The crowd cheered as the victor emerged, raising his shield with the red-headed dragon trimmed with gold in the air. Meanwhile, the squires rushed to help Criston Cole to get up, but his arms and legs were spread limply on the ground. He did not move and the cheering of the crowd started to die out.

Looking closer at him, it could be seen that the blow shattered Cole’s helmet and caved in his skull. Spectators gasped as they realised the terrible extent of his injury. Some people turned away in horror, while others watched in stunned silence.

“Gods be good,” muttered King Viserys, squinting at the Cole’s unmoving body. “Is he?… Oh… It was not supposed to end like that.”

As he did the other day, the king left the royal box and walked down to the  grounds and then to the rail, where Criston was lying, his arms and legs bent at unnatural angle. 

“Your Grace!” cried out Aliecent, trailing behind her husband. “Don’t you see that it was done on purpose?” she exclaimed, pointing an accusing finger at Daemon. “The enmity between Ser Criston Cole and Prince Daemon is well known at court. It proves that the harm was intentional.” 

Of course Alicent was infuriated. Cole was her loyal dog, always at her side and ready to spread any vile gossip, as if he was not an honourable Kingsguard, but one of the scullery maids in the royal kitchen. Moreover, it was he who trained Aemond and poisoned him against Rhaenyra’s own sons. Ignoring Alicent’s words, the father waved her off, his face distorted in a squeamish grimace at the sight of the blood, running from under Cole’s helmet.

The queen, however, lost control of herself and insisted that it was not an accident, but a malicious act, throwing accusations at Daemon. Such unseemly display of emotions had the opposite effect, only angering the king, who frowned and hissed in the queen’s ear: “Calm down, Alicent, stop talking nonsense! You are being ridiculous, the crowds are watching! It is jousting, after all, such things can happen.”

Then he straightened and declared loudly, “That is why I myself refrain from such sports. Life of the king is too precious to waste on idle pleasures.” 

Weak smiles followed the king’s half-joke, half-excuse, but next moment, Grand Maester finally made his way to Cole’s body, which was still lying limply on the ground. Mellos knelt beside him, huffing and puffing, and after a quick examination, waved to the squires to carry Criston away. Judging by the grim look upon his face, little could be done.

“The wound is severe, Your Grace, but I will see to Ser Criston and make sure that he is given all the necessary help.” Mellos said, addressing the King.

“I did not mean that.” shrugged Daemon, looking sheepishly to Rhaenyra. Perhaps, he had not meant it, but wanted for sure. Not that Rhaenyra had anything against it.

***

It was already past midnight, but sleep evaded Rhaenyra, as she was lying curled under her blanket. The spot on her bed where Daemon should sleep was cold and empty. He must be celebrating with his friends, she thought. As if the joust was not exhilarating for him enough, he wanted more of that in a brothel. Oh, silly boy, I know a wonderful place where he can spend his excess of energy and seed. Aegon and Viserys need a sister, after all.

The door screeched in the darkness and quite footsteps tapped on the floor. Even by the sound Rhaenyra could guess that it was her husband. She stirred on the bed to let him know she was awake.

“Nyra? Are you not sleeping?” he whispered, sitting beside her on the edge bed.

“It would have been easier for me to find sleep, if there was husband by my side.” she replied, adding ice to her voice. 

“I was with Mysaria.” he told and with that Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat.

“What for? Am I not good enough for you?” Rhaenyra bristled. She got even angrier when Daemon started laughing at her words. “What is so funny?”

“You are, little dragon!” he pecked her on the forehead and stroked her cheek with his hand gently. Rhaenyra sighed, rolling her eyes in exasperation, then frowned waiting for explanations.

Her irritation amused Daemon and he chuckled one more time. “It is not what you think, I was with her to get some information. Damn, this woman is so good at knowing things! I think you should replace Larys with Mysaria as the Mistress of Whisperers when you are queen.” he remarked.

A weight lifted from Rhaenyra’s heart with this revelation. “So? What did you learn?” Rhaenyra cocked her head, and stroked Daemon’s cheek gently, sorry for her initial anger.

“Lords in the Reach conspire against you. They are convinced, that as long as the king’s son lives, it it his birthright to ascend the throne, and you are robbing him.”

“Cunts…” she muttered, earning another giggle from Daemon.

“Such foul language is unbecoming of a princess,” he winked, yet next moment his face gained serious expression. “But you are right, love. They are fucking cunts. It is good that we know about their plans and they will die as the cunts deserve — miserably and in agony.”

Rhaenyra bit her lip, torn between feelings. It would have been that easy, if Daeron was not involved. She had high hopes for her half-brother, and the fact that he was the pawn in the conspiracy saddened her greatly. 

Daemon, though, was bursting with anticipation. He knelt beside her, kissing her both hands and looked at her intently. “Command me, my queen. As I see it, there are two options: to burn the fucking Hightower and Oldtown to the ground or get rid of your half-brother. Or both. Yes, both, burn and kill — Fire and Blood. These treacherous bastards should learn that Targaryens are not the power to be trifled with.”

A devilish sparkle flickered in his eyes and a smirk split his face in two. Rhaenyra loved Daemon and his strong desire to protect his family and her claim to the throne at all costs, but there was also love left for Daeron in her heart. As well as the love for her own father, since Rhaenyra knew that the king would be devastated to know that some harm befell on his favourite son. Neither would he be happy to learn about the conspiracy revolving around his figure.

“No…” Rhaenyra said thoughtfully. “This will not be necessary. At least not both options.”

To that Daemon snorted and grimaced in displeasure. Yet she gave him a reassuring look and squeezed his hands.

“Is it another plan of yours, little Dragon?” He cocked his head and smiled. “Fine, fine… Let’s see what you have got…”

In the view of grim events, it was decided by king Viserys to cancel the feast and replace it with some minor affair, only for the royal family, Small Council and high lords. Once the tables were cleared off and the guests dispersed, Rhaenyra was approached by her maid, informing her that prince Daeron was seen in the Godswood. Happy to grab this opportunity and finally talk to her brother, she made haste to the place, and there he was, sitting on the grass beside the huge stem of the tree, his face serene and eyes closed.

“Evenings are very pleasant this time of year.” Rhaenyra said, taking her pace beside Daeron. His eyes snapped open, startled by the sound of voice, but seeing her, he relaxed and smiled.

“So true.” he murmured. “And it is such a wonderful feeling to be at home. So sad this moment will not last.” 

“Well, nothing lasts forever.” she mused and rubbed his back with her hand. Even the softest velvet of his doublet could not hide how tense he was, all muscles strained.

“Yes, but… Once I return to my duties in Oldtown, it will start all over again.” His palms ran to his face, covering it, while his shoulders shook several times. It was hard to tell, if he was laughing or sobbing.

“What troubles you, Daeron? You can trust me.” Rhaenyra said gently, opening his hands and removing from his face, only to be met with a sad gaze.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes calculating. What he considered telling her was treason, and she wondered, if he trusted her enough to share it with her. Finally, the battle of wills was won, and his Targaryen part had overthrown the Hightower.

Daeron swallowed thickly before saying, “Lord Hobert believes that I should challenge your claim, when our father passed. Half of the lords will support me against you and with the might of the Reach and other lords they conspire to put me on the throne. But—” he stumbled and swallowed hard. “I want none of that. I told so to Lord Hobert, said that I am not a traitor.”

“What did he say?”

“That it would pass, and I would change my mind. That when time comes, all the lords would turn their backs on you and support me. This is the order of things, the iron precedent which cannot be changed on a whim of a loving father.”

Daeron grew very emotional, making this confession, he shook his head in denial and wave of pity washed over Rhaenyra. He seemed to be driven into a corner, torn between the desire or necessity to follow his Hightower kins on the one hand and loyalty to their father and to her on the other.

Rhaenyra pondered for a moment. If she wanted to keep Daeron unharmed, first of all she had to win his loyalty. And that could be done by gaining his trust. 

She tried to sound sincere as she said, “Whatever poison Lord Hobert poured in your ears, I am not a threat to you, your mother or siblings, and neither is Daemon. We are family. And there is no greater sin than kinslaying. Believe me, there will be bloodshed, if it comes to war.” Daeron winced and looked to Rhaenyra, frightened. “Lord Hobert told you about the might of the Reach and Tessarion, but did he mention Caraxes, Syrax, my eldest son’s dragon, Stormcloud? Whom do you think Princess Rhaenys would support? I am sorry to say that, but with his ambitions your great-uncle is signing you a death sentence, and instead of dying nobly as a Targaryen prince should, you will be called a traitor, the one who tried to usurp the crown, but failed miserably.”

Daeron’s face darkened at this revelation. Rhaenyra could not know, if he took close to his heart everything Lord Hightower planned for him, but surely he gave even less thoughts to the consequences.

While he remained gravely silent, Rhaenyra sighed and took his hand in hers. “And what do you believe in, Daeron?” she asked, locking her eyes on his. “You must have your own aspirations, apart from those planted in your head by the Hightower?”

“I believe that my family is the most precious thing and that it must be protected at all costs.” he replied honestly and without hesitation.

“Fair enough. This should be everyone’s priority.” Rhaenyra agreed. “But is there anything that you would like to have for you, personally?”

“Ah… for me?” Daeron looked taken aback by the question. “I don’t know, really… I have Tessarion and she makes me really happy. Also… I love my sister Helaena, but I can also see that she is too kind, too trusting. She may be a Targaryen, but her heart is not made of fire and blood. And if I am not here to protect her, I pray that her future husband would be a kind and honest man.”

“Would you like to stay by their side? Your mother’s and sister’s?” Rhaenyra asked, her mind weighing the consequences of the plan she started to devise in her mind. It was absolutely necessary to keep Aegon and Aemond out of the Red Keep, and, perhaps, it was prudent to do the same with Daeron. Yet, time had shown, that his absence from her sight brought more harm than good. Daeron was not intrinsically evil, vengeful, ambitious or prone to self-indulgence. He was a reserved man in all respects, kind as his father, yet more capable with sword and other martial pursuits. 

“Would you like to stay with them?” Rhaenyra repeated her question, studying Daeron’s face as his eyes shone with desperate hope.

“Of course, I do, more than anything!” he exclaimed fervently, but dropped his gaze shyly that instant. “But how?” he murmured, this time sadly. “Lord Hobert is expecting me in Oldtown, and mother thinks that I am returning right after the end of the festivities.”

“That is correct, but as we can see, their plans do not align with your aspirations, do they?”

“No…” he mumbled, his eyes downcast. “But I have no idea, how I can make them think otherwise.”

“Sometimes tragic events can be transformed into something good.” the princess uttered, as a meaningful smile played upon her lips.

“Tragic events and something good?” Daeron lifted his eyes to Rhaenyra and tilted his head, puzzled by her words. “I am afraid, I am not following you.”

“Oh, that is easy,” the princess smiled, moving closer to her half-brother. “The position you will put yourself in will have certain restrictions, but the outcome of it, I promise, will outweigh all the inconveniences…”

***

As Rhaenyra expected, one of the main questions for the Small Council’s agenda was a vacant place in the White Cloaks contingent.

“Ser Criston was a strong brother of the Kingsguard. But an unfortunate accident took his life prematurely. He passed in peace, I hope?” said the king, looking to Grand Maester sadly. 

“Yes, Your Grace. I am sad to inform you that Ser Criston Cole was taken over by the fever which he developed after his injury. He was found to have passed gently in his sleep, after having been given an extended portion of milk of the poppy. His remains are being prepared by the Silent Sisters.” Grand Maester Mellos informed in solemn voice. “The Lord Commander, Ser Harrold, would like to make haste in finding Ser Criston’s replacement on the Kingsguard.”

Ser Harrold, who was standing to attention behind the king’s chair, cleared his throat. “Your Grace. My lords. The Kingsguard must soon be restored to its full complement of seven. With the help of the Hand, I have invited a number of fine candidates to court. All have passed fair trials.”  

Rhaenyra straightened in her chair, it was her turn to make the move. She assumed the most nonchalant tone to her voice and declared: “We thank you, Ser Harrold. But it will not be necessary. We have a fine candidate, eager to take place of the deceased Ser Criston.” 

Instantaneously, all the eyes turned on her, Otto’s full of suspicion, and father’s curious. She nodded to the guard stationed at the doors to open them and let a person waiting outside in. 

As Daeron stepped into the Small Council chamber a collective gasp passed through the councilmen. The Prince stood across the table and bowed his head in reverence. “Your Grace.” he greeted his father, whose face gained puzzled expression. 

“Daeron? I am always glad to see you, my son, but only the members of the Small Council are allowed to attend the mee—?” Viserys began, but was interrupted by Daeron’s resolute voice.

“I came here on purpose, Your Grace. I beg Your Grace as my king and my father to allow me to become the seventh member of the Kingsguard. It will be a great honour and an important responsibility to protect my family and the realm.” the prince bowed his head, then looked anxiously to his father.

“Your Grace,” Rhaenyra spoke up, “As the heir, I support my brother in his pursuit and consider it to be a noble and honorable duty for Prince Daeron.”

Otto’s eyes narrowed on her, full of hatred and betrayal. Before the king could react, Otto stood up and spoke out of turn.

“Your Grace, it is wise? Prince Daeron is young and inexperienced. We are talking about the lives of Your Grace, Her Grace the queen, princes and princesses of the realm. Isn’t it more prudent to fill the position with a more accomplished knight?”

King Viserys hummed in agreement. “My boy, White Cloaks require great strength and proficiency with sword.” he uttered, perplexed by his son’s request. “It is the life of the king and the royal family that is at stake.” Viserys fell silent and looked to his councillors for guidance.

Rhaenyra felt a flash of disappointment. The father was more compliant when it concerned Aegon and Aemond. This time he seemed reluctant, as if he disliked the idea. But it was absolutely a fine one, a foolproof way to keep Daeron out of trouble and bury his claim to the throne at the same time. Not that the king saw any danger in his son, he had always been blind to such things, but Rhaenyra knew the truth and about the hopes the Hightowers had for the prince.

As her mind desperately was searching for arguments, Daemon spoke up, garnering attention of all the lords present. “Daeron is young, but even now I can see his full potential. Under proper tutelage he will reach the heights not known before.”

“And who this tutor would be?” Otto narrowed his eyes suspiciously, waiting for a trap.

“Well, as the Commander of the City Watch I spend great deal of time training my Gold Cloaks. No doubt, I can spare some time to my own nephew.” came Daemon’s response and everyone’s heads turned to him. 

The prince’s face gained the most benevolent expression, showing the purity of his intentions. Yet, Rhaenyra could see how his mouth twitched slightly, chasing off a smile, trying to force its way to his lips. And she was enormously grateful to Daemon for support and understanding.

Otto surely did not expect that. His eyes grew wide as he was staring at Daemon, unblinking. Apparently, he expected that Daemon would try to push the young prince away, send back to Oldtown where his older brother Hobert would poison his mind further, sinking his treacherous claws right into Daeron’s heart. But what Otto could not predict was support. 

“I am sure, Her Grace the queen will be happy to have her son by her side, especially, in the view of the paths her other sons have chosen.” chimed in Rhaenyra. 

“Her Grace the queen…” Otto mumbled, taken aback. 

Well, thought Rhaenyra, the Queen will definitely like having her most polite, handsome and pleasant son by her side. But what will she say about the fact that White Cloaks are forbidden from owning lands, taking a wife or fathering children…

“Uncle,” Daeron broke the silence, followed by Otto’s mumbling. “That is an honour. I will be delighted to be trained by such a seasoned warrior like you.”

“Ah… This is the most generous offer, brother.” said Viserys and Daemon tilted his head reverently in response.

The Rogue Prince could be a good actor when he wanted to. It was apparent for Rhaenyra, that Daemon felt nothing but hatred to each and every Hightower spawn, yet, for their common cause, he was ready to smile and even take under his wing one of them. Not that it was something particularly unpleasant, since Daeron was unlike his brothers and better in many respects, yet he was half-Hightower, had been wearing green for years and served Lord Hobert.

Meanwhile, after such display of affection, any doubts lingering in he king’s heart, dissipated. He graced Daemon and Daeron with a fatherly smile and gave his consent.

“As you wish, my son. I will trust you with my own life and that of our family.” King Viserys proclaimed. 

Otto’s tried to protest weakly, but was ignored, his voice drowned out by words of congratulations and praise from the members of the Small Council. Undoubtedly, he would rush to queen Alicent after the meeting adjourned, but it was a fool’s hope to believe that they could still change either the king’s decision or Daeron’s.

***

The initiation ceremony took place in the Thorne Room, with all the pomp and significance it required. King Viserys’ solemnly descended from the steps of the Iron Throne, but his regal facade cracked when he was laying Blackfyre on each of Daeron’s shoulders, proclaiming him a brother of the Kingsguard. Tears glistened in Viserys’ eyes, but these were tears of pride and joy, while Alicent’s welled with tears of anger and despair. Daeron, in his turn, swore to protect the king and the royal family with his own life, to obey king’s commands, and to keep secrets; he also swore that he would own no land, take no wife or father a child.

Later Daeron revealed the names of the lords who supported Lord Hobert’s idea of rebellion and putting him on the throne. Those were mostly lords from the Reach and from the Westerlands. The traitors quickly changed their mind, though, as soon as Daemon and Caraxes made their appearance. All of them were requested to pledge fealty to Rhaenyra as the only rightful heir to king Viserys, while Lord Hobert was stripped of his title of the head of the House Hightower. He was given three choices: death by dragonflame, lifelong prison confinement or to take the black. He chose the last option, although, with his state of health Rhaenyra had serious doubts, if he even would be able to make it as far as up to the North. She was inclines to think, that fever would take his life earlier than that. 

The trust to the House Hightower was undermined and regardless the fact that Ser Otto allegedly was not involved in the conspiracy, he was dismissed from his position as the Hand of the King.

Daeron looked resplendent in his white milky armour, white cloak over his shoulders and a longsword strapped to his hip. True to his promise, Daemon took his nephew under the tutelage, thus helping him to improve his skills greatly and become a proficient and dangerous swordsman. Daeron was a shadow of his mother, sister and father, happy to be with them and follow their every step, while greatly relieved that he no longer had to travel back to Oldtown and become a pawn in someone’s treacherous hands.

Chapter Text

~~ Helaena ~~

Princess Helaena was plump and not striking as the most of the Targaryens, yet her nature was pleasant and happy, leaving no doubt that she would make a wonderful mother. She had a smile and a kind word for everyone, always laughing heartily at jokes and dancing merrily at balls. There was no threat whatsoever associated with this girl and it warmed Rhaenyra’s heart that there was no need to be cautious around her. She had it enough with her half-brothers previously, but once two of them were gone from Kings Landing and Daeron became a sworn brother of the Kingsguard, pledging his loyalty to the king and his family, Rhaenyra felt as elated as she had not been since her mother’s death, plunging into marital bliss with Daemon and two of their sons. 

However, despite Helaena’s plain appearance and simple nature, the princess proved to be a true Targaryen when she claimed Dreamfyre, a slender pale blue she-dragon with silver markings, once mount of Rhaena, Maegor the Cruel’s “Black Bride”. There was a strong bond between the princess and her dragon and she quite often asked for a king’s leave to go to the Dragonpit and flew as far as to Driftmark and back. 

While Rhaenyra invited Helaena numerous times to choose Dragonstone as her destination, it was Driftmark in particular the younger princess enjoyed. Doubts began to ring in Rhaenyra’s head, but she chased them away, explaining it as Helaena’s whim. Perhaps, these were cold winds and mists of Dragonstone she disliked. 

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra continued her own path of strengthening her position at court. The boys were not that little anymore, and there was less need for them to spend the days in the tranquil seclusion of their ancestral seat. Lesser and lesser lords whispered their discontent with the king’s choice of heir, while increasing number of them warmed to the idea and accepted it as a precedent in the royal family. 

***

The day felt heavy after the Small Council meeting and Court session Rhaenyra attended with her father. Although they were too much similar to each other, boring her to tears, the king insisted that she attended all of them. “People should see their future queen. Your figure beside the Iron Throne should become a common sight for the subjects.” Rhaenyra could not argue with that, and so she obediently stood or sat at the foot of the throne, while her father administered justice.

In the comfort of her chambers she almost fell asleep, sitting in the armchair, while the door screeched and in came Daemon. The anxious glint in his lilac eyes signalled that he was bearing some news which, unfortunately, would not allow them to spend the rest of the evening in serenity.

Rhaenyra patted on the settee beside herself, inviting him to join. “I thought we would have a pleasant evening, just you and I. But it seems there is someone else here, occupying your thoughts.” she teased. “What bothers you this time, my love?”

Daemon’s face fell upon hearing it, and guilt flickered in his eyes, replacing anxiety. “You are so right, my sweet little dragon, sometimes I feel like there are three of us in the bed: you, me, and the fucking Queen.”

“What has she done this time?” Rhaenyra puzzled. “I thought she ran out of sons to make them kings and put on the throne. Or…” she shuddered at the idea which came to her mind, “Is she again pregnant?”

“Gods, no!” grimaced Daemon, as horrified by the idea as Rhaenyra was.

“What is it then?” she asked, moving closer to her husband, so close that she could hear the beating of his heart. 

This closeness and gentle rubbing of his back helped him to relax as he started talking. “I know better than to trust a Hightower, so I check all Alicent’s letters to her father before sending them. The same with letters she receives from him.”

“Oh?” Rhaenyra creased her brow curiously. “Do you mean to tell that the queen has already started conspiring with her father? It has been only months since his dismissal.”

“She has. This time it is about your half-sister.”

“Helaena?” Rhaenyra asked, surprised. “What use do they have of her? She is just a girl and stands no chance to become a pawn in their game of thrones.”

“That is correct. But their pursuit is not the throne. Even if it was denied to them, there is one thing the Hightowers can obtain.” he paused, and his face gained dark expression. “Dragons. It will untie their hands and give further scope for action.”

Rhaenyra watched her husband’s troubled face, then cradled it with her both hands and ran fingers down his forehead and cheeks, as if to smooth the lines appearing from troubling thoughts.

“They can dream about dragons as much as they like, yet they will never have them.” she stated calmly. 

“You underestimate their cunning.” he objected.

“Do I?” Rhaenyra’s levity evaporated and she grew as serious as Daemon.

“They can get them in their family through marriage. Helaena will not ascend the throne, but she can produce children who will have Targaryen blood and might claim dragons. And that makes her a useful tool in someone’s grasping hands and her breed - a dangerous weapon.” said Daemon glumly.

Rhaenyra winced at revelation. It did not occur to her that the time would come for Helaena to get married and the choice of husband must be wise and groom loyal to the crown. She sighed, shaking her head. No sooner had she thought that her own future as well as of her children was secured, then another danger took its shape and started looming in the horizon.

“Who do they have in mind?” she asked wearily.

“I do not know yet. But I will have this knowledge soon, perhaps today. The Queen was supposed to be visiting your father this evening. Why don’t we join them?” he suggested, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Unaware of his plan Rhaenyra gave him a questioning look. 

“Maegor was a suspicious man and the paths he built within the walls of the Red Keep will let us be present at the conversation, yet remain unseen.” he said conspiratorially.

Rhaenyra gasped at the audacity of the plan — to spy on the king and queen was treason, but to conspire behind the king’s and heir’s backs, arranging matches for a Targaryen princess, was even worse. And the end must be put to it before it transformed into some real threat.

“Fine.” she replied, full of resolve. “Come on, then. It is usually at this hour my father sups with Alicent. We do not want to miss anything of it, do we?” Daemon returned her a savage smile, which flashed across her face and, grabbing by the hand, led through the hidden door inside the passage.

They reached their destination right on time, when the voice of the Kingsguard announced the Queen. Daemon pressed his index finger to his lips urging Rhaenyra to stay quite, whatever she would hear. She nodded obediently and leant against the cold stone wall. Listening carefully, she was amazed how clear all the sounds were, as if she was present in the room.

At first everything seemed rather boring, the royal couple talked about some minor matters concerning household, while the clinking sounds and hurried footsteps signalled that the servants were laying the table for supper.

Stiff from standing in the same position for a long time, Rhaenyra thought it best to leave, hoping that the Queen would reveal her intentions in letters  to Ser Otto which Daemon would very conveniently check before allowing maester to send them.

“Helaena turns sixteen in a sennight. She comes of age, Viserys.” sounded Alicent’s happy voice amidst their relaxed conversation. Rhaenyra shared an alarmed look with Daemon and pressed her ear to the wall again.

“Oh, yes, you are right, my love. Our sweet little Helaena is no longer that little and someone else should have a chance to enjoy her sweetness.” Rhaenyra heard her father chuckle at his own joke. 

“Have you discussed the matter with your council?” the Queen asked, and Rhaenyra knew very well, that they obviously had not. She had attended all the recent Small Council meetings and while a lot of important issues were discussed, none of them concerned Princess Helaena’s marriage.

“Uhm, no…” replied king Viserys, expectantly.

“Well, if so, let me help you to arrange a fine match. Like your grandmother, the Good Queen Alysanne did. It will be quite fitting to continue this tradition.” came Alicent’s voice, while Daemon’s face twisted in a scowl. He mouthed a not very flattering name for the Queen, but Rhaenyra waved her hand, urging him to stay quiet and listen close. She wondered what her father would say to such an audacious offer.

“Oh? Good, good, I am pleased to hear that.” to Rhaenyra’s horror the king replied eagerly, always happy that there was someone to make a decision instead of him. “Can I have the names of the candidates?”

Alicent paused for a moment, then declared, “Lord Ormund Hightower will make a fine match for our daughter.” Alicent said and Rhaenyra had to stifle a gasp. Putting herself together, she listened even more carefully to what her father would say. 

“Lord Hightower? You can’t be serious!” the king exclaimed indignantly, much to Rhaenyra’s relief.

It was the most ridiculous proposal the Queen could have made. After the plot to put forward Daeron’s claim as the son of the king above Rhaenyra’s, the House Hightower fell from the king’s grace. The idea to join the Houses was preposterous and only Alicent could have impudence to propose such a match.

“Look, my dearest, I am convinced that—” the queen began.

“But, Alicent!” Viserys cut the queen off, “I cannot possibly do that. The lords in the Reach conspired against my choice of heir, against Rhaenyra!” he resented.

“Some of them, Viserys, not all of them! And those who did were severely punished. There is no need to aggravate relationships between the Crown and the Reach. Do not forget that Oldtown is the centre of the Faith and the Citadel was very much disappointed that all those lords were punished without going through proper trial.”

“They were disappointed, really?” her father grunted. “Stop talking nonsense, Alicent! The traitors were punished according to their crimes, there was no place for mercy. Enough! Let us speak no more of it!” he exasperated.

Rhaenyra shot Daemon a satisfied smile, happy that the king brushed Alicent’s suggestion off. Yet, her triumph was short-lived, as the queen insisted further.

“But wouldn’t you like to mend this rift?” she asked. “Isn’t it your priority to keep a peaceful and united realm, and not to sow the seeds of discontent? By proposing the marriage between our daughter and Lord Ormund we will show our good will. It will be a generous gesture of a peaceful king. Not to mention that the High Septon will be most delighted to unite a Targaryen bride and the groom coming from the Hightowers, defenders of the Citadel.”

These arguments could not but sway the ever peaceful king. There was little surprise, that he would go to great length just to pretend that everything was fine and there was no threats looming in the horizon. His initial anger soothed and he fell silent, apparently, pondering Alicent’s words.

“I wish more than anything to pass a peaceful kingdom to my daughter, but I doubt that Rhaenyra and Daemon will appreciate this idea.” he said gruffly.

“They will warm up to our choice,” Alicent replied in a honeyed voice and Rhaenyra rolled her eyes at the words our choice. It was her idea and, surely, that of Otto, while she rather masterfully managed to plant it into the king’s head.

“Promise me, you will think about it, my love?” she said sweetly. Then the rustling sound of skirts drifted to Rhaenyra’s ears, making her wonder what was happening inside the chamber.

“Promise?” again came the voice, followed by the kissing sound and soft moaning.

“Ahh…”

“Promise?” this time it was said in a barely audible whisper and more sounds of pleasure echoed in the chamber. “Thank you, my love, it is a wise decision…”

Rhaenyra flushed slightly and exchanged an exasperated look with Daemon. There was no further need to stand there and listen to their intimacy. Daemon took her by the hand and led away, his grip tight and hot with anger.

“The idiot agreed!” was the first thing Daemon exclaimed once they reached the safety of their chamber.

“Of course, he did, Alicent uses all her charms on him, and father has never been strong enough to resist.” admitted Rhaenyra with a heavy sigh. “And it falls on us not to let this marriage happen.”

“Shall I fly to Oldtown and arrange an accident to the new Lord Hightower?” Daemon asked, cocking his head, hope in his voice.

Though grateful for his efficiency, Rhaenyra shook his head. 

“It is only a half-measure. They will find another eligible lord from their House and my father will be even more eager to make this match, feeling sorry for Lord Ormund’s untimely demise.”

Thinking for a moment, Daemon gave a small hesitant nod. “I will not be surprised. I wonder how you are going to deal with our queen and her plotting this time, my smart little dragon.” With that he lifted Rhaenyra up and carried to their bed, intent on continuing the evening, doing some more pleasurable activities…

***

It rankled Rhaenyra that the Hightowers were so ambitious that they were ready to use even sweet innocent Helaena as their pawn, forcing her into marriage with a man older than she was and without giving a slightest thought to her feelings. Obviously, marriages within high lords and royals were made to strengthen the Houses and forge alliances, yet the history showed that it did not always mean some loveless thing. 

As for king Viserys, Helaena was just a daughter for him, a sweet and tender girl, but one important thing slipped from the king’s mind — she was a dragon rider and could produce children who could also become dragon riders one day. Perhaps, this simple thought did not occur to their father, since his own dragon had deceased years and years ago, and he neither considered, nor attempted taking another one. 

The prerequisites for Rhaenyra’s smooth and safe reign was to have all the dragons on her side, none of them given to the Houses which could not be trusted enough. And Rhaenyra was certain, that the House Hightower would not be among the loyalists when her time to ascend the throne came. Consequently, Helaena was not just a sweet princess, but a powerful weapon, dangerous if given to the wrong hands. 

For a fleeting moment, Rhaenyra felt the urge to visit her father and warn him against the consequences of the wrong match chosen for Helaena. However, she thought better than disclosing the fact that she was spying on the king right in his chambers. A smarter, more cautious way to pose this question should be used.

Overwhelmed by the thoughts, flooding her mind after the conversation she overheard, Rhaenyra headed to the Dragonpit, hoping that flying on Syrax would help to assuage her anxiety.

Reaching the top of the hill, she spied two figures standing not far from the entrance to the Pit, so close that their foreheads brushed against each other. The cloaks they were wearing disguised their persons, but before Rhaenyra could know it, a dark shadow glided over the ground and a pale blue dragon landed near the couple.

“Dreamfyre,” whispered Rhaenyra, taking in the blue form with silver markings in front of her.

The couple, however, did not panic at the sight of this intimidating creature, instead, one of them, the woman, reached her hand to rub the dragon’s scales. For a split second Rhaenyra thought that they were in great danger, dragons did not like to be touched by strangers. Yet, the dragon only purred and lowered her neck, welcoming the caresses.

Next moment the woman lowered her hood, revealing beautiful waterfall of silver hair and, pulling the man to herself, reached to kiss him.

“Heleana?!” exclaimed Rhaenyra, recognising the young woman who was standing before her eyes. 

Caught by surprise, they pulled away, staring at Rhaenyra with wild eyes. She did not mean to startle them with her ambush, but they were too much engrossed into each other and, apparently, wished to keep their meeting in secret. Helaena gasped, covering her lips with her hand, and lifting her skirts so that not to trip on them, ran away. Once her rider left, the same did Dreamfyre. The dragon screeched and, flapping her wings twice, took to the skies.

Meanwhile, Rhaenyra looked at the man, studying him with barely hidden curiosity. He had pale skin and peculiar shade of blonde hair, practically white, his features were fine and handsome. He was not very tall, more on the smaller side, yet his body was svelte and lithe. There was little wonder why Helaena was attracted to him, Rhaenyra could be as well, but she had eyes only for her beloved uncle.

The young man was as courteous as he was good-looking — he fell on his knee before Rhaenyra and bowed his head in deference. “Your Grace,” he said, “let me assure you—” he began fervently.

To that Rhaenyra stepped forward, and taking him by the elbows, urged him to rise. “No need for such courtesies, I am not the queen. Not yet.” she said good-naturedly. He seemed as frightened as Helaena was, but it fell upon him to provide explanations.

When asked, he told the story eagerly, sharing all the details, so amusing that Rhaenyra had to stifle the gasps, lest she would seem impolite.

Rhaenyra learnt that his name was Addam and that he had been born to a woman named Marilda, a daughter of a shipwright. She worked at her father shipyards and after his death used the proceeds to captain a trading cog she called Mouse — a moniker given to her for her small stature, quick wit and movements.

Though the origins of Addam were uncertain, his mother claimed that he and his brother Alyn were fathered by Ser Laenor Velaryon, Rhaenyra’s cousin, whose life was taken some time ago by his friend and favourite Ser Qarl Correy in a heated quarrel which led to drawing steel.

Addam had a chance to meet Princess Helaena during one of her visits to Driftmark. Immediately caught by each other’s beauty and spirit, they soon became attracted to each other, harbouring tender feelings. The obstacles that threatened to tear their growing romance apart were soon overcame with Helaena sneaking from the Keep and visiting Driftmark under the pretext of flying Dreamfyre. 

This time, however, it was Addam who sailed to Kings Landing and made his way to the Dragonpit where he could see the Princess privately.

“I beseech Your Grace not to disclose our relationships to the king. I am afraid that His Grace will not take it kindly.” implored Addam, his lilac eyes pleading.

Rhaenyra hesitated for a moment before giving her answer. On the one hand, this young man dared to court the princess of the realm in secret, putting under threat her reputation and virtue. But on the other, that moment between Addam and Helaena was tender and genuine, the relationships passionate enough to undertake risk for the sake of some short time spent together.

And so she stood silent, processing the information and observing the daring young man before her. Addam took her silence for the sign of displeasure and fell to his knees again.

To Rhaenyra’s amusement, he started speaking passionately about his loyalty to her and her claim to the throne, emphasizing his unwavering support.

“Does Lord Corlys know about you and your family?” asked Rhaenyra.

“He does, I think…” mumbled Addam. “I have not met him in person, though.”

“He was most depressed after Ser Laenor demise.” she said, giving the last appraising look to Addam, trying to find Laenor’s features on his handsome youthful face. That he was dragonseed, there was no doubt. It crossed Rhaenyra’s mind that both, Corlys and Rhaenys, would find happiness in discovering their grandsons.

“I appreciate your loyalty, Ser Addam.” Rhaenyra declared graciously. She needed allies, and dragonseeds could be especially useful.

“Just Addam, Addam of Hull.” corrected the young man humbly. “I am not Ser.”

Not yet… thought Rhaenyra.

***

Since then Helaena desperately tried to avoid Rhaenyra, either ashamed of the closeness with the unfamiliar man she witnessed or because she was afraid that the older Princess would reveal that intimate secret to their father, thus displeasing His Grace. Rhaenyra thought for a while how to best approach her sister, until a solution came to her mind.

Instead of meeting Helaena in person, Rhaenyra sent her a note, saying:

What I saw near the Dragonpit, was it true?

And that was it. Helaena would understand. The answer came quicker than Rhaenyra expected and was even shorter than her own note.

Yes.

As talkative and giggly Helaena was, this time she seemed to be at a loss for words. Well, it did not matter, though, Rhaenyra learnt what she wanted anyway. Addam and Helaena made a fine couple, half Valyrian on both sides and now she had Addam’s loyalty. Moreover, by arranging their match, Rhaenyra would win Helaena’s favour and eternal gratitude. Their children had more chances to become dragonriders than those coming from the marriage with the Hightower, but for Rhaenyra and her own heirs it was only for the better — the more loyal dragon riders were there in their family, the stronger the Targaryens would become.

What lay ahead, though, was gaining the king’s approval, while not letting Alicent get in the way.

Chapter Text

~~ Helaena ~~

Daemon blinked two times, his face expressing nothing, but surprise.

“Laenor’s bastard?” he snorted and shook his head, unwilling to believe this... What? A lie? Could Adam have lied to Rhaenyra? “I spent great deal of time with him on the Stepstones, never ever did he mention his desire for a girl. When all of us were desperate to seek closeness with our wives, or those who were unmarried with whores, Laenor was perfectly happy in the company of young squires.” Daemon furrowed his brows, playing absentmindedly with the curls of Rhaenyra’s silver hair.

“Do you— do you think he lied?” puzzled Rhaenyra, upset that the sand castle she had built in her imagination started to collapse.

Daemon shrugged his shoulders uncertainly. “Or his mother did.”

“He looked like true Valyrian.” countered Rhaenyra. He was unmistakingly a dragonseed, with violet eyes and silver hair.

Daemon nodded, then narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “And probably he is. But coming not from Laenor’s seed, but from Corlys’.”

Rhaenyra gasped at the revelation. “But Corlys— Corlys is happily married to Rhaenys! Has been for long years. He could never—”

“That is why Adam’s identity has been kept secret.”

Unexpectedly to herself, Rhaenyra threw her head back and laughed. “By Gods, I did not expect to poke my nose into so many private matters. Neither, Helaena’s affair, nor this. It seems, all of them have a lot to hide under the facade of decency.”

“Yet, they call me Rogue Prince and say that we elope to marry.” winked Daemon mischievously.

“And only think of Alicent! What a hypocrite, always hiding under the cloak of self-righteousness! She has been preaching all this time, condemning our secret marriage, while her own daughter slips away from the castle unchaperoned for a secret date with a young man, a bastard on top of that!” exclaimed Rhaenyra, unsure, if she found the fact to be a funny one or scandalous.

Daemon clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Grandsire would have given Helaena to the Faith, made her a Silent Sister, like he did with aunt Saera.”

“Perhaps, he would, but Father is not Grandsire.” shrugged Rhaenyra.

“Oh no, he is not!” snorted Daemon, as always critical of his brother’s reign.

“I mean, he is too soft and kind and loving.” explained Rhaenyra.

“And that is why, because he is so kind loving, we have the whole breed of Hightower whelps.” said Daemon with unveiled derision in his voice.

He then sighed, cradling Rhaenyra’s face between his palms. “Do you truly wish to stir the shit of the Velaryons?”

“I have to.” she replied and Daemon shook his head, aware that there was no sense in trying to dissuade her. “For Helaena. For our sons.”

“Alicent will never allow this marriage to happen. Over her dead body. It ruins her plans to gift a dragon to the Hightowers and tarnishes her daughters reputation by tying her to a bastard.” remarked Daemon in a low voice.

“It matters not what Alicent wants or thinks. All we need is Helaena’s wish, the king’s permission and Corlys’ legitimisation of Addam.” declared Rhaenyra, ever more sure in the plan forming in her head.

Daemon stared at her, a line creasing his brow. “It is quite a lot, my little dragon.”

“There is some work to be done, but I think I can manage that. I need to go to the Velaryons first. And you have to cover my absence. Rhaenyra sighed and added wistfully, “My dear mother would have never been happy with my father’s choice of wife, but I hope, she would have approved of my actions towards my half-siblings.”

***

As Helaena’s name day was fast approaching, as well as the announcement of her betrothal, Rhaenyra did not waste a minute and reined Syrax towards Driftmark. 

The intimidating form of the High Tide stood upon the cliff, guarded at the entrance by four knights in the Velaryon armour of teal and silver, with a seahorse blazoned on their chests.

Luckily, Laena and Princess Rhaenys left to Spicetown, and the castellan led Rhaenyra directly to Lord Corlys.

“Princess Rhaenyra! To what do I owe your visit?” the Sea Snake exclaimed, putting aside the papers he had been working on. 

Before speaking, Rhaenyra looked around the chamber, admiring rare collections of weapons, seashells, and objects d’art brought by the Sea Snake from his numerous voyages. 

Before long, she felt Corlys’ glance on her, straightened her back, cleared her throat and said, “I have come to discuss a matter of importance with you, Lord Corlys.”

Without asking about the nature of the said matter, Corlys reached for a small silver bell, “I shall summon Rhaenys and Laena.”

“This won’t be necessary, my Lord.” Rhaenyra raised her hand, stopping him. “I arrived to talk to you personally, Lord Corlys. The matter is delicate, so I would welcome some privacy, as would you, I suppose.”

Corlys shot her a puzzled look, and clasped hands behind his back. “Fine, fine. As you wish, Princess.” He nodded towards a cushioned settee, inviting Rhaenyra to make herself comfortable.

“Does the name Addam of Hull say anything to you, my Lord?” inquired Rhaenyra, joining Corlys on the soft settee.

He froze for a moment, his features hard and indecipherable. After a pregnant pause he uttered, “This name is familiar to me. He is the son of Marilda of Hull, owner of a trading cog.”

“And his father?” asked Rhaenyra.

“There is no father. The boys were born out of wedlock.” he replied sharply.

“Well, there must be a man who fathered them anyway. Do you happen to know anything about him?”

Rhaenyra’s insistence made Corlys uncomfortable. There was no answer he could give to her question but a frown. It occurred to her that Daemon could be right. What if Addam was Corlys’ bastard, not Laenor’s? That explained the cloak of secrecy draped over the young man’s origins.

“May I offer you some wine?” said Corlys, taking two goblets and a pitcher. She declined politely, but Corlys poured himself a full goblet up to the rim and drained it in several gulps. Apparently, this conversation made his throat dry and he was unwilling to reveal the truth.

“Addam and his brother Alyn are Laenor’s sons, aren’t they?” ventured Rhaenyra, tired of beating around the bush.

Corlys was taken aback by her straightforwardness, sighing heavily, he asked, “How do you know?”

“Addam told me that. About his mother and his brother Alyn. That they were Laenor’s sons. To tell the truth, only blind could not see that.” she replied, watching the emotions flashing across his face. Regret, anxiety, sadness, fear. And most of all hurt. The memory of his deceased son and heir was painful, as were his preferences of men over women.

After a moment of silence and pondering, he sighed, rubbing his face. “I know all that. Sadly, Marrilda was the only woman Laenor could be attracted to. I had my guesses that it was her appearance — she oft wore tunic and breeches, was slim and flat-breatsed, her hair cut short… I mean, she looked  more like a young squire, than a proper lady.” he mumbled miserably. It was a peculiar sight to watch how a proud lord was crushed under the weight of his child’s sins. 

The Sea Snake lifted up his eyes, searching accusation on Rhaenyra’s face. There was none. Yet, he said defensively, “Marilda and her sons are well provided, all their needs are satisfied, the trading cog she uses to provide for her family is my gift.”

“I thought she sold her father’s shipyard and used the proceeds for that purpose.”

“She did, however, it was not enough. I gave her the rest. But how— how did you know about them? Did you go to Hull?” 

“No, it was Addam who went to Dragon Pit.” she replied, watching how Corlys’ face distorted in anger.

“By Gods! Did the lad try to claim a dragon of his own?! I thought I made it clear to him—” he fumed.

Rhaenyra raised her hand in placating manner. “My lord, you get it all wrong. I will not deny that Addam tried to claim a dragon, but not in the sense that you think.” Now it was the Sea Snake’s turn to stare curiously at Rhaenyra. “He was with princess Helaena Targaryen. And I can assure you that, they love each other.”

It took a moment for Corlys to understand the meaning of Rhaenyra’s words, and she could well see how calculating were his eyes. The Sea Snake was not a man of sentiments, throughout his life he was mostly driven by ambitions and desire to have more wealth and power. Now, there was a handsome gift waiting for him, if only…

“The boy will need my acknowledgement, if he is bold enough to court the princess of blood.” he uttered thoughtfully.

“That is certainly so, my lord.” replied Rhaenyra, fighting a smile which was making its way to her lips.

Surely, Corlys Velaryon would not waste an opportunity to become closer to the royal family and have dragonriding grandchildren on top of that.

“I will petition His Grace King Viserys to remove the taint of bastardy from Addam and Alyn.” he resolved.

Rhaenyra felt a sudden wave of triumph. Part of her work was done. Meanwhile, Corlys continued, “There is no sense in hiding from yourself. I should have done it earlier, acknowledged them as my grandsons.” From his tone Rhaenyra could tell the loss of Laenor still pained him. “Do you want to know why I have not done it yet?” he asked, a tired smile gracing his features. 

Rhaenyra nodded, curious to know the whole truth of it. Before speaking he shook his head and snorted. “I did not want to offend my fiery-tempered wife. You know Rhaenys, don’t you? She would definitely think that the boys were mine! She thinks she knows Laenor too well, and that there was no chance for him to—” he swallowed hard before continuing, “to sire a son. Two sons.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the opening doors and the guard announcing arrival of Princess Rhaenys.

“I was not informed of Princess Rhaenyra’s arrival.” said Rhaenys, entering. “I am so happy to see you, my dear.” she opened her arms and wrapped Rhaenyra in a warm embrace. Pulling away, she looked between Corlys and her. “What are you two talking about?” 

“Lord Corlys will surely tell you everything, Princess Rhaenys.” Rhaenya gave the brightest of her smiles and nodded courteously before letting the Velaryons talk privately. Corlys was a smart man and would find suitable words to impart this secret, while Rhaenys would love the idea of having newly found grandchildren, someone reminding her of her dear Laenor.

***

The last link in the chain was king Viserys himself. Despite the arguments Rhaenyra had prepared to convince her father that the match arranged by Alicent was ill-suited and posed threat to her own future as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, she was anxious to have this conversation, especially in the view of all the secrets she unraveled.

Rhaenyra found her father in elated mood, busy with trying the samples of  courses for Helaena’s birthday feast. There was a small mountain of pies with different fillings on a silver plate in front of him and, swallowing a large piece of something which looked like a venison pie, he beamed at Rhaenyra.

“Ahh, my dear daughter! Right on time. Try this, my love,” he said, pushing a plate to Rhaenyra, “I swear, these are the most delicious pies you have ever eaten.”

Though not hungry in the least, Rhaenyra obliged, taking a bite and humming in agreement. She needed her father in the best mood to ensure the success of her plan.

“Which one is better?” the king asked, pointing with a fork between two thick slices. “Venison or boar?”

“Venefon,” she replied through a mouthful of pie. 

“Then we will have both.” her father smiled and Rhaenyra barely resisted an eye roll.

Before he could ask her more questions about the choice of food, Rhaenyra said, “I suppose you will make an announcement about Helaena’s betrothal at her nameday feast.”

For a moment the king seemed taken aback. Corners of his mouth twitched and he pushed away the plate, giving Rhaenyra a weary look. It was a good sign — the question bothered him and he had not fully embraced the idea of giving his daughter’s hand to a Hightower.

“Helaena is coming of age. We need to find her a good match and a decent husband.” he said sounding apologetically.

“And you view Lord Ormund Hightower as such?” Rhaenyra asked, arching her brow. “Or Alicent does?” 

Startled by her awareness, the king shifted on his chair and said reluctantly, “It— it was Alicent’s idea, I will not deny that. She considers Lord Ormund to be a fine match for our daughter.”

“Are we talking about the same Lord Ormund whose House dared to conspire against your other daughter, against the crown?” inquired Rhaenyra, her voice full of indignation.

The King winced at the accusation, but  repeated ideas planted by Alicent in his head. “He was not among the lords involved in the plot. And Alicent’s thinks that the union between our Houses will help to mend the rift with the Reach, with the Faith.”

“Father, are we supposed to look for their forgiveness now? Aren’t we dragons and is it not our prerogative to command and pass judgment to those who plot against the crown?”

These words earned her a proud look from the king. Her every initiative made him incredibly happy, proving once again that he had made the right choice of heir. But next moment his face fell and brows creased, irritated that the decision which had already been made for him was not right and needed reconsideration.

“Fine, fine! What do you suggest?” he threw his hands in the air, voice full of exasperation.

“Look at me, yourself, your parents and grandparents.” began Rhaenyra. She practiced the speech in advance and hoped she would sound persuasive enough. Not that it was particularly difficult to convince her father and bend to her will, but this time the stakes were high — it was the life and happiness of her half-sister they were discussing.

The mentioning of his parents brought a wistful air to the king’s face. Seeing that, Rhaenyra pressed further. “King Jaehaerys was generous enough to allow Rhaenys to choose Corlys. Don’t you wish to continue your Grandsire’s legacy, by proving once again what a wise and peaceful king you are?”

The words hit the target, as the king wiped tears, welling up his eyes. Of course it fed his ego to be compared with Jaehaerys the Consiliator himself.

“But… she still may like Lord Ormund.” Viserys tried to grip at the non-existent chance, afraid to be faced with his wife’s displeasure.

“She will not like him. Of that I am sure.” objected Rhaenyra an was met with a weary look upon her father’s face. It was the right time to tell about Addam and his desire to court Helaena. “Helaena’s favour belongs to another man.”

“Oh?” his eyes instantly lit with curiosity.

And so Rhaenyra told the whole story, emphasising that Lord Corlys Velaryon wished to petition the king to remove the taint of bastardy from Addam and his brother Alyn. If only he complied and legitimised the brothers, Addam would become Addam Velaryon and Corlys’ heir to Driftmark. Helaena, in her turn, could be the lady of Driftmark. That was a perfect match indeed, preventing the waste of Valyrian blood and seed.

“Let her choose. Do not deprive your daughter of this right, not when you and me made our own choices.” Rhaenyra almost pleaded. 

Her father’s gaze softened and face gained a sympathetic expression. “Of course I want the best for you, all of you.” he said. “But Alicent is also right, we must keep the realm together and mend all the rifts and squabbles. More than anything in the world, I wish you to inherit a peaceful and prosperous realm, my sweet daughter.” he said honestly, taking Rhaenyra by her hands. She was grateful to her father for the trust he put in her and for the attempts to secure her future reign, albeit most of them either useless or having the opposite effect.

“I know you want it. But you can secure my reign with the allies, those which will never turn their backs on me, break their oaths and conspire. Ser Addam is a loyal man, of that I am certain, he pledged his fealty to me.”

Rhaenyra put an inkwell and a parchment in front of her father, then pressed a quill into his hand.

“Come on, write a decree, legitimising Addam. It does not take much to make your daughter happy. And with that secure my future reign.”

Father’s gaze flickered between Rhaenyra and piece of parchment. She gave him an encouraging nod. “Please?”

It had never been especially difficult to break the defences of king Viserys, and Rhaenyra excelled in it. He smiled, and, muttering under his nose something about Alicent’s displeasure, started writing his royal decree legitimising Addam of Hull, now Ser Addam of House Velaryon.

***

Lastly, Rhaenyra had to prepare Helaena for what was to come. The girl was shy, easily intimidated, and it was important for her to keep her spirits up whatever happened.

Rhaenyra found Helaena doing needlework in her chambers. Sewing shirts for the poor brought her enormous pleasure and, taking some fabric and a needle, Rhaenyra joined her in this activity.

Touching upon the topic of her and Addam was as a bit awkward, and they took turns in blushing, first the older princess, then the younger.

“There is no need to hide from me. I am here to support you.”

Helaena sniffled as tears welled up her eyes. “We do not stand a single chance. Addam is just— he is just” the word bastard froze on her lips.

“Not anymore.” Rhaenyra flashed her a radiant smile. “I have convinced Corlys and the King to legitimize him and his brother Alyn. An heir to Driftmark is a decent match, the one your parents would eagerly accept.”

Though relieved, Helaena’s face was still troubled. “Lord Ormund would attend the feast, my mother considers it to be a fine opportunity to start his courtship.” she said, but Rhaenyra knew what they could do with that.

“We will win time, before any announcements are made. Addam will be there as well. Do not try to conceal your feelings, dance with him, smile, be happy and ignore Lord Ormund and his advances as much as you can.” Rhaenyra instructed. There was little doubt that the proud Lord would be furious with such humiliation, yet it would fall in Alicent’s shoulders to provide excuses and explanations. 

“But father—” 

“He agreed. If only it makes you happy.”

Helaena blushed, letting a soft smile curl her lips. Then in an instant she grew serious again, thinking of her mother.

“I have not spoken to the Queen yet, she might be displeased that you have spurned her candidate, but what mother does not wish the best for her child?” said Rhaenyra cheerfully, already anticipating the storm that would come with Alicent’s wrath. Yet, she could explode from anger, for all Rhaenyra cared. 

Helaena looked still unconvinced.

Feeling an urge to cheer her up, Rhaenyra took Helaena’s hands in hers and squeezed in support and reassurance.

“Don’t you worry, little sister. Everything will be fine. Every storm is folllowed by a brighter day, but you need to endure it first to achieve what you want.” 

***

The smell of fine food mixed with flowers decorating the Great Hall filled Rhaenyra’s nostrils. It was nice there, her father excelled in hosting feasts and celebrations. She caught a glimpse of a teal half-cape Addam was now sporting. There was a rich embroidery of a golden seahorse and a matching golden pin — no doubt a gift from his newly found Grandsire and Grandmother. Upon entering he was announced as the heir to Driftmark and his stroll down the isle to pay respects to the royal family was accompanied with gasps and awes.

Lord Ormund Hightower also arrived among the guests - a brown-haired somber unattractive man. Helaena’s face fell upon seeing him. She ducked her head and cast a worried sideways glance to Rhaenyra. The older Princess offered the younger a reassuring nod and smile, there was no time for weakness if they wanted their plan to succeed.

The royal family was seated on the raised dias, while the most noble and honourable guests took their places on its left and right, their proximity to the king according to their status. Helaena tried as much as she could to ignore Ormund’s stares — his seat was so close to the king that it left little room for guesses. “Most certainly, His Grace will announce the betrothal between his daughter and Lord Hightower”. whispered the guests in hushed tones.

One course of food replaced another, wine flowed like water and laughter echoed across the Great Hall. Before long, lords and ladies sated their appetites and moved to the dance floor, eager to stretch their limbs and make space for more delicacies in their stomachs.

With bated breath Rhaenyra watched Helaena swiftly rise from her seat, avoiding Ormund’s stares and attempts to ask her for a dance and hurry to the the corner where Addam was standing, his ears burning red with embarrassment. Never ever had he attended such a grand event, and despite half of his blood being noble, his upbringing was simple as was his life in Hull.

Addam looked up in desperate hope, and there she was — reaching out a hand to him which he happily accepted, leading Helaena to the dance floor.

After that followed another dance, accompanied by merry tunes of the lute and rhythmical beats of the drums. Addam was again Helaena’s partner and so it went on and on, until the desserts were brought in. Lord Ormund shot Alicent looks full of indignation which she returned with a strained smile. The head of the House Hightower, Beacon of the South, Voice of Oldtown and Defender of the Citadel had been ignored the whole evening, humiliation so obvious that no one failed to notice. And as a stark contrast to this indifference, everyone saw the closeness between Princess Helaena and the new heir to Driftmark.

Meanwhile, affection two lovers shared became too evident, even for cold and calculating eye of Queen Alicent. Glowering at her daughter and the man who dared to win her heart, she started hissing something frantically to the king’s ear. Preoccupied with devouring a hearty piece of swan in chestnut sauce, the king dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

“You will announce Helaena’s betrothal to Lord Ormund, will you not?” Rhaenyra heard Alicent saying. The reply she received from the king brought a horrified expression to her face. Her head turned to Helaena and Addam, then back to Viserys.

“Our daughter is to be married to a bastard?” Alicent said contemptuously. “This is preposterous!”

It was high time Rhaenyra intervened, ready to support her father against the Queen’s pressure.

“Ser Addam is not a bastard.” argued Rhaenyra. “He is Lord Corlys’ grandson, His Grace has legitimized him and granted the name Ser Addam Velaryon.” she said, looking askance at Addam who squared her shoulders to stand proud and tall. He looked so very much like Laenor that moment, small wonder Rhaenys embraced the idea to acknowledge him eagerly.

“Our daughter was supposed to heal the relationships with the Reach, with the Citadel. I am convinced—”

“Your opinion is best kept to yourself, for it is of no worth.” Rhaenyra cut her off. “I kindly recommend you to mind your own business, my queen, and allow those who are concerned to rule.” The words came like a slap on Alicent’s face, but Rhaenyra mercilessly continued, “Your daughter will not appreciate it, if you sell her off to the highest bidder. Helaena is not a bargaining chip, she deservs happiness and will have it.”

Alicent shook her head and snorted in derision. “Stop this mummer’s farce, stepdaughter. And better mind your own children, not mine. It was your son who mamed my son, and now you—”

These accusations irked the king who slammed his fist against the table and glared at Alicent. Some of the guests turned their heads, observing the royal family with open curiosity.

“That is enough! All of you!” barked king Viserys. “Our daughter has made a choice you will do well to respect, Alicent. Lord Ormund,” the king addressed the proud Reachman, “I am sorry if you planned to ask for our daughter’s hand. Surely, you will soon find yourself a fine lady from honourable House and I will be more than happy to bless your union.”

Lord Ormund was standing with sheepish look all the time, yet upon hearing this, his cheeks flushed red. However, he managed to compose himself and squeeze out a smile, bowing stiffly to king Viserys. “Your Grace. I will be honoured.” He then retreated from the High table and mingled with the rest of the guests.

All what was left for Alicent was to seeth and brew in anger, irked that her plan to elevate House Hightower and grant them a dragon collapsed before it even started.

They made a nice pair, Helaena and Addam. The princess was all giggly and good-humoured, just like their father, while Addam was somewhat awkward in his movements, more accustomed to climbing masts on his mother’s cog  than dancing at balls or feasting. He was also shy and immensely grateful for the elevation, for being acknowledged in the eyes of his grandfather and the King himself. 

Watching them dance, Rhaenyra made a sip from her goblet, the sweetness of wine soothing her senses, then another one. She closed her eyes for a split second, but when she opened them, the world was whirling around, a horrifying thought about poison administered to her wine, flashed in her mind like a lightning bolt. No, that cannot be true, not when she achieved what she wanted, paving her path to the throne kindly and thoughtfully… Her vision blurred and darkness engulfed her mind, leaving panicked shouts and cries in the distance…

***

“So? How is she?” a familiar voice dragged Rhaenyra from the haze.

“Speak, you bloody bastard, or I will have your tongue!” snarled another voice.

“Stop it, Daemon! This is getting us nowhere! Give the Grand Maester a chance to speak!”

Rhaenyra opened her eyes and blinked several times, until she could see clearly the people towering above her. Their faces were anxious and troubled, Daemon and her father were elbowing each other, trying to win space closer to her bed.

“Oh, sweetheart!” exclaimed the king.

“Little dragon!” gasped Daemon, reaching to her hand and covering it with kisses.

“What— what happened?” Rhaenyra slurred, struggling with pounding ache in her head.

“You fainted, dear.” replied her father, taking her other hand. He gulped and whined, “We feared the worst…”

Rhaenyra turned her gaze to the Grand Maester. Bowing his head in deference, he said, “There is nothing to worry about, Your Grace. The Gods are merciful and blessed you with a child. I  am glad to inform you that you are one moonturn along. Soon enough the Realm will celebrate the birth of a new Targaryen prince or princess.”

***

Eight moonturns later princess Visenya Targaryen was born — a long waited daughter to crown Princess Rhaenyra and her prince-consort Daemon Targaryen. Among the first people who came to greet little girl were Helaena Velaryon and Addam Velaryon, a recently proclaimed heir to the Driftwood throne. Just as Rhaenyra expected, both Addam and Helaena were eternally gratefully for her help in arranging their marriage. Thus, she could rely on their loyalty, when gods bless them with children of their own and potential dragonriders. 

King Viserys was besotted with silver-haired Visenya, stealing the tiny girl, wrapped in velvet blankets from her parent’s arms, while Queen Alicent only huffed and puffed, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She had been holding the grudge since Helaena’s nameday feast, but could do nothing about it — the king welcomed the idea to unite House Targaryen and House Velaryon, as did Corlys and Rhaenys.

Helaena’s path was that of a loving mother and loyal sister, living close to the family she adored, while her husband and children served the Realm and their Queen.

Chapter Text

~~ Alicent ~~

“I am not sure I like him, father.” Alicent said to ser Otto, still unsure that the plan he proposed could work well for all of them.

“You do not have to like him! He should like you, and the crown will do the rest.”  came the reply.

Oh yes. That is what her father told her — crown can make a handsome and charming man even out of a chamber pot. Easier said than done, for she would have to do all the work.

The Queen — Aemma Arryn — had recently died in child labour, leaving His Grace the King widowed and without an heir he needed so desperately. Viserys was a fairly young king, relatively good-looking and without an obvious successor. Surely, he needed a new queen, someone who would be better, stronger and more capable of fulfilling her duties than the late Queen.

“I can see this mutual amiability between you and the King.” the father said shortly after the funeral pyre with the late Queen was burnt. “His Grace has been distressed lately, and as good servants of the realm we must keep his spirits up, right?” the father smiled, lifting up her chin with his finger. “Go, comfort him in his chambers. He will be pleased to have some company apart from his daughter.”

“I am still not sure I like—”

“Stop it!” father hushed her. “It is not about love or hate! Your children will be kings!” 

Otto’s eyes glistened with enthusiasm, so contagious that Alicent could not resist the temptation and did as her father bade her.

The King was upset and lonely, longing for a good and pleasant company, and that Alicent gave him. The fruits of her labours came fast — as soon as the mourning period was over, the royal wedding took place and a golden tiara lay upon Alicent’s head. From then on she was not the lady Alicent Hightower any more, but Her Grace Queen Alicent.

The marriage itself was not that bad, though. King Viserys was really a nice looking and gentle man, and it did not take much to like him. He loved Alicent in a polite and courtly way, but with Alicent’s charm each day their love progressed, almost making the Queen envision her future son on the Iron Throne.

However, as thunder splits the sky during sudden storm, shattering the earth, so shattered was Alicent when the news of the King’s decision reached her ears. The whole realm was summoned to Kings Landing to pledge loyalty to their future Queen, yes, yes — the Queen! Not waiting for their children to be born, Viserys named his daughter Rhaenyra an heir. Could not he wait a bit more? Could not he show patience like he did with Aemma Arryn?

Full of resentment and indignation Alicent rushed to her father’s office, throwing her arms in the air and asking in exasperation, “Father! What is this all about?!”

“What?” ser Otto blinked, not understanding. 

“This— this—” she sputtered, the name bitter on her tongue, “this girl, Rhaenyra! Viserys named her his heir! A girl, his heir!”

“He did, yes.” Otto rolled his eyes. “It was done upon my insistence. Better her, than the Rogue Prince. We do not want to turn the Realm into a brothel, do we?”

“But— but what about me? My children?” Alicent demanded, feeling how indignation bubbled in her chest.

Father gave her an unkind look.

“I cannot hold the throne for an unborn child!” Otto hissed. Seeing how Alicent pouted, he added in a placating manner, “Do what is expected of you, and I will do my part.”

And that she did. Realm needed an heir and Alicent took it upon herself to produce one.

The King once again proved to be a pleasant man, gentle in his touches and easily satisfied. What was so difficult for Aemma Arryn in bedding him was beyond Alicent’s grasp. Perhaps, it was all because the late queen was a sheep from the Vale, while Alicent was more of a fire, like beacon on the Hightower.

Before long Aegon was born and the whole Realm celebrated. Alicent became the person — the Queen — who brought stability. Viserys was over the moon with happiness and ordered to throw a feast as grand as no one had ever seen before. 

Thank Gods, Aegon was a healthy boy with more than healthy appetites. Nothing close to those half-dead creatures the late Queen from the Vale managed to squeeze out.

A robust boy!

A fine prince!

And such like epithets fell from the king’s mouth, but none of them brought Alicent satisfaction or met her expectations.

A fine heir — was what Viserys was supposed to say, for the boy was the heir… wasn’t he?

Time passed, but the word Alicent and Otto longed to hear was not uttered. Not even once.

“How fares my son?” Viserys asked each time he visited the nursery. And as per Alicent’s introductions all the maids and nurses praised everything about Aegon in chorus — starting with his resemblance to his kingly father and then how quickly he grows and fastly learns.

Smiling broadly, Viserys kissed them both — the mother and the child — and left, referring to the need to hear the petitions. Each time Alicent felt the urge to remind her husband that it was high time he named Aegon his heir, but did not know how to approach the topic, since Viserys’ thoughts were far from that.

Instead, he was all engrossed in his daughter, that annoying Princess Rhaenyra. She tried to be nice at first, but soon masks fell and it was just a spoilt brat standing before Alicent — capricious, temperamental and ungrateful.

Perhaps, Viserys could not believe in his happiness and did not wish to name Aegon heir, afraid that it could cause ill luck and they would lose their precious boy… Then Alicent would give him more to cement their success.

As Aegon was growing, Alicent’s frustration grew as well. By that time she had already given the king not only one son, but two and a daughter on top of that. A feat unattainable to Aemma Arryn, proving that Alicent and her children were the future of House Targaryen.

The father was none the better in this regard — totally useless. The King only got furious each time the succession was mentioned, roaring that there was no need in revisiting matters already settled.

“You said you could not hold the throne for an unborn child.” said Alicent to her father, accusation lacing her voice. “What say you now? There is a child, more than one, where is the throne, I ask you?”

To that Ser Otto only muttered something gruffly, spreading out his hands in defeat. Well, it seemed Alicent’s business was not only to be beautiful and charm the king, satisfy his desires and suffer in birthing bed — politics lay on her shoulders as well.

However, if Alicent thought that talking to the King and making him change his mind was a simple matter, never ever had she been more mistaken. Viserys grew red in face, when she reminded him of his firstborn son and his rights, called Alicent and her father traitors, oathbreakers, unruly subjects. 

“Dare to mention my choice of heir again, and you will follow your wayward father to Oldtown!” Viserys — always so gentle and amiable — shouted, then he tore open the door and ran out of the chambers, the heels of his boots ringing in the hall.

Alicent sighed and collapsed on the settee. Perhaps, the father was right. The King was not going to change his mind. But for the love of Gods, what an absurdity — to keep a girl as heir with three living sons!

Meanwhile, this girl’s heart proved even blacker than Alicent thought. A letter came from Dragonstone — and that is where Rhaenyra was currently residing — informing His Grace the King and the whole court that Princess Rhaenyra had wed her uncle Prince Daemon Targaryen.

From Alicent’s viewpoint, this marriage was a sheer farce as it was neither allowed, nor blessed by the King, and all the children born within this union — bastards. Rhaenyra in her selfish capriciousness sawed off the branch she was sitting on. She disregarded the King’s wishes! What kind of heir was she, if she did not have her own heirs? And it was common knowledge that a bastard could not be a king.

The Queen’s face lit up with triumphant glee, as she approached Viserys — infuriated by the news — reminding him of the existence of their own son Aegon, a more deserving candidate for the throne. 

“Succession has nothing to do with Rhaenyra’s choice of husband!” Viserys immediately dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Yes, my daughter went against my will, but she is still my heir, I am not a fickle monarch to change my mind because of such— such minor hindrance.”

Minor hindrance…  

So, that what it was for him.

Alicent wanted to weep.

Rhaenyra could do anything, forgetting about duty and sacrifice and still come out as a winner. Spoilt brat…

As for Alicent’s own sons — three in total — she was sure that they were better than Rhaenyra’s in all respects. At least maesters told her so, since as the Queen she was overburdened with her queenly duties and did not have too much time for them — there were special people in charge of their upbringing.

Aegon was a bit too lazy and too indulgent, but not that he could be reproached for this — his father was the same. And similar to his father, Alicent and Otto hoped that he could be easily guided, letting others rule instead.

Aemond was sometimes too fierce and temperamental, and again, it was not a subject for reproach — Targaryen blood ran thick in this boy. Moreover, his ferocity and skill with sword could be used for protecting his weaker older brother. The King, Alicent still hoped.

There was also Daeron, the most comely and well-mannered of them, but Alicent had to send him away — serving as squire to the Lord Hightower was more useful experience for him, rather than being the king’s third son at court.

Three heads of the dragon, Alicent called her sons proudly, making Viserys chuckle with the comment, ruffling the boys’ hair… But then again he turned his gaze to his grandchildren (yes, the whore from the Dragonstone was quick to produce children) and future king, as he referred to Rhaenyra’s eldest boy — Aegon — much to Alicent’s chagrin.

And so there were three of them, until one head was cut off by her awful stepdaughter! And then the second and the third…

Aegon, their firstborn son, the king-to-be came to his parents with shocking revelation — he wished to become a maester!

Alicent could believe neither her eyes, nor ears. What had gotten into the boy’s head? Had he drunk too much strongwine? 

Glancing to her stepdaughter, Alicent notices an impish glint in her eyes and then she gave Aegon a conspiratorial smile.

It was all her deed, she somehow forced Aegon to make such irresponsible decision. Of course, Rhaenyra knew that her position was unstable, a girl chosen on her father’s whim, while the rest of the realm did not see her as their Queen, and would never be able to, not when there were three living king’s sons.

And so, that treacherous snake decided to get rid of her half-brother whose claim was much stronger than hers… No, no, no, Alicent would not allow it! She would see the king and explain the adverse consequences of this decision.

“Viserys, please!” Alicent implored, “you are making a grave mistake!”

“What mistake, pray tell?” the King turned to her with a quizzical look upon his face.

“Your son — the king’s son — a maester!”

“And what about it?” he blinked, not understanding.

“He is the prince of royal blood!” 

The future King by all the laws of Gods and men, she wanted to add, but forced herself to swallow the words, especially seeing how Viserys’ brows furrowed and face grew darker.

“And?” he asked, inching closer to Alicent and now towering over her. “My own uncle, the prince of royal blood, true Targaryen, the son of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, was a maester! An archmaester!”

Corners of Alicent’s moth curled downwards from helpless frustration. True, Vaegon Targaryen was a maester, but Alicent did not care a fig about that man, she was concerned with her own son! And his life and fate was going to be ruined! Hers and Otto’s hopes for a Hightower king on the throne wasted!

Yet, as always, her pleas were ignored, while Rhaenyra waved off her half-brother departing to the Citadel with a smug smile upon her face.

Aemond came next. Sadly, he was not the young man she and Otto wished to see upon the throne — too unruly and explosive. But they would try, although it would mean twice as much efforts, than with Aegon.

The Gods, however, played another vicious joke on Alicent. Her second son, a poor thing, mamed by one of Rhaenyra’s awful sons in his childhood, rider of the largest and most ferocious dragon, insisted on taking the Black and joining the Night’s Watch in the North. 

What was the most surprising in it all, was that he had never shared a single thought about it, and then all of a sudden…

Alicent glanced at Rhaenyra’s face again. And again she was wearing the same smug smile, sickly sweet and supportive of Aemond’s decision…

Much to Alicent’s horror, Viserys was totally unperturbed by the fact that becoming a maester and a brother of the Night’s Watch presupposed celibacy, meaning neither of their sons could sire children of their own…

Daeron was their last hope. Secretly, her father sent a raven to Oldtown, urging his brother Lord Hightower to prepare the prince for his role as the King. A reply came in a sennight, informing Alicent and Otto that Daeron did not share their enthusiasm and called their plan treacherous. 

“Proceed with the preparations and teach the boy correctly.” wrote Otto to Lord Hightower. “He will change his mind.” he patted Alecent’s hand in a placating manner. “Daeron is an obedient boy and will do what is expected of him.”

And Daeron was truly an obedient boy… Until he wasn’t.

During his stay in Kings Landing Daeron announced his decision to become a Kingsguard. 

“Wonderful! Now we can sleep peacefully, knowing that we are guarded by the most loyal and capable Kingsguard!” exclaimed Rhaenyra, giving Alicent a poisonous smile. 

Her doing AGAIN!

What awful spells did Rhaenyra use on her sons? Why, by the Gods, Alicent spent lifetime giving them proper upbringing and preparing for their roles, while it was enough for Rhaenyra to hiss her vicious words into their ears and change their minds completely?

Oh, how she wanted to wipe that smile from her stepdaughter’s face!… Alas, she knew that Viserys was ever protective of his daughter, blind to all her sins; and Prince Daemon was a vicious unpredictable man who would not let anyone touch his wife.

Alicent did not know how to react to the happenings at court and a disaster which befell on their family. There were no more tears in her eyes left, as she was watching how their plans collapsed, how all three sons she gave to the king wasted their lives and buried their claims to the throne, leaving the path clear to Rhaenyra…

The last drop was Helaena, her only daughter. Out of all the lords she chose a bastard. As if there was not enough humiliation showered on Alicent’s and Otto’s heads! What, by the Seven, had gotten into her daughter’s head!

“She wants to be happy, will you deprive her of that?” Rhaenyra said, holding the King’s hands and looking sweetly into his eyes. “Will you legitimise Addam and make him Addam Velaryon?”

The fool agreed, and yes, after all those years Alicent was absolutely certain — King Viserys was a fool, and marrying him brought nothing to her House, but humiliation. 

To Alicent’s rant Otto shrugged his shoulders helplessly and burried his nose into the papers. 

And there she was. The Queen whose children would never be kings, sitting in her chambers, her daughter Helaena by her side and her son Daeron guarding them. Never ever had Alicent been father from the Iron Throne, and the golden tiara she was wearing as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was merely a useless piece of metal. The crown, the one Jaehaerys was wearing and then Viserys would sit on her stepdaughter’s head. Rhaenyra’s, for goodness sake, not her sons who were ten thousand more deserving than she was!

Life is unfair, and all my efforts futile… rang the thoughts in Alicent’s head, almost making her tear her hair out and weep.

“Grandma?” came tiny voice, interrupting her grim thoughts. Alicent looked down seeing one of her grandchildren sired by that bastard husband of her precious daughter. 

She was in the right to hate them, but the boy was too cute and giggly, resembling her own children in their youth. Fortunately, they inherited very little from their bastard of a father.

Helaena scooped the boy into her arms and gave Alicent a sympathetic smile. “Grandma is busy, sweetling. You will play with her later.”

Alicent wanted to protest that she was not, but a knock on the door stopped her.

“You Grace,” a page emerged, bending in a low bow, “the velvet for your new gowns has been delivered. Would you like to have a look at it?”

“Which colour is it?” asked Alicent in a tired voice.

“Green, Your Grace.”

Alicent winced upon hearing that. Green… She looked down at the brocade gown she was currently wearing. Also green… She had always preferred that colour in her dresses, as opposed to the ugly black worn by Rhaenyra.

She frowned, feeling anger and despair bubbling in her throat. This colour did not bring her any luck, only misery — a symbol of her failed plans and ambitions.

“Tear it to pieces and burn.” she ordered glumly.

“P— pardon, Your Grace?” the page’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You heard it right. Do it.” replied Alicent and turned away.

Chapter Text

~~ Rhaenyra & Viserys ~~

It was the first time in long years when Rhaenyra woke up finding herself in absolute safety. Daemon was snoring softly by her side, Aegon and Viserys were most certainly already in the training yard despite early morning, and little Visenya was in her nursery, the belly pains which had troubled her at first ceased and she could sleep all night through without waking up and calling either her nurses or Rhaenyra.

Once all the foreseeable hurdles on Rhaenyra’s path to the throne had been removed, she could plan what she would do next. Her father was the King and with the Gods’ blessing had many years to come, yet it did not mean that Rhaenyra should sit idly and wait for her turn to wear the crown. 

Since there was no more people with questionable loyalty at the court, only those who could be fully trusted, it was high time Rhaenyra saw other parts of the realm. Moreover, her future subjects should see her, too.

With that in mind she planned her first royal progress with intention to visit as many parts of their vast realm as she could. 

Rhaenyra rubbed the golden scales of Syrax, anticipating long flight. She was so absorbed in the process that did not notice footsteps, echoing across the vast halls of the Dragonpit.

“I hope you do fancy a company?”

Rhaenyra winced, caught unawares by the sudden voice. Turning around she was greeted with the sight of her husband’s face.

“Daemon? But you told you wouldn’t be able to—”

“It can wait. Do you really think I will let such a precious jewel roam all around the Seven Kingdoms alone and unprotected?” he favoured Rhaenyra with a smile and a pleasant feeling stirred somewhere deep inside her heart.

The progress started with the Crownlands, then they moved to the Vale of Arryn, the Stormlands, the Riverlands, the Westerlands and the Reach. Although their visit was brief, each Lord did his best to host the future Queen and her Prince consort with all possible grace and hospitality.

Yet, there was more to the feasts and balls hosted in Rhaenyra’s honour. Each House pledged her an oath of allegiance anew — willingly, on their own accord. There was certain nostalgia in it, the first time they did it happened soon after her mother’s passing — the wound that would never heal. Yet, Rhaenyra could find solace and comfort in her children and husband, and this time there was no bitter feeling in her heart, only the importance of the future that lay ahead.

Among all the parts of the realm, the Reach and the North were of special importance to Rhaenyra. It was the new home for her half-brothers and she anticipated meeting with them.

Although, Aegon did not gain profound knowledge or forged many links to his measter’s chain, he was a much better man now, happy even.

However, when Rhaenyra asked him if he wanted to know how his mother was faring, Aegon replied that the news from Kings Landing came regularly and that would suffice. And so, despite the love Alicent held for him — love for her son or love for the possibilities he as the firstborn son to the King offered — Aegon was happy to lead his own life, away from her and from the court.

Quickly dismissing the topic of his mother Aegon said, giving Rhaenyra a wink, “Enough with the boring issues. Look what I have made from the herbs stored in the Citadel.” He took a bottle and poured two glasses, one for her and one for Daemon.

Suspiciously, Daemon took his and made a gulp.

“This is Arbour Gold. I am afraid you are too late, nephew, it had been made even before you were born.” he said with a smirk.

Aegon flashed a knowing smile. “Arbour — yes, but if you add four droplets of this,” his hand ran inside the wide sleeve of his grey robe and retrieved a small glass vial, “you can drink it as much as you want, without getting inebriated.”

Upon hearing it, Rhaenyra wanted to laugh, but allowed herself only a polite smile. Some people never change…

“Oh, so that is what you spend your time and vast knowledge gained from the learned maesters on.” snorted Daemon, yet, he was more amused than critical. 

“And that as well. The older maesters at the Citadel were too strict with our lifestyle, and I don’t like to be restricted.” Aegon shrugged nonchalantly.

Perhaps, Rhaenyra knew her brother better than she thought she did. Thank Gods he was a maester now. A self-indulgent king who hated to be restrained was definitely a path to disaster.

***

Next, Rhaenyra and Daemon travelled to Winterfell, where they were received by Lord Cregan Stark. This imposing young man draped in heavy furs and bearing a greatsword, its Valyrian blade almost as tall as Cregan himself, created quite a sight to behold.

“It is Ice.” whispered Daemon, impressed by the ancestral weapon of House Stark. He wielded Dark Sister masterfully, yet it was unclear if he could sustain the might of Cregan’s sword.

Despite his somber face, Cregan turned out to be a generous and welcoming host. To Rhaenyra, who already was freezing, it came as a surprise that it was only the beginning of autumn and soon it would become much more colder in this part of the realm.

“It gets so cold that a tear turns to a piece of ice and can hurt your eye.” told Cregan.

Hearing those tales Rhaenyra shivered. And yet she intended to move even further to the North.

“I would like to travel to Castle Black at the Wall, as my greatgrandmother did.” she said.

“Black brothers are greatfull to the Good Queen Alysanne for funding the castle Deep Lake and granting more lands to the Brotherhood.” Lord Cregan solemnly nodded. He looked much older than his twenty namedays, with stern face and formidable physique. “I will gladly escort you there.”

Syrax puffed begrudgingly as they travelled farther to the North, the cold already biting their cheeks and noses. Before long they reached their destination. Perhaps, of all the places, the Wall created the most striking impression on the princess.

There was even less things to discuss with Aemond than with Aegon. Half-siblings were strangers, and if not hate, there was only polite indifference between them. Rhaenyra could only thank the Gods that their paths had not crossed, otherwise the consequences would have been dire.

Similar to his older brother, little did Aemond want to know about their mother, Queen Alicent Hightower. He only pledged his loyalty to King Viserys and presented Rhaenyra and Daemon with a group of Wildlings he captured in his raid behind the Wall. The men were wearing rags and confined into cages for her inspection. 

“What is to be done with them?” questioned Rhaenyra, fighting off a feeling of nausea at the sight of their half-frozen limbs.

Before Lord Stark could reply, Aemond stepped forward. His one remaining eye was glistening as he was telling her the fate of those men — they would have their ears cut and then sent back behind the Wall.

“It will serve as a warning to the rest of them.” explained Aemond. “If they are wise enough, seeing this they would keep to their side of the Wall.”

“And if not?” asked Daemon curiously.

“There is no second warning. We take the heads of those who dare to return.” Aemond replied gravely.

Later in the evening, Rhaenyra had a chance to talk privately with Cregan. The stewards did their best to warm the chamber for the princess, throwing as much log in the hearth as it could accommodate, and yet it was still cold, giving Rhaenyra shivers.

According to Lord Stark, the situation in the North required more attention than her father saw it fit to give. 

“Although Aemond and Vhagar serve our cause greatly, we lack men.” Cregan said. “It lies on the shoulders of the North to provide Night’s Watch with capable brothers, not only former thieves or rapists. We do not repine, for it is our duty. However, the stronger the Night’s Watch is, the safer is the rest of the realm.” 

Rhaenyra nodded understandingly. It was unfair that the North had to bear all the responsibility. Unarguably, it was a tradition, but could not they change it a little to adapt it more to the people’s needs? Her father was the one to break the tradition of succession by naming her heir, could not she follow his steps and break another one? A bold idea formed in her head as she was watching Lord Stark’s concerned face.

“We will change the order of things.” she declared resolutely. “Whether it happens during King Viserys’ reign or my own, there will be a decree according to which all the parts of the Seven Kingdoms will send men from their Houses to take the black. I am sure that second sons and those who  do not stand to inherit lands or titles will view it as an honour.”

Cregan looked hesitant at first, but did not argue, for it would greatly simplify their task and ease the burden.

“I thank you princ—” he began, but was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door.

“A raven from Kings Landing.” said the steward upon entering and handed a small tightly rolled parchment to his Lord. 

Unrolling it, Cregan quickly scanned the contents, then passed it to Rhaenyra.

The message was written in Helaena’s hand and told that their father, King Viserys, sustained an injury when climbing down the steps of the Iron Throne. A lump formed in Rhaenyra’s throat as she read that his condition worsened and the wound refused to heal. 

“Gods be good…” she muttered, chasing away the grim thoughts which already started to form in her mind. “Lord Stark, we will discuss that matter later. I have to return to the capital urgently.”

Seeing certain confusion and even disillusionment in Cregan’s deep brown eyes, she added, “I will also take this opportunity to discuss my proposal to you with His Grace. The North protects us from the danger, it is high time everyone contributed to this cause — one for all and all for one.”

***

“We have to leave.” Rhaenyra said to Daemon who was standing by the hearth, rubbing his frozen hands against each other.

“Leave? Why? Isn’t there yet much to discuss with Lord Stark?”

“It is the father, he is—” she began, but invisible hand squeezed her throat, not letting her speak.

“Viserys? What happened?” Daemon turned on his heals to Rhaenyra, his eyes anxious and face contorted with worry.

“Helaena sent a raven, she says that the father stumbled when descending the Irone Throne, reached out to balance himself and cut his hand to the bone on a protruding blade.” she retold the contents of the letter.

“A cut?” Daemon arched his brow, unimpressed. “Damn, I thought it was something serious.” he dismissed.

“But it is!” exclaimed Rhaenyra in exasperation but collected herself that instant. “The wound got infected.” she explained in a calmer voice, “Father has developed fever and is getting weaker day by day.”

Daemon hummed, furrowing his brows. “That is indeed a very inopportune moment. Not after we have made all this long way to the North.”

“We have done our part. We have seen Aemond and talked to Lord Stark. It has not been done since the times of Jaehaerys and Alysanne. We will return here in time.” she reasoned.

Daemon could not but agree with her. Reaching out to take his sword he uttered, “To Kings Landing then.” 

On her way to the capital Rhaenyra had to make a detour to fetch her own trusted maester from Dragonstone, maester Gerardys, since she had little trust in those in the Red Keep. Grand Maester Mellos was there when her mother was lay dying and could do absolutely nothing about it. No, she would not let him attend to her father, the stakes were too high.

Without changing or refreshing she and Daemon rushed to the king’s chambers, finding him abed and lost in fever. He seemed thinner, his full face which usually radiated joy and energy was flushed and covered with beads of sweat, running down his temples and cheeks. Shakily Rhaenyra approached and sat beside her father on the bed, taking his hand in hers, limp and very very hot. Daemon, always poor in expressing feelings when his family was concerned, seemed taken aback and saddened by his brother’s condition, shuffled helplessly on his feet at the entrance.

Grey bushy brows of maester Gerardys furrowed, as he was doing his examination of King Viserys and when he finally took off all the bandages on the injured hand, he could not stifle a gasp. 

“Well?” Rhaenyra asked impatiently. Instead of replying Gerardys only shook his head. “Is it— is it too bad?”

“It is. We need to act and soon. Your Grace,” he uttered, locking his eyes on Rhaenyra’s. “There is only one way to stop the spread of infection and the resulting fever.”

“What is it? Speak!” ordered Daemon impatiently, worried as much as Rhaenyra was. 

“The only option is to remove the injured fingers. It will mean permanent damage to His Grace, but will guarantee improvement and curb the spread of the infection.”

“Do as you deem it necessary.” Rhaenyra permitted, fighting back tears.  It would be unseemly for the future Queen to weep, but the memories of the loss of her mother were still fresh even after all those years, and the thought of losing her second parent dropped like a heavy stone on her heart.

The King was already unconscious, but still it was decided to dull the pain with excessive dose of milk of the poppy. The amputation did not take considerable time, the results, however, were striking — fever soon subsided, the swelling of the hand reduced and breathing came back to normal. Seeing all these changes Rhaenyra was torn between two feelings — relief that her father’s life was not in danger anymore and anger at the Queen Alicent who did not think it necessary to undertake such measures, putting the King’s life at such huge risk. 

Rhaenyra’s musings were interrupted by a tentative knock on the door —  Lord Lyonel Strong, the King’s current Hand, emerged, his bearded face grim and troubled. “I am sorry, Princess, I should have informed you about the state of His Grace’s health earlier.” he said apologetically.

Of course it was not his fault, and neither was Helaena’s or Daeron’s. The sole person who should be held accountable for the King’s condition was his wife, Queen Alicent Hightower.

No sooner had Rhaenyra thought about her stepmother, she arrived to the King’s chamber, followed by her ladies-in-waiting, wearing the same sour mien as she usually did. Apparently, masking her indifference and maester Mellos’ incompetence, Alicent would try to wiggle out, putting all possible blame on Rhaenyra.

“What is the meaning is this?” the Queen’s voice rang across the chamber. Her eyes shifted from Rhaenyra to her husband, then to the medical tools laying beside the grand royal bed. “It is treason! You maimed the King!”

Her voice was so loud and high-pitched that it made the King stir and open his eyes, still unfocused.

“Look what they have done to you, Viserys!” exclaimed Alicent.

Upon hearing it, Viserys looked at his bandaged hand, his eyes widening as he noticed the flat surface where two fingers used to be. He groaned painfully.

“There was no other options, Your Grace.” maester Gerardys rushed to explain, stepping forward. “We had to remove your fingers, else the infection would have spread further. Your body had already been intoxicated, resulting in fever.”

“Ha!” snorted Alicent in derision. “You should have given him more time to heal—”

“Not to heal, but to to develop even higher fever and die untimely!” countered Rhaenyra, angered by Alicent’s hypocrisy.

“The Grand Maester Mellos reassures me that the poultices he uses will stop the infection, if not for interference of your quack of a maester!” hissed Alicent, pointing an accusing finger at Gerardys.

“Your maester’s poultices are as useless as—” Rhaenyra almost shouted, unable to contain anger anymore.

“Your Graces! Your Graces!” called out maester Gerardys. “I beg of you! The King requires rest.” Putting all the formalities aside he ushered everyone away from the chambers and motioned the Kingsguards to close the door and restrict the admission of visitors.

Catching the last glimpse of Gerardys’ concerned face, Rhaenyra glared at the Queen. 

“Why do you ruin everything you touch Alicent?” she asked, shaking her head in repulsion. “You almost ruined your children’s lives and now even the King’s. Are you so tired of being the Queen that you wish to send him to grave?” 

“It is all the Gods’ will. They give and take.” Alicent replied coolly, and this indifference proved how wrong Rhaenyra was when leaving her father in Alicent’s hands.

She opened her mouth to express her deep indignation with the Queen’s actions — or, better say inaction — towards her father, but felt a soft squeez of her hand. It was Daemon who despite visible anger tried not to show it, or else strain the King even more.

Meanwhile Alicent snorted once again and walked away. 

“Leave her.” Daemon whispered. “She is a viper, always searching a victim to poison.”

Helaena came next. She looked anxious, her eyes rimmed with red as she walked towards Rhaenyra, Daeron on her heels. As the Kingsguard he was supposed to be devoid of emotion, concentrated on his task of protecting the royal family, however, it was clear that the young man was beside himself with worry, his hand nervously clutching the hilt of his sword.

“It all started with a cut”, Helaena began, sniffling, “and then day by day father’s state got worse and worse. I meant to inform you earlier, but mother told we should deal with it ourselves and there was no need to disturb you and prevent from continuing your progress. But I was so scared.” 

And she really was. Her shoulders were shaking as she tried to swallow sobs and there was guilt painted all across her face. Of course, Rhaenyra did not blame Helaena. She was busy with her own children, three by now, and naively put full trust into her mother who gave her false reassurances that father would get better soon. Thank Gods, she found out that he obviously did not and informed Rhaenyra. 

Helaena’s panic was so infectious, that it took great amount of self-restraint for Rhaenyra not to join her in sobbing and weeping — she was to be queen and and queens did not cry. It was hard. Although she felt she was ready to wear the crown, but more than that she wished Viserys to live. With all his weaknesses and wrong steps, he was her father, supportive of all her actions and choices.

The next day proved to be much better than the previous one. While breaking her fast with Aegon, Viserys and little Visenya, Rhaenyra was informed that the King’s state improved, fever subsided and maester Gerardys finally allowed visitors.

She found her father abed, attended by the maesters whom he immediately shooed away as soon as the Kingsguard announced her name.

“My dear daughter!” the King greeted, his voice still hoarse and weak. 

She gulped, when her eyes fell on the bandaged hand placed carefully on a pillow. The memories of the other day, when Alicent threw accusations of purposefully maiming the king sprang to her mind.

“I am sorry, father. Your hand… This was a necessary measure.”

“Don’t be.” the King waved her off with a flip of his healthy hand. “I can easily live without two fingers, servants are everywhere, helping me dress, and do other things.”

A sigh of relief escaped Rhaenyra’s lips. The father was not angry, not even much bothered by the amputation which only meant that Alicent’s poisonous claws did not sink too deep into his heart.

“Please, sit. I missed you so much.” he invited.

Rhaenyra did as she was bade to, positioning herself carefully beside the father and taking this opportunity to study him more carefully. The endless feasts the King hosted made him stout and the weight was not kind to his health, making him suffer from shortness of breath and occasional pains in the chest. It did not bother him much when he relaxed and rested, but the strain of ruling and exhaustion aggravated that. It was clear to Rhaenyra — her father needed peace and quiet, if she wanted him to live  longer.

“How are you feeling?” she asked softly.

“Much better, thank you.”

“The Gods are merciful.”

“Or the Stranger thinks it is still early to take me.” The father tried to jest, but despite the mirth in his voice, Rhaenyra did not find it in herself to laugh.

“You still need time to rest, a lot of it.”

Yet, instead of agreeing, Viserys’ face gained stubbornishly concerned expression. “I have been absent for too long and should return to my duties as soon as the maesters allow me.”

“You shouldn’t. I will take it upon myself to preside at the Small Council.” she offered.

“But the petitions—”

“I will hear them.” she rushed to reassure.

“Ah… Are you planning to depose me?” chuckled the King, though his voice was weak and weary.

“No, no, never.” smiled Rhaenyra, stroking her father’s cheek, rough and unshaved after the illness. “We are here to protect you.”

“Perhaps, you are right, I may require some time before sitting the throne again…” he murmured, reclining back on the pillows, looking as though all his energy suddenly started leaving him. 

Rhaenyra sighed, seeing him like this. The King tired easily and tended to oversee many things, of that Rhaenyra was certain. If only he named her his regent, it would prolong his own life and help Rhaenyra to avoid chaos created by a weakened monarch.

Before long, his eyes closed and he drifted away.

“I am ready, father.” Rhaenyra whispered, still clutching his hand. “I am not a child anymore, I have my own children, my heir, who is the most deserving of that role, a husband who will protect me at all costs, allies all across the realm. I am ready to take the throne.”

Silence stretched as Daemon and Rhaenyra were sitting later in their chamber. The day exhausted both of them, bringing the realisation that people they took for granted could vanish forever from their lives.

“I thought the time came—” Daemon was the first to break it, but the words stuck in his throat.

“For what?” Rhaenyra asked, although she knew the answer.

“For you to—” he waved his hand over the head, drawing the crown in the air. “I do not mean to sound harsh, but it is high time, anyway.”

It did sound harsh, but it was also the truth — the father did not posses the health he used to and the strain of ruling put unnecessary pressure on his already fragile health. The weight he gained caused chest and back pains, legs hurt from climbing up the steep steps of the Iron Throne, not to mention all the stress of decision making, looking through the documents and listening to endless petitions. 

Rhaenyra would gladly take his burden, for it was her time to work for the good of the realm.

“Viserys should give up—” Daemon insisted.

“Father wouldn’t listen. He thinks it is his duty.”

“Stubborn fool!” Daemon muttered gruffly. “His girth does not allow him to climb the steps of the Iron Throne properly. He will suffer a stroke one day, right in front of his subjects. He is not fit for ruling anymore.”

Although, Daemon’s face was painted with displeasure and irritation, Rhaenyra could see that he was also enormously worried.

“I thought he would name me regent. Thus I will take on his responsibilities and the people will get accustomed to me as their ruler.”

Always critical of his own brother Daemon rolled his eyes. “Was there least one instance when Viserys’ actions were aimed at supporting your claim, rather than undermining it?” he grimaced.

Rhaenyra sighed. “At least he agreed to all the changes concerning his sons.”

“It was his duty to deal with his sons after all.” Daemon shrugged, still full of resentment. Then his face fell and angry facade gave a crack, making him look vulnerable. “I wish to see you Queen, but I really do not want it to happen when my brother’s death is mourned.”

Rhaenyra did not wish it either. Yet there was a tiny ripple of hope that father would listen to her words. 

***

“His Grace requests your presence.” Ser Harrold informed. 

Rhaenyra put aside the parchments she was studying — the promise to Lord Cregan Stark to give more funding and men to the Night’s Watch was taken seriously by the Princess and she devoted her attention to the matter as soon as she could.

To her great relief she found King Viserys strong enough to sit on his armchair. He seemed to be in deep contemplation, but his face lit as soon as she approached.

“Ah, Rhaenyra…” he murmured, dismissing her polite curtsy with a wave of his hand. 

“You wished to see me, father?”

“Yes…” he nodded. “Does your offer still stand?”

“Offer?” Rhaenyra quizzed arching her brow. But when her eyes followed the King’s glance, she felt as if all the air left her lungs and vision blurred.

Right upon the carved mahogany desk on a red velvet cushion lay the crown.

Viserys smiled encouragingly, the same smile he gave her when the ceremony of her initiation as heir took place all those long years ago.

“Take it. It is yours.” he said.

Rhaenyra blinked, unable to make herself move towards the crown. 

“Come on, take it.” 

Rhaenyra did not move an inch. It was regency she meant the other day, not the crown…

“This is an order.” Viserys chuckled softly, seeing her hesitance.

Rhaenyra gulped a little, then approached the table and took the precious symbol of royalty. It was much heavier than she expected, the metal smooth and cold, the edges of the crown sharp. It was a very moving moment, while she felt it was both, too early and too late to take it. Responsibilities frightened her, while inevitability pushed into action.

“It will look good on you.” she heard her father’s soft voice. “Try it. For me.”

And she did, put the crown of Jaehaerys upon her head and turned to face her father, blushing like a shy little girl.

Sitting in his armchair, the King waved his hand, inviting her to approach. The embrace he gave her was full of warmth and trust. 

“You’ve changed your mind, father. Why?”

“Daemon has always accused me of being selfish. And that I am. In my selfishness I wish to see my beloved daughter as Queen, sitting upon the Iron Throne and ruling the Seven Kingdoms. How can I do this if I am  king?” he asked, spreading out his head, familiar mirth sparkling in his lilac eyes.

“By naming me the queen while you still live.” replied Rhaenyra.

“Absolutely. Let everyone in the realm see that I approve of my successor, you are my conscious choice, not a whim of an old man.” he said, giving Rhaenyra another hug and for the first time in long weeks she could relax in his warmth and softness.

***

Daemon could not believe his ears.

“He really is going to do that? To abdicate in your favour?”

Rhaenyra smiled, nodding. “He wants everyone to know that I am his heir, that is his will and nothing has changed since the day I was chosen as his successor.”

Daemon’s eyes sparkled with triumph and Rhaenyra could even feel that his heart started to beat faster.

“It is even for the better that the lords pledged their oaths once again during our progress. Thus we refreshed memory of those who have it short.” said Daemon with a pleased smile. Then his face grew serious and he approached Rhaenyra, taking by the hands and pressing his forehead against hers, like he always did in the most intimate moments. “By the Fourteen… I thought this day would never come… My Queen.”

Chapter Text

~~ Epilogue ~~

On the night of her coronation, Rhaenyra dreamt of her mother. And although it had not been the first time the ghost visited Rhaenyra in her dreams, but for the first she did not wake up in tears. 

When the first morning light reached Rhaenyra’s chamber, she could distinctly remember her mother’s image, how she took pride in her only daughter and even seemed less furious with the father. Surely, Queen Aemma was aggrieved at being so quickly changed for another woman, another Queen. Especially, the one full of pride and ambitions, aiming at putting her own blood above Aemma’s. Rhaenyra, however, knew well that it was not only her father’s fault — he was pressed to marry by his Council. Unfortunately, the choice of bride was wrong, but you never know the limits of other people’s ambitions. Anyway, all is well that ends well. The King’s children from his second marriage found their paths in life (even though, Rhaenyra had to show them right directions), relative happiness and most importantly did not pose any threat to Rhaenyra’s reign or her heir’s.

As the maids and ladies-in-waiting fluttered around Rhaenyra, adjusting her impeccable coronation gown, the doors wide opened letting the visitor in.

“May I have a look at my daughter?” came the voice behind Rhaenyra’s back, and in the reflection of the mirror she caught a glimpse of her father. 

He was garbed in all his finery, purple doublet and black Targaryen cloak, all embellished with rich golden embroidery. Yet one distinctive thing was missing — his crown. It was already taken to the Grand Sept where the ceremony was supposed to take place. Though, despite the absence of regalia and recent illness, Viserys looked kingly and hale, proving once again that the idea to abdicate was his own — he saw Rhaenyra as the more suited and better ruler.

“If only your mother could see you now.” the King said wistfully, blinking away tears welling in the corners of his eyes. “She would be so proud of you, daughter.”

Overcome with emotion Rhaenyra cast her eyes down shyly. “I hope so.” she murmured, like a little girl of eight namedays she was when proclaimed the heir by her father.

“You will make a fine queen, of that I am certain. Better than I was.” Viserys lifted her face and traced his fingertips down her cheek. “I was not prepared to rule and sometimes seemed weak because of that. But you are, you have been my heir for years, all the necessary knowledge and wisdom passed to you by my humble self and my trusted councillors.”

“Thank you, father.” Rhaenyra said, putting as much gratefulness in her voice as she could. Then she inhaled deeply, collecting her thoughts, straightened her back and allowed the former King to lead the future Queen to her coronation.

***

Unprecedented in history, the lords and commonfolk alike saw Rhaenyra’s ascension as the will of Gods and the King. Not a single question was raised concerning the fact that she was a woman. The King did not have any male heirs — those able to bear the crown, title or sire children — only Rhaenyra whose claim was strengthened by Daemon Targaryen, the prince of Targaryen blood by her side.

King Viserys — Viserys Targaryen — as he was now simply called, although each and everyone still address him as “Your Grace” left to live in the Dragonstone, but soon complained that the humid air and cold winds brought him discomfort and were bad for his health, declaring his intention to return to Kings Landing. It was only half true, for the real reason behind that change of heart and plans was deep love and affection he held for his family — Viserys simply could not force himself to stay away from them. Especially, in the view of the fact that the Queen Alicent retired to Oldtown, referring to the need to visit her family and make prayers to the Seven in the Starry Sept. 

Rhaenyra, however, was not inclined to believe in such excuses. Alicent had lost all the chances to snake her or her children’s way to the Throne, and did not find it necessary to remain at court anymore, where she was supposed to tend to her Lord husband, whose health issues, although, not too serious, required special treatment. Anyway, it was much better without Alicent, than in her company.

Surprisingly enough, the father was not too much bothered with Alicent’s departure, his mind and time otherwise occupied. At court Viserys took it upon himself the thing he excelled in — organising and hosting feasts, balls and tourneys. Rhaenyra was only happy with that, since Daemon had little patience for such things and she — little time. The Master of Coin, elderly Lord Beesbury, chuckled upon seeing Viserys, already anticipating how much the ex-king’s hobby would cost to the Crown.

As for the royal couple (yes, it was still hard to believe, but she and Daemon were now a royal couple, like Jaehaerys and Alysanne, Viserys and Aemma, Viserys and Alicent… Alicent… Well, no, Rhaenyra preferred to skip that bit) it was agreed that Daemon would rule by Rhaenyra’s side, not as her Hand, but as her Consort. 

Not that Rhaenyra did not offer him the office. She did, planning the conversation in advance, all the words she would say to her husband, so that to find understanding, but not to open the old wounds by reminding him that once, long ago, he was the king’s heir.

Opening a small silver box Daemon blinked several times in confusion, gulped and then closed it with a loud bang. Seeing how tense Rhaenyra became, his own face softened.

“No need for that.”

“Wh— are you—” she began, as an unpleasant knot started to form in her stomach.

Daemon hushed her, gently pressing his index finger to her lips.

“Don’t. Don’t try to explain yourself or anything of that sort — you are the Queen now.”

“And the Queen needs the Hand.” she uttered, still unsure about Daemon’s intentions.

“You have one. Lord Lyonel Strong. He served loyally to your father, never ever was there an instance when he compromised himself.” Unlike Otto Hightower — were the words which remained unsaid, but both of them had on their minds. “Let him keep the office, there is no doubt that he will do his best and provide his expertise and profound knowledge to guide you. Moreover, it will be a good sign for the people — keeping the succession and tradition, you take on your father’s role, who was a decent and peaceful king under whose rule the realm prospered, and so will be your reign — peaceful and prosperous, maintaining the Targaryen Dynasty at its apex.”

Now it was Rhaenyra’s turn to blink in confusion. Of all the people she did not expect Daemon to show such forbearance, judiciousness and readiness to give away the second greatest power in the Realm.

“But what about you?” she asked, searching for the answer in his eyes. They sparkled with mischief.

“I will do what I excel in. And no, it is not sitting on my ass in the Small Council chamber for hours. Though, I do not lack ambitions either. Perhaps, your first decree as the ruling Queen will be to introduce a new position on your Council? We can call it Master of Warfare or something like this.” he grinned, somewhat shyly.

Master of Warfare. There had not been wars for decades, and little thought was given to such matter. Apparently, Daemon was right. There had to be such an office, since not fighting did not mean that people should forget how to fight at all. Surely, the question required further development, as well as actual duties the office presupposed, but Rhaenyra was certain that Daemon would gladly share his ideas and make proposals.

She nodded in agreement, noticing how Daemon’s eyes lit even brighter.

“My chosen path has always been to protect my family, to protect you. Will you allow me to continue walking it, my Queen? My wife. My niece. My love.” he said.

“Absolutely.” Rhaenyra murmured, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it, cherishing each moment of their conversation. “Everyone should have his own path and it is good when the paths do not cross.”